#I have four pocket knives

[dangerousgolemkitty]

I want to get live steel so bad but I have no idea what I want to buy...

make a girl smile today.

give her a sword.

[ellastone-olsen]

MafiaBoss!Wanda Maximoff x f!security!reader.

Warnings: NSFW 18 + knife play, guns, murder, pet names, eating out, impact play, dark! Wanda, overstimulation, mommy kink

AN: oh my god, today is exactly one month since I’ve been publishing my works here, thank you everyone, I’m glad you like my works💗

Mafia boss Wanda who...must control absolutely everything. Even if she is under you, her orders guide you so that there is no doubt about who is in charge. “Such an obedient little pup, lick mommy clean.” She guides you. “Faster, insert your fingers, oh yes like that, make me cum and I’ll get you a reward.” She encourages you, holding your hair to guide your head and ride your face.

Mafia boss Wanda who...always keeps a gun near her, even if entire retinue of security is around. One day you allowed yourself the impudence to anger her, and she took a weapon from the inside pocket of her coat, fired a warning shot somewhere to the side, and then put the barrel under your chin. “Don’t make me angry, dumb pup, you know how easily I can pull the trigger and not blink an eye.” You knew that she could, but you also knew that she would never do this, not with you.

Mafia boss Wanda who...after a hard day, drags you by the collar of a snow-white shirt into her room and casually throws you on the bed. “Mommy had a terrible day so let me use you like the stupid fucktoy you are.” Of course you have no choice, but you don't mind helping a woman relieve stress. When her tongue overstimulates you and a whine escapes your mouth, her hands press you harder and a rough, “Be patient.” that's all you hear.

Mafia boss Wanda who...noticed how her other guards treat you because of your obvious closeness. And when one of these bastards decides to start a fight with you, she will simply take out that same gun and shoot him in the head. “If anyone else decides to commit lynching, he will go to hell for this piece of shit. Did everyone understand me!?” She does not tolerate people touching what belongs to her.

Mafia boss Wanda who...tells you to get on all fours and crawl to her feet so that she rests the stiletto heel on your shoulder leaving a mark of the sole on your shirt and orders you to use your mouth. Finally, you obediently kiss her legs until you reach the top of her black stockings, smelling her arousal through her matching black underwear. Looking up with your puppy dog ​​eyes, you get a nod from her and run your tongue over her clothed pussy, tasting her.

Mafia boss Wanda who...also does not neglect knives and always keeps a couple with her, for example, for murder or a little game with you. Perhaps she will leave a few scratches on your thighs while she eats you, perhaps the knife will painfully pass across your cheek and leave a deep scar as proof that she owns you. And when your tears gather in the corners of your eyes, she shows unusual tenderness and wipes them away with the pad of her thumb, whispering false words of reassurance.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 30, Epilogue - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mild sexy stuff (Just some very light hand business. Very light.)

Word Count: 1.1k

Previously On...: You moved out of the Tower :(

A/N: This is it! The last part! You guys. I can't even. It's been a magical journey, and I'm so honored that I got to take it with all of you. I'm scheduling this post on Thursday in my office, and I'm fucking crying, because you've made this more than anything I could have ever hoped for. I love each and every one of you, so fucking much. Thank you for coming on this adventure with me. Thank you for loving Pocket. Thank you for sticking with Bucky and not throwing knives at him and his stupidity. Just, fucking THANK YOU. You are all amazing, beautiful people, and I could not have done this without you. Thirty Chapters, One Hundred Fifty Five Thousand, Four Hundred and Fourteen Words, and more to come. Bucky and Pocket's journey is not over! POOKIE LOVES YOU SO MUCH.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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Not even twenty minutes later– it was actually almost pathetic how close your new place was to the Tower, really– you were opening up the door of your brand new penthouse apartment. It was more extravagant than any other place you’d ever laid your head, and when Tony’s realtor had first shown it to you, you’d balked at the opulence of it. But Tony reminded you that you’d been shot, after all, and had almost died once, then actually died, all in the span of a few days, and after that, on top of everything else you had already endured in your life, wasn’t it time you treated yourself to something good? Besides, it wasn’t like you couldn’t afford it. So, here you were.

“Honey, I’m home,” you called out softly to the enormous, empty space. It would still be some time before the movers finished loading up and delivering everything from the Tower, and then you were going to have a lot of furniture shopping to do. Toeing off your shoes, you padded your way across the apartment to the terrace. Opening the glass doors, you stepped outside. You walked to the edge and rested your elbows against the railing. Taking a deep breath, you admired the view of the city before you, the Tower just a block away. Looking across, you could easily make out Tony and Pepper’s apartment. Waving at breakfast, indeed.

You felt a pair of strong arms slink around your midsection, tugging you into a broad, warm chest. “Thought I heard you come in,” Bucky said, nuzzling his head into the crook of your shoulder. 

“Hey, baby,” you smiled, reaching back to caress his face with your hand. You turned in his arms so you were facing him. “I missed you.”

 Bucky laughed as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I only left the Tower two hours ago,” he said. “But I missed you, too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, pouring every ounce of love and affection you felt for him into the motion. “I can’t believe we finally did it,” you grinned.

“Took us long enough,” he mused back, but then turned thoughtful. “Probably would have happened a lot sooner if I hadn’t–”

You brought a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Stop. We agreed not to talk about that, remember? Dr. Whitmore said we can’t move forward if we keep hashing out the past, and I just want to move forward, with you.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, but you just smiled and kissed him again.

After you’d been released from the hospital, you and Bucky had had a long, emotional discussion about the future of your relationship. The only way you’d ever stand a real chance, you’d both decided, was if you committed to couples’ counseling and complete and total honesty. Bucky knew he didn’t deserve yet another chance from you, and you probably wouldn’t have given him one if you hadn’t loved him so fucking much. But you’d actually died, and you couldn’t stand the idea of wasting any more time without him. Now, after nearly a year of doing the work, both on your relationship and yourselves, you felt your connection was stronger than ever. And besides, when it really mattered, Bucky had proven, in the most definitive way, that he would pick you over Jade Carthage.

“So…,” you said once the kiss had been broken and you began playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So, what?” he asked. You raised an eyebrow at him suggestively. His eyes widened as he caught your meaning. “What? Here? Right now?!”

You tilted your head and looked up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster, given how completely un-innocent your current thoughts were. “Yeah, right here, right now. Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough, baby?” You trailed a hand down the center of his chest and his breath hitched. “Almost a full year, spent using my fingers, pretending they were you, never feeling full enough? Never getting off as good as I got off with you? It’s been so long since I felt you inside of me, Buck. So long, it fucking hurts.”

When you had decided to give your relationship a real reset, one of the rules you had established, with the advice of Dr. Whitmore, was no sex. You needed to establish emotional intimacy and boundaries once again, without the complications a sexual relationship would bring. She had even suggested you both try to date other people, to ensure that this was the relationship you both truly wanted, but neither one of you could bring yourselves to do it. And now, here you were, almost a full year since the last time you’d been together, and you were desperate. 

Bucky groaned at your words and you knew he was this close to giving in to you.

“Come on, baby,” you purred, reaching down and slowly unbuckling his belt. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to be inside of me?” You slowly began nibbling at his jaw, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin and letting it flood your senses.

“Always want you, Pocket,” he growled, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you flush against his hips. You let out a low moan when you felt the evidence of his arousal press into your stomach through his jeans. 

“Then have me, Barnes,” you whispered, carding your hands through his hair. “Have me on this balcony, have me on every fucking surface of this apartment, as many times as you want.”

Any remaining sense of resolve Bucky may have possessed snapped, and he was on you, sucking on the skin of your neck as he rutted his hips against you, and it felt so. fucking. good. to feel him like that again. His hand dipped into the waistband of your pants, where he found you wet and eager for him. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled into your skin as his fingers slipped through your slick folds to toy with your clit. “All this for me?”

You groaned as you felt one finger gently breach your entrance. “Only you, love,” you moaned. “Only ever you.”

You both froze when you heard the sound of the elevator ding, and Bucky quickly withdrew his hand, popping his finger into his mouth to suck away the evidence of his actions. Grunting in frustration, you looked around him to see the elevator doors open and the movers begin to unload dollies of boxes from the Tower into your new apartment.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “So much for reunion sex. I swear, I’ve got blue balls, Barnes”

Bucky grinned at you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before redoing his belt and heading over to help the movers. “This’ll only take a little while, doll,” he winked at you. “We’ve got the rest of our lives together to make up for lost time.”

<- Previous Part / The End

[chocsra]

"Take the Gun and my Heart, okay?"

15! Chuuya x implied fem! reader

A/N: im back again 😜😜 please send more requests and ideas! i wanna try writing angst for my next fics

content: you're the port mafia's best markswoman/sniper & chuuya goes to you to learn ur ways, oneshot, fluff, pre-relationship, mafia work 😱, guns, coworkers? to lovers, rich chuuya era, could be gn! reader bc there are no descriptions but used she/her prns 😭

thank you sm @soleelia for the idea!

Sometimes, regular days of being in the mafia felt boring.

Most of your life was inhabited by the four same walls of the mafia's firing range, your body was free of bruises besides the callouses on your fingers from the amount of steel pressing against your palms; it almost felt like your hands grew with a silver pistol rested upon them as if royalty was granted with a crown.

When you were younger, a tall pale man with the name of Paul Verlaine taught you all the ways of a markswoman he could.

Your work consisted of staying in the firing range, assisting criminals in their weaponry choices, dealing guns; and the off chance you could go on missions.

But when you did, shit was amazing.

"Nice one, [Y/N]." A boyish voice rang through the single earpiece of your left ear, repositioning yourself planted on the ground of one of the Port Mafia's rooftops; your index finger positioned off the trigger, taking your face off of the scope. "The pleasure's all mine." You thank teasingly; even if your 'partner' was kilometers away from you, you could almost taste the cruel smirk on his face from the other side; plotting a decimation not even a mafioso with 30 years of experience could pull off.

Dazai Osamu, the youngest mafia executive in history.

He was the craziest fuck you've ever met, but you did partake in his affairs with murder and crime; just from afar. Word says he got himself a new partner on the battlefield; a boy a year older than you, he was the supposed King of The Sheep, but his mentality and brutal force screamed nothing more than that of a wolf.

"Careful, pipsqueak - backup has already been granted." the lanky boy with bandages covered all around the midst of his tainted body said with boredom sinking in his voice; blood dribbled down his forehead, emerging in the facial bandages covering his right eye. Men with firearms and knives surrounded the two teenage boys; more than ready to shoot the children under the guise of their boss.

The ginger next to him barely turned his head in Dazai's direction, his tongue swiped behind his bottom teeth in irritation; though owning a petite stature, the King of The Sheep was more than confident that all these men, despite their bodies, would fall to their knees under the crushing pressure of gravity. "I don't give a damn about your shitty backup, I didn't join the Port Mafia to be protected." the redhead smiled cheekily, a red aura glowing from his body as his right leg lifted in the air - about to throw a powerful repeating hook kick.

Bang.

Several collisions shot through the air, Chuuya was sure it was the force of his ass-kicking skills; Dazai would have flipped a coin to see if it was you or the midget who landed a shot.

The redhead launched in the air, he twisted his leg just so that his shin hit the man's forehead. However, upon doing so - blood spluttered out of the man's head, falling harshly to the ground. The small boy landed successfully on the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets with a proud smirk. Until Dazai gently pressed on his earpiece to enable the microphone. "Again, thank you, [Y/N]," he says with a sigh, watching as Chuuya's face contorts in confusion. Spinning around on his heels, the man died not by his kick; but by a metal bullet pierced through the middle of his skull; along with all the other men perfectly striked in the forehead with the small bullets.

"What?" the ginger mafioso asked with surprise, "Who the hell did that?" he sharply turned to the bandaged brunette with annoyance laced in his voice. "[Y/N], you haven't heard of her?" Dazai asks boredly, striding over to the fallen man who was their leader. "No? Dude, where'd that even come from?" Chuuya spins his head in several directions, trying to find the source of the bullets. "Up your ass." the lanky boy teased, bending down to ransack the man's clothing.

"Shut up! Guns are a good for nothin' weapon anyway! Like hell we need them!!"

"Huh? I thought you didn't like guns."

You stood across from Chuuya in the stained room of the firing range, it's length was more than long, with rather narrow walls. Bales of hay were stacked at the end of the room, protecting the wall from bullets and missed shots. From the small distance of the door creaking open, laid the only walking point of the room; as the rest were hidden by pillars that seperated individual's gunfire; and nobody wished to get shot.

The teenager ruffles his hair, almost loathing in the awkward silence of the room; even with noice cancelling headphones on. He was wearing casual clothing, usual black sweatpants and some sort of red biker jacket; accompanied by a swift movement of his orange hair, tangling between his fingers.

"About that- 'kinda feel left out, ya mind teaching me?"

"You don't know how to use a gun?"

A more awkward silence entered the room as you stare at him in disbelief, the ginger's face remained somewhat sheepish; but by his piercing azure eyes, he was irritated by something, pretty obvious. "Nah," Chuuya replies, gently pushing his hands in his pockets, walking up to you. "was never a fan of guns - ain't bullets shoot better with your hands?" the boy smirked cheekily, causing you to scoff and take off your headphones. "You're talkin' like I can manipulate gravity." you reply dryly with a creeping smile, finishing to sweep the lose bullets on the floor.

"Exactly, that's why I'm apart of the mafia." the redhead boasted defensively, rolling his tongue across his inner cheek. "I think you're the only mafioso who doesn't know how to shoot." you reply with almost a whisper, his sharp glare at you made you question your lifespan. "I've dealt with swords thanks to Kouyou, I've gone to daggers and knives for the look and practicality - so lemme ask ya this, [Y/N], why would I ever turn to guns?" you heaved a sigh at his smartass answers, sometimes you hated his stupid delusions that he always had to be right.

"Well you're here now, so technically you are turning to guns." you swipe a sleek pistol off a metal table, discharging the magazine to see if any bullets were left. "Tsk," Chuuya crossed his arms in annoyance, "You're putting words and my mouth." he scoffed, causing little bits of laughter to escape your lips. "Just shut up and listen."

"Chuuya- you can't shoot a gun with one hand." you scold in annoyance, gently taking the same pistol out of the boy's gloved hands. "Why the hell not? I see it all the time." he brushes off some dirt off his jacket, blue eyes gazing at the addition of bullets in the chamber. "You watch too many movies," you mutter in concentration, redjusting the safety junctures. "a pistol's recoil wouldn't allow you to shoot it properly, and you'd miss like, 90% of the time as a beginner." you grin mockingly, causing Chuuya to smirk in irritation.

"But Dazai does it all the time."

"I don't know- Dazai's fuckin' crazy."

"You have a point."

You laugh as you placed the gun in his hands, "Always treat a gun like it's loaded, even if we're mafia." you said softly, the ginger nodded, readjusting his position into some kind of sharp-shooter. "Got it," he rasps, pointing the silver tip of the pistol towards the cardboard target. Your eyes scan his whole body and stance with predictability, he was standing like he was holding in a shit. "C'mere," you proceed with a click of the tongue, cupping Chuuya's hands over the pistol.

The fabric of his gloves saved you from some embarrassment, but you couldn't help but feel the way his soft hair poked your face leaning over his right shoulder. "Your hand that's going to pull the trigger should only use 30% of force, all the other should be with the other hand, using 70% to support it." you inform in almost a whisper, applying pressure atop his right hand for a more firm grip, Chuuya's eyes glanced to yours with a slight pink tint on his cheeks before nodding. "Alright,"

"So, why'd you come to learn from me anyway?"

"'Cause I wanna learn from the best, yea?"

...

"What?"

"What? You don't like being complimented?"

Trying to readjust his grip on the firearm whilst his breath was fanning your face and neck was so damn distracting, you don't even think he knows how close or what he's doing; especially with his trademark smirk and alluring aura. Chuuya's always been a bastard, but he wasn't all bad when you had a civil conversation; actually, maybe you two had one too many civil conversations. "Okay, think I got it, ima shoot." he nods with confidence, you take a step back as the redhead takes a few moments to reposition his stance and well, learn how to shoot.

"There's two parts of a gun that allows you to shoot: 1. the front, 2. the rear, match those two up and it's like a puzzle." you inform, pointing to the junctures of the firearm before yet again taking a step back. "And don't forget double action, it holds more trigger pull than all other shots."

From all the talking you just did, there was only one thing on your mind; Chuuya. A conversation so little that felt so heavy, were you that touch starved? Nobody visited you in the range, only older men who were practicing their skills. Infact, Chuuya hates guns; he believes that it held no value over him in the mafia and a machine used by non-ability users and non-ability users only. And yet, he still learnt from you, he could've went to anyone else; he could've went to another person to watch him fail.

Too much of your previous conversations filled your head; wine, motorcycles, cigarettes, music.. maybe you did share one too many conversations, you hate the way someone so violent could you make you feel huma-

Bang.

For the first time in your life, with or without headphones; the sound of a bullet puncturing cardboard startled you, even just a little. Damn it, that ginger did a number on you. You tilt your head up to see if the bullet hit, indeed it did not. "Fuck," the redhead groans, causing you to snicker a little bit, attempting to stiffle it with your hand. "Man, shut up.." he scowls in irritation, a small smile creeping on his face. "C'mon, the chambers not finished, you can do it." you cheer the boy on, patting his back lightly, Chuuya only chuckles with a shake of the head before turning back to the target.

"You wanna know why I think you're the best?" the mafioso continues to shoot, gritting his teeth everytime the metal bullet pierced anything but cardboard. "Why?" you ask curiously, watching as he finishes the chamber, setting the firearm down at the decently shot target.

"Have dinner with me and find out."

He smirks confidently, watching as you stare at the ginger blankly. "You wanna shoot up a restaurant?" you cock a brow in confusion, taking off your headphones. "No- what?"

"What I mean is, let's go out and enjoy some good food tonight, 'kay?"

[stanathanxoox]

Are We?

Subconsciously baby proofing spaces like the home and car. Anything harmful or threatening to a baby must go. - Buck x reader

When Buck returned from work after a 24 hour shift at the station he was exhausted, they’d had a lot of call outs. When he got into the apartment and found that there was an extra lock on the door, he didn’t really think anything of it. But when he went into the kitchen to get a drink of water and found that there was a lock on the fridge and one of the cabinets and he began to get suspicious. He had a hunch having baby proofed Maddie and Chimney’s place when they moved in together when Maddie was pregnant but surely his girlfriend would’ve said something by now wouldn’t she? He checks the draws to ensure his hunch was on the right track and he nods upon seeing that the sharp knives have all been placed in their own protective draw.

“Y/N?” he calls out, knowing that she would be in the middle of her morning routine

“Yeah babe?��� she calls back and he says

“Can you come here please?”. He waits for her to make her way into the kitchen and she looks up from her phone

“What is it Buck?” she asks and he points to the fridge, the cabinets and the drawers

“Do you want to explain all of this babe? Is there something you want to tell me?” he asks and she looks at you and says

“Oh I had Jee-Yun over last night and wanted to make sure that she was safe” she says and you shake your head knowing that’s not the full truth

“Y/N? Jee’s almost four years old, she’s out of needing those locks on the cupboards and the fridge. What’s really going on?” you ask and you hear your girlfriend sigh before she pulls out the pregnancy test from her back pocket and hands it to you

“We’re having a baby?” you ask when you see the positive sign

“We are” she says and you beam as you place it down on the counter and rush to pick up your girlfriend and spin her around and then kiss her

“I am so happy Y/N, so happy this is happening for us” you say and she smiles placing a kiss on your cheek

“I’m happy its happening for us too Buck” she says as she moves your hands from where their resting on her waist to her tummy.

Tag List: @tiva-jenry-caskett-rizzles-densi​, @jimmybpride​, @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​, @nikkiwierden​, @samchelforever007​, @kirkspockbones​, @xoncisxncislaxncisnolaox​, @lasalle-pride-sebastian-love​, @haliannej​, @brooklyn-99-amyxjake​​, @mizzezm​, @genius2050​, @twilight-twihard​, @cullencoven2019​, @wxlfgirlx​, @luciferxchloeislove​, @drethanramsey-ismybabe​, @sawyer-oakley-is-mighty-fine​, @loverofoneshots​, @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen​​

[spaceshipellie]

everything’s about you to me

ellie williams x reader

chapter three: bathe me clean

masterlist for other chapters (prev) (next) *✧･ﾟ: wc: 5.9k

summary: in the midst of the apocalypse, you and ellie find each other after you’ve both lost everything. what started out as a mere safety in numbers pairing, turns into something imperishable. however, after some time you get separated, leaving you both to believe the other is dead. four years later you find a commune in wyoming.

warnings: tlou au, violence, knives, guns, dead bodies, murder, stab wounds, self inflicted injuries, ellie’s dad humour, 18+ MDNI

author’s note: this took me a lot longer to write than i was expecting so hope people are still interested in this series lol, i’m kinda proud of it and thank you for being patient <3 as always lmk what you think!

♪ ‘cause the world could be burning, and all i’d be thinking, is “how are you doing, baby?”

A few days had passed and you and Ellie had decided it was a good idea to investigate the town. You were in the kitchen, checking through your backpack to make sure you had what you needed. You had to make sure you packed enough so you had resources out there, especially considering the town was several miles away, but not too much that it meant your bag was too heavy to move swiftly with.

“You got the map?” Ellie asked, zipping up her own bag and slinging it on her back. You noticed she had traded her blue shirt for a brown, long sleeve shirt that must have been Jack’s. It was slightly oversized on her but not too much.

“Yeah.”

You put your bag on, attaching the machete on the side and putting the pistol in your back pocket. You had already locked and secured the front door so you followed Ellie out the back and towards the barn. She grabbed the brown leather bridle from a hook and took it over to Harley, stroking her peach-fuzz soft nose before hooking it over her ears and buckling it up.

“Where did you learn to do that?” you asked, watching as Ellie scrunched her face in concentration.

“I read about it.”

She then grabbed the saddle and the forest green blanket underneath and slung it over Harley’s back. She studied it for a moment, adjusting its position until it seemed to slot better with the curve of the horse’s back. Harley stood patiently, kicking one of her hooves on the floor and snorted a soft breath. Ellie reached under her stomach for the band that dangled down, bringing it up to her side.

“Okay okay, let’s remember how to do this,” she mumbled to herself, fingers fiddling with the buckles. She stuck her fingers in between the band and Harley’s stomach to check the tightness and yanked around at the stirrups before giving Harley a pat on the neck, seeming satisfied with it all.

“That should be fine,” she said, turning to you. You blinked a couple of times, not realising how hard you had been staring at her hands working. You nodded, standing back as she led Harley out of the barn.

Ellie put one foot in the stirrup and held onto the saddle as she swung her other leg up and over. She adjusted her hips in the seat, bunching the reins in one hand before taking her foot out the stirrup and holding out her other hand to you.

“You ever ridden a horse before?” you asked.

“Nope, you?”

You grabbed her hand, putting your foot in the free stirrup to support you as she helped pull you up. You had to hop a little on the foot that was on the ground cursing a “fuck,” as Harley took a step forward as your leg flew over.

“Never,” you said as your ass hit Harley’s back.

She chuckled. “Well, this’ll be fun.”

She replaced your feet in the stirrups and indicated for the horse to start walking. The sudden jolt made you keenly aware that this was definitely the closest you and Ellie had ever been. Instinctively, she put her free hand on your knee for a second steadying you before moving it back to rest on her thigh.

“You okay back there?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

Your chest was pressed against her backpack, brushing up and down slightly with the movements of the horse. Harley walked through the field until you reached the road, the clack of her feet louder now that they were on the concrete. You held the map in both hands so it didn’t blow away, looking to see if you were heading in the right direction.

“According to this, we walk down this road for about a mile then we go right when we hit the junction,” you observed before folding it and shoving it back in your pocket, hands resting on your thighs.

“Seems easy enough, ‘least it’s not raining.”

“You’ve jinxed it now,” you teased.

“Oh shit,” she laughed.

It felt wrong to laugh too but you did. It felt selfish laughing when so many bad things had happened lately. It felt insensitive to laugh when your mom wasn’t around to hear it. Up until now, you thought you might never laugh or even smile again. You knew that it would take you a long time to heal after her death for who could put a restraint on grief. Yet you didn’t want to feel like actual poison was running through your veins anymore.

After losing your dad, it had been anger that had controlled you. You had fallen into a frenzy where everything you did was erratic and irascible. It was as if your body didn’t belong to you anymore. Your fingertips would claw at anything that made you feel as though you had found some retribution for what had happened to him. You thought at the time that it was the worst pain you had ever felt, but you’ve come to quickly realise that sadness is worse than anger. Anger can blindley carry you through whereas sadness makes your limbs too heavy to even move.

After losing your mom, you were overwhelmed with sadness. Everything hurt permanently and instead of time moving rapidly as a distraction, it had slowed to an impossible pace, as if it had pins holding your eyes open to watch the events play out over and over again. Her speaking to you, hugging you, leaving you.

“Y/n?”

“Huh?” you shook your head, snapping out of your thoughts.

“I said what does the map say after we turn right?”

“Oh right, um,” you flustered as you tried to pull the map out of your pocket, fingers suddenly feeling slippery as you tried to unfold it. “Um, oh fuck, fuck.”

Your hand flew out as the piece of paper floated to the ground, whisking along with the breeze. Harley staggered back and forth on her feet as your weight shifted, naturally trying to follow the direction of the fallen map.

“Woah, careful,” Ellie’s hand suddenly gripped your leg firmly and your hand darted out to grab her arm to stop you from sliding off.

“Sorry, but shit, the map,” you said pointing.

“I know, here,” she held her hand out for you to take, “get off for a second.”

You complied and she did the same, rushing to stamp on the measly bit of paper so it didn’t go any further. She picked it up and shook off some of the dirt, wiping it before holding it up to you.

“See? Good as new.” She chuckled at her own sarcasm.

Your stomach lurched with anxiety. You had barely left the house and you’d nearly lost the very thing that could help you navigate this place.

“Hey, don’t stress. We’ve got it,” Ellie said, noticing the way you were wringing your hands and nibbling your lip.

You met her eyes and nodded. “Sorry, I’m fine.”

She handed you back the map and you folded it up, safely tucking it in your pocket. She mounted Harley, once again holding her hand out to help you on.

“I had a look, after we go right we need to go left at a gas station,” Ellie informed you, asking Harley to walk again.

“Okay.”

“If you need to hold on, don’t be shy. I’d rather you not actually fall off.”

You nervously placed your hands just below her waist, lightly fisting the fabric of her shirt so as to not touch her body too much. She had just said to not be shy but that didn’t mean you weren’t. You spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence, taking in the sights of greenery around you. How it shined under the strips of sunlight that poked through the huge clouds.

“Have a look in my bag a second, there should be a book in there.”

“Did you not see me nearly fall on my face? I don’t think I’m good enough to read and ride a horse,” you jested.

“Not that kind of book,” Ellie laughed, “just look.”

Keeping one hand gripping her shirt, you unzipped her bag and dug around for something book shaped. When you felt it you pulled it out.

“No Pun Intended: Volume Two,” you read outloud, “what the hell is this?”

“Open it and read something,” Ellie pushed, grinning to herself.

You flicked through the pages.

“I stayed up all night wondering where the sun went. Then it dawned on me.”

Ellie laughed. “Funny, right?”

“Sure,” you smiled, unconvinced.

“C’mon, read some more.”

You turned the page.

“I never trust stairs because they’re always up to something,” you snickered, flicking through more pages.

“These are so dumb,” you commented before finding another. “I had a crazy dream last night. I was swimming in an ocean of orange soda. Turns out it was just a Fanta sea.”

“I don’t get it,” Ellie said, frowning in confusion.

“Me neither.”

“I’ve got one,” she started excitedly, already laughing at her own joke. “Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon? I heard the food was good but it had no atmosphere.”

You put the book over your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh escaping your lips. “These jokes are so stupid.”

“Yeah, but you’re laughing.”

“No, I’m not,” a smile evident in your voice.

“Yes you are, I can hear you,” she chuckled, turning her head around for a second trying to look at you.

“Okay, fine. I laughed. But you’re the one who’s memorised some of them!”

“Who knows when you’ll need an emergency pun!”

You squeezed Ellie’s side where your hand was and it made her jump. “You’re so weird.”

About an hour later, you arrived at what you heavily presumed to be the town. The gas station you had passed on the way you thought you would check out on the way back if supplies in the town weren’t great. On approach, you could see terraced buildings lining the streets. It looked like a typical small town. Shops with broken windows. Cars parked in skewed positions with flat tyres. Street signs half covered in vines that grew thick across brick walls. A general eerily quiet atmosphere. Very normal. Ellie pulled Harley to a stop and you both got off.

“Where should we look first?”

“Um, maybe make our way down these,” Ellie gestured to a row of shops on your left. You climbed over the open window pane, carefully avoiding any of the broken glass on the floor. You seemed to be in a pharmacy with its clinically white walls and flooring. The shelves were mostly empty, some completely knocked over with various items littering the ground. You naturally both went to different sides, scanning for anything useful. There wasn’t a great deal where you were looking, just some paracetamol that expired the same year as the outbreak, some expired baby formula, definitely won’t be needing that, and some dust covered sunglasses. They had massive frames with electric blue lenses. Beside them on the wall you saw a ripped poster of a guy who was also wearing sunglasses and a colourful open shirt, carrying a large board on a beach. You smirked to yourself and wiped the lenses clean before putting them on and looking up at where Ellie was.

“Think I might save these for my next beach visit. You know, try ‘n’ catch some waves,” you joked, putting on your best surfer dude voice for the last sentence.

“Hot,” Ellie laughed, stepping closer to you and slapping a huge, wide brimmed straw hat on her head. It had a reduced sticker on it which made sense considering the world went to shit about a month after summer. “I’ll join you.”

Getting into character, you sauntered over to her and rested an arm on the shelf beside her, popping your hip and resting your hand on it. You pitched your voice lower. “What brings you to the beach, pretty lady?”

Ellie pitched her voice higher, pretending to twirl her hair around her finger. “Oh, you know, just wanna work on my tan.”

“Well lemme know if you want any,” you pretended to flex your muscles, “any surfing lessons.”

“Oh I will,” she fake giggled before you both burst out laughing.

“That hat looks ridiculous,” you said, slapping the front of the rim.

“These don’t look any better.” She tapped on the lens of the sunglasses.

“No really? I thought I looked cool.” You took them off, pretending to be disappointed.

Ellie chuckled and frisbee-threw the hat across the store. You continued your searches for supplies, again coming up against nothing. You crouched under a knocked over shelf, more broken glass crunching under your feet.

“Ohhh, fuck yeah.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Ellie’s voice. She was grinning smugly at something small in her hands.

“What is it?”

She held up and wiggled a tiny plastic bag containing thin rolls of paper.

“Weed?”

“The one and only. Saving that for later,” she smiled, shoving it in her pocket.

You smiled at how excited she seemed. You had smoked once when you were fifteen with Amy but you both had no idea what you were doing so you’re not even sure if you did it right. You just remember it making you feel a bit wobbly and your throat had felt scratchy and burnt.

“I’m not having any luck here, wanna try next door?” you suggested and she nodded.

After searching through the row of shops you decide to find the supermarket, using the map for directions. It was a large, standalone building with rusted cars parked sporadically in the carpark. A few with windows broken and dented hoods, some completely destroyed from crashing into each other. It made you stop and think for a second about how terrifying and confusing it must have been when the outbreak hit. One minute you’re hearing the sounds of shopping carts across gravel whilst you load your shopping into the car and then you hear screams and screeching tires trying to escape.

“This seems to be it,” Ellie pondered. She suddenly mumbled a “shit” and you followed her eyes down to a skeleton beneath ripped clothing on the ground by the door. You grimaced thinking about how long that had been there and how many people had walked past the decomposing person over the years. Perhaps not many as this seemed to be the epitome of a ghost town.

Not being shocked by the sight, Ellie began trying to shove the broken automatic doors apart further. You watched as the wind blew a piece of her hair across her face, catching it in the corner of her mouth. You wanted to reach out and fix it for her, frowning to yourself as you weren’t sure why you had the urge to do that. Instead, you helped her pry the doors apart, each slipping through once there was enough room. You glanced around the expanse of aisle, noticing the signs that hung above them. The chipped cream floor was littered with anything from knocked over produce, broken shopping baskets, ripped pieces of board, broken glass, smears of blood and other unknown substances. The deeper you looked the darker it got, the light from outside only travelling so far, especially seeing as on one side some of the windows had large pieces of cardboard taped to them. Maybe that person out the front had been camping out here once upon a time.

“I’ll start left, you start right and we’ll meet in the middle?” you suggested. Ellie merely nodded before heading to the far right aisle. There were fifteen of them in total so hopefully you would find something.

You had made your way down to aisle four and had lucked out in finding some scissors and matches. Shaking a box upside down to see if anything came out of it you suddenly heard a rattle which sounded like the door. You inched your way towards the back, careful to not to bump into anything and give your location away. You prayed the sound was just Ellie, but you weren’t about to call out her name to find out.

“In here,” a gruff voice sounded. Fuck.

Footsteps clambered in, rubber soles screeching on the floor. You couldn’t detect how many there might be but you were definitely outnumbered. You made a mental note of where your weapons were and clutched your machete. You racked your brain for what to do, fear boiling up inside you. You could hear the movements from these newcomers spread out, shadows slipping underneath the shelving units. You slipped around to the end, peering round to see if the next aisle was clear. It wasn’t.

A woman was walking towards you, a gun in her outstretched hands. You moved quickly back into aisle four before she could see you but you knew you weren’t safe to stay there. You trod carefully down to the other end, towards the front of the supermarket but there was someone guarding the door. Knowing that you would have to face one of them no matter what direction you went in, you decided you had a better chance against the woman who could be turning in your direction any second now. You paid close attention to any noises you heard although the building was eerily silent as you made your way back up to the other, darker end of the aisle. Your body faltered as you heard a squelch in the distance followed by a low, agonising grunt.

Having reached the end, you braved peering around the corner again only to see the woman with her back to you, slowly walking away. You swapped your machete out for your switchblade and took your opportunity to wrap a tight arm around her neck and puncture it. She choked out a splutter of bubbling blood, dropping her gun as you brought her body down slowly to the ground. You snatched the gun from the floor and moved forwards in hopes of finding Ellie.

The next aisle was clear so you kept moving before a hand suddenly slapped itself over your mouth and an arm held a firm grip around you, yanking you back into them and onto the floor behind a freezer unit. Your eyes widened and your body went rigid until you glanced down and saw the brown shirt sleeve. Bringing your knees closer to your chest so that they weren’t sticking out the side of the freezer you slowly turned your head. Your eyes met Ellie’s as she removed her hand from you and brought a finger to her lips to be quiet. You noticed some blood smeared on her hand. Your worried eyes darted between hers as she tightened her lips in a line.

“They got Milo.” you heard a sinister voice.

“Sadie too,” a shakier voice said.

“C’mon, let’s find those little shits,” the first voice commanded.

Your back pressed harder into Ellie and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You both knew you couldn’t just wait there, they would find you eventually, but you had no idea how many of them were left.

“We’ll take out the guard at the door and run,” Ellie whispered so quietly she had to practically press her lips against your ear in order for you to hear.

She snaked her arm away from you and gave you a gentle push, indicating for you to shift away so she could sneak a look over the freezer. You were now both crouched as she peered over before snapping her head back down. She pointed left and you nodded slowly before beginning to move forwards, still in your crouched position. You held your breath as you emerged from behind the freezer, exposing yourself to the possible dangers. Swiftly, you ducked into one of the aisles, Ellie following suit.

You moved down the aisle with careful speed, wanting to just get out of there. A dark shadow flashed before your eyes before a tall man with a scar starting from his cheek and finishing on his neck appeared. You halted and immediately rushed back up the aisle to create more distance, now behind Ellie as you both ran. A sharp, dense pain hit your thigh as you yelped and stumbled to the ground. You looked down at your leg and saw a knife that the man had thrown at you lodged in your flesh. Beneath the rip it made in your jeans, blood spilled down your leg.

Your eyes darted up to the sound of heavy boots stomping towards you. Ellie reached for your hand as you tried to scramble your way up but a rough hand gripped and yanked at your ankle, pulling you onto your back and away from her outstretched hand. You tried to kick as the man climbed on top of you, a cry coming from your lips as he ripped the knife out. With your legs stuck under his weight, you tried to blindly grab for your machete. You could hear Ellie’s grunts in the distance and assumed she had also been grabbed. Your frantic fingers managed to get a hold on the weapon and pull it out from its location on the side of your backpack but before you could swing, the man gripped your wrist. With everything you had, you tried to fight against his strength but it was no use. With his other hand he slammed his knife down and you screamed as the metal punctured your arm. He then pulled your machete out of your weakened grasp and tossed it so it skidded along the floor far away from you. You looked into his hardened eyes, your own glossing over. Your fingers scratched at him as you tried to push him off but your actions were cut short when he pulled the knife out of your arm and brought it up above your chest, thick fingers adjusting to get a stronger hold on the handle. Your crimson blood dripped from the blade and clung in splotches to the fabric of your top. Whether or not Ellie was okay flashed through your mind before your ears started ringing and your eyes squeezed shut at the sudden splash of something on your face.

A gunshot echoed through the store and when you opened your eyes you realised the only thing holding the man up anymore was your grip on him. You gasped at the glassy look he had in his eyes as you shoved his corpse off of you, the knife he had clattering to the ground. You sat up and tentatively brought your hand up to your face and swiped your cheek before looking at the blood that coated your fingertips. Turning your head you saw Ellie with an enraged look on her face and a shotgun pointed in your direction. At her feet lay another dead body, blood spilled and smeared around it. She lowered her gun and her expression softened ever so slightly as she walked towards you, crouching at your side.

“Here,” she mumbled as she ripped a piece from the hem of her shirt to make a tourniquet for your leg. You winced as she tightened the knot and her eyes glanced quickly to your face before noticing the stab wound on your arm. She ripped off another strip of material and did the same thing before holding your arm to help you stand up. You scrunched your face in pain at the weight being put on your leg but gritted your teeth to bear it.

“Was that all of them?” you asked.

“Think so, I haven’t seen anyone else.”

You hobbled towards the door of the supermarket, Ellie keeping a firm grip on your arm to support you. She hadn’t let on that she had any injuries but you could tell she had suffered beatings of her own by the way she slouched and strained her face. When you reached the door she let go of you to pry the doors open again. As soon as her hands gripped them a scrawny body came out of nowhere and wrapped a metal pole tight around Ellie’s neck. You screamed her name as her hands flew to grab the stranger's arm, trying to pull it away from her as they stumbled back. The man looked young and scared yet he desperately held his firm grip on the pole.

Ignoring your injuries, you grabbed your switchblade and threw yourself at him. The impact made him loosen his grip letting Ellie free. She was bent over, coughing and holding her neck as you tackled the boy to the ground. The fear you had felt about nearly losing your own life as well as Ellie’s transitioned into red anger as the faces of everyone you had lost flickered through your mind like embers. You fell completely inside your own head to the point where it felt like your ears were stuffed with cotton wool, blocking out the cries and screams of the man as you stabbed his chest over and over again with your knife. The sticky blood splattered your hands and stomach as you remained on top of him, repeatedly releasing your rage with every slash. He started to choke on bright blood as his eyes lost light. A pinching grip on both your arms was the only thing that snatched you from the trance, your vision and hearing becoming clear again. Ellie’s shouts became louder and clearer.

“That’s enough, that’s enough! Stop!”

She pulled you off of the man, your switchblade slipping out of your red hands. You sat sideways with your legs bent and looked up at her sat on her knees in front of you, her hands still holding your arms. She looked into your eyes with concern and took in your bewildered expression.

“I-” you choked on your words. The adrenaline was still running through your body.

“It’s okay, let’s go home.”

Ellie grabbed your switchblade off the floor and wiped it on her jeans before shoving it in her pocket along with hers before helping you to your feet once again. You both wobbled your way out and thankfully over to Harley who hadn’t been harmed. She neighed and kicked her front foot upon seeing you as if she was grateful you were still there. You steadied yourself by placing a hand on Harley’s neck whilst Ellie lifted herself up. She held her hand out for you and you braced yourself as you heaved your aching body up and onto the horses back. You had no embarrassment this time about holding onto Ellie’s waist as she gently kicked her feet for Harley to go.

The ride home felt like an eternity. The adrenaline had soon worn off, allowing the searing pain to sink in. Ellie had occasionally checked in on you with a quick “you still with me back there?” to which you’d mumble out a yes. All you wanted was to lie down. When you reached the house you climbed off of Harley and made your way to the back door whilst Ellie secured her in the stable. As soon as you got through the door you slumped into one of the dining chairs. You groaned as you shoved your backpack off, revelling in the removal of its heavy weight. Ellie came in and dropped her bag down also before rotating one of her sore shoulders and sighing.

“Wait there,” she instructed.

“I don’t plan on moving any time soon,” you joked as she dug through the kitchen cupboards.

She pulled out a first aid kit and some alcohol before marching back over to you and setting them on the table. She pulled a chair for herself to sit in and placed it in front of you. Your knees bumped as she opened up the first aid kit. She then paused, realising that in order for her to access your wounds you would have to take your clothes off.

“Um,” she started. It then clicked for you too.

“Oh right, um, yeah, you know, I can do it if you–fuck,” you groaned as you started to stand up. Her hand darted out to stop you but she quickly brought it back.

“It’s fine,” she laughed nervously, “if you don’t mind, I don’t.”

You nodded in appreciation, pausing before fumbling with the makeshift tourniquet on your thigh. You tried to swallow a groan as the pressure on your leg was released. You hesitantly undid the button and zipper on your jeans before resting your weight on your other leg so you could push the rigid denim down, exposing the nasty, deep gash on the side of your leg. You pulled your top down over your underwear and looked at Ellie who was looking intently at the wound. She didn’t seem phased, only concentrated on helping you. She poured a bit of sterile rain water onto a cloth and dabbed to clean any grime out of it, pausing to look at you when you flinched.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“It’s fine, you’re not the one who stabbed me.”

She chuckled at your dumb joke and continued dabbing the wound. You became very aware of how her fingers softly touched your bare skin. It felt like that shouldn’t be something to think about right now but you couldn’t help but watch how she was delicately looking after you.

“Okay, this definitely will hurt,” she said, grabbing the alcohol and twisting the cap off.

You shifted in your seat, readying yourself. You had suffered stab wounds before but that didn’t mean you had gotten used to it. You let out a string of curses as the splash of alcohol burned. It dripped to the floor in tinted red droplets as she pressed the cloth to the cut again, applying pressure whilst she grabbed the roll of bandages with her free hand.

“Hold this, keep the pressure on,” she gestured with her head to her hand on your leg and you swapped with her.

She started to wrap the bandage around your thigh, your hand slipping away as the wound was covered and she used her switchblade to cut through it and tie the bandage off. You thanked her before she gestured to your arm.

“I’ll go and get you some clean clothes then do your arm.”

She ran up the stairs and returned with a top and some loose pyjama trousers and handed them to you. You thanked her and winced as you pulled the trousers on before peeling your sweaty, blood soaked top off, leaving you in a vest. Ellie resumed her role as nurse and treated your arm the same way she had done your leg. She gave you a soft look as she helped you pull the fresh top on.

“Can I help you now? What about changing this–”

“Don’t,” she cut you off and sat back as you tried to reach for her bandaged right arm.

You sat back too, mumbling an awkward sorry whilst her eyes darted nervously side to side.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s fine.”

A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell. You couldn’t help but stare at the bandage and wonder why she didn’t want your help. Especially seeing as she was completely fine helping you. You didn’t know what to assume but you could only suspect that something horrific had happened to her to make her suddenly shift from sweet to closed off in an instant.

“You should get some rest,” she whispered, avoiding eye contact.

You nodded and made an attempt to stand, groaning as you did so. A hot flash of burning pain pounded in your leg as you put your weight on it. Ellie quickly snapped a hand out to support you.

“Maybe you should just stay on the couch.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Your lips tightened as she helped you shuffle to the living room where you not-so-gracefully flopped onto the couch. You thanked her again and both mumbled goodnights before she disappeared upstairs, leaving you alone with your pain and curious thoughts about her.

ELLIE’S POV

Ellie’s fingers tapped nervously on her wrist where her hands rested on her stomach. It was in the early hours of the morning and she was staring up at the ceiling, her body feeling restless and flighty. She couldn’t keep this up any longer, not now that she wasn’t travelling alone. She was scared to death about how you would react and how you’d see her if you knew. She had to do something to hide it, something much more convincing than a raggedy bandage. The mattress springs screeched as she got up from the bed. She made her way to the bathroom and rummaged as quietly as she could through the cupboards.

“Fuck, nothing.”

She carefully descended the stairs, nose scrunching at the loud creak from the top step. She had to find something fast so that you wouldn’t accidentally wake up. She crept into the kitchen and started looking through all of the cupboards. Her wavering eyes suddenly landed on a white bottle. Hesitantly, she reached her hand out for it and stood up, staring at the glaring warning labels. Her eyes quickly scanned the small print to see if it was strong enough to do the job and when she deemed it was, she turned her head to peer out the kitchen door and into the living room. You were still fast asleep. Grabbing the bandages and a bottle of the sterile water that was still left out on the table, she went back upstairs and set the things down on the bathroom floor by the bathtub and shut the door. She took a big breath and stared at the items before her. Shaking her head to rid it of the doubtful thoughts she quickly knelt on the ground and yanked up her sleeve, peeling off the bandage. The scarred indents of the bite mark revealed themselves and she brushed a hand over it.

“Ok ok ok,” she chanted quietly to herself in an attempt to psych herself up.

She grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap off, grimacing at the chemicals unnerving scent. She clenched her right fist and held out her arm over the bath. Her teeth gritted as she held the bottle ready to pour, occasionally tipping it back each time it got close to releasing the liquid.

“Fuck, come on.”

She clenched her jaw and tried to swallow a grunt as she poured the substance over the bite. Her skin stung but it took a few minutes before she could see it turning red with irritation. Her fist tensed as she let the chemical stab away at her skin, ensuring that it would blister enough to cover the bite mark. She tried to focus on keeping a steady breath to avoid thinking about the pain and when she had had enough, she quickly rinsed her arm thoroughly with the water before bandaging it up. She slumped to the ground and hung her sorry head low between her bent knees, looking down at her arms before her. She didn’t even realise she was crying until she felt a tear drop on her hand. She sat there and quietly sobbed until her head started to hurt. She figured she should put the bottle back in the kitchen where she found it to avoid any suspicion from you before she climbed into bed. Her eyes felt sore and heavy, a contrasting drowsy feeling to the lightening pain that was prickling her arm. But eventually, she was able to sleep.

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[blood-red-ocean]

It's been a while since I did an unhinged headcanon so here's what I imagine would be in each RL character's bag/backpack/pockets ✨

Miranda

- Poison. Either concealed in one of those old timey capsule rings or in a little bottle à la Emperor's New Groove.

- Paperwork. More specifically, expulsion paperwork already filled out except for the name section which she would fill out any time she was displeased.

- Some crow feathers. Whether it's from Cornelius getting nosey or Miranda being sentimental, nobody knows.

- Pictures of Eva and of MC.

- I feel like she'd also be the type to have a fountain pen in her handbag too.

Alcina

- One of those poseable wood doohickeys. You know the ones.

- Her signature perfume. And maybe a rose. And a tube of lipstick.

- A brochure of local wine tastings, and also a bunch of brochures from her theatres.

- She would probably have a Polaroid nude of MC stretched out on a chaise lounge tbh.

- Something to represent each of her daughters. A little trinket, perhaps.

Donna

- A book on herbology which is tattered and yellowed, the spine barely keeping the pages together.

- Her notebook with her order ledger and her own sketches and scribbles.

- A travel mug of herbal tea that she brewed herself.

- A little bag of dried flower petals and herbs.

- Her gardening gloves.

- I also believe that Angie would've gotten her a very small plushie of a plant that she takes everywhere with her.

Angie

- At LEAST twenty seven of those little travel sized alcohol bottles. Every time she takes a step, there's a clinking sound.

- Painkillers.

- A small, much less tattered copy of the herbology book that Donna has, but every page has a dried flower within it.

- In a secret pocket, there is a very small folded up picture of her mother.

Bela

- She doesn't carry a bag with her, it's not practical.

- Though if she did, she would probably just fill it full of office supplies.

- Maybe little things that made her remember her heart was beneath layers upon layers of numbness. The skull of a mouse, a four leaf clover, a small plushie.

Cassandra

- Its ✨the backpack✨ that she takes to dates' houses/dorms.

- Also like a billion of those little coffee machine capsules.

- An old takeaway cup.

- A stack of pieces of paper with phone numbers on them, just in case.

- A wrench, just in case.

Daniela

- TECH DECKS. SO MANY TECH DECKS.

- And like fifteen sticky hand things that she can use to hold MC's hand from a distance.

- Also a rag for when she gets sweaty.

- A skating magazine and a book on constellations.

- Also a book about theatre and some brochures for when she tries to connect with Alcina.

Mia

- Knives.

- So many knives.

- Empty her backpack out? Knives.

- Turn her upside down and shake her by the ankles? Knives.

- Look under her tongue and tell her to say 'ah'? Probably a tiny knife in there too.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [26] - Bellflower

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: It can be tricky to deal with insecurities.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of violence, slow burn.

Word Count: 4400

Series Masterlist

This was such a beautiful morning.

You woke up quite early, still feeling giddy after last night. It seemed to be one of those days where you just knew it would go well even from the beginning of it, which was quite surprising because it was becoming more and more of a usual mood for you, contrary to how you used to wake up before.

“You seem rather happy,” Paula commented as she finished your hair.  “Have you had nice dreams?”

“Something like that,” you said as you put on your earrings. “How about you? How was your night?”

“Uneventful I’m afraid,” she said but before you could reply, the knock on the door made both of you turn your heads.

“Yes?” you called out and the door opened, your heart skipping a beat as soon as you saw who it was.

“Good morning,” Benedict greeted you from the doorway and you felt a smile warm your face.

“Good morning to you too,” you said, standing up from your chair in front of the vanity, “Come in please. Paula you may leave us, thank you.”

Paula left the room and Benedict stepped inside, the four-leaf clover peeking from the front pocket of his waistcoat catching your attention immediately. Your smile widened when you noticed that he was holding something behind his back and you tilted your head.

“What’s that?”

“For my beautiful wife,” he said with a grin and held out a bouquet of flowers, making you let out a gasp.

“Oh my God!” you said and took the flowers from him, nibbling on your lip. “Thank you!”

“Likewise,” he said, motioning at the clover and you looked down at the bouquet that was not tied together by any kind of ribbon yet carefully cut and placed together, then up at him.

“Are these from our garden?”

“Mm hm, and Mr. Binsted has been a great help.”

You hummed, taking a look at the stems. “Thankfully,” you said with a teasing smirk. “I doubt you know where to cut the stems.”

“Yeah see, I was planning on just ripping them—”

“Don’t you dare!” you exclaimed, holding the flowers to your chest as if protecting them and Benedict chuckled.

“Then I remembered you have a knife so…”

“Two knives.”

“Ah yes, I stand corrected.”

You buried your nose into the flowers to take a deep breath, then raised your head.

“So I take it you’ve been to your studio already?”

“Mm hm, first thing in the morning. Painted a little.”

“Oh that’s wonderful!”

He shrugged his shoulders and heaved a sigh.

“I don’t know if it will turn out wonderful but…” he trailed off and you thought for a moment.

“You know, if you need help painting roses, I could help you,” you said with an air of exaggerated arrogance, making him let out a laugh.

“Oh really?”

“Mm hm. To share my rare gift and everything.”

“Much appreciated,” he said, that playful glimmer shining in his blue eyes and you nodded in a solemn manner.

“Talent only grows when it’s shared,” you said, walking past him to step out of the room into the hallway, still holding the flowers to your chest as he followed you out of the room. “Everyone knows that.”

“Well—” he started but was cut off when a very familiar and excited voice rang through the hallway.

“Y/N?” Teddy called out. “Can I see my gift now?”

You and Benedict exchanged confused glances before your aunt’s voice reached you as well.

“Teddy!”

“What on…?” you muttered as the butler entered your sight.

“Ma’am, your aunt and your brother—” he started but Teddy wheezed past him, running to you at full speed to crash into you.

“Thank you,” you told the butler with a laugh before handing him the flowers and asked him to put them in the water, then crouched down to wrap your arms around Teddy.

“Good morning,” you said, pulling back to see him better. “This is a nice surprise.”

“Where’s my gift?”

You hummed, tilting your head. “What gift?”

“You said—Benedict!” Teddy exclaimed, looking up at him as if asking for his help and Benedict chuckled.

“Don’t mind her Teddy, you definitely have a gift in the house as we speak.”

“Can I see it now?”

“Good morning to you both,” your aunt said and Benedict bowed.

“Good morning Lady Thorne.”

“My apologies for the intrusion and the very early hour.”

“Oh no,” you said, shaking your head fervently. “Please. You are always welcome here, so is Teddy.”

“I have this urgent meeting with Lady Wesley for the ball she’s planning to throw and all the Social Picnic Club is invited.”

“Social Picnic Club?” Benedict asked and you raised your brows.

“Think of it like a mini parliament among the ladies,” you said helpfully. “Actually, I take it back. I’m sure the actual parliament has fewer requirements to become a part of it.”

“It’s not so bad,” your aunt defended herself. “It’s a great honor, and when the time comes—”

“I will absolutely not be a part of it auntie, we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Anyway,” your aunt said while Benedict tried to repress his chuckle. “Teddy insisted that we visited you two on our way there.”

“For my gift!”

“And here I thought you missed me.”

“I did miss you!” Teddy said and you ruffled his hair, then turned to your aunt.

“Can he stay here while you have your meeting?”

Teddy gasped and looked up at your aunt. “Can I please, auntie?”

“Oh of course,” she said and turned to you and Benedict. “Are you two sure?”

“Absolutely!”

“We’d love to,” Benedict said. “And Teddy’s gift is going to take some time, so it’s even better.”

Teddy giggled and your aunt smiled at you.

“Very well then,” she said. “Teddy my dearest, we’re going to be on our best behavior hm?”

Teddy nodded fervently. “Yes.”

“I will be back in two hours tops.”

“Take your time,” you said and she kissed you, then bid you and Benedict goodbye and walked away from you. Teddy looked up at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Can I see my gift now please?”

“Did you eat yet?”

“I did, eggs and toast and jam,” he said impatiently, and turned to Benedict. “Can I see my gift?”

Benedict winked at you, then hoisted Teddy up to place him over his shoulders, making him let out an excited laugh that echoed through the hallway as you took a step towards him immediately.

“Benedict—”

“Yes?”

“Be careful,” you said and looked at Teddy. “Uh, Teddy maybe you should—”

“No!” Teddy cut you off. “It’s fun!”

“It’s just that,” you told Benedict, “You’re very tall so if you drop him he could get hurt—”

“I won’t drop him, don’t worry.”

“Y/N it’s fun!” Teddy insisted, his eyes shining with excitement and you heaved a sigh, then held up your hands.

“Alright then.”

“Ready to go?” Benedict asked and Teddy giggled.

“Yes!” he said and Benedict started walking to the studio with Teddy still giggling, and you shook your head slightly, then followed them with a smile on your face.

                                              *

You asked the maids to bring a vase, some soil and the little bag of geranium seeds that Benedict had gifted you earlier. Since you did not hold any artistic talent or anything of the sort, you figured you could spend time with them by doing what you had wanted for a long time.

Digging your fingers into some soil and planting flowers.

Teddy looked like he was having the time of his life. Benedict was teaching him how to make the clay before they would model it around the simple figures made out of wires. He was listening to everything Benedict was saying, his whole attention on him, his tongue sticking out a little from the corner of his mouth as he tried to mimic what Benedict was doing.

You knew you were supposed to focus on your own work but it was a bit difficult when Benedict was sitting not far from you on the floor with his sleeves rolled up, letting you steal glances at his strong arms.

“And then we’re going to mix it, alright? Put some water in,” he instructed him and Teddy poured a little water into the mixture, looking up at him as if hoping for his approval and Benedict smiled, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Very nice, see? You’re going to be the next Donatello at this rate.”

Teddy nodded with a proud grin and you tilted your head.

“Do you know who Donatello is, Teddy?” you asked as you put some soil into the vase, sitting on the floor with your legs tucked underneath you. Teddy thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“No,” he said, turning to look at Benedict. “Who is he?”

“He was this incredibly talented sculptor,” Benedict said as he checked out the clay Teddy was mixing, “He was born in Italy, and he worked really really hard to be a sculptor, and now his works are everywhere, just like yours will be one day.”

Teddy giggled, the happy sound making you smile.

“Can I see his works?” Teddy asked and Benedict nodded.

“How about your sister and I take you to Italy one day so that you can see his sculptures?”

He gasped and nodded fervently. “Yes please!” he said. “When did he—when did he make his sculptures?”

“Oh so so many years ago,” Benedict said. “Like five hundred years ago.”

Teddy’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Mm hm.”

“And we can see them now?”

Benedict nodded with a grin, obviously happy with Teddy’s curiosity and excitement.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Because that’s what art does. It lasts for centuries and centuries, so that people can see it forever.”

“If I become a sculptor,” Teddy said. “Will people see my works as well? Five—five hundred years in the future?”

“They will,” Benedict said. “And they will admire all your works.”

Teddy turned to you, excitement shining in his eyes.

“Y/N, did you hear?”

“Mm hm,” you said with a grin. “That’s wonderful isn’t it?”

“It is!”

“Alright future artist,” Benedict said. “Are you ready for the next stage?”

“Yes!”

“We will put this clay around these wires, hm? So that we can have the shape we will follow and then work on it.”

Teddy nodded and got to it immediately, and you carefully put the seeds into the soil, pressing with your fingers.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join?” Benedict asked and you looked up from the vase, then grinned at him.

“Oh I think I’ll let the artists cover the art front,” you said. “I’m fine over here.”

“So wait,” Teddy said as he worked on putting the clay over the wire model. “Will people see your paintings five hundred years from now as well?”

“They will,” you said before Benedict could even answer and he gave you a smile before turning to Teddy.

“Your sister says so.”

“Will they see that painting?” Teddy asked, pointing at the half-finished landscape on one of the canvases and Benedict shook his head, then pointed at the covered painting at the corner.

“That one.”

“What’s on it?”

Benedict grinned and nodded in your direction, making Teddy gasp.

“Y/N?”

“Mm hm. Her portrait, or at least it will be once it’s finished.”

“I’m very excited for that one,” you commented and Teddy shifted his weight.

“It’s for future people?”

Benedict nodded and turned his gaze to you to smile at you softly.

“So that people will get to see what true beauty looks like even after five hundred years.”

You could swear your cheeks were on fire but you narrowed your eyes at him playfully, then made a face at him, making him laugh.

“That’s exactly how your portrait will look,” he told you and you gasped.

“No it will not!” you protested and poured some water on the soil. After making sure it was damp enough, you pulled your hands back, very much aware of the smile on your face.

“Too bad those flowers won’t last five hundred years,” Teddy commented and you shrugged your shoulders.

“No they won’t,” you said. “But they’ll be beautiful either way.”

                                                *

Towards the afternoon your aunt came to get Teddy, and you spent the most of the day reading but when the night fell, you and Benedict decided to go to a party.  It had been a while since you last did that, and you always had such fun in them so you were rather excited.

It was only when you were in the carriage that you had asked where the party was and to hear the answer “Lady Margery’s” was less than ideal, but it wasn’t as if you could tell Benedict to turn the carriage around and go back home so you had tried not to let it affect your mood or your expression.

Lady Margery’s house was very impressive. It was surrounded by a huge garden full of different flowers on the outside, and the inside was full of artworks adorning the walls of many hallways leading to various rooms with different types of entertainment.

“Do you think Felix will be here?” you asked Benedict and he shook his head.

“I think I heard him say he had plans with—” he paused for a second, then turned to you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“So Andrew and Josie,” he said, making you look up at him.

“Yes?”

“Andrew and Josie are married right?”

You tried to control the grin threatening to curl your lips. “Yeah they eloped. Got married in Gretna Green, Bess was there as well.”

“Right,” he said. “And uh…Josie and Bess seem very close.”

You had to bite at your lips, feigning innocence. “Yes they’re best friends.”

“They are—” Benedict swallowed thickly. “They seem to be very close best friends.”

You tilted your head, blinking up at him in a completely naïve manner. “Yes. Your point being?”

“Nothing at all,” Benedict said. “I was just wondering if they were—best friends.”

“They are,” you said. “They’re such best friends that most of the time they share a bed.”

Benedict raised his brows. “Oh?”

“Uh huh.”

“And when—when that happens, where is Andrew exactly?”

“Probably finding his own best friend to share a bed with,” you said, now letting a grin split your face. “It seems like his best friend might be Felix nowadays.”

Benedict gasped, looking at you in complete shock. “You did this on purpose!”

“The look on your face—how naïve do you take me for, honestly?” you asked with a laugh. “Do you think I wouldn’t be able to notice my sister being with her lover?”

Benedict shook his head, pointing at you. “Diabolical.”

“I seem to like seeing you beat around the bush, that was rather adorable,” you said, still giggling and he shot you a playful look.

“So you knew all along?”

“Of course I did,” you said. “I was there when they planned it—Benedict, if you so much as utter a word of this—”

“You know me better than that,” he said and you smiled at him.

“I do,” you admitted. “But anyway, yes. It’s an arrangement where everyone is happy, and you can’t say that for many marriages in the ton.”

Benedict thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose?”

“Well well, isn’t this Adonis and Venus?” a teasing voice reached you and you turned to see Henry grinning at you. “Welcome.”

“Oh hello Henry,” you said. “Is Lucy here?”

“She’s…occupied at the moment,” Henry said before grinning at Benedict. “I may have a surprise for you.”

Benedict tilted his head. “What surprise?”

“One of my friends is coming to London,” Henry said. “Sometime this month, but considering how impulsive he is, it could be within the week as well. And it is someone I think you would love to meet.”

“Who?”

“Lord Easton.”

Benedict’s eyes widened and you looked between them. “Who’s Lord Easton?”

“He’s one of my absolute heroes in art,” Benedict said, still gawking at Henry. “Are you serious?”

“Mm hm. I did tell him I had a very promising artist he should meet.”

“Henry!” Benedict hissed. “You can’t tell him that, I don’t even…I’m not even applying for the Academy this year, and my paintings are not even close to be ready, let alone to be seen by—”

“They’re good, Ben,” Henry said and you squeezed at his arm in an assuring manner.

“You’ll be fine.”

“No no, Easton is a genius,” Benedict said and Henry shot you a grin.

“I don’t know if I should be offended about the fact that I’m not his hero in art.”

“One can have multiple heroes,” you teased him but before Henry could joke back, you heard a silky voice.

“Welcome to the party.”

You looked over your shoulder, then turned around to see Lady Margery better and Benedict and Henry bowed their heads. There was no wonder why she had so many admirers as Lucy had informed you earlier, she really was breathtaking. Her nonchalant smile fit the gleam in her eyes perfectly as she stole a look at them, then turned to you.

“We meet at last,” she said. “Mrs. Bridgerton, I’ve heard so much about you.”

You smiled back. “Likewise.”

“I hope you won’t mind that I’m stealing her Benedict for drinks,” she grinned at him and you arched a brow at the first name basis. “We’ll be back, excuse us gentlemen.”

She linked her arm through yours and gently led you away from them so that you could pass through the hallway, and you looked around at the paintings hanging on the walls.

“You have a lovely home,” you said and she turned to see what you were looking at, then waved a hand in the air.

“Thank you,” she said. “It took me a while to get rid of all my late husband’s belongings and it included a lot of portraits of him and his family, but now there are finally paintings I enjoy looking at.”

You blinked a couple of times, then followed her into the room where there was a long counter with two footmen making drinks. It was such an unfamiliar sight that for a moment you just stared at them, then remembered to turn to her.

“My condolences for your late husband.”

She scoffed a laugh and motioned at a footman who quickly grabbed two glasses of drinks to bring you.

“No need for any condolences,” she said. “I’ve always dreamed of being a widow.”

Dear God, she really was what you had hoped to be before getting married to Benedict.

She clinked her glass with yours and took a sip, urging you to do the same. You could feel the drink burn your throat, but you cleared your throat and smiled up at her.

“Well then congratulations on getting what you dreamed of.”

“Why thank you,” she said. “I find the idea of marriage quite absurd if you ask me, especially within the ton. It’s the worst prison to be.”

“Not for everyone,” the words left your lips before you had any chance to stop them and she tilted her head.

“Oh obviously,” she said. “Benedict and you are the exception, Henry says so. Did you like the geraniums?”

Your eyes shot up to hers and you paused for a moment. It was almost like looking in the mirror, Margery was so good at keeping her cards up to her chest that you could not tell whether she was being friendly or not.

If it were a couple of months ago, she would have been your absolute hero in life, but now…

“Ben says you told him where to get those seeds,” you said and she nodded her head.

“Well I’m glad they worked,” she said. “Though I don’t believe in love, it’s quite pleasant to see the couples that do.”

“And what do you believe in?” you asked and she shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m a bit of a…hedonist I suppose,” she said. “What we call love is merely a name to cover what we truly desire. I don’t believe love lasts, so we should get all the pleasure we can get from this short life.”

Well it was no wonder why she and Benedict got along well. Though Benedict believed in love, his whole life had been nothing but a hedonistic existence up until very recently.

“And when I said that to Henry, he said I sounded like Lord Easton,” she said with a laugh and your brows furrowed. “Can you believe that? All this time, I’ve been unknowingly leading my life according to the ideals of my most favorite artist.”  

Oh.

Alright then.

The insecurity crashed over you so fast that for a moment you couldn’t even understand why your mood had changed. Lady Margery was everything you had wanted to be before getting married and you had a feeling that she was also what Benedict had wanted -and perhaps still did- in a partner. She was gorgeous, carefree, mysterious and well educated, she knew all about art and apparently they even had the same favorite artist.

And to make things even worse, she wasn’t even trying.

“Sir Granville says Lord Easton will be in London in a month or so,” you managed to say and she nodded.

“Oh yes I’ve heard. I’m rather excited to meet him—” she started but was cut off when someone called out her name, making her look at the person.

“The duty of a hostess even during a party,” she muttered and turned to you. “Will you excuse me please?”

“Of course,” you said and watched her walk away before letting out a breath, that heavy feeling still at the bottom of your stomach. You downed your drink, then put the empty glass on the nearest tray and made your way out of the room.

Everyone seemed to have fun, laughter and chatter echoing even in the hallway as you passed through it, then stepped outside. The chill weather was like a balm to your burning face, and you took a deep breath, then made your way down the stone road to approach the nearest bench to sit down.

It wasn’t even her fault. By all means, Margery sounded like someone you would be such good friends with, if you could extinguish this fire of envy in your heart and you knew it was nonsense, and yet…

You groaned and leaned down to bury your face into your forearms, taking deep breaths. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, but soon enough your ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps coming closer to stop in front of you.

You pulled out your knife and flicked it with one hand without even lifting your head.

“Walk away.”

“I thought you changed your mind about being a widow,” Benedict replied and your head shot up, and you tucked the knife back into its place before putting it back into your cleavage.

“Hello.”

“Hello there, potential murderer,” he teased you. “Is everything alright?”

You nodded your head, then stood up from the bench. “Sure. What are you doing here?”

“I saw you out of the window.”

“Ah,” you said. “Yeah I’m alright. I just felt like getting some fresh air, so…”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded again and took a step to walk past him but he caught your hand before you could walk away, your name leaving his lips again. You stopped dead in your tracks, sparks of excitement rushing through your veins before you bit down on your lip, then laced your fingers through his, your heart doing a happy flip. You could swear the simple gesture made his breath hitch and you stepped closer to him to rest your forehead against his hard chest, standing there completely still like a statue. His pleasant scent filled your nostrils, making you take a deep breath as discreetly as you could.  

“Hey,” Benedict said, his deep murmur vibrating in his chest. “What is it?”

You shrugged your shoulders without pulling back.

“Can we stay like this for a moment please?”

Benedict’s voice was soft; “We can stay like this for as long as you want.”

You nodded against his chest, and he dragged his fingertips up your spine to cradle the back of your head, probably messing up your carefully coiffed updo but you couldn’t care less. You closed your eyes as he nuzzled to the top of your head, burying his nose into your hair.

“What is it?” he murmured, his thumb caressing the soft skin of your hand and you swallowed thickly.

“Inside my head is not peaceful I guess,” you said. “It happens sometimes.”

“Do you want to go back home?”

“No,” you muttered. “I just…it helps. You being here.”

“I’ll always be here,” he said, his words like the sweetest promise and you felt a smile pull at your lips.

“Ben?”

“Hm?”

“Can you say that nonsense thing that I don’t believe in?”

He paused for only a moment before a chuckle climbed up his throat, coaxing a smile from you as well. His fingertips stroked over the back of your neck, sending a fire down your spine, raising goosebumps on your skin.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair and heaved a sigh. “God, you have no idea how much I love you.”

You could almost feel your heart melting inside your chest and your smile widened, his words washing away that small insecure voice in your head. You squeezed at his hand, nudging at his chest with your nose before pulling back to look up at him. For a moment, you both stared at each other, your eyes locked in his, desire spreading through your veins like wildfire before you took a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together.

“Let’s go back inside,” you managed to say and he tilted his head to shoot you that lopsided grin, his eyes gleaming even under the moonlight as if he was amused.

“You are the most confusing woman I’ve ever met, did you know that?”

You gave him a mischievous smile, then tugged at his hand and started walking with him following you.

“I have no idea what you speak of,” you said, your heart still pacing in your chest, excitement making you nearly giddy. “I’m quite simple if you ask me.”

Chapter 27

[bzurk]

 zombie!au 141 x reader

dark content ahead! you've been warned.

It’d been hard at first. Women weren't treated well when people turned on each other, both healthy and infected. You were lucky when the virus started;

You were a dog trainer, surrounded by canines trained in personal protection. It was easy to scare people off. On your travels, your pack grew, a congregation of man’s best friends who were left behind. You had a whole arsenal, eventually; hunting, tracking, attacking.

This winter, though, was particularly difficult. Game was scarce, the ground frozen solid, the older dogs weakened by sore joints and aching limbs. You had run out of supplies weeks ago, trading your trained mutts for scraps and tools. Your only companions were your two remaining dogs, your only hope the compound in the distance, surrounded by wires and gates. The facility's noise, perhaps, was scaring off any nearby game. Maybe, it was already infected. Your doubts were alleviated when you saw little shadows moving about the tarmac.

You walked up to what you hoped was the front gate, arms raised and guns holstered, dogs plastered at each side.

“I come peacefully!” You bellowed, staring straight through the chain links towards the silhouetted figures. They grow closer, slowly, weapons raised and glinting blindingly under the sunlight. “I mean no harm. I would like to know if you have any food to spare. I can trade you for it.” You swung out an arm to gesture to your dogs.

The men wore fatigues and vests, packed with gear and weaponry. Well-equipped. They must have food, fresh game, stocks of MREs, dried rations.

“What you offerin’?” A man’s rough voice called back.

“Can take one of the dogs, if you’ve got enough of worth. I don’t part with them easily. Both trained, they are. Good at keeping out infected.”

It wasn’t long before Price’s three subordinates were staring at him with wide, pleading puppy-dog eyes. “Can we keep ‘em, Cap, please please please?”

Price had to admit you were a sight. Tousled, blood-stained, covered in tattered winter clothes that could barely keep out the cold. A hunting rifle strapped to your back, knives peaking from your pockets. A capable girl. Not many women out this far. He hadn’t come across one in months, not since venturing to trade with nearby settlements. Three or four months, at the least.

“Would you like to come in, love? Looks like you could do with a night of rest.”

They were nice, these four men, if not overly charming and kind. But they were nice enough to let you, and your dogs, in, even providing a tour of the premises – insisting guns were left at the door, of course. You were correct in assuming they were well-stocked. They confirmed they’d been residing in the base since outbreak day, though people came and went. They fed you, and even your two dogs. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the human company.

The base was a stark contrast to the wasteland outside. Boxes of food and warm blankets, running water, and electricity powered by a generator. The men showed you their hydroponic garden, where they grew fresh vegetables, and a storeroom stocked with preserved foods and medical supplies. It was a veritable haven.

They introduced themselves: Captain John Price, Lieutenant Ghost, Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and Sergeant Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick. They shared stories of their missions before the outbreak, their camaraderie evident in their banter and shared glances.

You felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you had found a place where you and your dogs could be safe, at least for a few nights. These men were skilled and seemed trustworthy enough, and their compound was secure. It was enough to put your tired mind at ease.

Perhaps too at ease. It didn’t take long for your body to slump in your chair, almost sliding out of it, if not for the hands that held you steady. Your eyes were fuzzy, your hearing diminished to a faint ringing. You could feel a wet snout nosing your limp hand, firm and warm palms divesting you of your coats and the weapons hidden in your pockets, strong arms wrapping around your waist, your tummy digging into a warm shoulder as you were thrown around like a sack of flour.

“Nice little pack of mutts we’ve found, aye, lads? Don’t you worry, we’ll take good care of you. Train you up well.”

if this gets enough interest ill turn it into a fic

[theoutsiderslove]

Before the Rumble

Darry Curtis x Fem! Reader

Tags: Brief mentions of violence. 

Word Count: 2.5k

“Every one of us will be back here before you know it.”

Ponyboy and Sodapop had been talking about it for weeks.

It seemed like every other conversation focused on it. They talked about it at the dinner table, Soda yelled about it from the shower, and Pony would even take breaks from his homework to stop and chatter on.

When Steve and Two-Bit were around, and then all four of them got to going on about it? Then it was really a rousing conversation. 

While Darry was looking forward to it the same as they were, he was beginning to get a little annoyed with the constant talk of it. Sure, it wasn’t an everyday occurrence, and it was something they all got excited for.

Darry, however, preferred to wait until a day or two before to begin hyping up for it. There was no sense in being all tense for it when it was still two weeks out.

You, on the other hand, didn’t mind all the bubbly chatter. It made you happy to see them so excited for something. 

After all, it wasn’t every day that they had a rumble to look forward to.

Over the last several months, things had been extra heated between the Greasers and the Socs. More and more unprovoked fights, crossing over into territories, and just overall grievance between the two groups had become obvious – and it was time to cool things down a bit.

Rumbles were a decent way for the Socs and Greasers to blow off steam on one another. It was their chance to get in as many swings and kicks as they could without “breaking the rules.” 

It would settle things down at least…for now. 

Needless to say, the boys were stoked, and now that the night had arrived and the rumble was only a few hours out – they were off the walls.

“Hey! I saw that, Two-Bit,” You barked. “No knives.” 

His cheeks flushed pink at being caught shoving his blade into his pocket, but the grin on his face was as Two-Bit as ever.

“I wasn’t gonna use it!” He claimed, but you knew him all too well.

“You know what happens when a knife comes out at a skin fight,” You pointed at him with a knowing finger. “I don’t want to have to sew anyone back together tonight.”

Two-Bit cackled at that, his usual wisecracker of a personality shining brighter than ever. Nonetheless, he obliged to your scolding, removing his switchblade from his pocket and leaving it on the table in front of the couch.

It didn’t dampen his spirits whatsoever. If anything, everyone’s normal behaviors were doubled tonight.

The Curtis home was bustling with activity. The gang was on fire with energy tonight, all of them going through their separate routines to get prepped and ready for the rumble. Dallas was nowhere to be seen, but he usually showed up right when it was time to get going. 

They were spread out throughout the house, each of them piping up within the conversation.

“Y’all think the fuzz will show up?” Steve asked from the dining table, where he was playing some card game with Sodapop.

“Nah. I don’t think this is gonna be that kind of rumble,” Soda answered. “A couple of minutes at most.”

Your head popped out from the kitchen at the sound of that. While the women usually didn’t participate in rumbles, you were going to be on clean up duty when they returned to the house later that night. It was important to be sure that there was plenty of first aid, clean rags, and aspirin to fix everybody up…not to mention some kind of bedding so everybody had a place to crash, and towels so everyone could shower.

“Sodapop, do not get too comfortable with that,” You advised. “I also would prefer not to have to bail any of you out of jail.”

“Awh, come on, [Y/N]. You’re just bein’ paranoid.” Ponyboy said from the sofa, where he and Johnny were sitting quietly.

Pony and Johnny didn’t usually say much before a rumble. They were the smallest of the group, and these rumbles were physically much rougher on them than the rest of the gang. Still, they liked to pull their weight like everybody else, and bringing glory to the Greasers meant more than anything.

“Especially you,” You pointed again, but at Pony this time. “It’s one thing bailing Dally out. You’re a different story.”

You couldn’t help but be protective. When you and Darry started dating, you signed on with this gang. Each and every one of them meant something special to you. In some way or another, each of them had helped you out and been there for you in some way. They trusted you the same way you trusted them. It was the least you could do to pay it forward – keep them safe and clean them up afterwards when they weren’t.

Steve turned around in his chair to look at you, a goofy smirk plastered on his face.

“Why? You think Darry’s gonna yell at you if he does?” Steve laughed. “No chance that’ll ever happen.”

You couldn’t help but share a smile. The guys always teased Darry about how he was so serious and rough all the time. But the second you were around or if he was merely even thinking about you, that big man demeanor melted away. 

“What will never happen?” Darry asked as he entered the living room, only hearing the second half of the conversation.

Not wanting to argue with the big man in the house, Steve waved him off.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Steve dismissed, returning to his card game with Soda. “Got any twos?”

Darry scoffed, rolling his eyes at his kid brother’s best pal. The man’s blue-green eyes met yours, a certain shimmer shining over them when he looked at you. He had a small, yet dashing grin on his face – an expression he showed when he was happily, but quietly thinking about you.

A moment was shared between your silent looks. He knew you were nervous, as you usually were before they all went off to go beat up a bunch of rich kids from the other side of town. He was sure that you had already given Pony and Soda the pep talk about getting away if the cops showed up. He was positive that you had already told Two-Bit to empty his pockets of any weapons.

He knew your thought process, and your caring nature for him and his family (both biological and not) made him feel like the most loved guy in the world.

“Hey,” Two-Bit called to Darry, suddenly re-inserting himself to the topic at hand…or the one that was attempted to be left behind. “Speaking of things that’ll never happen, when are you going to buy that poor girl a ring?”

Your smile was wiped clean off your face, and a scowl appeared in its place.

“Keith.” You said boldly and sternly before anyone else could get a word in.

Two-Bit sank into his chair at the usage of his real, government name – a telltale sign that (per usual) he had taken it too far.

That “girl” he was referring to was you, and it was something that he hassled Darry about all the time. 

Everyone knew that you and Darry wanted to get married and would get married…eventually. According to Ponyboy, Darry had wanted to ask you to marry him within the first six months that you were together. 

But you knew the situation that Darry was in. Their parents were gone, and things hadn’t been so smooth for them in the last few years. It had only been about a year since they had died when you met Darry and now, three years later, on the surface it seemed that your relationship was going nowhere. 

But you knew that things weren’t so black and white. Darry on numerous occasions had began to save up some money to buy you a ring and put it aside for a wedding, but it seemed that every time Darry was getting some decent cash saved, one of the boys would get hurt or something urgent around the house would need fixing, and Darry would have no option but to use the money elsewhere.

One time you even suggested to Darry to forget the ring and just have a small courthouse wedding. It was cheap and quick. It wasn’t like you needed a wedding ring or any kind of “real” wedding ceremony. Spending the rest of your life with Darry is what mattered the most, but Darry knew that (even if you wouldn’t admit it) you wanted a real wedding with at least some of the bells and whistles.

Darry was insecure about it. He knew that you were long overdue for a proper proposal. He wondered sometimes why you had stuck around the way you had without any promise of marriage. In many ways, Darry wondered why you were still with him at all – because he knew you deserved so much more than what he could give you.

You didn’t have to pitch in around their house like you did. You didn’t have to treat Sodapop and Ponyboy as if they were your own. You didn’t have to put up with the foul-mouthed, chainsmoking pack of people that you were around on a daily basis. And you surely didn’t have to be the caretaker of the aftermath of a good old-fashioned Greaser brawl.

But you loved Darry, so you did all of that anyway.

In Two-Bit’s defense, pretty much everyone had asked that question at some point…in their own personal style. Whether it was Johnny quietly whispering to Ponyboy or Dallas asking Darry when he was going to “get on with it,” everyone had wondered about it.

It was clear too that everyone was curious for an answer, considering that the entire house had now gone silent. Every pair of eyes in the room was on Darry, which made you feel worse than it did him.

While you were well aware that they had all thought about it, you didn’t like it when they said it out loud.

Darry had enough pressure on himself as it was, you didn’t want more weight to press down at your expense. Darry had gotten used to the guys poking him about this, and he usually knew what to do to change the subject.

“What about you, wise guy? Where’s your girl?” Darry mocked. “Where’s Kathy, huh?”

Believe it or not, Ponyboy was usually the first to jump in to defend Darry…even though he wanted the two of you to get married more than anybody.

“Did Kathy finally get sick of your jokes, Two-Bit?” Pony joked, and the volume in the house began to pick up again.

“Maybe she moved on to a Greaser that can actually make it to noon without getting piss drunk!” Sodapop howled, and now everyone was dogging on Two-Bit instead.

“I’ll have you all know that me and Kathy are doing just fine.” Two-Bit proclaimed, but that only seemed to make everyone mess with him more.

There was a distraction for now, and you jumped on the opportunity to have Darry to yourself for a minute.

“Hey, Darry?” You called calmly, darting your eyes to silently let him know that you wanted to talk privately.

Darry caught your look, and nonchalantly carried himself into the kitchen to avoid disrupting the bickering between Two-Bit and everyone else.

You didn’t try to hide the anxious look on your face once it was just you and Darry. His face morphed into a worried look, but he already knew what your nerves were for.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, just in case.

“Listen…I know you’re always careful but…just be careful.” You asked, smoothing out a wrinkle on his t-shirt.

“Always,” He confirmed. “I don’t think this will be a big rumble.”

You heard what he said and understood, but that didn’t stop you from continuing.

“And keep an eye on Ponyboy and Johnny if you can. I know they’re independent and can handle themselves, but they’re just so much smaller and I don’t want-”

“Hey, hey. I’ve got this,” He smiled in amusement, but appreciated your concern as always. “Every one of us will be back here before you know it.”

There was no sense in fussing over them at this point. They were going to do what they always did…fight for their glory and return victorious.

“Okay,” You swiped a stray hair from his forehead, placing it back with the rest of his greased hair. “Try to avoid the one that bites.”

Darry laughed gently, his memory flashing in remembrance of the Soc from last time that bit Darry so hard that he swore his teeth almost popped through the underside of his hand. 

“I’ll try.” He nodded.

You didn’t have much else to say. Darry’s reassurance had comforted you, and you felt a little better about everything.

But Darry still had one thing in the air to clear.

“And…” He sighed, glancing over his shoulder quickly to make sure that there were no wandering, listening ears. “About the ring – I’m gonna ask you to marry me one day, I swear. I just- things are even tighter than usual right now and-”

“Shh, shh. Stop,” You held a gentle finger to his lips. “I don’t need a ring, and you don’t need to explain yourself.”

“But you deserve to know.” His gaze went even softer, his voice even finding a pillowy tone.

There was a beat. A brief silence. And a kiss.

“I already know.” 

Darry had never felt more loved. He didn’t know what kind of stars had aligned and what he had done to deserve such a wholesome, pure love. Whatever it was, he was thankful for it every single day. 

Darry stayed with you in the kitchen, sharing soft touches and sweet kisses, occasionally eavesdropping in on the ruckus going on in the living room. For a moment, Darry didn’t even want to go to the rumble. He wanted to stay right here with you, forever if he could’ve.

That was until-

“Dally’s here!” Johnny announced, peeking out the window to see Dallas cruising up the steps. 

Dallas’ arrival meant that it was showtime, and that the highlight of the night was about to begin. Dally’s appearance didn’t last long. Just long enough to rally his crew and get to where the rumble was being held. Everybody went scrambling out the front door (but not before Darry stole one more kiss from you), hooting and hollering all the way down the street until they were out of earshot from inside the house.

You knew that they would return much quieter and calmer, the post-adrenaline effect would have long been kicked in by then. But their spirits would be lifted, and there would be some improved tension between the Socs and the Greasers. 

It wouldn’t be long before things would get intense again. It was only a matter of time before you would be doing this all over again. That was just how it worked. It wasn’t an easy life. Some days felt harder than others, and some days were unbearable. But even if you had the choice, you wouldn’t change a single thing. As long as you had Darry, you would be fine.

Because you loved him no matter what – rumbles and all.

[just-jordie-things]

love, death, and curses - toge inumaki

word count: 6k warnings: swearing, gore, stabbing summary: near death experiences make people confess the funniest things ___

A simple assignment.  It’s always the simple assignments that go horribly wrong, isn’t it? It must be some sick joke.  Why couldn’t things just go right for once? A break would be nice… but there were no breaks in this line of work.

“Fuck!”

(y/n) dropped herself to the ground before the four-eyed curse throwing itself at her could actually hit her.  With no time to catch her breath, she threw herself back, pulled the ring knife out of the holster on her thigh, and even with her hazy sight she was able to fling the small weapon into it’s skull.

Nope, no breaks.  Just knives and evil spirits.

“Tuna!”

Toge’s worried voice carried from some twenty feet away, or wherever he was taking on more grade threes’ than he probably should have, but even as (y/n) tried to make her way to help him, it just seemed more spirits were spawning.

“I’m fine!” She hollered back.

With a kick to the curse’s disappearing body, it rolled over and she was able to retrieve her knife.  Just in the knick of time as three more curses approached.

This wasn’t looking good.

And things had been so nice this morning. ___

~ earlier that day ~

“Mustard leaf”

Finger stalling on the line in the book she was reading, (y/n) glanced behind her, a smile blossoming on her face as her favorite cursed speech user approached.

She’d been studying in the common room all morning, and it was about time some better entertainment rolled around.  And with a cute language and cuter face, here it was.

“Hey,” She greeted him back, and moved over on the couch so there was room for him to sit.  “You here to save me from my studying?”

From the crinkles around his eyes, she knew he was grinning as he plopped down on the couch next to her.

“Salmon” He chuckled to himself.

Truth was, he’d been working himself up all morning trying to find a way to ask (y/n) out, to a movie or dinner or anything she wanted to do at all.  He’s been trying to do it for a while, but it’s hard when you can’t exactly just say the words.

(That was kind of a copout, there was always writing on the post-its he kept in his pocket, or taking her hand and staring deep into her eyes, but he wasn’t exactly the most experienced when it came to these things, and he really wanted to sweep her off her feet)

So now here he was, blushing like crazy under his collar, his hands fidgeting together, with about fifteen crumpled up post-its in his jacket pocket with everything he’d had prepared for this moment.

And this was the moment.  He’d decided.  He didn’t want to put it off any longer, and he’d told himself all morning that no matter what, he was going to ask her out!

(Panda was a big help too, but he was trying to not think about him right now)

“You alright?” (y/n) asked, drawing Toge out of his scrambling brain.

His brows furrowed, confused.

“You’re just quieter than usual,” She explained, laughing a bit.  “Usually you’re talking my ear off.  Remember at the market, that lady thought you were yelling at me about how to make rice balls?”

She laughs more at the memory, and it was a funny one, but Toge can only bring himself to force out a few chuckles.

“So what is it then?” She asks, closing her textbook and tossing it onto the coffee table so that he could have her attention.

Admittedly, he’d already had her attention as soon as he’d walked into the room.  He always did.  It didn’t matter what was in front of her, if Toge appeared, she was a goner.

(One time she was waxing Maki’s eyebrows when Toge appeared.  Maki still hasn’t forgiven her for taking half of the left one.  Even after it grew back)

He shakes his head, mumbling a ‘salmon’, which (y/n) assumes was meant to assure her he was alright, but it wasn’t all that convincing.

“Toge…” (y/n) said softly, turning her body sideways on the cushion to give him more of her attention.  “I think I know what this is about…”

His eyes go wide.

Did she? Was he so transparent? Had he been embarrassing himself this whole time?

“Yuuta hasn’t written in a while,” She sighed.

Oh.  Right.  That guy.

(Yuuta was one of Toge’s closest friends, but he hadn’t been anywhere close to present in his mind currently)

“I miss him too.  But he’s probably just busy, it’s a pretty serious assignment you know,”

Toge’s frozen for a moment, processing her assumption.  Unfortunately, (y/n) took his silence for sadness, and she continued on.

“I know that he thinks about us all the time though,” She said cheerfully, before shoving her elbow into his side.  “But who wouldn’t, right?”

The teasing is friendly, and normally he’d laugh and joke along happily.  But his nerves are eating him up inside and he feels really hot- was it hot in here? The common room was known for having a busted ac unit that always had a breeze in the room, and now here he was sweating.  

“He’ll write soon enough.  Probably with some crazy story.  It’s always something weird with him” (y/n) says.  She’s so reassuring and kind.  If only this was advice he was actually looking for.

With a small, defeated sigh, Toge nods his head.

And not too long after, Gojo bursts into the room, excited to have found the pair, and claiming he had a quick assignment for them.  Leaving no good time for asking someone on a date, Toge mentally cursed his sensei for his notorious bad timing. ___

~ present ~

Things weren’t getting any easier, and (y/n) was starting to think Fushiguro was onto something for being so cranky about Gojo’s nonchalant attitude, because in no way was this assignment simple.

I’m gonna give that man a piece of my mind if I make it out of this alive.

Ring daggers could only be so good of a weapon.  Right now a sword would be more practical, like Yuuta’s katana.  Or better hand to hand skills, like Maki.  Hell, being a 6’7 bear would be more of a help than what she had on hand.

And she loved her ring daggers, she trained with them relentlessly.  But one of the four she had on her was already gone, disappeared with a curse carcass that disintegrated faster than expected.  She’d have to get better used to another weapon, because this was just getting frustrating.

Another knife flew through the air with such speed she was certain it’d hit her target.

But the particular four eyed- curse’s head she’d aimed for swerved, and the dagger whizzed right past it, before clattering to the ground, far out of reach.

(y/n) grimaced.  No way some grade two curse was able to dodge a swift attack like that.

This was no grade two.

Realization dawned on her, eyes widening as she quickly glanced around her, noticing how all the other curses they’d been fighting seemed to form a circle around this one.

They were protecting it? Hive mind? On their own accord?

Her train of thought ran a million miles a minute trying to find the answer to this behavior, but as quickly as she was trying to solve this odd mystery, she heard a yelp of surprise, and the sound of Toge’s struggle destroyed her worry about anything else but him.

“Toge!” She screeched, watching him get thrown back a few feet.  His landing wasn’t all that graceful, but he pushed himself back up to his feet without too much struggle.

“Salmon!” He hollered back before even catching his breath.

He couldn’t have (y/n) looking over her shoulder for him.  There were too many of these damn things, and she needed to focus on herself, not him.

“Look!” (y/n) called to him, pointing to the odd curse that had dodged her knife.  “I think that one’s in charge or something!”

Violet eyes follow her gesture, and just as quickly as she had, he notices the strange pattern in which most of the curses surround the one.  He nods back at her, understanding what she was telling him.

Well, at least he thought he understood.  He didn’t think she’d charge after the damn thing to take it on herself.

And yet before he could blink, she was grabbing her last two daggers out of their sheaths, and breaking into a sprint towards the curse without a second longer of hesitation.

He caught himself before he could call after her to wait.  However, just as he was about to make his way over to help her, it seemed a horde of the four-eyed nuisances were crowding before him.

He allowed himself a mutter of curses under his breath before unzipping his collar to take care of them.

Meanwhile (y/n) was confidently approaching the little ringleader.  At this point, she was taking this thing down no matter what it took.

It was agile, and able to elude more of her attacks than any grade two could.  In fact, she had her assumptions that it could have been a grade one, if it were this strong and also powerful enough to gather other curses to protect it.

And after a tiring bout of slashing towards it only for it to duck and dodge, she was starting to think that it was mocking her.  And this made her agitated.

And angry.

She’d trained for many years to perfect the craft of exorcizing curses.  Sure, there were always new things to learn, but she considered herself pretty damn good at what she did, because she stuck to a few simple rules.  

And her number one rule was to stay sharp.  The better an eye is at inspecting an environment, the less likely a surprise can happen.  So emotions like fear and anger were red flags.

So she should have seen it coming.

But in an instant, the knife she had gripped in hand and plummeting towards the space between all four of the curse’s eyes, was swiped right out from her hold.

With one hand the curse had taken her wrist, halting her attack.  Then it took advantage of her shock to steal her weapon.

After that, everything seemed to blur together.

A really sharp pain in her abdomen.  

That hurt.

Warmth, then heat, pooling over her skin.  

Wet?

Blood?

Almost in slow motion, she looked down.

Her own knife.  In the hand of a curse.  Buried in her guts.

It seemed surreal, in the most horrific way possible.  In what world she thought her death would come from her own negligence- her own weapon damn it! Her anger was only set aflame.  With self preservation and fury colliding in her bones, she found herself acting without thought.

As Toge was trying to fight through the raw pain in his sore throat, he was contemplating a bit of hand to hand until he could spare a second to chug down his medicine and obliterate what was left of the curses.  He didn’t want to risk rushing it and losing what little medicine he had left.

The answer came to him before he could do anything, and right before his eyes, the curses he’d been fighting off started to disappear.

At first he was on guard, surprised, confused.  But as the area around him began to clear and he saw the curse (y/n) had been fighting with was crumpled to the ground, a knife in the middle of it’s face, it clicked.

He chugged down the rest of his medicine before jogging over to her.

It’s over.

(y/n) fought to keep her eyes open, and to keep her hand covering the wound in her abdomen.  At least the fabric of her shirt was black, so the blood wasn’t so visible.

“Mustard leaf!”

Fighting to keep her vision straight, (y/n) could barely make out the double Toge heading towards her.

Toge.

“Mustard leaf!” He called out again when she hadn’t responded, worried she’d hit her head or something.

He can’t know.

She pressed her palm harder into her stomach, biting down on her cheek to keep from groaning aloud.

As Toge approached, he was clapping, cheering for her.

He was so sweet.

“Salmon roe!”

He was grinning from ear to ear, she could just barely make it out, but it made her feel warm that he was so proud of her.

Or maybe that was all the blood spilling over her hand.

She stumbled forward towards him, and he abandoned his excitement and was reaching out to steady her instantly.

With furrowed brows he waited for her to explain, to tell him what hurt, or to tell him she’d be okay.  But she didn’t say anything.

In fact, she could barely keep eye contact with him, her gaze kept shifting around, as though she didn’t have control over it.

“Mustard leaf?” He asked, concerned, his eyes flickering between hers, hoping to catch her attention.

“I-” Her voice got caught in her throat, and she coughed to try to cover for herself, but from what she could make out from Toge’s expression, she wasn’t doing well.  “I’m f-fine, I’m okay” She forced the words out with as little a stammer as possible.

Toge wasn’t believing it.

“Bonito flakes”

His voice was harsh.  He was upset.

Normally (y/n) was comfortable voicing when she had an injury.  They both were.  They always reassured each other they were okay after missions.  Especially particularly difficult ones.  So for her to be blatantly lying irked him.

But without the ability to say anything else, all he could do was glare and grumble while he pulled out his phone to get Ijichi the ‘ready for pickup’ text.

The haze in (y/n’s) was turning to dark.  Like black clouds.

I’m going to die.

She blinked a few times, trying to focus her vision well enough to keep herself upright at least.

Am I swaying? I feel like I’m not standing upright.

That awful slow-motion feeling came back as she lowered her head to focus on her feet, just to make sure they were both planted on the ground.

Before she could even notice her feet, her eyes landed on her blood covered hand, and suddenly a wave of nausea hit her.

“T-Toge,” She stuttered out, clutching her hand tighter to her stomach, and forcing herself to look up at him.  “I-I’m sorry,”

Her voice broke into a whimper, effectively washing away any annoyance Toge had been feeling, and now he was worried immensely.  

He shook his head in confusion, silently asking her what was going on.

“I…” She trailed off, her head going light.  “I can barely keep my eyes open”

She was losing feeling in her legs completely now.

“Mustard leaf?” He asked, reaching his hands out to her shoulders, steadying the slight swaying she was starting to do.

And then she stumbled forward, falling almost completely against him.

“Mustard leaf!?” He asked a little louder, hoping she would be able to tell him what was going on.

But as he secured his arms around her, he felt something on his hand.

Something warm.

And wet.

No.

“Mustard leaf?”

That time, the question came out a lot smaller.  Quieter.

Shakily, he brought his hand out, confirming his fear when he saw the blood.

“It’s- it’s okay,” (y/n) stammered, lifting her heavy head from his shoulder.

But Toge was already looking her over for the source of the blood.

“It’s just a little scratch-”

“Bonito flakes!”

Prying her hand away from her abdomen, it was like he was living a nightmare.

Her hand was stained in red, and from the looks of the hole in her shirt, this wasn’t even a scratch.

He wants to scold her, cuss her out for hiding an injury like this from him.  He wants to comfort her, tell her she’ll be okay and he’d take care of her now and do whatever was needed to fix her up.

Even if he was able to speak, he wouldn’t have been able to.  His throat closed up and hot tears rose to his eyes so fast, anything that came out would have been a stuttered, blubbering mess.

“I didn’t-” (y/n) coughed, and he tried his best to wipe the blood from her lips, but she swatted his hand away.  “Listen,”

Her half-lidded eyes met his, and she hoped he’d just shut up so she could say what she needed to.  She didn’t know when she’d pass out, but she knew it was coming.

“I… I j-just didn’t want t-to h-hurt you,” Her words are a bit slur and she can’t fight that stutter very well but he catches on to every word.  “I’m s-sorry,”

He shakes his head.

Don’t be sorry, he means, and he hopes she understands.

“I’m so, so sorry,” (y/n) repeats, her voice growing weaker, softer.

She grows a little heavier in his hold, and carefully, he lowers them, hoping to help save her energy.  He’s torn between holding her tightly, in an iron grip where nothing could ever hurt her again- or barely touching her, she was too delicate right now, he couldn’t bear to cause her any more pain.

As he cradles her in his lap with one arm, his other hand putting as much pressure on her wound as he could manage, he’s feverishly looking around, cursing silently that Ijichi’s car hasn’t rolled up yet.

What part of ‘EMERGENCY (Y/N) GOT HURT AND NEEDS SHOKO NOW’ wasn’t understood? He should have been here seconds after that text was delivered.

Glancing back down at (y/n), the situation wasn’t looking good.

Her eyes had fallen closed, her head lolled against his arm weakly, and the pants coming from her mouth grew fainter.  His panic was worsening.

How could this happen? How could he let this happen? He was a terrible partner, and friend.  He was never going to forgive himself for this.

He patted her cheek gently, trying to stir her into consciousness for just a little longer.

(y/n) whimpered, her eyelids fluttering briefly, but she refused to open them.

If only he could say something, beg her to stay awake for just a minute longer.  Ijichi would be here soon-

“Toge,”

It was a mumble, but it was something.

He smoothed his trembling hand over her cheek, staring at her intently, and impatiently.

“You sh-should know,” She continued.

It took a tremendous effort to roll her head so she could look up at him.

If I’m going to die, I might as well suck it up and tell him I love him.

A shiver ran through her body, and Toge scrambled to get his jacket off, draping it over top of her, making sure to tuck the fabric around her shoulders so she was as comfortable as could be.

Even in her declining state of mind, she noticed a few things.

First, his collar was off.  Usually whenever he wasn’t wearing his face covering, she couldn’t help but smile and blush like a little girl with a crush.  He had the most handsome face, she simply had to admire him for his beauty.

Second, his hands were trembling incredibly hard.  She could see it as he tucked her into his coat, and she could feel it as well.  He was scared for her life.  Hell, she was too, but seeing him become this much of a wreck was starting to make this all too real for her.

And third, her pain was starting to go away.  At first she was relieved, but she’s realized now that it’s been replaced with a numbness, across her entire body.  That wasn’t a good sign.

I can’t possibly tell him how I feel, and then die in his arms.  It wouldn’t be right.

So instead, she just stared at him.  His violet eyes were so round, and filled with fear.  She wished that she had the words to actually comfort her, but she knew that there was nothing she could say that he would believe.

He shakes his head a little, his brows furrowing even deeper.  She knows that if he could speak he would be telling her to spit it out already.

“You’re beautiful,” She murmurs.

The knot in his brow softened into a more confused look, and it only made her smile.

Oh no.  She’s smiling.  This can’t be good.

“You’re the m-most beautiful person I’ve ever known,” She goes on, her murmurs turning into lovesick babbles.  “I n-never told you… I was too nervous I g-guess.  But I should have told you,”

He starts to shake his head again, but her small smile only blossoms into a toothy grin.  It would be off putting with the blood stained on her lips, but he has to admit even now, something in him just melts.

“You’re my favorite person, okay?”

It takes everything she has to keep her eyes open, to stare at him and try to convey every last feeling she has towards him.

For a moment he just stares back at her, his mouth moving a bit but no words were coming out.

And then slowly, he nods his head at her.

He wants to keep fighting, to keep smacking her until her eyes stay open, to keep shaking his head at her because he can’t scream for her to just please stay awake.

It’s dawning on him now, how quickly time is ticking, and the last thing either of them need is more panic.

So he tries to calm himself, for her sake.

But her eyes are closing again, and he can see the rise and fall in her chest is slowing, until it’s barely moving at all.

By the time the car pulls up and Ijichi is hopping out and running over to them, Toge hadn’t gotten her to open her eyes once. ___

Fuck it was bright.

(y/n) winced as she slowly blinked her eyes open, trying to get used to the blinding white shining on her.  With a groan she raised her hand to her face, rubbing her already strained eyes.

“Oh, you’re up earlier than I thought”

Dragging her palm down her face, (y/n) squinted to see Shoko smiling down at her, clipboard in hand.

“I’m not dead?”

“Not this time,” The doctor jests, smirking to herself.  “Gave us a scare though.  Especially Inumaki”

Toge.

“Where is-?”

“I’ll let him know you’re up in a minute, don’t worry.  First, can you tell me what all you remember?”

“Yeah, I got stabbed with my own knife.  Then I almost died.  And now I’m alive and embarrassed and I will never hear the end of it.  Actually… could you do me a favor-?”

“I’m not killing you.  Sorry, kid”

“Shit”

Shoko chuckled to herself.

“I guess I can check off alert and snarky,” She teases, before setting her board down.  “Any pain? Nausea?”

“Just absolute delight to be here” (y/n) teases back.

Shoko’s smiling, which is a bit of a rare sight, but (y/n’s) more familiar with it than her peers.

“As always,” Shoko hums.  “Well, let me find your boyfriend.  Try not to strain yourself before then, alright?”

“No promises” (y/n) muttered back.

With that, the doctor was strutting out of the room.  From the way the left side of her lab coat sagged a little heavier than the right, she figured she had some extra time to herself.  Ten minutes if she smoked alone, twenty five if Gojo happened to catch up with her.

Settling back into her cot, she shut her eyes and sighed.

I should have asked her to shut the lights off before she left.

She sat up again, trying to find something to put over her eyes to keep the LED’s from piercing right through her eyelids.  Unfortunately the thin cotton blanket she had wasn’t large enough to cover her head to toe, and she wasn’t ready to give up her pillow- the only comfortable thing about this dumb cot- so that left her back at square one.

It was then that she realized she was wearing an extra layer.  Puzzled, she inspected the jacket that clearly wasn’t hers.

Did Shoko give her this when she showed up?

Curiously, she dipped her hands into the pockets.  She wasn’t sure what drove her to do such a thing, but sure enough she found something.

Post-its.  A bunch of folded and crumpled post-its.

Oh, this is Toge’s jacket!

She felt her face get warm as she smiled, and piled them up in her lap.  These must have been all the notes he wrote to better communicate with people throughout his day.

But after unfolding the first one, she wasn’t so sure what these notes were.  Scribbled there in Toge’s distinct handwriting, was without a doubt a love note.

You’re so beautiful no matter what you wear or do with your hair.  It’s mostly because of your personality, but your eyes take some of the blame too.

She had to admit, she was pretty shocked.  She didn’t think Toge was the type to have a romantic side, but clearly he’s got a knack for it.

Now all that was left to figure out was who these little love notes were meant to be delivered to.

And hell, there was no other entertainment in this boring, bright room.  So why not indulge in a little snooping?

Eagerly, she uncrumpled the next one.

I’m sorry I can’t speak well to you, but I’m glad I can still laugh, because you make me laugh every time I’m with you.  And sometimes you’re funny too! :)

(y/n) snorted before rolling her eyes.  Alright, he must have had some help from Panda.  She reached for the next note.

You tell me all the time how brave I am and now here I am pouring it all out there.  I wish I could tell you myself instead of writing all these notes.

A few of the notes didn’t even have words, just doodles, but they were just as cute.  She especially loved the one of two turtles holding hands.  Well, stubs.  He drew their little stubs touching with a heart over them.

It wasn’t meant for her, but she decided she’d have to steal that one for herself.  It was just too cute.

“Tuna!”

Dropping the post-its, (y/n’s) head shot up to the doorway where her visitor was standing.  She looked like a deer caught in headlights- which she was, he’d literally just caught her reading through his private notes.

“Toge!” She squeaked, embarrassed, but there was still a smile on her face, eager to see him as always.

She can’t see it because he has his collar zipped up, but his face was red with bashfulness.

How many of those notes had she read? Did she know they were for her? Dummy! Of course she did! It was so obvious! Idiot! Why did I even keep those in there when I gave her that jacket!?

“I’m so glad you’re here” She told him, beckoning him to come into the room.

Some of his nerves were settled as he took a few steps closer.  Maybe she hadn’t put together that the notes were for her?

“Mustard leaf?” He asked, gesturing to her stomach, which she kept covered with her blanket.

“Oh, it’s fine,” (y/n) shrugged a shoulder.

After finding the notes, she’d kind of forgotten about it actually.  Surely once her pain meds wore off she’d be irritable and reliving the worst pain she’s ever felt in her whole life- but for now she didn’t care, and she’d rather focus on something more enticing.

And nothing was more enticing than love notes to a mystery person.

“Tell me about these!” She told him, excitedly holding up the few notes that she’d read.

Toge’s eyes widened for a moment, before he decidedly shook his head back and forth.

(y/n) frowned.

“Bonito flakes” Toge explained to the best of his ability, pointing again to her blanket.

“Really, it’s fine, I can’t feel a thing right now,” (y/n) said nonchalantly.  “I’d rather just be normal? Please?” She gave him her best puppy dog eyes and held the notes up to him.

Toge sighed, staring back at her, giving up on trying to voice his concerns.  When all he could voice were rice ball ingredients, it was hard to be convincing sometimes.

But even giving her the deadest eyes he could manage wasn’t working.  And he was no match for puppy dog eyes.

(It was truly a weakness- and not just (y/n).  If anyone gave him that face, odds were he was caving in on whatever ridiculous thing they were requesting.  Panda abused this knowledge frequently)

He groaned and rolled his eyes, making (y/n) grin and cheer.

“Ok so tell me! Who are these for? Do they go here??”

She shuffles to sit upright on her cot, making Toge panic momentarily, because no way should she be moving this much after she was just stabbed.  She was still healing damnit!

He reaches his hands out, shaking his head as he grabs her shoulders to keep her in place, but she swats his hands away.

“Relax, just sit” She demands, patting the open space she’s made for him.

Toge glares at her.

“Bonito flakes”

“Stop saying that and just sit,” (y/n) requests again.  “Or I’ll walk out of this room and find Panda and make him tell me who these are-”

His groan is louder this time, more annoyed, before he shoves his finger in her face.

(y/n’s) brows knit together.

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes.

His finger points rather aggressively to the notes in her lap, before pointing at her again.

How much clearer could he be? Was he going to have to spell it out for her?

“Yeah… I found them in your pockets-”

Toge smacked his hand to his head.

Man, he loved her.  But this was a whole different level of cluelessness.

He’d have to find another way to tell her.  So he went sifting through the mess of post-its.  Surely there’d be a note in there that explained his feelings to her.

(y/n) watched him curiously, not quite sure what he was doing, but she had to admit she was a little entertained by his annoyed scrambling.  It was cute to get him worked up, and he didn’t do it often, so it was also a treat.

Finally, he produced the perfect note, and handed it to her.  (y/n) raised a brow at him before she took it.

This note wasn’t like the others.  It was a direct question, clearly meant to be used to communicate with, not just a cute message or doodle.

(y/n), I’ve liked you for a really long time, and you’re a great friend.  But I think we would be great as something more.  Would you want to go on a date with me?

Her eyes widened as she re-read the note a few times, scanning it as if it were going to say something else after ten more reads.  But sure enough, it had her name, and he was asking her out.

He was asking her out!!

“Oh my god,” She mumbled, mostly to herself but Toge heard it anyway.  “I’m an idiot,”

Glancing up at him, she caught his nodding, and smacked his arm.

“But you’re a bigger idiot!” She chastised.  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He shrugged his shoulders.  There were few instances where he was lucky to not have to explain himself.

Like right now, he didn’t have to sit here and tell her he was too scared of rejection to tell her how he really felt about her.  That would be humiliating.  Instead, he gets to stand there and just smile at her.

“Well, you’re in luck.  I like you too,” (y/n) replies, giving him a smile.  “I didn’t know that you felt this way,”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“So romantic,” She chuckles, rolling her eyes at him.  “So what kind of date do you have planned?”

He reaches for one of the post-its, flipping it over and grabbing one of Shoko’s pens.  (y/n) waits while he quickly scribbles on the paper.

Movie?

(y/n) grins as she reads it, nodding her head in agreement.

“How about dinner too?” She asks, her cheeks starting to tinge with pink.

Toge nods excitedly.

“Okay, perfect.  It’s a date then,” (y/n) grins back.  The elation of this moment was definitely going to last until her pain wore off.  “You know it’s funny, I was actually going to confess last night,”

Toge rose a brow, before whistling, making her giggle.

“Oh shut up.  I only didn’t because… you know.  If I had…”

Finally, Toge perches himself on the side of the cot beside her.  He unzips his collar before reaching out to take hold of her hand.  (y/n) smiles softly at the sweet gesture.  She admired him very much for the way he was able to convey exactly what he wanted to say.

“I just didn’t want to drop a bomb on you and then… die.  It didn’t seem right, and I wanted the right time to tell you, you know that I… I love you”

His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights.  Brows raised and mouth slightly parted.  He was shocked.  (y/n’s) pink cheeks deepened to a bright red, and she could feel the heat spreading to her neck as well.

All at once, it hits Toge, and his hands sprung to action.  

You love me? He signs.

“Well, yeah,” She answers.  “I was trying not to die in front of you, doesn’t that make it kind of obvious?”

He shakes his head at her, a smile beginning to break out across his face.

He holds his hand up, sticking out his thumb, index finger, and pinky.

(y/n) may have been a bit rusty when it came to sign language, but she knew what that one meant.

She reached out, taking his hand and tugging gently, prompting him to lean closer.

Brows furrowed, Toge followed the silent command, turning his head with the expectation that she was going to say something softly in his ear.

With a hum, (y/n’s) free hand finds his cheek, directing him to face her again, before guiding him down closer so that she could plant her lips on his.

For a moment, he hesitates.  His eyes go wide and it feels like his whole body is frozen.  He wonders briefly if this is what his opponents felt when he used his cursed speech to stop them in place.

It’s like all time as he knows it comes to a halt.

And then, slowly but surely, he melts into the sensation.

Her lips, soft and sweet like the chapstick Shoko always keeps around, were warm, and familiar.  As though he’d kissed them countless times before.  His hands find their natural place at her jaw, keeping her in place so he can be sure to kiss her again and again.

The feeling of the corners of her mouth tilting upwards was sensational, and Toge finds himself smiling into the kiss as well.  The pair silently acknowledged that now was as good a time as any to finally come together.

When time starts again and works against them, forcing them to break apart for air, their smiles were ever so present.  Paired with pink cheeks and shy eyes that could barely maintain contact.

“I’m going to have to learn sign language for kiss me, huh?” (y/n) teases quietly.

Toge beams, before happily showing her the motion.  He brings his fingers to his thumb, then traced his mouth to his cheekbone.  The phrase is finished with pointing to himself.

“Well, if you insist” (y/n) giggles, before yanking on him again so she can reach him once more.

Their laughter is interrupted as their lips meet once more, and this time Toge thinks he might never come back up for air. ___

xoxo ~ jordie

[syoddeye]

snipe

141 x transmasc!reader | 6k words | part four of spoils CW: noncon, MCD/major character death, predator/prey, restraints, lots of spit, degradation, praise, knives, guns, suicide/suicidal ideation, violence, blood A/N: Cunt, cock, and clit are used to describe genitalia of a trans masc reader’s body. Hit the back and/or block buttons as needed. Reader has body hair and hair long enough to grab. Banner by @/cafekitsune.

Stars dance across your vision before you’re properly awake, head swimming from the impact of hitting solid wood. The ringing in your ears gradually clears to the sound of wheels passing over gravel. Blearily, you roll to your stomach and spread your feet shoulder-width apart for stability, though that is as far as the bindings allow. The rope around your wrists is tighter, rooting them to the base of your spine. Being tied is something you’re accustomed to now, the skin a little rougher at the joints.

The hood is new.

Thin enough to breathe, thick enough to block your sight. The last thing you remember is disrobing for a morning bath.

You sniff. The scent of ripe grapefruit on the stem, sharp and bitter, coats your skin. A fragrance far weaker than the usual oils and perfumes the washers dip you in. You smell clean and sanctified, meaning whatever lies at this journey’s end is sure to be awful.

Laughter and cheer grow closer. Voices overlap, men talking amongst themselves in celebratory and enlivened tones. Thumping hooves and crushed rock keep their words from you. The cart rolls to a stop, and the chatter dies. Then footsteps, heavy but muted thuds on earth. A shrill squeal of a hinge, a shunk, and the floor rocks in place.

Tendrils of an earthy scent and leather seep through the hood, and your nostrils flare. A flash of warning before—a hand hauls you upright onto your knees, and another yanks the fabric roughly from your head. The sun litters your vision with spots, rapidly blinking away as a shadow falls over your face.

John looms. 

“Hello darlin’.”

His eyes drag over your form, his grip shifting to hoist you over a shoulder. You squirm as he adjusts the weight. For a moment, you glimpse a loose row of a dozen men bearing shotguns, various dead wildfowl hanging at their waists. Your stomach draws to your spine in a shocked breath as John ferries you closer, the cart driver, an older man, following. He sets you down facing the men and studies your apparel.

Myrtle green, medium-weight fabric sleeves one shoulder and cuts a dramatic slant down your torso, exposing half of your chest to the air before wrapping around your waist. It falls above your knees, and a brown leather cord cinches it together. Mercifully, someone’s given you shoes—plain things made of the same leather as the belt but sturdy with firm soles.

John traces the sleeve with a sound of approval. You do not count his three, your other tormentors, among the men. A fact that does not quell the boiling uncertainty in your gut.

Your keeper chucks your chin.

“I had a brilliant idea the other week, thinkin’ of your excursion in the gardens. Been some time since you had proper exercise,” He starts, “Today we hunt. A reprise of you playing quarry.”

John shrugs out of a tailored jacket and drapes it over the cart driver’s arm. “The four of us drew lots. Quadrants.” He gestures at the tree line at the bottom of the sloping hill behind you. “You, my darlin’, will have a ten minute headstart signaled by a shot. A second will announce the beginning of our hunt.”

He produces a strip of black leather with a brass closure from a pocket. “The first to find and collar the quarry, wins the right to exclusivity for three days.”

Three days. Three days with any of them.

John pinches your jaw, pressing the collar into bone. “Once you’re in there, you don’t leave ‘til one of us finds you, understood? These men, and others, have orders to shoot should they see your pretty arse take a single step out of the forest’s boundary.” He releases your face, patting your cheek with the brass. “Go to the tree line and wait. I’ll see you soon.”

Your feet feel leaden on the walk to the forest’s edge, struggling to shrug off his confidence. The sun above suggests it’s closer to noon than morning, meaning you must be far from the grounds. Meaningless hope buzzes about your head like a biting fly; you know there is no outrunning them. They’ve fucked the lesson into you countless times. It’s marrow-deep.

While you wait, you shift foot to foot, subtly stretching. John barks a laugh, cheering his men and clinking a snifter. How entertaining it is for him, the revelry of your torture. He catches you staring from the starting line and pats the bundle of rope strapped to his thigh. An eye drops in a wink, and he smirks into his glass. Something clicks into place: If this is a game to them, it must also be one for you. 

They do not expect strategy. They expect the same scared, pliable creature they corner at night. If there is no escape, you must choose the jaws to jump into. The lesser evil, if such a thing exists.

Immediately out of consideration is Simon, the brutalizer. All the power and heft of John in a meaner package without a thimble of mercy. He doesn't call for a servant when he’s finished, and you’ve never slept in his bed. He sends you, limping, into the halls to your rooms.

John is predictable and safer that way, but you’ve seen how he acts in competition, big or small. He already flaunts you like a trophy, seating you in his lap, between his legs, or tucked to his side. He muses openly about fucking you on the table at mealtimes. If he wins, you know he’ll use the occasion as an excuse to finally do it.

Soap is hardly better than Simon in ferocity, favoring teeth and nails to open and mark your body. He’s vocal, eager to condescend, and contorts you into positions he finds amusing. At least he winds down, licking his bites and scratches, massaging muscles. The worst, though, is that he pets your cunt like a cat, calls it one, too. Kitty.

Then there’s Kyle. He’s never taken you alone or slunk into your chambers in the dead of night. John’s invited him to share a handful of times. He seems to prefer...groups. Egging on his companions or keeping your mouth preoccupied. You do not know what three nights alone with him would entail.

No sooner do you make your decision, the starting gun fires. Instinct as old as the land propels you forward into the woods.

The trees swallow you whole.

~~

The temperature drops, the sun blotted out by the canopy. The woods are unfamiliar terrain. You cannot remember when you last visited a forest; if you had, it would’ve been by carriage or palanquin, on the safety of a road, and encircled by a retinue.

Ducking low-hanging branches and leaping over roots, you ruminate on your whiff of a plan. How to ensure Kyle finds you first. Without knowing the scale of the forest or the starting points of the other men, the task is daunting. The hedge maze was a controlled environment, tame and kept, but the woods are hostile, whipping and clawing, and the men, as far as you can tell, are trained for pursuit. Bloodhounds.

You come to a small clearing with a tranquil pond. Its polished green-blue glass surface reflects the trees and the window of sky above. A pang of thirst keenly reminds you of your last refreshment and meal from the night before. The memory invokes the taste of salt and tobacco on your tongue. You hesitate, torn between thirst and fear of stagnancy in more than one way. Still water harbors danger, and the woods will soon host another. You cannot be found retching.

A distant bang, sharp as a cracked whip, echoes. The sound of birds erupting from the canopy in a flurry of wings follows. The forest seems to hold its breath, frozen in the wake of the explosive sound. The reverberation slowly fades, leaving behind an eerie silence more unsettling than the noise itself.

Your heart finds new lodging in your throat.

The hunt is on.

~~

By your best estimation, four hours pass. A miracle, if you still believed in benevolent forces. Instead, an already immense paranoia metastasizes, making you frightened of your own breath. You creep as slow as molasses, but you might as well sprint. Mental exhaustion nibbles at your energy stores, demanding bigger and bigger bites.

Following a deerpath down an embankment, the sound of water brings your thirst front and center again. Hurdling a fallen tree, its decaying and damp wood gives some under your weight with a muted groan. You wince, pausing a moment before reaching the edge of tall grass. On your hands and knees, you swallow at the view. Cold water carves the landscape, beckoning and glinting in the light.

You creep to the bank and dip your hands into the clear, sparkling water,  nearly moaning from relief. The water finds and soothes the cuts and nicks on your fingers and palms. You drink greedily, ignoring the taste, eyes wide and darting. While the fear of falling ill remains, you cannot dehydrate further.

The third handful never makes it to your lips; it splashes on your chin and chest as you clap a hand to your mouth, stifling a screech. Upstream, resting on a log as if sunbathing, is the eviscerated corpse of a rabbit. Protruding from its tiny body, a knife. You throw yourself into the bush.

You wait. No movement from the trees, nothing in either direction of the stream’s course. It’s from one of them, and you know who among them favors knives. Simon. He’s been here. Close. 

The sun bounces off the blade and excises a thought—you could defend yourself. Do the hurting for once. 

Stealthing through the brush, you stare at the creature from across the water. Dead for a few hours, long enough that the gore is cooled. The decision is torturous. Terrified, you dash and hop over the stream, grab the handle, and continue. The rabbit’s corpse slides off with a wet noise, dropping to the ground as you jog.

You skid to a halt some distance away and duck behind a tree. A glance back reveals no pursuant; the foliage barely looks disturbed by your flight. Wiping it clean on moss, you examine the weapon. A four inch blade mounted on a polished wood handle, and sure enough, the letter ‘G’ is burned beneath the bolster. ‘Ghost’, a nickname John occasionally uses. A misnomer, you think, given how Simon never lets you forget where he is on the grounds. Stomping around, jeering, and crooning whenever you’re near. Whistling like you’re a dog.

And as if summoned by thought alone, sharp, shrill, and piercing—

Your head whorls on your shoulders. Endless green in every direction, trunks thick enough to obscure a giant—another whistle, closer. It echoes like the first. Disorienting. Yet you smell him before you see him as if he’s stepped upwind, probably on purpose.

A twig snaps, and you take off. 

He follows. The unmistakable thuds of his boots on the forest floor, too heavy to be anyone else. It hits you, vaulting over a log, that his pace is intentionally slow. Relaxed. Meant to wear and walk you down. How long has he been watching? A bleak question you want no answer to.

Tearing into a thin, narrow clearing, an alley of open space, you veer right toward a rocky outcropping. Two paces in, and your foot hooks an unseen root, hurtling you forward into a rough slide. The knife flies out of your hand, perhaps for the better. Your palms rip open, slivers shunting beneath your fingernails. Not a single sound leaves your mouth—pain is second to fear. Flipping to your back to push up, you freeze.

Clad head-to-toe in camouflage, with smears of paint coating the few places exposing his skin, Simon hovers in the tree line with a new, olive-colored mask fixed to his jaw. Through its cracked teeth, his lips move.

“Have a good run?”

His steps resemble a tiger’s loping confidence, unhurried and languid. No need to posture or bare his teeth; his bulk does the talking. Whatever light filters through the canopy is smothered in his dark eyes. The brutalizer, all solid and sharp edges, a mountain of a man seeking subjugation. The only struggle he must know is deciding how to take you apart. You scramble backward and clumsily grab the discarded knife.

“Don’t hurt yourself, snipe. That’s my job.”

A mitt disappears into a pocket then retracts with a metallic clink. A heavy chain choker dangles between his fingers, thick welded links with all of its burrs intact, a crude thing of his own design. How he must’ve labored to fashion it, imagined how it’d feel around your neck. What he must’ve pictured.

Surely not nine inches of steel disappearing into his stomach.

Simon doubles over with a guttural noise. The collar slips from his fingers, and John emerges from the trees to your right, his brows lowered in a menacing glare. Striding quickly, his fingers wrap around a second blade, not so much as glancing in your direction. Simon staggers to his feet, one hand gripping the offending blade's hilt, the other reaching for one of his own. He turns in time to meet John head-on.

You do not stick around for the outcome but look back as you reach the trees. Simon lurches, barely held at bay by John, and bellows something primal and incoherent. It rattles your very core, bouncing off each rib with the reminder: Hunting is a blood sport.

The sound of the fight fades as you run. 

After scrabbling down a steep gully and to the other side, you look for a hiding place. The hollow at the trunk of an elm all but rolls out a welcome mat, and you dive into its dark. Batting away cobwebs and tucking your legs into the cramped space, you suck in deep breaths. Your lungs scream for air, heartbeat in your ears. Every part of you shakes. The initial rush of the chase and escape ebbs away, leaving the burn of your muscles and the pulsing warmth of the gash in your left hand. Your good hand trembles as you cut a strip of tunic to crudely staunch and wrap the wound.

The hollow is dry, sheltered, and passably comfortable—circumstances aside. As you allow your muscles some respite and your heart rate to return to a baseline panic, you realize this is the first time off your feet since the cart. Exhaustion creeps over your shoulders like a warm blanket and whispers sweet lies of safety into your ears. Your mind does its best to keep you awake, but your body begs for compromise. The sleep that falls over you is fragile and whisper-thin, a veil.

~~

Distant voices wake you with a jolt, growing louder by the second. You wipe the sleep from your eyes with a knuckle and peek. Shadows dapple the ground, and rays of gold and amber of sunset streak through the canopy. The stiff muscles of your legs protest as you shift and strain to listen. You expect John or a wounded Simon; instead, a thick brogue trades barbs with the smooth timbre you hoped to hear all day.

Several minutes pass until they come into view.

Kyle and Soap a fair distance apart, fanned out and sweeping. It’s a far cry from the violent clash between Simon and John. Is working as a team allowed? John said three days of ‘exclusivity’, the prize of the hunt. Did they strike an agreement?

You hold your breath. Kyle strides ten meters from the elm. His suit is strange; you would not recognize him if it wasn’t for his voice. A cloak resembling the forest floor sweeps the ground, fastened to his back. It curves overhead, drooping low to cover the top half of his face. If he wasn’t moving, the mottled patterns of green and brown would render him near-invisible. You shudder at the thought and look past to Soap, who is, interestingly, clothed entirely in black, seemingly uncaring about camouflage. His gear absorbs the dying light of sunset.

You need to get Kyle’s attention and fast. 

Without taking your eyes off the men, you blindly feel for and pluck a pebble from the hollow’s floor and silently slide a foot out of the opening. You take aim at a nearby tree.

“Tav, I see something!” Kyle suddenly yells, pointing to an unseen space beyond his companion, and the men break into a run. You stumble after and nearly cry out, biting back a curse when they disappear into the lengthening shadows. 

When you no longer see nor hear them, you return to the hollow. Perhaps they’ll double-back and—

“I thought you might be near, snipe.” 

You whip around.

Kyle stalks toward you, his chest heaving from exertion. “Had an inkling.” He pushes his hood off, the sight of his focus unnerving in the low light. He’s more deliberate in his approach than Simon, curving his mouth in an easy grin like he’s not going to collar you like a wayward dog. A grin that has nothing to do with kindness. Gooseflesh rises on your skin.

“I see you found my knife.” He nods at your hand. “Thought I’d be nice.”

Your stomach churns at how he emphasizes nice. You turn the knife experimentally, the handle an inch too big to fit comfortably in your grasp. ‘G’ for ‘Gaz’; a clever red herring.

Kyle exhales, his smile sharpening into a smirk. “I admit I was curious to see what you’d do with it. I’m disappointed, snipe,” He advances, tutting when you retreat. “You’re either stupid, or you don’t hate us as much as you think you do.”

A breeze rolls over your naked shoulder, and you shiver, brows furrowing. “What?”

His eyes drop to your waist, then bounce to the knife. “You didn’t try to hang yourself with your belt, nor did you slit your own throat. Didn’t even risk getting shot.”

Kyle’s words stew your insides. You hadn’t thought of that method of escape. Was it stupidity? Naivety?

You know what it is. Hope. Like a cold you can’t shake. Protean and irrepressible. 

He holds a collar aloft. A rich, deep blue velvet comes alive in a sliver of light, its plush texture shimmering. Somehow you think it will be the softest thing you’ll see in Kyle’s company. The tinkling of the tiny bell fixed to its front an alarm. A third starting shot. The moment he intentionally shakes it, you turn tail and run.

~~

You hate these men. Loathe them. Fuck what Kyle said.

“Running will only tire you out, love,” he calls out playfully. ”And when I catch you—and I will catch you—it’ll just make things worse for yourself.”

To think you wanted him to be the winner.

Bolting into a lower area of the forest, the air is damp with fog. The ground softens beneath your feet, and it’s a step too late when you realize why. Your left foot plunges into mud, swallowing it to the ankle. Panic lights your veins like a spark meeting gunpowder, igniting every nerve ending as Kyle’s laughter dies abruptly. You curse, struggling to pull free, but each yank sucks the boot deeper. The cool, sticky mire oozes around the leather, making a messy suction noise with every tug. You wrench your foot free with a final kick, but the boot is lost.

You flounder over the muck to the solid ground of a meadow, eyes scanning the path ahead. They seize upon a massive nurse log, its void half-covered by a moss curtain, and you reroute. Diving, you crawl into the tunnel until you can’t go any further. You twist to your back and peer through the fissures in the wood to the outside. Quieting your breathing proves impossible, sheer terror ratcheting your heart rate at the sound of approaching footsteps. An insect with too many legs scurries up your tunic, but you do not dare move.

“Creative, I’ll give you that, but you can’t hide. Not from me.” Kyle chides, stopping beside your hiding spot. “You forget how I found you the day we met.” He speaks ponderously, probably thinking of how to flush you out. The damp wood bends beneath his boot as he steps onto the log, bouncing and testing it. “It’s poetic that I find you again…Ah, there.”

He’s silent, hovering over your concealed form, then steps off. 

There’s a rush of air before something slams into the bark, and the decaying wood splits with a sickening crack. Debris rains down on you, but you watch, frozen in horror, helpless, as Kyle violently opens the tree. He raises and swings something down, breaking your shelter open like any skilled durophage seeking a prize. His face gradually becomes clearer, the sclera of his eyes bright and irises burning. 

Kyle tosses his tool and cloak to press a knee to the ruined sanctuary. You swipe desperately with the knife, but he snatches your wrist. “Now, snipe, be good.” With a twist, he wrests it from you and sends it flying. He hauls you upright into a seated position and brings the length of velvet to your neck. “Blue suits you.”

It’s a futile thing, the fight. Victory is out of reach, just like your knife. Still, you kick. Push. Claw uselessly against the tough material of his clothes. A slip in your defense allows him to press the collar firmly to your airway. The pressure chokes a wheeze out of you, and his eyes narrow. Another push, and he’ll have you.

And then, gradually appearing overhead, a striped face, unnaturally iridescent eyes, looming—

Hooking Kyle’s neck with one arm and head with the other, Soap tucks his chin over a shoulder, grinning. “Hi, kitty. Is he troubling you?” He pulls Kyle off, laughing when you clamber up and out of the splintered log.

An awful thwack and subsequent thud spurs you onward. The man most likely to eat you piecemeal is going to get you. Have you. For three days. Discordant cackling, crunching leaves—your vision tunnels into the dark woods. Stupid, stupid hope.

Soap’s legs eat up the ground with a predator’s grace.

No, no, no.

An arm ensnares your waist and yanks, dragging you back into a solid mass. A tongue immediately licks from the crook of your naked shoulder up to a spot behind your ear. Wrestling you to the ground, Soap collapses his weight over you into the grass, fixing his torso to your spine. Your arms trapped underneath the combined weight, he lazily rolls his hips with a groan. He’s hard, worked up.

“Yield.” He hisses with a harsh dig of his hips, and when you don’t, he sets his teeth to your neck and bites.

A howl rips from your throat, and Soap chokes it off by shunting something under your windpipe. He curls a broad, coarse strap of fabric over the fresh wound and cinches it. Surfacing after a surreal wave of pain, you jerk at the sound of a shackle clicking into a lock.

“There we go.” Soap hoists you to your knees, fixing the collar until the small padlock fastening it sits in the notch of your throat. His eyes positively glitter when he works a fingertip underneath, rubbing it back and forth. “All mine.” A groan diverts his attention, the momentum making you stumble after him.

“You fucking madman.” Kyle spits, rubbing his neck as he stands, a bit unsteady on his feet. “I had them.”

Soap swings you around to his front, shoving you to your knees in the center of the meadow. He unzips his vest and withdraws a bright orange, snub-nosed pistol. “Aye, had—sit still, kitty—but it’s over.” He ignores the other man’s complaints, eyes flicking down as he fires. 

The flare soars into the twilight, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. Your captor, backlit by the glow, haloed as he heralds your defeat. Soap holds your gaze, licking his teeth until the light dissipates.

“Garrick. Build us a fire.”

~~

Revulsion hotter than the bonfire at your back burns in your belly. Jaw aching and throat raw, you stare at the four shadows passing a flask. John grips Soap’s shoulder, gesturing in your direction with a cigar, voices low in a conspiratorial tone. 

Simon glares daggers from his place on a fallen tree, a broad hand over the mass of fabric tied to his abdomen. He drinks the deepest, but Kyle is a close second. It had been Kyle’s idea, shared while he built the fire, that Soap christen his victory with your mouth. He was the one to tell Soap to tie your hands to your collar, too.

Your lips are puffy and swollen, covered in dry spittle from Soap’s conciliatory, wet kisses.

A loud clap and a snicker breaks you from your stupor. Eyes rolling in their sockets, refocusing, you watch John push Soap toward you. His vest long discarded, he reaches over his shoulders and pulls his shirt off, grinning, insufferably smug. Willfully misreads your staring. 

“Like what you see?”

Soap drops to a knee, lifts you by the rope, and forces his lips to yours in another mockery of a kiss. All to drop you onto the dewy grass, flicking open a knife to unceremoniously part you from your clothes. The draping fabric comes away in large swathes, the cool air chilling your sweat-slicked body. He sighs and drags a finger from your collarbone to your navel, tracing a circle around the divot, then continuing to the regrowing thatch covering the pad of fat above your sex. His lip curls at how you wince at his fingers, tangling and pulling the coarse hairs.

“Open ‘em,” he orders, sighing almost wistfully when you do, releasing the mean hold in your curls to drag a meaner knuckle down your seam. He stares at your cunt long enough that the shape of him becomes plain in his pants. With a grunt, he adjusts and leans closer, whispering conspiratorially as if you’re an accomplice, not a captive. “They keep callin’ you ‘snipe’ but that’s not what you are. My kitty. Sweet, fuckin’ kitty.”

It’s not often you talk back, no point to it, but Soap brings it out of you. 

“Don’t call me that—I’m not—“

His palm strikes like a cobra, the full width and fury of it slapping your cunt. You bite off the scream as fast as you can, pain white hot, but the titters of laughter say not fast enough. 

“Say again? Hmm? Thought so, kitty.”

Simon’s deep grumble floats through the flames, but the slap’s sting is slow to diffuse. Whatever is said, it prompts Soap to stand and strip. The flames dance across muscle and mass, and it’s then you think, pointedly turning your cheek in the grass, if there’s a way to sour his victory.

Soap makes a noise in the back of his throat when he knocks your legs open wider, spitting twice. One’s a bullseye to your cunt, a warm glob followed by the rough pad of a finger. He chuckles at your reflexive wriggling, spreading it over your hole. You’re already wet enough, no bottom to your body’s traitorous instincts—this is all part of Soap’s routine. Teeth. Tongue. Spit. 

There’s no pomp and circumstance, no triumphant speech you imagined a smug bastard like him would recite, just a single tap of his cock to yours, then he’s pushing in with a steady plunge that takes and takes. Despite how many times he’s had you, how they’ve all had you, the stretch is a punishing test every time. He retreats for half a second then barges in again, fucking into you, setting the tone.

It’s a long march to the brink. Blood lingers on your tongue and lips, having bit through them at the start from his fervor. It mixes with the saliva that drips from his mouth, long strings of it, glinting in the firelight. He’s practically foaming at the mouth, face twisted in an anger he’s too impassioned to hide. All because you haven’t made a sound louder than a single, pained breath. 

He’s tried hard, short strokes. Deep and slow. His frustration is as thick as the mist gathering in the trees above, but even that burns off with the fire. 

“C’mon, kitty. Not like you to hold back.” He pants, warm breath fanning over your face, his chest pressed to yours and arms bracketing your head. 

His companions remain close by. John attends to Simon between his legs, occupied, but Kyle—he’s happy to play heckler. “Chase take it out of you, Tav?”

Soap doesn’t respond, not to him, but drops his mouth to your ear. “Tryin’ to make a fool outta me?” He nips at the lobe. “Hm? Think you can steal from me? Keep quiet?”

“Forget their cock?” Kyle croons. 

He did out of selfishness, you think, and so did you, out of necessity. You’ve ignored the throbbing ache, pushed it to the far corners of your mind, treating the friction of his body as an annoyance rather than a source of pleasure. You’re helpless to watch realization pass over his reddened face, your wrists wrenched up to your neck.

“That it?” The blue of Soap’s eyes blacken slowly like the wick of a candle. Smoldering. He lifts off, settling onto his haunches, cock buried and twitching. Dog wagging its tail at the mere suggestion of a bone. He spits again and glides a hand over a thigh to rectify his mistake.

“No,” You rasp, throat dry from disuse. The sudden attention of his fingers on your engorged clit is electric, hurtling its ignored wanting to the forefront. “Fuck, no.”

Soap smirks and resumes thrusting with a renewed vigor, clumsily toying with your cock but spinning you up nonetheless. “Aye, there it is.” He snarls, shoving and adjusting slightly for a deeper angle. He crows with delight, finally punching noise from your lungs. 

It’s not often you protest, long past the point of it, but Soap—his barbarity, his hubris—it triggers something awful.

“Don’t touch me!” You snarl, jerking your own head and neck painfully, trying to claw at him. Your hands don’t make it past your bent knees. “I’ll fucking kill–”

A squeeze bordering on harsh around your dick cuts off the threat. 

Soap tuts, showing too many teeth as he bucks. Sweat from exertion and the fire’s heat drips from his temple to his chin, dropping somewhere onto your skin. “From silent to this, all your hissin’ ‘s just music to my ears, kitty.”

Your protests fade to ragged pants as Soap continues, a hard-fought and equally resisted overwhelming pleasure rendering you wordless. A tremor shudders through your body with a deliberate shift and targeted stroke of that unbearably sweet spot inside of you. Your back arches involuntarily off of the ground, eyes wrenching shut as the back of your head digs into the grass. Trapped and useless, your hands twitch. The grate of the collar a cruel tether.

His mouth claims yours once again, lips crushing together—broken moans spilling out from deep within your throat against his mouth. His fingers are deft things, milking sound and slick out of you. An intense, telltale pressure tightens like a coiled spring poised to snap.

Your nails dig into your skin, desperately holding onto the last fragments of control. 

“Give it, kitty,” Soap demands. “Give it here, you fuckin’ wildcat, be a good bo—”

A spark to a powder keg, fire licking at dry tinder. You white out, burning alive.

~~

You come to, impaled.

Kyle, down on one knee, tips your head back. He smiles at your recognition. “Yeah, they’re alive.”

His image bobs up and down. It takes a moment to piece together why.

Soap’s hauled you into his lap, cradling your legs in the crook of a thick arm, bouncing you with short, angry upward thrusts. The wet sound obscene and telling, the combined spend splattering between you. Your bound hands barely clasp over his bicep to hold on, back aching in discomfort, belly crushed. There is no corner of your cunt he does not find and mold to his liking at this angle. He ruts, groping and twisting your flat chest and nipples with his free hand.

He raggedly pants into your ear, nipping your neck when his movements jostle you into him. Filth streams from his lips, his wretched glee stitched into every word. Squeezing me good, fuckin’ mine, gonna be too loose for them after this.

“Cut the rope,” Soap suddenly commands. 

You catch a glimmer of uncertainty in Kyle’s eyes, quickly replaced by a smirk. 

“You sure?”

“Fight’s almost fucked out of them.”

“Slow down a tic, then.” Kyle chuckles, withdrawing a knife from his hip. He kisses the air in front of your face as he pulls the cord taut on the edge of the blade, sawing it until it snaps. 

The force knocks your back into Soap’s chest, and your hands fall to his thighs and brace.

Soap hisses in pleasure, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“You’re welcome,” Kyle murmurs, eyes locked to yours before retreating toward John and Simon, their positions reversed.

“Fought so hard and for what, wildcat?” Muffled into your skin, he prattles, tacking on a few more nothings. 

With Soap, he always reaches a point of near-incoherency. Fucks like he eats at the table. Messy, territorial, loud, and doesn’t know when to stop, to the point of overindulgence. A glutton.

It’s a running joke among his companions. Simon once said he needed a bib given his propensity to drool and spit. Put a plate of something tasty in front of him and he might as well be blind to—

Firelight bounces off something shiny in the grass. Your heart thunders at the sight. Balanced on a curled tuft of grass, the handle pointed toward you, is Kyle’s knife. Gaz’s knife.

Thought I’d be nice. 

I was curious to see what you’d do with it.

You can’t see his face now, but the message is clear. 

It takes some convincing, a few dramatic moans and a reciprocated praise that makes you want to tear your own bloody tongue out, but Soap eventually relinquishes your legs. Spine screaming, you flop into the grass face-first, tucking the knife under your chest. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips, lost in the pathetic cries you give him. 

It’s persuasive enough he doesn’t fight you when you motion to roll to your back. His eyes screwed shut in pleasure, stuttering, balls slapping against your soaked skin. Fully consumed.

You tug on a bit of chest hair and lure him into an open-mouthed kiss. He tastes like grapefruit. Faintly. The scent that coated your skin that morning. 

You cut him like one.

The knife sinks into his carotid, disappearing, then you yank it free and do it again. Soap jerks wildly, thrashing violently. Wet, gurgling curses and screams rip out of him as he struggles. He slips out of your warmth, buckling over onto you as blood pours from his neck. It’s adrenaline that pushes him off. You stagger to your feet, ignoring the rush of fluids from between your legs, and watch him writhe in the dirt. 

He slowly stills.

“Knew I liked him.” 

The deep gravel of Simon’s voice lifts your gaze. The three men rise from their perches, John discreetly wiping his mouth. 

“That’ll be fifty, sir.” Gamboling over with an impish smile, Kyle clicks his tongue at Soap’s corpse. “Well done, snipe.” He takes the knife from your hand, shock surrendering it easily.

Kyle throws an arm around your blood-soaked shoulders, laughing softly at your slack jawed expression. He admires the body like a painting then releases you. 

“Don’t worry, snipe. He’ll come to in a few hours. In the meantime,” He smacks a cheek. “You might want to start running.”

Tearing naked through the forest, their echoing laughs remind you once more.

Hunting is a blood sport.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

RED HOOD | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)

—

“Long Overdue” (Jason Todd & Batmom!Reader) and (background Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on a raid when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action/violence, cursing?

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Three Jokers comic)

| 2k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven.

Jason stays largely impassive as Alfred checks him out. The only “wounds” he actually managed to obtain were two long surface level cuts from a buff guy with a lucky knife, the mildest limp known to man, and some bruises. He’s got bigger stuff to worry about than what little damage he took.

Somehow Mask had gotten wind that Hood had set his eyes on his most recent purchase and had responded by borrowing some of Penguin's men while the man was in court, catching Jason off guard. That either meant that Jason was getting sloppy or his collective had a mole.

A goddamn mole. Whoever it was must’ve been stupid or crazy to think they could get this over his head. Now he’ll have to deal with them, and soon, before he starts on any more plans.

There’s a pat on his arm that has Jason turning his head.

“There you go, Master Jason. Hardly a scratch and everything is treated.”

“Didn’t pay all this money on armor to get a scratch from a whole buncha pocket knives and baseball bats, Alfred.”

The old butler only raises a brow.

“Yes well, a particularly nasty bullet wound in Master Dick’s leg says anything is possible on a given day. Armor or no,” Alfred points to the two raised lines on either side of his forearms where he’d blocked that buff guy's slash for his face. “And clearly some fellow with a pocket knife did get a knick or two in.”

Jason shrugs. The guy had been aiming for his face. His face that had only been a target because he’d blown up the old helmet to catch Batman’s attention and his forearms and following Bruce’s rules were a small price to pay for those kids' safety.

“Still beat him though, so I think I’m good,” he spares the man a small fleeting smile.

Alfred worried too much over Bruce. Jason didn’t want him doing the same and stressing overtime about him as well.

“Of course,” Alfred says softly, patting him on the arm once more before turning to check up on whether Dick’s gotten enough food in him to get another dose of the good stuff.

Why the man had decided to fly off to help Jason when he was already injured was anybody's guess. Jason certainly wasn’t going to think about it too hard. His feelings around Dick were enough of a nightmare to detangle.

Jason’s ready to take that as his leave, wanting out before Nightfall and Batman - or godforbid, his replacement - throw his entire mood away, when a lone figure comes ambling into the Cave on foot and sends everyone on alert.

Dick hobbles rather gracefully for someone with a hole in his calf over to the Batcomputer to check the entrance cameras. Alfred admonishes him for putting too much pressure on his leg so soon after he’s reopened his stitches but follows after him nonetheless.

Jason closes in not far behind the two, hand hovering over his gun as he eyes the lone figure. They’re not in a rush or anything, that’s for sure. He’s never seen someone who wanted to kill him have such low gumption.

It hits him and he relaxes his hand a second before you call out.

“It’s me, guys! I just needed a break from Bruce so I walked!”

Your voice is different, he notes. Hoarse, fraying at the edges. Jason is intimately familiar with the feeling of falling apart. At Bruce’s hand too no less, which is undoubtedly why you're walking instead of pulling up with him. He can’t find it in him to feel too bad though. You might’ve taken a bullet for him but you were still a dick. And an unplanned for variable that he’d have to search more into.

Later.

Alfred takes to guiding you towards the med bay, talking to you like you’re old friends, but Jason’s never seen you before outside of tonight. As far as he knew the only female vigilante operating out of Gotham had been Batgirl before that fucking clown got to her too, and the only other woman of the house didn’t live here anymore.

Which is yet another thing Jason really doesn’t want to think about. He had felt pretty damn vindicated to learn about Y/n’s separation from Bruce until he pieced together the timeline and that the most likely cause for the split had been himself. He can admit to feeling bad about that for her sake. When he was a boy her and Bruce had seemed happy, he didn't want to be the cause of that ending for the woman.

Something harsh strikes through his chest and he forces his gaze off Nightfall and Alfred.

He needed to tell Y/n. She deserved to know - he wanted her to know! - he just didn’t want to deal with the inevitable. With Bruce the uncertainty pissed him off. He had needed the truth so bad it burned through him harsher than the pit snapping his mind back together ever could.

Problem was that in the end the answer had actually hurt. For all his speculations and phantom conversations with the man he once happily called “dad” none had been enough to prepare him for the reality of watching his father choose The Mission over him in real time.

Maybe that wasn’t a fair assessment of the situation but to that Jason says: “So what?”

Maybe Bruce did love him, and maybe what made him throw that batarang wasn’t resentment or disappointment, but he still threw it. Through everything Jason still came second and Bruce still didn’t love him enough to fight for him.

He can’t keep ignoring that it wasn’t him that drew Bruce to Ethiopia that April; it was the Joker that drew Batman. Bruce hadn’t even been looking for him, and he could understand why, but that didn’t mean he had to be okay with it.

Either way, the little boy Jason used to be had stupidly expected to be proven wrong in that dilapidated apartment building.

Jason hasn’t listened to that particular ghost since having to hold his throat together.

“Red!”

He blinks back into himself to find the rest of him already in a defensive position at Dick Nightwing’s proximity.

“I’ve got some files for you if you’re interested. We haven’t been able to figure out what all Mask’s recent moves have meant, but if you cross reference it with whatever info you’ve got maybe…” the look he sends Jason feels pointed so he huffs and moves closer.

“I’ll be able to catch him up. Yeah, Wing, thanks.” He crosses his arms and raises a brow. “Whatdya want for it?”

Nightwing turns to him slowly. “Nothing. I don’t want a damn thing, Red,” he shrugs. “Consider it a favor.”

“Right. A favor.”

Jason doesn’t buy that that’s all he wants for a second. The more plausible reason is that the harddrive he’ll be given is bugged. So far they haven’t been able to find any of his operation and he knows Bruce has been chomping at the bit to find out what hole in the wall he crawls into at night.

His line of speculation gets cut off by Nightwing starting to prattle along about the contents of every file he’s giving him.

“I figure I could give you an update on Penguin’s case while you’re here too,” he glances back for Jason’s stiff nod before doing just that.

Jason half pays attention to flashes of Cobblepot taking the stand while largely doing his best to remember which of his guys ever worked closely with the man who’s nice and calm being held under public scrutiny.

It was City Hall’s worst kept secret that they were bought out by some big boss or the other. Cobblepot wouldn’t be convicted and they all knew it. Gotham’s politicians couldn’t ever leave well enough alone though and just had to go the extra mile of broadcasting their cities inner failings to the rest of the country.

“Hey.”

At the sound of his voice Jason immediately snaps his gaze to Nightwing. He doesn’t look back this time, eyes continuing to stay focused on the batcomputer’s giant screen.

“I just wanna say the offer still stands. Jay,” his name comes off rough from the other’s mouth. “I might not…agree with what you’re doing, but call me and I’ll be there, okay? My number’s still the same. If you remember it?”

The not-glance Nightwing sends him makes his throat constrict suspiciously. This was exactly why he was avoiding the acrobat. He’s all the more glad he decided to get a replacement instead of toughing this encounter out sans helmet.

“Yeah, I remember it,” he forces out.

“Good.” Nightwing continues, voice still oddly pinched while he drops another file into the harddrive’s folder. “That’s good.”

The trial tapers off after that and Grayson stops drawing out their conversation, closing out the tabs he’d opened and leaning over to snatch out the drive.

When he turns to him the older’s face is noticeably paler than before and his hands are clammy when he gives Jason his lackluster reward for putting up with the night’s bullshit.

He forces his arms down to his sides when Grayson stumbles into the table, no doubt bruising his hip, before stabilizing himself again with a tiny laugh. Jason will never admit that as much as it irritates him, he still admires the way Grayson manages to keep the sound from cracking at the edges.

Ever the fucking paragon.

“Thanks,” he nods to the medbay where Alfred and Nightfall are talking as she’s bandaged up. “And go lay down already before you collapse. I will laugh at you if you fall.”

“Heh, yeah, I’d better,” he runs his hand through his hair. “If I pass out again mom’ll kill me.”

Dick’s hand pauses midway through his hair and Jason can tell from the way he goes rigid that his eyes have snapped to where he’s standing.

He huffs, shoves the drive in his pocket and gives the older a mock salute before turning on his heels. On another day he’d probably harp on Grayson for the carelessness, make him squirm just for the hell of it, but he’s reached his people index for the day and he’s got work to do.

His second mother - not counting Sheila and her shitty cigarettes; he hopes she rots - is also someone he does not want to keep being reminded of and staying here will clearly be nothing but that.

She’s a subject he unfortunately can’t stop thinking about now though and he’s so over it his head’s starting to pound.

‘mom’ll kill me.’

Mom.

Y/n.

Jason counts his way through a deep breath. He’s got Nightwing’s information, now he can leave to start sorting his own mess with his people the Bat-Refuted way.

With Y/n he wasn’t going to let himself exist with a child's placations that maybe she’d prove him wrong. He already made that mistake with Bruce. She was his mom. In the same way Bruce was once his dad, but he’s not fifteen anymore and he no longer believes wholeheartedly in the second chance they’d provided. He can’t.

But still, for whatever bastardized mockery of life is in him, he doesn’t want the truth from Y/n as well. So no matter how much he craves to hear her voice again and feel her arms around him, the chances that she’ll reject the son Bruce forced upon her this time round were too high and he was tired of gambling.

He should rip the bandaid off sooner rather than later though, for his sake if nothing else. He wasn’t finished with Gotham yet and all the ‘what ifs’ stampeding over his train of thought could get him killed too early.

Again.

And nobody wants to read about another dead gutter rat who thought he could fly.

…TBC

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! This chapter is supposed to be a brief slow down before I get back into the emotional gutter with part five.

I’m like 50/50 on this. I was trying to make everything connect but I don’t really think I succeeded. And what I mean by that is that some of Jason’s thought processes don’t flow smoothly into one another the way I want, but I’m tired of poking at it so this is what y’all get.

Regardless, I’m not mad at it and if you’d like to leave a comment that’d be appreciated, but I won’t respond cause this is a sideblog. I read everything though. 🫶🏾

Edited (cause I forgot what I wrote) on 3/18/23

[dominimoonbeam]

Obscura Mine

My mugging fics continue!!!

Morgan can't see his own future, so he doesn't foresee a few humans deciding to mug him in the park or the vampire that rescues him.

Morgan/Porter

tags: mugging, exes, light angst, mild concussion, rare pair

OBSCURA MINE

Morgan was at times convinced he was the worst seer in Dahlia.

Glimpses of the future, like puzzle pieces laid out for him to sort, and yet there he was walking through the park at night with no idea that a trio of humans were narrowing in on him. He had his headphones in and honestly didn’t realize anyone was there until a hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him. Knuckles cracked against his cheek, rocking his vision, knocking out an earbud, and sending him to his knees.

With the earbud out, he heard the peels of reedy laughter.

Morgan licked blood from the corner of his mouth and stood up. His keys fell out of his pocket in the process, his vision blurry at the edges for a second too long.

He blinked at the human suddenly right in front of him, pulling at the front of his jacket and yelling something in his face. His phone? Something about his pockets… Oh shit. Was he getting mugged?

“Oh. Oh, this is embarrassing,” he thought aloud. At least no one would—

A rich laugh filled the park.

Morgan tensed, the three humans looking around frantically for the source. Morgan didn’t look. “Fuck…” He knew that laugh, even the smug, cold version of it now reaching out of the darkness.

“Go away,” he snapped, surprising his muggers.

The nearest one pulled a gun and waved it in Morgan’s face. “You shut up!”

The laughter stopped.

Morgan stared at the barrel and then at the man holding the weapon. The other two shifted about on the sidewalk behind him, one edging back while the other pressed in closer.

Morgan held the human’s gaze but spoke to the darkness he knew all too well. “Don’t kill them.”

The human’s face pinched and he pushed forward, about to jab the barrel right against Morgan’s head. The metal never connected but the gun went off, making him flinch and his ears ring.

Porter was right there, practically between them with one hand wrapped around the human’s and the gun pushed high.

Morgan hissed out his breath. “Or break covert, obviously!”

The humans shouted and he was close enough to see the shock and fear on the nearest one, his hand still caught in that inhuman grip. He swore and struggled, trying to shove Porter off of him.

“Jesus. Let him go!” Morgan said, stepping in to push a hand at Porter’s chest. The last thing he needed was dead humans to explain to—

“That doesn’t sound like a thank you, seer,” Porter drawled.

The humans finally got their nerve and pushed in, rushing to attack Porter and retrieve their friend.

Porter laughed even when they hit him. It was all a blur off movement in the dark, a rush of bodies and fists and knives. Morgan’s heart pounded in his throat, tense in expectation of being hit, but it never happened. Porter was faster, though he could tell he was trying not to be too fast. Disarming and shoving their attackers back. The gun had been lost in the dark, the human still looking confused by its disappearance from his hand.

Finally, the humans turned and ran.

Morgan watched them go, slowly realizing that he was alone in the park with his ex. Great.

He turned and looked around at the ground for his earbud and keys, resisting the urge to rub at the side of his face.

As soon as Morgan spotted his earbud on the dark pavement, Porter was there, picking it up. “I thought you would have come visit after I came back to town…” he said, hold it out to him.

Morgan hesitated to take it. How many years had it been since he touched him? Four? He took the earbud and shoved it into his pocket. “Why?”

“Didn’t you see me coming?” Porter asked, moving away with vampire speed and then returning with his keys.

Morgan took the keys too. “I did.” And he had. There had been a time when he didn’t see Porter’s future…when theirs had been too close to see the vampire beyond the blank space that was his own. That wasn’t the case anymore, and realizing that when he foresaw his return to the Solaire king had been another knife to his heart.

Porter nodded slowly, like that was answer to something unspoken. Maybe it was. The vampire took a step back and Morgan clenched his jaw so as not to ask him to wait—not to say anything to stop him from going. They should never have run into each other. He’d rather have been mugged.

He took two steps and stopped, shoe scuffing the pavement and vision swaying. No. No fucking way. No. He squeezed his keys in his hand. His head pulsed and his eyes hurt. No.

“Morgan…” Porter’s smooth voice trailed him, but it wasn’t quite as smooth as usual. Was it worry?

Morgan shook his head and closed his eyes. He would not allow himself to imagine Porter was worried. Porter was just in the park looking for a meal when he overheard—

-

Porter moved closer. Morgan’s heart was pounding and he wasn’t walking. He swayed and Porter’s teeth clicked, his hand hovering close to the seer’s back, hesitating to touch. He hadn’t touched him since they broke up—since the fight that ended in them breaking up.

“Morgan,” he said again. He was going to faint. Was he concussed or was it just the adrenaline? Fuck.

Morgan stumbled back, into him, and Porter was relieved not to have to close that distance first. He held him upright, turning him in his arms to get a look at him just as his eyes rolled back and his body went limp. Porter lifted him, trying not to think of all the other times, or to allow himself to take any enjoyment from this. Morgan was injured and he was getting to play hero? Getting to have that contact he’d craved for four years? He was a fucking monster.

He put the seer down on a bench, kneeling in front of him and holding the sides of his neck to keep him upright as he blinked awake.

“You’re okay,” Porter said, because he’d make sure it was true if it wasn’t right now.

Morgan groaned, touching Porter’s wrist and blinking away that confusion. “What…”

“You might have a concussion.” He should have gotten there sooner. He shouldn’t have let that fucking human punch him. “Do you want to go to the human hospital or a healer?”

Morgan snorted but then scrunched up his face like that had been a bad choice. He pushed Porter’s hands away and leaned forward, head practically between his knees. “I’m fine.”

Porter raised an eyebrow. “Humans who are fine don’t faint.”

“I got punched in the head,” Morgan countered.

“Exactly. I only know one healer…” Sam might hate him but he wouldn’t be able to deny an injured human. Healers could never resist a patient.

“No.” Morgan waved him off. “I don’t need a healer. I just need to go home.”

Porter resisted the urge to click his teeth in irritation at the stubborn human, instead he nodded. “Okay. Do you still live at the same place? It’s not far.”

Morgan huffed and looked up at him. One eye definitely had a splotch of red where it should be white. He was going to track down that human with the gun later… But not until he made sure his seer was okay.

“You have something in the works, Porter?” Morgan ground out the words.

“What?” As soon as he asked, he understood, and it felt like a knife to his chest.

“Need to hide your future again?” Morgan pushed himself up, staring back at him. “You know, I still haven’t figured out which one of us is the asshole… you for tricking me into fucking you for two years or me for…” His anger ran out, withering into something like pain and disgust. That was how it was with Morgan. He was too self-reflecting to be wrathful. “..for being with someone who just needed an alibi.”

Porter stared. It wasn’t often he was surprised…but it had often been this seer surprising him.

The first part was true. Porter had put himself in Morgan’s path six years ago because he knew he was the seer obscura. Because he knew no one, including Morgan, could see Morgan’s future. He got close to put himself in that blind spot. “I used you,” he admitted, nodding. He’d confessed it before leaving four years ago. A lie had never eaten him up the way that one had. “But I never had to pretend to be interested in you or force myself into your bed…”

Morgan rolled his eyes and looked away.

Porter thought he would have walked away if he thought his legs were steady enough. When had he twisted their past into this new story? Of all the things… “How long have you been thinking that?”

The seer’s silence was the answer. Since they broke up? Since the moment Porter told him he’d been with him for the blind spot?

Porter touched the back of Morgan’s arm, as much to steady the seer as it was to steady himself. “I wronged you,” he said. “Never the other way.”

Morgan shook his head, gaze piercing the darkness of the park around them. “We don’t need to talk about this.”

“Clearly we do. You can hate me. You should hate me. But you did nothing wrong. I enjoyed every moment I had with you. I…” What was he doing? He hadn’t said any of these things when he’d confessed the truth that set off their breakup. Why now? Because he didn’t have any more dirty missions? Because he was back? No… Because Morgan had somehow twisted this up to think that Porter had never really been with him—that their relationship had all been a lie. “Those were the best two years of my life. I never had to pretend at anything with you. The only lie was hot it started.”

Morgan winced, eyes pressing shut. “And how can I believe any of that?”

Porter had told so many lies in his life. He had tricked and conned and seduced. He had done everything and anything he had to to survive, to get to a place where he was safe. He had ruined and ended lives, but this was the deceit that haunted him. He’d hurt Morgan, shaken and broken something deep, and he’d stolen his own happiness.

“I needed you to hate me, so that I could leave when I had to leave… I thought it would be better for you. I thought you’d move on.”

“I did.”

“But I didn’t.”

Morgan looked at him, jaw tight and glassy eyes hard. “You’re a liar.”

Porter nodded. “I am. But I only lied to you once. I tricked you that first night. I seduced you.”

Morgan jerked his arm from Porter’s hand. “I remember.”

He should just let him go. “The rest wasn’t a lie.”

Morgan groaned, pulling at his hair before turning to glare at the vampire. “You hear yourself, right? I can’t believe you. I can’t know. And you can’t be asking me to trust you.”

Porter winced. No. He couldn’t do that. “Can I just walk you to a healer?”

Morgan bared teeth in annoyance and Porter tried not to think about how much he liked that gesture. Even if this was awful, it was the first time he’d been this close to him in so long. “I don’t need a healer. I just need to get home and sleep,” he said, starting to walk the path again.

Porter moved easily at his side. “I don’t think you’re supposed to go to sleep if you have a concussion…”

“Shouldn’t you be looking for a meal before sunup?”

Porter flashed a grin. “I assure you, I’m well fed.”

Morgan huffed, but Porter noticed that his pace was off. He seemed to have bursts of speed and then slow down again. Anyone else would have probably sat the fuck down and waited for help, but not his seer. Morgan was going to walk himself home or drop along the way, and there was nothing Porter could do but linger and catch him if he did fall. It made him feel like a ghost, haunting this person. “Why are you really here?” Morgan asked, voice strained.

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted.

Morgan sighed. They were getting closer to the edge of the park and the sounds of traffic.

“You still live on the fifth floor?”

Morgan glanced at him, squinting against what Porter guessed was a headache. He really was concussed. “Why?”

“You’re never going to make it. You might as well let me grab us a cab and take you—”

“No.”

Porter nodded and kept pace at his side and a step back, watching him. “When you pass out again, I’m taking you to a healer.”

“Fuck you.”

Porter grinned.

“Shut up.”

Porter pressed his lips and nodded obediently.

Morgan made it to his building but only up half a flight of stairs before his legs gave out on him. Porter didn’t waste any time getting them back outside and into a cab. DAMN had a healer center open twenty-four hours and not far from there. The driver was pretty confused why they were going to a campus in the middle of the night, especially with Morgan in and out of consciousness, but he stopped looking worried when Porter pushed cash into his hand.

“I’m fine,” the seer grumbled when Porter took him out of the car and carried him across the grass straight toward the little lit building.

“A picture of health,” Porter agreed.

Morgan sighed, dropping his forehead against Porter’s neck. “I can’t trust you,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Porter squeezed him a little. It wasn’t a hug…but it was damn close. Probably as close as he’d ever get again. “I know.”

[fangirl-docintraining]

Okay trying out posting some headcannons about the Curtis gang (including Betty for my fic readers cause I’ve written 100k words and I do what I want)

So without further ado I give you: How airport traveling goes for the gang (modern AU)

Darry is peak stressed eldest child™️ at the airport. Soda and Ponyboy make fun of him for this relentlessly

However, the gang overall is absolute chaos, so his stress isn’t necessarily unwarranted

Soda is still packing 5 minutes before they’re supposed to leave for the airport and it drives Darry insane

Dally only brings a backpack. No suitcase. He brings like some random clothes and whatever he just tosses in the bag. Pretty sure he doesn’t even know what he’s packed

Darry parking the car is so much of a production for no reason, man is cursing every time he thinks he finds an open spot but it’s just a car that’s hidden

He parks in the far lot because they aren’t paying the $30 a day garage parking fee because wtf (honestly same) and they have to take the shuttle

When they actually are walking into the airport for their first plane trip with Betty coming along Two Bit takes pity and pulls her aside to warn her about Darry being a bit… high strung at the airport

They forget that she is an eldest daughter™️

They always try to fly an airline where you get a free checked bag with your ticket because these boys refuse to travel without their pocket knives and so they gotta have them in checked luggage.

The second they’re at the luggage counter and getting boarding passes Darry immediately takes all of them. He doesn’t trust a single one of them to be in charge of their own boarding pass. Betty snatches hers before he gets the chance to hold on to hers though.

The second their bags are checked behind the counter Betty turns into some insane drill Sargent and starts just marching towards security with or without them with her pink tote bag over her shoulder.

The duo that is Darry and Betty in the security line. They both are like barely holding on every time some random person holds up the line or slows things down.

Soda and Steve get in a full on wrestling match in line. They almost take Ponyboy down on accident cause he wasn’t paying attention

Speaking of Ponyboy not paying attention, his bag gets pulled by security and Darry just lets out the most long suffering sigh.

Ponyboy forgot he had a full water bottle in his bag. Everyone but Darry and Betty think it’s hilarious

Dally has to go through the metal detector like three times cause he keeps forgetting things on his person that will set it off. despite being told he’d need to take his belt off like eight times, he still didn’t the first time he tried to walk through.

Johnny somehow silently got through security five minutes before everyone else and like already has his shoes back on and everything and it just watching it all unfold

The boys all want to get food immediately after getting through security. Darry and Betty refuse to allow anyone to do so until they’ve visually confirmed that their gate does indeed exist

Two Bit disappears for like an hour and just comes back to the with a new pair of Bose headphones, an armful of snacks, and like four magazines

Steve and Soda bring a Switch and occupy themselves and most of the gang by playing games while they wait

Darry and Betty get in a full on fight because mans wants to just stand in line before they’ve even started boarding and she won’t let him. Sir you are in boarding group 4.

Eventually she says fuck it and lets him go stand there cause he gets so mad, so she simply leaves to go to Hudson news and get herself some candy.

Once boarding actually starts Darry makes them all line up early, he about pops a blood vessel because half of the guys immediately have to pee and leave for the bathroom

Betty very pointedly does not get up to come stand and wait in line with them until the group before theirs is almost done. Darry is convinced she’s gonna miss the flight despite the fact he can SEE her

Darry handing out boarding passes in this line and being like don’t you dare lose this. They have to walk approx 5 feet to the check in counter lmfao

Seats are duos as follows: Dally and Two Bit, Johnny and Pony, Soda and Steve, Darry and Betty.

Soda legit asks if they need to swap seats as they’re like in the aisle of the plane cause literally no one has seen the two of them fight this bad ever. They snap at everyone including each other over everything. Betty gets mad at how Darry puts his backpack into the overhead bin and he just softly bangs his forehead against it in exasperation

They second the they’re all sitting everyone’s convinced they’re gonna kill each other because the seats are tiny and there is no leg room or personal space

Betty simply takes the people magazine two bit bought (stole?) and opens her skittles as if she and Darry weren’t about to throttle each other thirty seconds prior

Darry passes out everyone’s snacks and then says no one speak to me for the next two hours.

Soda realized the two of them were meant to be when he looked over and saw that they both were currently glaring daggers at someone for arguing about seats and holding up the flight, they were sharing candy and just somehow sharing their mutual type A meltdown together

[zmediaoutlet]

Sam wants to read but can't concentrate. He tries to eat but his stomach's a shriveled ball and it's pointless. He thinks about the decanter in the library but—that's not fair, and wouldn't work, and would just cause more problems besides.

He goes for a run. A short one, four miles. He concentrates on the rhythmic thud of his sneakers on the dirt roads out here among the farms and watches the bob of the pocket flashlight carving a pool out of the night. Thinks about that slice of light, curving strange midair and allowing one universe to glance sidelong into another, and in that other universe of dust and piled bone and fallen angels there might be—there's a chance at least that the inevitable wasn't inevitable after all—and if there's a chance, shouldn't they—?

Not tired exactly after but his mood's different, at least. After midnight; he dims the kitchen and library and main corridor lights. Presses open the door to Jack's room, quiet as he can, and the kid's curled on his side under the blankets. Hopefully sleeping. Hopefully didn't hear any of the argument, earlier.

He spends some time under the shower. Soaks the back of his neck and shoulders, tries to get tension to bleed out. Even the firehose pressure in here can't quite manage that but at least it's—better. He dries off and wraps a towel around his hips and goes through the dark corridors to his room, and—Dean's there, standing at the sink, brushing his teeth. Sam stands with his hand on the doorknob and is, for a second, entirely surprised.

"You gonna come in, or not," Dean says, garbled through foam. Sam rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind himself. A lamp on by the bed. At some point since they argued Dean's lost his jacket and boots; his gun's laid on Sam's desk, and one of their silver knives, and a scrap of paper. Sam picks it up while Dean's rinsing his mouth. James Turner, it says, and a phone number. "Missouri's son," Dean says, leaning on his elbows on the sink. He spits. "Patience's dad. Disowned her, I guess, but I figure—"

He shakes his head, shrugs. Runs more water, splashing his face, and then hangs there dripping. His back's a low curve, his head hanging heavy. Sam watches him drip. The shape of his shoulders. Sam wants to touch the small of his back and instead he turns and goes to his chest of drawers, finds pajama pants, a washed-to-softness shirt. "Jody said Patience is a good kid," Sam says. "She'll be all right."

"Save us from good kids," Dean mutters.

Sam shoves his hair back from his face, says, "Dean—" but when he turns Dean's already shaking his head, eyes closed, and Dean says, "I didn't—"

Didn't what? Dean licks his lips and then bites them very tightly between his teeth. There are a few things Sam could think to say but he waits, hands on his hips. A deep breath, so slow and deliberate it might have cost an organ or two, and Dean drags his hand over his face, folds his arms over his chest. Opens his eyes finally and looks somewhere not at Sam but through his torso, maybe.

"I don't got the juice for a knock-down drag-out," he says. "It's been a long…" He shakes his head, swallows. The hollows of him dark-pooled and his lips tight over something miserable and his eyes, when he finally does glance up and meet Sam's, this raw long shadow of grief that stretches back past today and back to that carved slice of impossible light, and maybe back past that to—any number of things, really. Take your pick. "I wanna go to sleep."

It's not an apology, nor a concession. Just as well—Sam's not ready for either. But he knows that exhaustion that starts somewhere in the marrow and spreads through the whole body. Anger the only thing that pushes it back and when the anger's done it just seeps through, insidious, faster. He bites the inside of his cheek and lifts a shoulder. "So sleep," he says.

He brushes his teeth, too. Drinks a glass of water. In the mirror he watches Dean strip mechanically out of his overshirt and unbuckle his belt and peel out of his jeans. He sits on the edge of the bed and rubs his hands over his face again, long repetitive strokes like maybe he'd open his eyes after and find the world different. If only.

Sam tugs back the blanket on his side and says, hey, and Dean sniffs and lifts up enough that the covers can get pulled down. Then Sam gets into the bed, and says, "If you're gonna stay, stay," and it comes out harsher than he meant it to but it gets Dean to lie down at least, on his side with his back to the lamp. His head on the other pillow and his shoulders pulled high.

Sam sighs. Twists to turn off the lamp. In the dark he pulls the blanket up over both of them and lies on his side, too, a few inches between their bodies but not enough space that he can't feel Dean's heat. They haven't slept in the same bed since Jack—just, since Jack. He reaches out and touches the middle of Dean's back. Warm, and solid. Dean's ribs expanding on his breath. Sam curls an arm under his head, under his pillow. Dean's shirt smells like burnt things. Annoying how comforting that is. His hand on Dean's back curls into a fist, knuckles pressing into Dean's spine, and Dean makes this soft noise, and Sam's going to sleep better than he's slept in weeks. That's annoying, too. He closes his eyes and sinks into it, listening as his brother does the same.