#Maybe this is just a reminder that murder is bad and all

[thecheshireprincess]

The Game Itself

Chapter VI: Does This Place Change People?

A Chishiya x childhood best friend reader (Niragi's sister!) AU Series

Content Warning: Canon-typical violence, killing, mentions of blood and injuries, curse words, mentions and reminders of an abusive father/childhood, Niragi is an absolute problem in this one

Previous Chapter The Game Itself Masterlist

Isn't it intriguing how quickly your mind can change about a person? Just yesterday you had thought that Takeru might not be as bad as you'd originally thought, having left your shopping expedition with him feeling even kind of fond of him.

And that still may be true for Takeru, if he even existed in his true form anymore. But you can be certain that Hatter really was as bad as you'd thought, after all. Maybe even worse.

You are absolutely seething. Agitation courses thickly through your veins, jaw clenching so tightly your facial muscles were at risk of snapping. You had been crystal clear about your boundaries; about the one singular rule you had when agreeing to join The Beach. We don't play games together. Hatter had carelessly cast this rule to the side, assigning you and Aguni to the same playing group as Chishiya tonight. And for what? What benefit was it to him to put the two of you together against your wishes?

You huff in irritation, anxiously wringing your hands and softly rocking backward on your heels. Trying anything to release the dark energy that was building under the surface of your skin without drawing attention to yourself. Chishiya stood silently, clearly unbothered by the situation, as always. His steady hands busied themselves with a pair of headphones he had found and fixed earlier in the week. Though his non-chalance should have calmed you, it only served to fan the flames of your frustration further. You want to shake his shoulders and ask why the fuck - how the fuck - he acted so emotionless all the time; you want to force a reaction from him.

Aguni stood across the dimly lit lobby from you with a militant he'd selected from his ever-growing pack. The man had unruly black hair only partially tamed by a bandana and was dressed in all denim. You knew he thought he was cool. You glared daggers into Aguni for good measure, if only for his association with Hatter. If the man noticed your wrathful gaze, he didn't show it - relaxing back against the wall, eyes lazily studying the cracked ceiling. Bored. You're really quite on edge today, you notice, finding a reason to be upset with absolutely everyone. Probably because your brother had murdered someone last night in cold blood, and you felt guilty for it.

Before you can grind your teeth into dust as a result of the emotions thundering around you, you're distracted by two guys entering the lobby. The scrawnier of the two has shaggy brown hair; the other blonde, an orange Hawaiian shirt draped over his thin but muscular build. It was obvious they weren't new to playing these games because they snatched up their phones without question and settled into an empty space to wait with the rest of you.

The shaggy haired guy speaks in a low voice to his friend, "Look how many people are here! Do you think one of them is a doctor?" Your eyes snap to his face at this, instinctively moving closer. Why did they need a doctor? Should you help?

Chishiya drags you back to stand slightly behind him, lifting your hood over your head as a reminder to keep it reigned in. Emotionless, remember? "Don't even think about it," he murmurs, not even looking up at you. After a moment of silence, he hands you one of the headphones he had been fidgeting with previously.

The gesture makes you chuckle a little bit, realizing how normal this interaction is; how you had previously taken soft moments like this for granted. You could almost imagine the two of you waiting at the train station instead, heading off to class or the library. Maybe even shopping if it was the weekend. You suddenly miss the mundane aspects of your life before, where the most you had to worry about was passing your physiology exams. And being comforted by your brother when you nearly failed. The memory of that day, only a few weeks ago, pressed itself in your mind and made your heart squeeze in melancholy. Remembering how Niragi had babied you that day, trying to press his hand against your forehead when he thought you were sick. And how you'd pushed him away.

Now that that version of your brother was gone and may never return again, you wish you had let him stay close for a just little bit longer.

You sigh dejectedly, tentatively laying your head against Chishiya's shoulder while you continue waiting for the game to start. You expect your friend to tense up, or maybe even push your head off of him - he's never really cared for public displays of affection. Never really had any reason to. And that was even when it was more platonic between you than you suspected it had become. What exactly was going on between the two of you, anyway?

You're amazed when he doesn't move an inch, not reacting in any discernable way. You're even more amazed when the man silently reaches his right hand to take your left one in his, soothingly running his cool thumb over your knuckles.

It's a rare moment of peace you're afforded with your friend in this place, and you're grateful for it. Your tired eyes flutter closed, allowing the soft rhythm of the song you know Chishiya has chosen specifically for you to wash over your entire being, transporting you from this place, if only for a moment.

You drift in an ethereal space, cultivated by the breathtaking lyrics and gentle melody of your favorite song. Though your friend hadn't necessarily intended for you to hear what he said early this morning while you were drifting back off to sleep, you had.

Don't give up on him yet, Koko. Just keep playing the game, and we'll be home soon enough.

You weren't sure what to make of what he said, and it honestly gave you more questions than answers. So it was a game that Niragi was playing, and somehow he must have dragged Chishiya into it. That could explain the tension between the two of them, because you knew your friend would be uncomfortable hiding anything from you. But it felt like more than that.

Your relationship with Niragi was definitely questionable at this point in the game, but you trusted Chishiya with your entire life, your entire heart. He'd never do anything to betray that, right?

[Registration is Now Closed] Your eyes blink open, marking the end of your tranquil moment. You stand up straight, stretching your neck out slightly as the cheerful voice you hadn't missed the last couple of days rings out around you. Chishiya wraps the headphones up, sticking them safely in his pants pocket. The man then kneels to pick up his newest invention from where it lay on the concrete floor, charging. You hadn't asked about it, you honestly didn't really want to know.

Another player, one wearing a blue ballcap and acting flighty, frantically starts asking the two guys from before what's going on. He is obviously a new arrival in this world, about to play his very first game. Your condolences. You find it strange how you've been here so long and there are still new people starting their journey here every night.

You hear the shaggy haired guy - the one who had been asking for a doctor - start to tell him about the game you'd soon be playing, only to be cut off by his friend. You understood, Chishiya had done the same to you in your very first game. Don't react to the others, they could hold us back.

[Difficulty: Five of Spades] Relief floods your body, at least it isn't a Hearts game. A fit girl with a bob cut starts stretching her legs out on the floor where she had once been standing. Not a bad idea.

[Game: Game of Tag] Sharing a quick glance with your friend, you wonder how a simple game of tag could earn a rank five. And who would be the tagger? You hoped it wasn't another game of player vs. player like your second game had been - what if you and Chishiya had to play against each other? This was why you didn't want to do this!

[Rule: Run away from the Tagger.] Simple.

[Clear Condition: Discover the safezone hidden in one of the building rooms within the time limit. You clear the game when this objective is fulfilled.] A little more challenging, but still simple.

[Time Limit: Twenty Minutes]

[Game Over: After twenty minutes has passed, a time bomb hidden in the building will explode.] A time bomb? Fuck.

You scan the room briefly, the large group of players who had previously been chattering amongst themselves had now fallen stoically silent. With just twenty minutes to stop a time bomb and hide from the Tagger, everyone seemed to realize that this might be a little more on the challenging side. Especially housed in such a sprawling building.

Chishiya interlaces his fingers with yours once more, pulling you gently in the direction of the centrally located elevator. No time to lose, you need to choose a starting position with only two minutes until the Tagger is on the move. The rest of the group seems to be kickstarted by your motion, players anxiously scattering and yelling amongst each other to figure out where to go.

"Where are we going?" You decide to ask your friend, watching as the elevator slowly rises upward, the red number shining above you getting higher.

"To the perfect vantage point, of course. We get to choose our starting position, so the best course of action is to get to the highest place to see everything happening below us." As always, you're glad Chishiya is on your side and not your enemy.

When the dusty elevator chimes at floor seven, the top floor, Chishiya leads you out to the far corner of the concrete banister to look out over the apartment building. A cool gust of air brushes along your exposed cheeks, causing a chill to run down your spine and making your body shiver. Chishiya steals a glance at you, suddenly pulling you closer to him to help block the chill in the night air. He pulls your back to be flush against his chest and cages his arms gently around you; one hand settling at your hip and the other resting easily on the wall on front of you. He looks down at you, you tilting your head a bit to meet his gaze. "Better?" he hums in question.

Your lips quirk up in a smirk. "Much better," you whisper. You wonder briefly how inappropriate it would be to suddenly kiss your best friend in the middle of a death game, but you miss your opportunity once again. Chishiya's gaze is pulled from you to someone across the building - Aguni and his militant partner.

The blonde waves empathically, almost making you laugh at how uncharacteristic it is, only to be met with a stone cold stare from the muscular man.

"What? That's nasty!" Chishiya remarks, causing you to snort. You grin at Aguni, giving a small wave of your own. Aguni smiles slightly back then winks at you, before turning on his heel and heading back towards the central staircase.

Chishiya sucks in a breath and instinctively pulls you closer, causing you to let out a full laugh this time. "Jealous again, are we?" You tease with a lilt in your tone. The man simply grumbles incoherently, shifting both hands to hold your hips now. Possessively.

You lean your head back against Chishiya, head pressed into the crevice between his neck and shoulder. You feel the way his breath catches and heart pounds against his pulse point - so maybe he's not so emotionless after all. THIS you could work with, this got you feeling a little excited.

Obviously trying to distract himself, your friend remarks with a smirk, "Let's see. . . everyone looks like they're about to die, as usual." The corner of your lips tilt slightly, "Oh come on, give them a chance." You both study the playing field in a comfortable silence for a few beats, quietly making bets in your heads on who would be making it out of the arena.

[The Tagger is on the move] the robotic voice informs you, accompanied by an obnoxious fanfare blasting throughout the arena. Game time.

You lean forward again, still tangled safely in Chishiya's arms, his touch helping to ground you and keep you calm. You had to say, you were kind of enjoying playing this game with him, now that you knew you could both survive it.

You inspect the people running through the apartment complex, feet pounding loudly against the cement flooring. Most of them were panicking already. No clear sign of the Tagger yet. The tension around the complex is buzzing like an electric field; you were just waiting for the first person to get electrocuted.

You don't have to wait for long, because suddenly a round of gunshots echo out across the concrete, startling you back from the railing and further into the blonde's arms. He wraps both arms tightly around you, squeezing you tight as he looks for the source of the gunshots. Being tagged in this game evidently equated to being shot to death. Brutal.

The two guys from the lobby burst into the hallway of the third floor, a massive horse masked figure following them slowly, but menancingly. The Tagger. You felt your heart stop briefly - now that's a terrifying sight. They are smart enough to hide in a doorway outside of his vision, allowing them to escape with their lives for now; the Tagger moving back towards the stairs to find more victims.

You watch in horror as the sketchy guy who had been with the boys at the start of the game runs screaming down the hallway on the first floor, bullets being pelted into his back. The Tagger had found him. Another man, witnesses this and gives up immediately, exiting the boundary of the game arena and being greeted by the red laser from the sky.

Your eye twiches slightly and you feel kind of guilty for standing around watching, while everyone else searches for the safezone. Losing their lives. You don't dare go against Chishiya's strategy, though, the man squeezing his hand against your hip in reassurance.

You are surprised out of your skin when the shaggy haired guy suddenly appears again sprinting down one of the hallways, shouting at the top of his lungs, "everyone! The Tagger is currently at the second level of the central area! The Tagger has bad vision because of his mask! Let's inform each other each other of the Tagger's location and search for the safezone together!" You watch with widened eyes, the man bravely risking giving up his location to help the others, as his blonde friend frantically tries to silence him.

Chishiya looks on, "It's a good idea, but no one will respond." You smirk, twisting in his arms to look at him, "Some people are good, Shiya. Watch." You are certain that someone will respond, they have to. You need them to, you need to continue to have hope in humanity.

"The tagger is moving from the fourth level of the central area! Anyone nearby, run!" A feminine voice calls out, from a location you cannot see. Your heart soars and you grin widely at Chishiya, who glances down at you in quiet astonishment. "Really?"

The girl who had been stretching in the lobby suddenly darts down the long stretch of the building, attempting to get another player out of the area. Unfortunately, the Tagger is not far behind, and you suck in a deep breath awaiting their inevitable executions. The girl jumps up on the water spout and scales the building to get away, having to leave the other woman behind. You gasp, absolutely floored by her skill.

"Oh? A climber," Chishiya notes, a small smile gracing his face. "She's good." You continue staring, lips parted. "Amazing, actually," you breathe, stunned.

Your attention is caught by the guy in the blue baseball cap again, checking doors for the safezone. As he gets to one close to the central area of the building, bullets suddenly rain down upon him. You're surprised, unable to see the Tagger. He must be shooting from across the building at a long distance - but why would he? You think on this question for a minute or two, eyes locked on the blue metal door to the apartment. Chishiya smiles, knowing you had figured it out too.

Eventually, your friend pulls his phone from his hoodie pocket to show you the time remaining - [6:35]. He spins you delicately in his arms, removing your hood from your head and fixing your hair, "shall we begin?"

You and Chishiya approach the door, seeing the shaggy haired guy from the lobby about to twist the silvered knob. Arisu, you think you remembered hearing his friend call him when he was helping the boy in the baseball cap.

"So you realized that too?" Chishiya applauds him, tone cold and mocking.

The guy nods once, "yes. The safezone is in this apartment." He hesitates a bit, still hanging onto the door knob. Chishiya stares at him, eyes shining with a hint of amusement.

"Aren't you going to open it?" You ask him, tone as cold are you were capable of, though not necessarily mean.

"Why did the Tagger chase us?" The man muses, "They could have just waited here." You had thought that too. What if there was a trap waiting inside? But what could you really do? Time was literally ticking down.

Chishiya hums from beside you, eyes still amused, "seems like there's something else we don't know. However, if you don't open it . . . " He trails off, lifting his phone again to show timer flashing on the screen.

[03:06]

The man steels himself with another nod and opens the door, the metal groaning loudly as it swings open. The three of you peek in carefully, seeing nothing obvious awaiting you in the darkness. Arisu and Chishiya step through the door, you at their heels. You're all looking around quickly, searching for the button that will stop the time bomb from detonating and clear the game.

You hear a slight creak in the old flooring from behind you, spinning around and letting out a yelp when you see a second horse head Tagger approaching your group. Arisu pushes all three of you to the ground, Chishiya reaching out with his new contraption to shock them. You and Arisu look at Chishiya bewildered as you return to standing, him simply shrugging, "it never hurts to be prepared."

Prepared, you were not. The Tagger haphazardly rains bullets towards the three of you from the floor, Chishiya's arm finding your waist and pulling you with him back out of the front door, and Arisu proceeding forward into the other room and slamming the door. You hear bullets collide with the metal of the door in front of you as it closes; that had been a close brush with death.

Dazed, you find yourself sprawled in Chishiya's lap, both of you panting desperately for air. He leans the side of his body against the door, quickly cradling your face in his hand. He runs the other hand over your body, eyes quickly searching for injuries. Chestnut eyes suddenly wild and face contorted into an expression you didn't recognize on his face.

"Are you hurt?" He asks, though still checking over you for himself. You shake your head, mind still reeling. "Good," he says with more emotion than you think you've ever heard from him. He pulls you closer to him, arm looped around your shoulder and kisses your forehead, wrapping his arms tightly around you as you both stand back up.

You peek at Chishiya from your peripheral vision, wondering what that had been about. Though he has since returned a neutral look to his face, you quickly realize that the unrecognizable emotion in him had been fear. Fear for you. You had never seen Chishiya be afraid, not of anything. This causes your heart to race a little faster, you needed to clear this game.

It's then that Arisu's voice calls out, "Someone please come over! The safezone is in apartment 406! It's impossible to clear the game alone! We need two people to do this!"

"Seriously?" Chishiya sighs, and you instinctively try to open the door again, but Chishiya holds you back. Glaring at him, he relents, "we have to time it right. There's still a Tagger in there with a loaded gun. We have to be strategic about it." The two of you wait for a moment, straining your ears to hear what's happening inside the room. Once it sounds like the Tagger has gotten into the second room with the man, you enter quietly, ready to strike.

The climber girl simultaneously busts through the window to help Arisu, "You called?" she asks. Arisu continues struggling with the Tagger, and Chishiya tosses the taser to the girl. She moves swiftly, pressing it into their leg and knocking them to the floor once more. You move into the second room now, kicking the gun out of the Tagger's grasp. You hold your breath as the couple leaps towards the buttons situated on either side of the room, hitting them just in time.

[Game Clear - Congratulations] You glance down at your phone in shock, reading the time remaining - 00:01. You had cut this one way too close. You loudly exhale the breath you'd been holding, shoulders sinking as you release some of the tension.

Another phone in the room chimes, signaling a Game Over. You spin around to the Tagger, who was now slumped against the wall, horse mask discarded on the floor. You find yourself kneeling down towards her, revealed to be a normal looking woman, someone who was eerily familiar. You know those brown orbs, you'd recognize them anywhere. Even when they stared back at you in terror, defeated. Your own eyes widen at the magnitude of your realization. Himari. Your neighbor is here, had been forced to play these games just like you, but on the opposite side.

"Himari, you're a player too," you whisper to the older lady, the collar you'd just noticed clasped restrictively around her neck suddenly beeping rapidly. You feel your breath catch in your chest, the familiar lump in your throat forming once again.

"No, no, no, no!" you shout in distress, eyes crazed and hands flexing and un-flexing. Trying to figure out a solution quickly. What could you do? The woman who had always been kind to you simply says your name, "keep winning."

The obnoxious beeping gets faster still, before finally detonating. You jump back as the poor woman's blood splashes everywhere, coating the previously white wall, Chishiya who was standing in the doorway, and you. You allow yourself to fall backwards onto the cold, hard floor absolutely shocked and shaking.

Arisu and the climber girl that had been standing behind you watching the exchange slowly approach, concern etched on their faces. "Are you okay?" The man asks slowly, holding a shaking hand out to you. You can't bring yourself to react.

"She's fine, you can leave now," Chishiya tells them coldly, coming to stand protectively over you, latching onto the hood of your jacket. You weren't sure if that action was to comfort you or him. You don't move, still staring, eyes unfocused at the gruesome scene before you. She had been a player too. Are all the dealers of the games just like you? Fighting for their lives? Who would take care of Himari's cats?

The two leave the apartment, though hesitantly. You were grateful because you didn't feel like socializing at this point, covered in someone else's blood. Someone that you had a hand in killing. Someone who you had known for years. Had shared cookies and tea with.

Chishiya kneels down next to you, one hand resting on your knee comfortingly. He begins checking the pockets of the camo tactical suit Himari was wearing with his free hand. You wanted to be aghast by his actions, but it was probably smart. You needed to know everything you possibly could about this place, and a game dealer might have valuable intel.

He finds a crumpled piece of white paper with a circle and several squiggles. What could those markings even mean? A map? Chishiya holds it up in front of both of you for a moment before tucking it away into his pocket.

He turns to you, attempting to wipe some of the blood from your face with his sleeve. He sighs when it presumably makes it worse, instead taking your hands and pulling you up with him. He must see your usual signs of crying, because he shushes you, "Not now. Not here, okay?" Cry later, we need to get back to The Beach.

Chishiya leads you into the elevator and presses the button to return to the lobby. You lay your head against the shiny surface of the wall, completely numb and unable to hold yourself up any longer. The cold press of the metal barely registers in your mind, as you allow yourself to drown in the shock of watching Himari die in front of you, her blood coating your skin.

The two of you exit the elevator when it chimes too cheerfully for your liking, re-entering the lobby where you had waited anxiously just half an hour ago. How quickly things can change. Your eyes find the Five of Spades card set mockingly on the table where the phones had been set up earlier. You snap it up into your blood soaked hands, annoyed that you'd once again be handing a bloodied card to Hatter.

Aguni catches up to the two of you outside the apartment, his partner nowhere in sight. Another casualty, you presume. You don't look up at him, and he doesn't say anything to either of you. He gets into the driver's seat of the car, looking only mildly surprised when you fall into the backseat beside Chishiya instead of sitting in the front with him. You're so tired. So cold. So numb.

You sit upright, face forward, body shaking. You will yourself not to freak out right now. But Himari's face was permanently etched in your mind's eye. It was all you could see, especially when you closed your eyes.

"Are you okay, little one?" Aguni asks, looking at you through the rear view mirror, concern etched on his features. You briefly realize that he's been injured too - a gash across his eye from some kind of knife? You couldn't lie, it would leave a badass scar one day.

You attempt to hum as an answer to his question, but it comes out more like a whimper. His question, so soft and sweet struck you to your core. You were not alright. You allow your body to slump down in silence, head falling into Chishiya's lap, face still forward and staring blankly at the old leather seat in front of you.

He clicks his tongue, brushing your hair from your face carefully, comfortingly. No one says anything as you drive home through the cold night air.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

When you enter the conference room that you love to hate to find Hatter, you still say nothing. The man looks up at your group expectantly and you place the card down in front of him, tapping it with a bloodied index finger as punctuation. His face lights up to see it isn't a duplicate, and you step away from the table allowing him to see Chishiya and Aguni behind you.

"And what about Riku, Aguni?" Hatter asks distractedly, twirling the card in his long fingers. You are certain he doesn't really care, it honestly comes out as more of a taunt. Aguni straightens a little, "a casualty." You hum internally, the denim-clad guy's name was Riku and he definitely died during tag.

Hatter nods knowingly, "That's too bad," he mumbles, "I know you liked him. Guess you'll have to find a replacement now." Aguni simply nods once, not giving anyone much to work with.

You hadn't noticed initially in your haze, but Ann is also sitting at the table, studying you carefully. As you attempt to retreat, she calls your name, "are you hurt? Can I help you?" It's a genuine and sweet offer. But you can't handle sweetness right now. Not when you'd just watched your neighbor explode in front of you, her blood now drying on your features.

"It's not mine," you say frostily, "just leave me alone." And despite everyone's shock at The Beach Princess turning into an ice queen suddenly, they do leave you alone. You turn on your heel and walk swiftly from the room, Chishiya at your heels.

You find yourself sat in front of the vanity in your bathroom, now wet hair dripping occasionally down your shoulders. Chishiya is behind you, working your brush delicately through the strands. Your silence somehow made Chishiya the talkative one, saying everything and nothing all at once. Attempting to bring you back to yourself. To distract you from the death of Himari and the cold realization that you weren't just playing for your lives. You were playing for your lives at the expense of someone else's.

You hear the soft click of the outer door to your hotel room opening, not bothering to react. It's probably just Kuina returning from her game and coming to check on you. More than likely, the entire Beach was aware that you'd returned from your game soaked in blood and acting weird. You're certain they'll all be talking about you soon enough; word travels fast around here.

You continue to stare blankly at your tired eyes in the mirror when a surprising figure joins you in the bathroom. In your current state, you don't bother to look up at your brother who was studying your appearance in the mirror.

"I heard you returned to The Beach coated in blood," the man starts, taking the brush from Chishiya's hands. Aguni must have gone to him.

"It wasn't mine," you spit, more venomously than you've ever dared to speak to him, "besides, I wasn't aware that you still cared." If Niragi is surprised by your attitude, he doesn't show it, and he doesn't correct you either, still gently - more gentle than you've seen this Niragi act - brushing through your hair.

"I do care, as a matter of fact," he clicks his tongue, "but somehow you seem to not realize just how precarious of a position we are all in." His voice is low, measured; as though he is at war with himself to not say the wrong thing. As if it would be easier for him to not be speaking with you at all. And maybe that's true.

You look incredulously at your brother through the mirror now, "yes and whose fault is it that we were brought here, Niragi?! You forced us to come here, forced the others to hunt us down for you. And for what? To be treated like shit and ignored and, and whatever you've done to Chishiya! You've quietly dictated my every move here, not telling me the rules to the game that you are playing and it isn't fair. Do you even understand how scared I am? You're a horrible brother for this." You finally tell him what you really think. How you really feel.

You probably should have left at least that last part unsaid, because Niragi does react now, sharply grabbing ahold of your jaw and forcing your gaze to meet his in the mirror. He brings his face down right beside your ear, "Enough," he growls dangerously. A tone that feels sickeningly familiar, yet strange coming from him all at once.

Your brother snarls your full name for the first time probably ever, "You have no idea what's going on here, no idea how dangerous our position is. I can't have you compromising things - do not come back to The Beach looking weak and terrified again. You need to be acting like you are at the top of the food chain, I have worked hard to ensure your position there. Do you hear me?"

You look at him with confused eyes. You don't understand any of this, not even for a second. He pauses, focusing on a knot in your hair, still, despite his cruel words and angry demeanor, attempting to be gentle.

"I don't want Aguni coming to me again telling me that you're falling the fuck apart. Even if you are physically falling apart, you keep it together," he commands, voice leaving no room for you to argue. Niragi snaps his head to Chishiya then, "And you are supposed to be ensuring that she does." Your friend just blinks slowly at your brother, the two suddenly engaged in a silent standoff.

You break their tension with your quiet voice, "But I trust Aguni." Your brother scoffs, eyes shining in amusement, "Oh you trust him, do you? That's sweet." He rolls his eyes, mocking you. "Well I fucking don't! Why do you think that Chishiya was at your game with you tonight? Because I made it so! You will be playing with one of us from now on, sweetheart."

You stared, mouth agape at the man standing behind you. And so it had been Niragi that had carelessly disregarded your only rule. He had crossed a clearly set boundary and shattered your trust. Looking carefully at his reflection, you barely recognized him as the man you'd always known. Everything about him was different, from his cold, blackened eyes to the way he carried himself, more cocky now. He'd even pierced his tongue, a thought that made you shiver in disgust. You didn't know this person, and now you weren't sure you could even trust him.

Chishiya stayed locked in on your hair, jaw clenched tightly. His fingers silently braided the right side of your still damp locks, Niragi focusing on the left. You looked to him for help a couple of times but noticed that he wouldn't meet your gaze.

When the boys were finished with your hair, you rise from the stool you'd been perched on heading straight to the bed. You weren't a fan of the tension in the room, and a part of you wished for Niragi to leave so Chishiya could relax. So you could relax? But the bigger part of you has to know, if you ask your brother to stay, will he? Niragi always stays.

You slide your body under the still way too scratchy blankets, in the bed that was still way too hard for your liking, pressing your tired head into the pillow. Chishiya comes to sit on his side of the bed, making no move to actually go to sleep, nor look at either of you. Just staring at the pattern on the comforter that always seemed to be more interesting than anything else to him.

Your thoughts are swirling, and your heart can't get past it. You need to tell Niragi what happened or it will haunt you forever. It probably would anyway. You feel your eyes filling with tears, biting your cheek and looking down at your still shaky hands, "Himari was one of the game dealers tonight. A collar around her neck exploded when we cleared the game, it was her blood on me."

You see Niragi's eyes soften slightly, the man letting out a slow breath through his lips. He knew that you were close with Himari, that this would be difficult to get past. He approaches the bed hesitantly, holding something you hadn't noticed before. When he drops the soft, folded article in your lap, you get a scent of nostalgia. Of home. "Thought this might help," he says quietly, still measured. Unsure.

You look down, unwrapping it to find it was your favorite blanket from home. The blanket that your brother had always wrapped you up in in the aftermath, snuggling you close. The blanket that had been your mother's. Niragi had brought it here for you.

You stare down at it, eyes shining. You hold the worn, silky material between your fingertips, the texture alone soothing you. You smile lightly up at your brother, "Thank you."

Niragi nods simply and then turns to reunite himself with his rifle, his absolute pride and joy. He must have leaned up beside the door when he entered the room; how thoughtful of him to not wave it around in your face in the bathroom.

You can see that Niragi is trying to leave, back facing you and approaching the door. You sit up again slowly to look at him, you had to know. "Niragi?" You say tentatively, not unlike a younger version of yourself, "Stay?"

You see him freeze, his entire body tense, before he lets out another heavy sigh and turns back around. Taking slow, uncertain steps toward you again, you hold your breath. The man drags the puffy red armchair from the corner of the room to sit next to your side of the bed, flopping his body into it. You get a good look at him now, the man is exhausted.

This wasn't exactly what you'd had in mind when you asked him to stay, but it was something. He was giving you just enough to keep you from breaking entirely.

Niragi turns the lamp off, not unlike that very first night you'd spent here. The night you barely remembered through your fevered state and agonizing pain in your side. Oh how you hoped to never have to feel like that again. But in this place? You knew it was only a matter of time.

You try to allow sleep to overtake you, focusing hard on the loud rumbling of the air conditioner. That thing was on its last leg, and working way too hard to cool the air around you. The minutes tick past, but every time you close your eyes you can see Himari looking at you in fear, you hear her last words to you, you feel her blood spattering messily over your skin. Keep winning. Without realizing it, your cheeks are wet with tears, silent sobs escaping your body.

Your brother isn't easily fooled, even in this form and even in the dark, of course he knows you're crying. You try to stay quiet, not really wanting to be yelled at again. You probably should have let him leave when he wanted to, Chishiya would have let you cry openly. But you had to know, had to test that you still had a piece of the Niragi that you knew.

Surprisingly, Niragi finds the blanket he had just given you, wrapping it tightly around your shoulders, swaddling you the way he used to. He then reaches his hand out to find yours in the dark, squeezing it gently but firmly, "go to sleep, I'm here." You wrap both hands around the one he has offered you, holding on for dear life. You feel your body finally start to relax, peacefully finding slumber now.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

The sun is high in the sky by the time you finally wake up, light filtering in through the ratty curtains that you wanted to rip down and burn. You could hear Chishiya quietly tinkering with something - the man had probably been awake for hours by now. If he had even gone to sleep at all. Of course, Niragi was nowhere to be seen, the chair he had sat on pushed back into the corner. He had probably left you as soon as your breathing evened out.

The door creaks open, causing you to sleepily sit up, blankets pooling around your waist. An excited squeal - Kuina walks in, grinning at your still zombified state. "You're finally awake, I'm so excited! I brought you back a present from my game last night!" She holds up an emerald green bikini triumphantly, "isn't it adorable, and so you?!" She squeals again. "I knew it would bring out those gorgeous, sparkling eyes of yours," she gushes.

You can't help but smile as you sit up, taking the soft crocheted fabric between your fingers, studying it. "I love it, thank you," you murmur. You really had never had a girl friend like her, and the feeling of receiving this gift was unfamiliar territory. You liked it, wanted to keep Kuina around forever. You just hoped that was possible.

"I felt bad about the red one," the girl says sheepishly, rubbing her hand on the back of her neck. Chishiya snorts at this, finally turning around from what he was working on to take in your tired appearance and see what Kuina brought you. In all the excitement, you had very nearly forgotten what had happened a few nights ago.

You pout jokingly, but hold it up to your friend proudly, "Look, Shiya!" The corners of his mouth twitch up and he blinks slowly at you, "Very cute." You feel your face turn a slight shade of crimson at this comment, looking down at your lap flustered. Kuina takes notice and glances rapidly between the two of you with raised eyebrows.

"Ooookay, love birds!" Kuina says, breaking the quiet tension, "Get up and get ready now! We're going to spend the whole day together." She claps her hands together animatedly. You chuckle a little bit, nodding in agreement. It would be nice to spend more time with Kuina and be out of the room. You knew that her energy would rejuvenate you, washing the bad feelings from last night away.

A sharp knock comes at the door, just as you're coming out of the bathroom dressed in a lavendar polka dotted bikini for your day with Kuina. All three of you exchange a look, not expecting a visitor that was outside of your small group. You pull the door open toward you somewhat nervously, but are pleasantly surprised to find Aguni waiting there patiently.

The muscular man says your name and then continues, "You're with me today, come along. We're going out." Your eyes brighten in exhilaration - you were leaving the resort to look for resources. You could probably even find more stuff for your project too! You loved getting to leave the prison-like walls of The Beach for things other than games.

Nodding, "I'll be ready in just a minute!" You rush back towards the bathroom to pull on a pair of high waisted denim shorts. You didn't really want to walk around outside of the resort without covering up a little more. Your mind races back to your brother for a moment, hadn't he insinuated that you weren't to be alone with Aguni anymore? Maybe he had changed his mind. Or maybe, what Niragi doesn't know won't hurt him.

"Oh, and Chishiya you're with Niragi," the man adds, causing the blonde to sit up rigidly. He huffs in irritation, uncharacteristically slamming his newest project down roughly. As you pass, you grab his hand and squeeze, attempting to offer some comfort. Chishiya takes the opportunity to wrap his lithe fingers around your wrist and pulls you back into him whispering, "Remember what we talked about last night. I doubt that you're supposed to be with Aguni today so be discreet." You feel a chill run down your spine, but nod anyway. He had put your exact thoughts into words.

You offer Kuina an apologetic look on your way out the door, promising to catch up with her as soon as you were done with your errands. You really did want to spend more time with her.

You find yourself mapping an unfamiliar ward with Aguni, kicking small pieces of gravel along in front of you for entertainment. It was an area not unlike Shibuya Station, filled with abandoned shops and even an outdoor market. In your old life, you would have skipped through the brightly colored stalls, soaking in the delicious scents and sounds without a care in the world. Would you ever get that back?

Aguni is always a quiet presence, though one that was somehow very comforting to you. You were having a hard time understanding why Niragi no longer trusted him, having originally assigned the man to you himself. As you shuffled along the vine and moss covered streets, you couldn't help but feel like something was bothering the man beside you. This wasn't his usual brand of quietness.

The man sighs suddenly, stopping in his tracks. You glance back at him curiously, something is definitely upsetting him. He's looking down at the ground, but you notice a vulnerable look etching his features. You bring your left hand to fidget with your earring anxiously, his energy starting to constrict its way around you like a snake and making you nervous.

His eyes find yours once more and he says your name quietly. "Can I talk to you about something private?" He asks, shocking you. You had never expected to have a heart-to-heart with the ex-SDF officer. You nod, approaching him slowly as if moving too quickly would frighten him off like a wild deer.

He cuts right to the chase, "Do you think this place changes people?" You tilt your head, trying to understand his question. Does this place change people? You had certainly seen a change in Niragi, even a small one in Chishiya; though you expected that had a lot to do with Niragi too. Then there was the change in you, as well. The darkness.

You nod again slowly, now picking at your fingernails. You'd have to see if Kuina could paint your nails for you later. "I think . . . this place has a way of bringing out the worst in us. Of dragging us so deeply into despair and draining us of hope, that we resort to using the darkest parts of our souls that would not normally see the light of day." You look down to study the greenery below your feet, hoping Aguni didn't notice that you were talking about yourself too. This place hadn't grown the darkness, it had always been there. It just cultivated it, allowed it to take root in your soul and grow if you allowed it.

Aguni looks astonished at your wisdom for a moment, but hums in agreement. "It's just that . . ." he trails off, "I'm worried about Takeru. I know that you've seen him in his normal state - that he was vulnerable with you. This persona . . . it's taking him over. Making him crazy. The Beach, the power. It's making him crazy." Your breath catches in your throat, so your hunch had been correct. Everyone was playing a game that no one else understood.

You don't know what to say, was there even anything to be said? You simply nod sadly, understanding exactly what Aguni was going through. Because you were going through it too, weren't you? Niragi.

The man says your name again, this time carefully, measured how Niragi's had been last night, "You're smart. I know that you're aware of how dangerous this place is, how thin and perilous our positions are. Things are changing, rapidly." He pauses for a moment to glance around, as if there could be people listening. He sighs tiredly, lowering his voice a bit, "This might be the last time I can be around you without compromising your safety, so I want to warn you now. There will be a power struggle at The Beach very soon. Do your best not to get caught up in it."

Your heart is in your throat, and now you are scared. This is way more information than you can digest, and you don't know how to handle the thought that you might not get to be around Aguni anymore. Plus, a power struggle at The Beach? What could that even mean? Instead of asking questions, you reach your arms around him to hug him, "thank you for protecting me for so long, and for being a friend to me." He hugs you back, squeezing once before deciding it's time to get a move on. You still have errands to complete, after all.

There was not one, but TWO convenience stores left in this ward still completely untouched by other players. The two of you gather as much of the canned goods and non-perishables as you can fit in the car, marking the stores on your map as ones that still have a lot of resources for whichever Executives would be doing next food restock expedition.

You silently hoped it would be you, because there were a bunch of stores in the district that looked like they would have great stuff for continuing to re-decorate the resort. You wanted to spend hours combing this place, but the man alongside you seemed antsy to get back to The Beach for whatever reason. After some tactful doe-eyed pleading, Aguni conceded in letting you check out just one shop - one that housed tons of colorful, sprawling faux plants. You really wanted to add some greenery to the lobby and conference room spaces, insisting this was an absolute necessity today.

Aguni taps his foot, almost anxiously as he waits for you to choose some pieces. Finally he says, "Don't take too long, I need to get you back to The Beach and return you to Ann. You were supposed to be with her today, and I expect your brother won't be happy that I've stolen you." Your eyebrows shoot up, head whipping to lock your gaze on the man, "What?" He looks sheepish, an odd look on his normally stone cold face, "I had to see you one more time. I needed to make sure you would be okay."

So Niragi didn't know, and you were supposed to be with Ann right now. Aguni had taken Ann's place on this trip to make sure you would be okay with the events that were threatening to brew in the future. Your brain was working in overdrive to put pieces of this massive puzzle together, trying to figure out who was trustworthy to you. Could you trust anyone? Could you even trust yourself?

The car ride back to the resort is quiet, filled with an electrified tension not unlike the one you usually felt in a game arena. You knew that once you stepped out of this car, you and Aguni would be playing two opposite ends of a game that you still didn't understand, and that frightened you. How could you survive in this place without trusted allies?

Through the side mirror, you see Ann approaching the now parked car to take over the duty of carrying things inside with you, and you know it's time. Aguni whispers lowly to you one last time before retreating into the building for good.

"I don't know what game your brother is playing, but should he lose himself in it like Takeru is, don't let him drown you with him."

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Several days pass without significant event. You find yourself in a comfortable routine, soaking up the presence of Chishiya and Kuina - deciding that they were the only people you could trust.

Each day, you wake up to the blonde tinkering around with scraps or pieces of broken technology that he was dead set on fixing. He allows you the space to wake up naturally, usually offering food whenever you've fully stretched and decided on what you wanted to wear for the day. After brunch, you usually have an Executive task or two to take care of - Chishiya was now your permanent partner for those things. To your chagrin, you don't get to return to the shopping district that was filled with colorful shops this week.

Afternoons and early evenings are dedicated to Kuina; sometimes playing around with makeup, doing mani/pedis together, or hanging out by the pool. Chishiya always lurks quietly in the background, never too far away. Every other night, you are forced to accompany a group to a game; Hatter has split the Executives into two groups, ensuring that The Beach collects cards as quickly as possible. Together, you and Chishiya clear two more games, a Four of Clubs and Ace of Diamonds. On the nights that you aren't playing, your friends help you realize your artistic vision for the resort, painting walls, hanging new artwork, and moving furniture around your direction. It wasn't your old life, but honestly it wasn't so bad either.

Aguni had been right, the last errand you went on with him had been the last time you saw him. You missed playing games with him and being within his soothing presence. In fact, there was a strange lack of militant presence around the resort, as Hatter had become more vicious about accusing people of being "traitors to The Beach". The militants were obviously busy doing all his dirty work - a thought that made you shiver. What horrible things was your brother being forced to do? Or even worse, was he enjoying it?

Today was already starting off differently than the previous few have - an insistent knock at your door wakes you aggressively from a deep slumber. You roll over and groan in protest, yanking a pillow over your head. The bed shifts beside you, Chishiya pushing the covers back and padding towards the door. It must be early enough that the blonde had still been sleeping too. Fuck that.

Their voices are hushed, so you don't hear who it is or what is being said, but you remain laying with your head under the pillow. Hoping like hell that whatever it was could wait a few more hours. You hear the door click shut again, holding your breath.

Your friend returns to the bed, yanking the covers off your body, "Time to get up, sleeping beauty." You cry out, the chilled air of the room hitting your skin like needles, attempting to steal the covers back from the man. "Noooooo, just five more minutes, Shiya pleaaaase," you whine. "Sorry, baby," he coos mockingly, "Executive business. Some people were caught sneaking around, and Hatter wants to "welcome" them."

You groan again, rolling onto your back and staring up at your friend with doe eyes, as though he can do anything about it. Chishiya looks at you in warning, as if daring you to try getting out of it further. Instead, you throw your body to the side, climbing slowly out of your cocoon.

A cobalt blue bikini calls to you from inside your wardrobe; you decide on that and a pretty pink beaded kimono-style cover up. You take a couple of minutes getting dressed and brushing your teeth before allowing Chishiya to pull your hair into a single French braid down your back.

You're still grumbling and rubbing sleep out of your eyes as Chishiya leads you down the hallway on your way to the conference room. You had to admit - you were excited to see it in the daylight; you and Kuina had spent hours last night while the others partied painting the walls a stunning shade of ivory and adding some green leafy foliage around the space.

Ann, Mira, and Kuzuryu stand waiting along the pocket wall that split the room in half, hiding the playing cards Mira had spray painted there at the very start of The Beach.

You and Chishiya join them just as two militant guys you don't recognize show up, carting in the two people who had supposedly been sneaking around, their heads covered with cloth bags. You look in shock at this fact, why were they being treated as war criminals? Hatter was getting just that much closer to snapping, you realized. The two are pushed into chairs, facing you. When the militants lift the material from their faces, you have to bite the inside of your cheek to hide your surprise - it was Arisu and the climber girl from your Five of Spades game. You briefly wonder what had happened to his blonde friend, and whoever they'd been trying to get medical help for. In a place like this, it's probably best not to ask.

Their eyes light up as they scan you and your friend standing beside you, but are smart enough to say nothing right now. Mira is the first to speak, "good morning!" she chirps, grinning at the couple.

Kuzuryu follows directly after, "I'm sorry that we were so rough. We heard that there were some people sneaking around the place."

Ann stalks across the room, arms crossed. Very detective-like. She does not bullshit around and simply wonders, "What are your motives?" You frown, feeling like this was more of an interrogation than a welcome, but you know better than to say anything.

Arisu swallows, taking just a moment to answer, "We heard that we'll know the answer . . . if we come here. What this game is about and where all the people who disappeared went."

Then the massive wooden doors swing open, Hatter making his grand entrance accompanied by his two muscular body guards, "Exactly! We know the answers to the questions you both have. Welcome to The Beach, the utopia." He opens his arms widely, placing himself between the two newcomers to speak directly in their ears. You feel your eye twitch at the fakeness of it all.

The man, acting once again like a cult leader, then gestures forward toward the pocket wall. "This . . . is the answer." He snaps dramatically, drinking in the power he holds over everyone in the room. His guards move forward to move the wall out of the way, presenting Arisu and his friend with the wall of playing cards for the first time.

"I'll tell you the truth. There's only one way to end this hellish nightmare," the man says, walking toward the wall, both arms reaching toward it in a grand stance. "We clear the games and collect all the playing cards."

Arisu looks astonished and confused, and honestly you don't blame him. You aren't certain that you believe a word that comes out of Hatter's mouth either. He speaks, albeit softly, "All the playing cards?"

The girl interjects, "So if you collect all of them, will the original world return?" You wished wholeheartedly for that to be the case.

Hatter turns slowly to look back at them, very serious now, "The original world will not return. Only one person can return to the original world." Yep. There it is. The thing that no one likes to address around here. You shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"Only one person?" Arisu clarifies, obviously horrified. As well he should be.

Hatter hums, "It's impossible for a single person to clear all the games and gather all fifty two playing cards. You can't leave this country by working alone. That's why everyone unites as one in order to let that one person leave the country. This is The Beach's objective. I've heard that the two of you possess good cards. I'll have both of you play your part and help us gather the remaining cards." Your stomach feels sick hearing Hatter's speech again after so long, and you're thankful that you hadn't had anything to eat yet today.

Arisu is akin to your own heart, you realize. Asking now something you had also wondered weeks ago, "And if we refuse?"

Hatter has sat down on the heavy wooden desk by the window that you now notice has belongings scattered across it - the pair's belongings - he grins, reaching out wildly again, "You can't reject me." He lifts a piece of scrap paper from the pile, holding it up between two of his fingers, "Your visa is expiring today." He taps the index finger of his other hand aggressively to the paper, "You have no choice but to participate in a game, don't you?" Your lips part slowly, realizing that Hatter would leave them tied up until their visas expired if they decided not to stay. They would be killed by the laser.

Arisu looks disgustedly at the man that you were also back to hating, and then back to his partner as she cuts in, "We can return if we gather all the cards. Is that really true?"

Hatter stands again, walking across the room dramatically in front of the rest of you, "I can't reveal everything yet, but I have a credible source for that information. Before both of you entered this world, we already thoroughly investigated everything about this country."

Arisu interrupts his tangent again, "You've been referring to this place as a "country"."

Hatter points at Arisu, as if proud he had caught that little detail. "The fact that we've been issued Visas means that this is a country. The people in Tokyo didn't just disappear. It's hypothesized that we've entered another country accidentally. If that's true, then there must be a way to return." You realize now that Hatter had fallen more deeply into his delusions in the last couple of days, truly believing the words that he was spewing. In fact, the country you were residing in, was now being referred to around the resort as 'Borderland' after a group of players had heard someone at a game arena call it that.

You felt a wave of relief rush across your skin when a note is brought in by Hatter's long-haired guard - the fueling team needed Executive escort to proceed with their tasks for the day. Hatter nods to him and looks to you, "Princess, take Chishiya and escort the maintenance team today, won't you? I'll take care of things here." He winks over his aviators at you. You nod, relieved to be able to leave this hostile environment before anything bad happens to these two. In case Hatter calls upon Niragi to kill them.

"Good girl," Hatter praises, making your skin bristle and causing Chishiya to stiffen slightly beside you. Jealous. You glance one final time at Arisu on your way out, willing him to make the right choice.

He didn't really have one, after all.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

You lean back with a sigh, relaxing into the plastic beach chair set in front of the glittering pool packed with bodies. The sun has all but disappeared from the sky, and the citizens of The Beach are happily drinking in the mood of twilight. That's not the only thing they're drinking in, mind you - it's early evening, and the party is absolutely raging. The music is bumping, the drinks are flowing, and the people are doing what people at The Beach do best - celebrating life. It may seem macabre, to party the days away when you're forced to face deadly games by night, but honestly it feels kind of right when you aren't really sure how much longer you have left to live. The longer you're here, the more you're understanding that.

Chishiya sits at your feet, one arm draped lazily over your bare calves and the other holding him upright on the chair. As usual, his face is devoid of any emotion, but you know he is enjoying the opportunity to people watch and get some fresh air.

You spend a few moments studying the people yourself - many splashing around drunkenly in the refreshing pool water and others dancing uninhibited around its edges, everyone looking free as can be. How must it feel to not have to worry about anyone in Borderland but yourself? How easy it must be to not have the two most important people in your life stuck here with you, wondering if today is the day they're going to die. Or the day that they finally lose themselves.

You feel the familiar tight feeling in your chest start to build, and force yourself to shake away those suffocating thoughts - you simply cannot afford to panic here. Niragi had been clear - keep it together no matter what.

You turn your attention instead to playing with the beads adorning the straps of your emerald green crochet bikini. You were finally wearing it outside of your room for the first time today. It was special to you - a gift from Kuina a few days ago. The gift made you feel loved, and the suit made you feel sexy.

Rolling the wooden beads between your fingers seemed to help settle your nerves. When your breathing finally returned to normal and the simple anxious task was no longer needed, you sigh loudly, covering your face with your arms and flopping further back into the chair. Bored.

Chishiya smirks, raising an eyebrow. The man very nearly laughs at the dramatic habit that was very you. "Bored already, hm?" He hums, "Coming down here was your idea after all."

"Yes, but I thought there would be more excitement" you whined, flailing your arms widely to accentuate your point. Chishiya sweeps his eyes over your form, looking at you with amusement.

He's about to say something more when he's interrupted by the arrival of two familiar figures - a nervous looking guy with shaggy brown hair, and a fit, muscular girl with a cute bob cut. Chishiya squeezes your calf to get your attention, flicking his eyes toward them as they sit down apprehensively on two beach chairs across the pool from you. Arisu and Usagi.

"So they decided to stay after all," you muse, sitting up in interest and folding your legs underneath you. You scoot your body closer to your friend, your thigh brushing against his, as you continue to observe the couple.

The blonde turns his head to study your face, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear as he does, "I can't imagine that it would have gone over well had they declined Hatter's offer." You feel a slight shiver run down your spine at Chishiya's intimate touch. You hum distractedly, still staring at the pair, but suddenly feeling very far away from the events taking place around you.

You grin brightly, then, having noticed Kuina skipping over to them. She plops, likely uninvited, down on the chair beside Arisu, her unlit cigarette hanging characteristically in her mouth. There is no doubt in your mind that she was already teasing them about the relationship between them, despite having just introduced herself.

Kuina was confident like that, and you loved that about her. Well, except for when she was teasing you and Chishiya. You blushed slightly just thinking about it, wondering when you had started becoming so flustered about your best friend. When you had started wanting so desperately to press your lips against his. You duck your head at these thoughts and pretend to study the sparkly manicure Kuina had given you last night.

How long were you and Chishiya going to continue pretending to be just friends?

Within a minute or two, the air had turned from relaxed to tense, and your neck snapped up to find out why. Your discerning eyes land on the militants, of course, you really should have guessed. The hostile and generally power hungry group of The Beach's "personal protection unit" were filing into the party, sure to flash their weapons at anyone looking. You don't think you had seen them congregated as a group like this, they really were becoming overpowered. The smart people were avoiding their gaze entirely, and the stupid (drunk?) people were openly gawking. You rolled your eyes, how typical.

Leading the charge onto the pool deck was Aguni, looking cold and calculating in a way you didn't like, with your brother following close behind. Your eyes narrowed, having not seen either of them for a few days.

"Looks like you're about to get your excitement after all," Chishiya whispered, his breath tickling your ear. You took in a sharp breath in anticipation; the full militant corp was standing at arms looking ready to fight, at the pool. Could this mean the power struggle you'd been warned about would be coming sooner than you expected? Anxiety swirled heavily in your stomach, fingers subconsciously finding the wooden beads again.

You look to Niragi, the one person who would normally soothe your frayed nerves with just a glance, but feel even worse seeing the wild look in his darkened eyes. Had your relationship truly deteriorated so much in a matter of weeks?

Being all the way on the other side of the pool from them, you're unable to hear Aguni's request, but Niragi was quick to obey. He moved towards Usagi, pulling her roughly up to her feet.

You watch with widened eyes - had Aguni asked for Usagi? What would he even want her for? Nothing good, certainly. The Aguni you knew would never want to hurt someone, or take them against their will. Had you been mistaken about him from the beginning? Or maybe this place really does create monsters out of men - you could certainly see that in the long-haired man across the pool from you, once soft and caring, now swinging a gun around without a care in the world and physically threatening a girl not much older than you. Hell, you see it even in yourself, having been happy enough to let everyone but Chishiya die from the second you landed in this wretched place and started playing.

You're shaken from your reverie when Arisu springs up from his place beside Kuina to help Usagi. You groan in despair, knowing full well that your brother would only be further provoked; Borderland-version Niragi has an extremely short fuse. Kuina also looks displeased, as though she'd literally just told them not to mess with them, which she probably had.

The people of the party are now definitely watching, but openly pretending not to be. If you didn't feel so anxious at the situation, you'd probably laugh at how nosy and indiscrete drunk people truly are.

You find yourself standing instead, ready to close the distance between your perch and where Niragi has now thrown Arisu to the ground, kicking him repeatedly in the stomach. You felt like throwing up watching the display. Memories flooded your mind of watching your father do the exact same thing to the tall man who was now delivering the blows. It was taking everything in you to not curl up in a ball crying like you always had when the two men in your family were fighting. No, this time you had to put an end to it. This time you would be brave and fight.

"You're going to try to save them, aren't you?" Chishiya mumbles in concern, knowing this scene was likely triggering to you. You knew he wanted you to stay out of it, but you just couldn't help yourself.

"I can't sit back and play victim anymore, Shiya," you whisper. You move swiftly around the pool, before you could lose your nerve or Chishiya could stop you.

"Niragi, please. They're my friends," you plead with the violent man, grabbing onto his forearm as he delivers another crushing blow to Arisu's ribcage. The people of The Beach were now actively watching the scene, fully invested in your family drama. You're unsure of why you called the couple your friends, when you just barely know their names. All you know is that you don't want to watch your brother kill the poor guy, and you definitely don't want to find out what Aguni had planned for Usagi. Or was it that you couldn't stand to see your sweet brother hurt someone the same way he had been hurt so many times in his life?

Niragi ceases his assault on the boy and rips his arm from your grasp. He gives you a full once over in the process, his cold eyes meeting yours for the first time in days. You feel real, raw fear filling your system, something you haven't felt since leaving your father's house for the last time eight years ago. You'd never felt smaller in your life than you did now, shrinking under Niragi's brutal gaze.

Taking a shaky breath, you muster the shiniest, prettiest puppy dog eyes you can, peering up at Niragi through long eyelashes. "You won't hurt them, right? I'm friends with them."

Niragi continues glaring intimidatingly down at you, in what you realize is disgust. He doesn't address your concerns, but instead has something else to say.

"Put some fucking clothes on, you look like a slut" he spits fiercely, his pierced face now just centimeters from yours. The tight feeling in your chest had returned in full force, threatening to suffocate you.

You stumbled back as if he'd struck you - Niragi had never spoken to you like that. Your stomach dropped, and it took all of your willpower to maintain your composure. You obviously couldn't cry in front of all these Beach idiots, gaping at the two of you like you were the best soap opera in Borderland. You turn your head to escape his intense gaze, and put your tongue in your cheek to keep the tears from spilling over. You want soap opera? I'll give you soap opera.

Looking back up at your brother, you cross your arms over your chest. "What are you going to do, make me?" you implore him brattily. Niragi seethed, pierced eyebrow arching, looking like he was seriously considering slapping the attitude right out of you. You stand your ground, the way you should have every other time you've faced a monster like this.

As you and Niragi stare each other down, the initial cause for your dispute long forgotten, Aguni and the others have become distracted by Hatter's arrival. One side demanding peace, and the release of the newest members of the beach; the other begging silently for chaos to ensue. The tense atmosphere surrounding you indicates the balance of power between the two leaders was indeed in jeopardy. Do your best not to get caught up in it. Sorry, Aguni.

After what feels like hours of strained silence, Aguni ultimately yields to Hatter. The Beach seems to collectively release their held breaths as Aguni and the militant corp flock away to another part of the resort. Usagi quickly tends to Arisu, leading him back into the building to treat his wounds and get to safety. Meanwhile, you have your own struggle for power going on.

Niragi still stands towering above you, obviously not in the mood for your games. He unbuttons his black and white collared shirt, draping it over your shoulders, "Go. Change. Not a request." His fingers wrap tightly around your forearm, aggressively yanking you towards the entrance to the hotel. The force that Niragi had exerted on you nearly sent you careening into the pool still glistening mockingly at your feet, but luckily Chishiya had appeared in just the right position to catch you. Unbeknownst to you, the two exchange a brief look before Niragi skulks off to find Aguni and his other lunatic friends.

The panic within you threatened once more to boil over and your brain simply shuts down - this week had been too fucking much. In your daze, you barely register Chishiya dragging you inside, away from the curious and scrutinizing glances of The Beach citizens. You were embarrassed, confused, and fucking mad.

Just as you passed through the swinging double doors and into the air-conditioned building, Kuina fell in step with you two. She let a reassuring hand fall on your shoulder, squeezing it for comfort. At her kind touch, you feel your carefully crafted resolve finally crumble to the floor. Chishiya knew immediately that you were done for, lifting you easily into his arms and allowing you to ground yourself in him. He carried you protectively the rest of the way to the room as your thoughts thundered around in your head like a wild storm.

You had been lying to yourself your whole life, Niragi had been lying to you your whole life. He promised that your family wasn't broken, that you weren't broken. You guessed it was too much to ask for you to remain untouched by your father's special brand of cruelty. That one day, you'd likely both become just like him.

And now Niragi had. He called you a slut, degrading an outfit that had made you feel beautiful. He embarrassed you in front of an audience. He grabbed you so hard you could see his fingerprints etched in your skin. He was just like him and this time you knew you wouldn't escape.

It was then that you knew - this game that you were playing was much more dangerous than you could ever have realized.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

You don't know why you'd allowed Kuina to drag you back to the pool after what had happened yesterday, after the absolute humiliation you had faced at the hands of your brother. You find yourself sitting again on a stiff, plastic beach chair between her and Usagi. "A girls' day", they had insisted.

Your body was with the girls, but your mind was tangled up elsewhere; it didn't matter what Chishiya had said. It didn't matter what Niragi himself had said. You were certain that the cracks Aguni had seen in Hatter, caused by the pressure of playing a game far too dangerous for him to win, were now appearing in your brother too.

But it was worse than that, you feared. His game was still ongoing, everyone still playing their part. But Niragi? He had lost himself. He had let his darkness in, the same darkness that you saw in yourself. The darkness that you were so afraid to succumb to, because this. This is what could happen if you let it out.

It wasn't just a game that he was playing anymore. This is who Niragi is now.

"We should get drunk," you say suddenly, surprising the women on either side of you. "Why not?" you asked, raising your eyebrows. They both looked skeptically at you, obviously thinking that alcohol was the last thing you needed right now.

You don't wait for an answer before standing and traipsing lazily over to the bar. You had to get your mind off of everything that was going on. Tatta stands behind the slab of driftwood, mixing drinks for a few others that were waiting, watching you curiously. You ignore their stares, knowing they had likely seen what happened with you and Niragi yesterday. You pull your ivory cover up more tightly around you as you wait for Tatta to approach.

He grins when he sees you, saying your name warmly, "I'm surprised to see you drinking, are you even old enough?" He asks with an eyebrow raised. You laugh, obviously not old enough, "Does it really matter here?" Tatta laughs too, shaking his head. You explain that you are getting drunk with Kuina and Usagi, having a "girls' afternoon". He nods, "I know exactly what to do for you, then," he says mischievously. You had been glad when the man from your Five of Spades game had made his way to The Beach. He really was a nice guy and a fun friend to have.

You carry three very fruity, bright pink glasses of alcohol back to your friends, remaining standing facing them as you bring all of your glasses together in a cheers. You wish briefly that you had your phone to be able to capture this moment on Instagram. You'd always wanted girl friends like this in your old life.

You take a small sip of the cocktail, the taste causing you to shiver just as a shadow is cast over your form. At first, you don't react, assuming it was just someone passing by. When both girls look up at someone, though, faces contorted in confusion, you feel a bit of anxiety fill you.

"Hello, my little butterfly," a sickly sweet voice sounds from behind you, the person standing much closer than your senses had detected. Your stomach sours immediately, your pulse entering your ears. You feel your tactile senses dull, and the martini glass slips from between your fingers, shattering on the ground at your feet.

For what must be the thousandth time since entering Borderland, you feel panic tightening your chest. There is only one person who has ever called you that, and you truly don't want to believe he is somehow right behind you. You had just begun to think that you could be okay in life without Niragi, but you knew now that you absolutely needed him. That this was not something you could handle without him.

Your father was here at The Beach.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Previous Chapter

The Game Itself Masterlist

The Game Itself Tag List: @moonchild323232 @princesskatxo @lovelygias @carlgrimesfuturegf @audiiix @maxinehufflepuffprincess @aeristocrats @unhinged-sorcerer @potato-vagina @kimsrie @mocchii-writes @rillianeswife

Please never hesitate to let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) the tag list! Also, my asks and messages are open, PLEASE reach out, I would literally die to interact with you; ily guys endlessly 💕✨️

[violetjedisylveon]

Final answer: the Horrific Thing was the burning of FFM. Mac would never but didn't have a choice but the monkeys didn't know that. They just saw one of their kin, their protector, their Other King, setting fire to the home he had worked so hard to defend. He stopped the worst of fires and saved most of everyone during the initial burn but after being captured and spelled, he was forced to go back and finish what he had stopped.

Maybe Wukong had to watch or listen, or Mac was forced to tell him all of it in excruciating detail while force feeding him the peach.

Also, I love protective Wukong but I also vibe with the idea that Mac is ready to go nuclear at the drop of a hat. Wukong is unfortunately used to hearing all the shit people will throw at him about his mate. He hates it and will happily maul anyone who decides they wanna find out, but he has been hearing it for over 1700 years and is, technically, capable of responding in a reasonable manner. (He never does though. As far as Wukong's concerned, only select people are allowed to even say his mate's name in his presence, or at all).

Macaque though? Macaque, who loves this man so much and is learning to love and care for him all over again? Macaque, who is slowly realizing just how much his mate suffered while he was imprisoned in his own mind? Macaque, who has heard the unkind things people say about him and his mate for centuries but all he could was smile and laugh along with those people? Macaque, who is now Free? Free to love and care and cry and feel sad and, most importantly R A G E.

The first time he hears someone talk shit after being freed, it's... A Situation. He may or may not kill someone on spot and drop the rest of them into the shadow realm to suffer agonizing torment and mental anguish. Everyone is Shook, including Mihou. Wukong, who was ready to go off on the guy before his mate had literally shoved him back to get to the the idiot first, is simping so hard. He's red faced and starry-eyed and so lovestruck because "Awww his mate killed someone for him 😍😭🥰🥹".

(MK is torn on how to feel about seeing his maybe-dad murder someone. The dude had it coming but that's still... a crime?? But then again so is being mean to his newly-happy mentor...🤔🤔).

Long story short, everyone is suddenly reminded of the fact that the Six Eared Macaque is a powerful warrior that was on level with the Great Sage, and is Very Loyal to His King. (Maybe if the fight with Azure becomes well-known they might even start fearing the extremely powerful being who even the former emperor acknowledged as having absolute power over the mighty Sun Wukong. Those six ears hear an awful lot and many, many people have quite suddenly stopped talking).

Have I mentioned I love this AU btw? Because I love this AU.

Good guess but nope! Think eviler.

There were only two victims of the Horrific Thing™, and Wukong was forced to watch it. (If you want a hint, try looking for a pair of sisters in the epic au ;)

Jade Emperor thought FFM was fully burned to the ground and the majority of its inhabitants killed, (because Erlang lied to him about it), and he needed to eliminate the two victims anyway, why not make Macaque do it?

Macaque was surprised by his reaction the first time someone insulted him, he hasn't felt anything that strongly for thousands of years.

MK is shocked that his maybe probably dad reacted so violently, but it makes sense.

The only thing holding Mac back from bloody murdering at anyone who dates to say anything bad about his mate is that it's bad for the baby (MK) to see violence like that. He definitely drops people into shadows and if they land in a volcano, that's not his fault. Wukong shit talking suddenly drops to near zero.

Wukong is absolutely smitten as hell when it happens. He loves his mate so much.

Everyone now knows about what happened to Macaque, a lot of people are impressed/fear him, but some idiots think they could use him for the power he has over Wukong, they would have to get through his wildly protective family to do so.

There's only two people who can insult Wukong or Macaque to their faces and survive, they don't fear death.

Why would they? they've already died.

Grinning Shadow AU Masterpost

And I'm very glad you like this au so much! 😊

[moldypoff]

God, I want to make a fanfic where you kill (accidentally or not) Jimmy after you find out that he assaulted Anya and the crash doesn’t happen but now you have to deal with the consequences.

Even if you do the “morally right” thing everyone’s gonna hate you (they won’t say it but they’ll think it).

With the way Pony Express operates I think Curly will have to severely punish you. Either A. Lock you up in a secluded space for the rest of 8 months or B. Kill you, as per policy because you’re mentally unstable and at risk of harming the rest of the crew.

Besides the mental strain that’ll be on just you for the next few months, everyone else has to bear the consequences as well.

(Elaboration under the cut)

Explaining the situation to the company and cops is going to be hell for Anya, because when you explain that you did it on Anya’s behalf they’re immediately going to assume that she may have been an accomplice/and or orchestrated the attack. Not even that but you’ll permanently stain her already half-baked resume since this can be seen as her being an ineffective healthcare provider since she’d clearly misjudged your mental state during psyche evals.

What’s worse is that Curly might not get that promotion because of you since he failed, as Captain, to settle the dispute. Not only did you kill his long term friend but you ruined his life and now he has to deal with keeping everyone calm and Jimmy’s rotting body on the ship.

Daisuke? Considering you’re probably the closest to him out of everyone in the crew because of his friendly personality he’s going to feel so betrayed on top of stressed from living in the environment you created for the next few months. Again, rotting body. Next, everyone’s going to have to decide on how to collectively come up with a solid strategy to get out of this somewhat or completely scot free WHILE continuing to perform their usual tasks on the Tulpar.

Swansea’s probably furious right off the bat. Not just because he already know’s there’s going to be so much work when you all get to your destination (too which he will simultaneously be unemployed), but because he thought you were better than this. Jimmy’s an asshole and rapist, but you? Adding to their troubles of already being laid off and traumatizing them at the same time just because you felt like playing hero? You’re almost just as bad as Jimmy.

Of course they didn’t know how things would play out if they kept Jimmy alive, but is this really any better?

They’re filled with impending doom, they need to keep the smelly, rotting crime scene untouched to prove their innocence, and worst of all they probably still have to take care of you, if you’re alive, AND take over your tasks for your role on the ship as well as Jimmy’s.

Inspiration + Reflection:

Tbh I feel like this is a good reflection of how society treats heros. I remember hearing about this dude who had his daughter SA’d and out of pure rage he killed her abuser, and upon realizing that he was going to jail he went on a spree to kill as many predators and rapists as he could.

That man will never see freedom again but he saved countless young girls and women from being taken advantage of.

It’s also interesting to think about the families and friends of the predators and rapists. Did they even know about what their friend, brother, or husband was up to? Do they comprehend the sheer capacity for cruelty at which this person they trusted operates themselves at? And are they sad to see them go? Are they mad at the person who took them away? Are they willing to accept the fact that they were a bad person or do they desperately cling to the memory of them when they were ‘good’?

I’d really like to explore these topics with multiple endings. Writing a whole fanfic is hard man- I’d rather just get to the important stuff, I’m sorry 😭

Speaking of, I have a couple in mind.

Endings:

Estimated reader satisfaction: # / 5

Bad Ending: -1 - 0 / 5

Everyone dies under the pressure of it all.

Mini Bad Ending: 0.5 - 1 /5

Curly kills you.

Neutral ending#1: 1/5

You live, everyone’s alive (except for Jimmy, duh), all of the expected consequences occur, you’re in jail, you all go your separate ways and struggle like hell. (The most realistic ending.)

Neutral ending#2: 3/5

You only kill yourself. Everyone else is proven innocent and gets to live a somewhat “normal” life, but is forever haunted by your sacrifice.

Good: 5/5

Pony Express is sued, and you all (well… maybe except for you) are awarded a shit ton of money in compensation. You all live happily ever after (you’re actually in jail but the others can easily bail you out). <- Very unlikely, kinda vanilla if you ask me, but fix-it AUs do go hard tho, I just wouldn’t write it myself.

Side notes: Did I remind you that Anya’s pregnant this entire time? Also, this can serve as justification for Curly for his ‘inaction’. If this were him instead of you it might be two times-ish harder on him to be honest.

[fisheito]

UNLOCKED SCORCHING SUN (sunburst fever) DANTE ! (Spoilers? Here is a short summary of my reactions):

-eiden i live for the cheesy things you say when you wanna bone someone. ehehehehe when the corny roleplay actually works too well🎶🎵

-oh um 😳 eiden getting himself off bygrinding against Dante's leg ahaha💦💦 ok uhhh 💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦

- THE CONFUSED SPUTTERING WHEN EIDEN GETS SUDDENLY BLUE BALLED����🤣

-oh shir dante lore drop

-oh SGIT DAnte is working even harder than i thought just to make an equal society like,, dude,, that is sO MUCH to take on YOU ARE ONLY A BABY. BUT YOU TRY TO FIX CENTURIES OF INJUSTICE 😭

-aawwww...... gentle.....🥹

-DAMMIT EIDEN STOP BRATTING FOR 60SECONDS AAHHHHHAJAJAhaha oihh ahhhh

-dante is like the Grinch he doesn't know what the dokidoki in his chest is (.it's his heart) but. He'll get it one day

- they're cute 😭 and funny 😭😭 and eiden's "why do *i* have to go" is so... PETULANT i love them they're bickering idiots 🥳

ah, correction*: why "THE HELL HAVE" i gotta go. to be fair, that is a mild reaction to dante suddenly cockblocking him from himself(?). yeah. selfish lover moment deserves at MINIMUM that amount of sass 🤣

[avocado-writing]

if you are taking short fic requests for wade n logan, how about one where typically sunshine!reader comes home sad and while the both of them have that frenemy thing going, they agree on fucking up whoever made reader unhappy :o btw i love your work ❣️

You fill the apartment with laughter and light and life. You: all parts sunshine and joy, making things a bit brighter even when the world feels so dark. You’re a bit of levity at the end of a day which is usually bathed in blood. A reminder of what’s worth fighting for. 

So when you walk in that night with your jaw grit tight and eyes watery, it’s pretty damn noticeable. 

“Hey. You okay?” asks Logan, voice gruff but full of concern. He’s on the couch, patching himself up from no doubt getting the shit beaten out of him, hopefully not staining the new throw blanket you bought. You head to the fridge wordlessly, grabbing a beer and getting annoyed when you can’t immediately find a bottle opener. He holds his hand out silently, and you give in, allowing him to use one of his claws to help. 

“Long day,” you manage, trying to bite back tears. You hear the bathroom door open and Wade sticks his head out, the sound of conversation irresistible to him. 

“Hey sunshine! How’s my favourite—?” he starts, but trails off when he sees the state you’re in. He goes to jump over the back of the sofa to get to you but immediately falls on his face because he’s missing half a leg. Despite everything a laugh bubbles up from you, inescapable. 

“I’m glad my dismemberment is just a slapstick routine to you, cupcake,” he pouts up at you from the floor. You wipe your eyes furiously with your sleeve and go to help him up, settling him into an armchair - and giving him the opportunity to sweep you into his lap. 

“What’s the matter, honey? Seriously. Who do we need to kill?” he asks. “Is it Deborah? Tell me it’s her. She’s been asking for a knife in the kidney ever since she swiped your lunch two months ago. I’m surprised you haven’t done it yourself, you know we’d help you hide the body.”

“You’re sweet,” you sigh, “but it’s not her, actually. I just had a lot to do today and nobody was cutting me any slack, you know? It got too much.”

“If you need us to talk to anyone,” says Logan, fixing Wade with a look which suggests murdering your colleagues will probably create more problems than solve them, “we’ll do it.”

“Yes! Good-boyfriend, bad-boyfriend routine. Oh, or charismatic-boyfriend, grumpy-but-sexy boyfriend. Or even, slut-boyfriend, slut-but-doesn’t-know-it-yet boyfriend. Maybe that one’s better suited for tonight though…”

Logan growls a warning but Wade just grins, blasé. You giggle. 

“Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be a lot more bored and horny,” Wade muses, as Logan mutters “hmph. Apartment would be quieter…”

You drink your beer and smile.  

taglist: : @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Past the Cemetery Gates

I haven't written ak!red hood in a while so here he is! This was originally for a request but I read the ask wrong and didn't realize until it was too late cause I'm mostly running off cough medicine and coffee  CW: You get chased and harassed by some creeps, and then there's some possible murder ~6.2k words

Every Sunday at three in the afternoon, you have a routine. You walk to the train station, take the six train four stops north, and, if the weather is good, you'll walk exactly six blocks to get to Gotham Cemetery. (If the weather is bad, however, you're more inclined to wait for the three-thirty-five bus, which stops almost exactly in front of the old, iron gates that lead into the graveyard)

This is the routine you have followed for every week of your life since Jason Todd died, ripped from your side by a cruel twist of fate. They called it a disappearance, an accident, a runway, all things you knew it wasn't. But it was Dick, after months and months of begging for the truth, for crumbs of anything to help ease your grief, who called it for what it was. A murder. A life ended by the bloodstained hands of the Joker.

It became a fact that engraved itself to the very core of your soul. Jason Todd was murdered. Jason Todd was murdered, so every Sunday, you find yourself standing six feet above where he should lay resting, where he should be resting forever. But the coffin you helped bury is empty, devoid of anyone or anything to care if you appear on Sundays or not.

Even so, visiting him, visiting the headstone with his name, just feels like what you have to do. He was your best friend, your foundation, and no matter how many months or years pass, it doesn't change that he is at the core of who you became. Your jokes mirror his humor, your favorite color was his too, your room is still littered with trinkets that remind you of him. You still throw punches just the way he taught you.

You couldn't just move past Jason, it never felt right to even try. So when you do go see him– his grave– you tell him about your week. Scrub the marble rock and leave flowers while you ramble about whatever is going on in the world, share jokes, relive memories, spill secrets, all to the boy who can never answer again. 

This is what you do, rain or shine, whether the city is in havoc or in some semblance of peace, in a rare calm before the next storm of mayhem whatever rouge designs to inflict on the streets of Gotham. (You've missed this tradition only once. Only the week Batman was revealed as Bruce Wayne, only after Batman died, and you had another empty coffin to stand by as it was lowered into the dirt)

It's something you're so used to, a task you know like the back of your hand. Every other Sunday, you'll run into a family with flowers, the ones that stop at a pristine white headstone to tell their grandmother about how big her grandchildren are getting. Every third Sunday, the flowers and gifts you leave behind are cleaned up by the caretakers once you leave. Every Sunday, save one or two, you smile at the elderly woman who walks in with a coffee and newspaper in hand.

These are all things that you're used to, facts known in your soul. It's why you notice him. The man in the ball cap and hoodie that hovers two rows and seven headstones behind you. The one that's been standing there before you arrive, and stands there no matter how long you stay, for the past three Sundays you've been visiting Jason. 

It's not exactly wrong for him to be there. It's just new. Different. And ever since Bruce died– ever since Dick disappeared without a whisper– you've been on edge. The whole city has been, really, but you can't help but feel like there's still a price you have to pay. That your time is somehow up. That after years of knowing who Batman is– after losing Jason and being able to do nothing about it– you're going to face something. 

You think it might be karma. Or maybe it's retribution. But there's a score to settle with the universe–�� with something or someone out there. After all, knowledge has never been free in Gotham, and the weight of being associated with Batman always comes with a cost. 

It's not like you were a hero, or even the slightest bit a vigilante, but it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that you cared for Jason, and that Jason was Robin, Batman's protege.

And with no heroes left in Gotham to exact revenge on, why wouldn't they look for the next best thing? Why wouldn't that eventually make you a target? 

The paranoia isn't exactly your notion, but Tim's last, frantic warning before he went dark. But his words ring true, you've seen how everyone who's ever even talked to Bruce Wayne has been put under a microscope but the media, the GCPD, the world. And even if they haven't gotten their claws into you, it's only a matter of time before they, or someone with a score to settle does.

(Tim wasn't even the only person to warn you to watch your back, The GCPD's very own commissioner mentioned his own hushed concerns at Bruce's funeral. You had thanked him, and tried not to think too hard about what Babs not being there meant)

It should scare you, but all you feel is a vague sense of resignation. You just hope, that if whatever's coming finally catches up to you, if the slow creeping dread and feelings of being watched catches up to you, you'll find your way back to Jason.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when a voice speaks lowly behind you, you jolt, scolding yourself for getting caught off guard. But then his words register, and you whirl around, fuming, "What did you say?"

The stranger jerks his head towards the gravestone– Jason's headstone– "He was a stupid kid."

"He was not–" You start to hiss, huffing up in defense of the boy that meant everything to you, before he cuts you off.

"He was. He got himself caught. Caused a lot of problems. Trusted the wrong people. Did everything wrong and for what," he scoffs.

Your glare hardens as you step forward, trying to see under the ballcap and hood drawn low over his face, "He helped people. You can't just come here and spew whatever you feel like–"

He cuts you off again with the sound of your name, almost a warning, almost a threat. "Why are you really here," He asks, and you feel a chill creep up your spine as he digs his fists further into his pockets.

"I– always come here," you settle on. You know Bruce would chastise you for giving away your routine, but you can't find it in yourself to care when he already knows your name, with your blood simmering beneath your skin. 

"It's a waste of time. There's no one here to care," he protests, lips curling into a sneer.

"I care," you mumble, the fight draining out of you. You know that, in a way, he's right. There's no body. No Jason. No reward or salvation in your weekly visits. But you come anyway. It's just what you do. 

He stares at you for a moment more, you assume if you could see under the shadow of his ball cap he would be scowling. He doesn't say anything more, just turns and leaves you to a silent headstone and an empty grave. 

You don't mean to stay as long as you do, after he leaves. But you linger among the marble and granite gravestones for a long time, lost in your own thoughts, the feeling that, even in death, you find new ways to fail Jason Todd. It's not a feeling that makes sense, but grief rarely is. 

It's not until you realize you've missed your usual train home, that you finally find your bearings, that you force yourself to smile and wave to someone that's not there. Never there. Never will be there. 

The walk to the train station is fine, if not a bit windy. The train ride is normal, if a little quieter than normal. But the problem comes as you step off the stairs of the subway and onto the streets, and a low whistle breaks the strange silence that's been cast over the city just as the sun begins to set. 

"Come join us, sweet cheeks," a voice drawls, stumbling and slurred as he trips over his feet and words, "You look like you need the company." Four equally drunk men follow him, grins leering as they take you in and lewdly gesture for you to come closer.

Dread settles in your stomach, far worse than it did when the stranger approached you in the cemetery. Night is falling, and everyone knows that there's no solace in the shadows anymore, no watchful eye in the dark to save you. You drop your gaze and start walking, steady, but quick as you ignore their groans of annoyance and agitation. 

"Hey, hey, where are ya going," one of the men calls after you, and their pace quickens to match yours, "No need to be all shy. We just wanna be friends."

Another of them snickers, "Oh, yeah, close friends."

A gust of wind blows through your clothes, and you suppress a shiver, every nerve on edge as you focus on putting on foot in front of the other. 

The teasing tone in the air shifts, and a rough hand grabs your shoulder, turning you around– you hadn't realized just how close they'd gotten. 

"Would ya look at that? Knew I recognized you from somewhere. Yer one of the Bat's little friends. Why don't ya tell us what it was like cuddling up to old Brucie, " he leers, grin wide and menacing. 

"Back off," you snap, fed with strangers who think they have a right to your past.

"Don't be such a killjoy," He huffs, half playful, half a real, honest threat, "Just give us a chance to get to know ya. We only wanna have some fun, is all." His hand starts to drop along your shoulder blade, and his voice goes vicious, "It'll be a good time, baby, promise." 

Instinct takes over before you can think better on it, and you aim a hook right for his chin. It's one of your better punches, one that sends him stumbling back into the arms of his drunken friends. 

Everything freezes, their gazes dart between you and the reeling man pushing himself back to his feet. There's a snarl on his face, a manic look in his eyes, and all it takes is for him to open his mouth and start hissing cusses at you for you to turn on your heel and run. 

It takes less time than you'd hope for them to realize you're running, even less for them to start following you. 

You're going to die, is what runs through your head as you duck around corners and rush through the darkening streets. You're going to die and they're going to hide your body and no one is ever going to find you and you're going to rot at the bottom of Gotham Harbor and you'll just be another statistic in the never ending plague crime that always seems to win.

Laughs and jeers sound behind you as you run, the sound of heavy feet hitting concrete follows you down the twists and turns of Gotham's alleyways. They're close, too close. You don't know how a group of drunken catcallers could be so fast, but they are. 

"Come back here," They snap at you, practically breathing down your neck. You can feel fingers brushing against your back, hear their taunts in your ears. But you just need to keep running, if you can make it to your building– make it to other people– 

A hand catches your arm painfully, cutting your thoughts short and throwing you to the ground. "Caught you," the man sneers, grabbing the back of your shirt to drag you in an isolated alley. The other four men follow behind, panting and jostling each other as snide grins fill their faces.

You kick, claw at the hands pulling you into the alley, but it only makes them laugh harder as he hoists you up to slam you into a wall. You wince, head spinning as you push and shove at his arms, but he hardly seems to notice as his friends creep closer, eager and excited. 

"Shouldn't have done that, there ain't anyone here to save ya" he grumbles, the air rancid with the smell of alcohol as he grabs at your jacket, "We coulda had a good time, but ya had to go be difficult and run the fun for–"

The weight is ripped off you in an instant, you barely have time to process the relief that floods your senses when you're jarred to stillness by the blood red bat that meets your eyes. There's not supposed to be any bats left in Gotham, but your mind is quick to supply the faint recollection of whispers you've heard of a new vigilante. Rumors made fact by the truth in front of you, Red Hood.

"You're dead," he says, even and tight, even though the modulator. He says it not to you, but to them, the men backing up wearily and uneasily. "You're all dead," he repeats, voice dropping as they exchange glances, not knowing what to make of him. 

You don't quite know what to make of him either. His fists are clenched, his muscles are tense, but the set of his shoulders is confident, self assured that he can deliver on his threats. He's steady and shaking all at once, and you have the distinct feeling he's shaking out of sheer rage, of holding back from whatever he's planning on doing. 

The air is heavy, you're practically holding your breath as you press back against the wall, unable to look away. They're afraid. You can't help but be too. Red Hood– hero or not– is dangerous. You can feel his anger vibrating against your skin, taste his vow to kill them in the air.

One of the men laughs, "You can't take all of us–" he starts, and the tension snaps, Red Hood snaps.

You know you should run. You know you should turn away, but you can't. You watch every punch that meets flesh, every splatter of blood that hits the concrete, every limb that twists in a way that it shouldn't. You hear every plea for mercy, every sickening crunch of bone, every gasp and wheeze for air. 

You witness it all, every time his boot comes down onto mangled limbs, every time his gloved hands drags back a man that tries to flee. He doesn't stop, doesn't offer a hint of compassion until the alley is silent, save for his heaving of his chest beneath his armor. 

Only then does he turn back to you. You regret not running while you had the chance. But even as your knees shake and you curse your frozen state, you have the feeling he would have followed you if you had run. 

He walks closer, your mind goes blank in fear, and he gently brushes his fingers over your cheek, observing the wetness that soaks into his gloves when he pulls his hand away. You didn't even realize you were crying.  

"Did they… hurt you," he asks, words short and clipped and not at all comforting. 

It takes all of your strength to will yourself into shaking your head. You're scratched up from being dragged, your head hurts from when it hit the wall, but telling him any of that? You're afraid of giving him any excuse to stay.

He studies you, judges you, and you do the same. His helmet glows eerily in the dim light of the alley, as red as the crimson bat on his back. He's not shaking anymore, but he doesn't seem calm either. You imagine he's still feeling the same adrenaline that's coursing through your veins. But you doubt he feels the same urge to get as far away from the situation as possible.

The silence drags on for too long, and you feel like you have to break it, get him to stop staring at you. Especially when it feels like he's picking you apart, like he knows exactly what's going on in your head. "Thank you," you settle on, words careful and quiet as you do your best to wipe the tears from your face.

He straightens out, a huff of a laugh filling your ears like he can't believe what he's hearing, "You're thanking me for killing them?"

"I'm thanking you for saving me," you correct, focusing your gaze on a random brick of the alley, doing your best to avoid looking at the carnage he laid waste behind him, to ignore the unnatural silence save for you and him. 

He hunches back into himself, and you can't help but feel uneasy that he's still here, like he's waiting for something. "You shouldn't be out here," he tells you.

You think that's obvious enough and you almost want to roll your eyes, but your knees are still shaking, and you can't find the strength to push off the wall yet. So you nod instead, hoping he'll leave you to figure it out alone, to have a moment where you can let it all wash over you and just break down. 

"I can take you home," he says, after another long moment of silence, voice flat without a hint of emotion to betray his true feelings. 

That grabs your attention, pulling you out a spiral you didn't even realize you were in, "No, it's–" you start. 

"You're scared of me," he cuts you off, demanding.

You think that this is obvious too. "Anyone would be," you admit reluctantly, and you hate that you feel like you're answering wrong, like he expects something different from you. 

You watch as his fists clench than unclench, and his head ducks like he's lost in thought, "Fine. You're scared. Be scared," he lifts his head again, tone almost accusing, "It doesn't change that it's not safe for you to stay here, or that I'm taking you home."

"I can get myself back–" you begin, pushing yourself off the wall as your heart rate spikes. The last thing you want is for him to know where you live, for you to get involved in anymore people that wear the symbol of the bat. But your protests count for nothing when pain shoots up from your ankle, making your knees buckle under your own weight.

You wince, expecting to hit the cold concrete, but it's warm, leather covered arms that catch you instead, cradling you against sturdy armor. 

You freeze, you think he freezes too, until he exhales softly, tension draining from his body, "You said you weren't hurt."

"I didn't think I was," you mumble, almost embarrassed as you brace your hands unsurely against his arms trying to push yourself back up onto your uninjured foot. You roll your ankle slowly, wincing quietly at the pain that radiates when you move it. You must sprained it at some point, you realize.

Red Hood just holds you tighter when you try to move, silent as if he's weighing his options. "I'll carry you," he tells you, already maneuvering you to lift you into his arms.

It just makes you squirm, uneasy over this stranger, how easy this all seems to be for him, "I don't need to be carried."

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, a noise you can only hear because he's holding you so close, and says your name like he's trying to find all the patience in the world to deal with you, "You didn't used to mind being picked up."

Your world tilts on its axis and he lifts you into his arms like his words didn't change everything– like the fact that he knows you means nothing at all. You should be scared, should be terrified of him, but you just feel resigned. It was only a matter of time before the consequences of knowing Batman– knowing Robin– caught up to you. Really you're just surprised it didn't happen sooner.

But something about his words itches at your skin. It's not far-fetched for him to know your name. What is strange, what's wrong even, is that he thought you wouldn't mind being carried. Because you didn't used to.

"Why do you know that," you ask, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds.

He doesn't answer for a moment, just carries you through the dark twist and turns of Gotham's alleyways, "Lots of people know your name," he decides on telling you, once you start to squirm in his arms.

"That's not what I asked," you protest, but even as you press him for details, you're starting to get more concerned about where he's bringing you than why he knows your name.

"I keep track of all of Batman's associates," he says, voice more strained than truthful, even through the modulator of his helmet.

"Is that why you wear the bat," you prompt, curiosity making you speak before you can think on your words, "Did you know him?" Honestly, while you don't claim to know all of Bruce's vigilante friends, you'd like to think you would have known about someone like Red Hood. (and really you would feel safer if he was a friend of Bruce)

His grip shifts on you, the only indicator that he's uncomfortable with your line of questions, "It's a reminder."

You both ignore how he avoids your second question. Even if he saved you, you still haven't gotten comfortable with the vigilante that attacked those men with such ruthlessness and precision. You start to ask another question, torn between wanting to know what it's a reminder of and wanting to know where he's taking you, before he cuts you off.

"Do you always interrogate the people trying to help you," he sighs out, head tipping down as if he's trying to get a look at your face.

"Only when I don't know where they're taking me after," you snark out, with more bite than you probably should have. 

"I'm taking you home," he supplies, picking up his pace like he can't get rid of you fast enough.

"Whose home? My home? You know where I live," you rapid fire at him, throat tightening with panic.

He stumbles a little, a noise of alarm escapes the back of your throat, but he doesn't drop you.

"I– my home?" he tries, but you know it's a lie. He knows that you know he's lying, and his shoulders deflate a little when you start accusing him of it.

"You know where I live," you say slowly, voice sure and steady despite your fear.

"I know where lots of people live," he grumbles, and goes right back to his quickened walk, just shy of jogging and nearly jostling you in his arms.

"Is this some kind of revenge plot," you start, finality sinking into your bones, "Because if you're trying to get back at anyone– at Batman– I'm not gonna try to–"

He snorts, cutting off your words, and you note that it sounds unpracticed. His grip softness before he speaks again, "No, been there, done that. Didn't help. I really am just trying to get you home safe."

A part of you believes him, but a bigger part of you just wants to grab his helmet and rip it off his head. He's frustrating, and even as your apartment building comes into view, even as the ordeal comes towards an end, you find yourself wanting to know him. 

It's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can't explain. He knows you. He knows– knew– Batman. And you want to know him, or at the least, how he's aware of all of it. 

"Who are you," you breathe out, the sound barely a whisper. It's the one question that's truly been plaguing you since he said you didn't used to mind being carried. You can count the people who knew that on one hand. And for him to say it so casually, to say it like he's experienced it first hand, you don't like what it implies. 

"Red Hood," he answers gruffly, voice clipped, "Do you think you can get up to your place by yourself?"

"No," you huff out, annoyance creeping into your face. In truth, you probably could limp your way up to your apartment, but you're not willing to let this go. Not when there's more to this– to him– than he's willing to share with you.

He stands still outside your building for a full thirty seconds before mumbling, "Fine," and carrying you inside. Neither of you try to start a conversation. You don't dig for answers when he presses the correct number for your floor in the elevator. You don't even get angry when he walks right to your door without asking for directions.

He starts to put you down, but even with the clear unease and tension in his body, he's still careful.

"Wait," you say quickly, "I need help wrapping my ankle."

"You know how to do that," Red Hood sighs out, annoyance clear as day in his voice.

"I forgot how," you lie. You know you're being stubborn, you know inviting him in is dangerous, but every part of you feels like you need answers from him. That knowing will solve something. 

His silence is enough to pick up on that fact that he doesn't believe you in the slightest. But he doesn't try to pull away or leave when you lean into him and unlock your door. He doesn't even seem upset when you look up at him expectantly when the door swings open, he just loops an arm around your waist and guides you to the couch.

"Where's your kit," he asks once you've settled and seated.

"Bathroom," you supply easily, and he turns and walks in that direction without another word. It unnerves you that he knows where it is without you needing to guide him, but you can't say you're surprised. 

He comes back with the first aid kit quickly, and kneels in front of you to carefully take off your shoe. Red Hood observes your ankle for a moment before he tugs off his gloves and starts to dig through your first aid kit for bandages.

It gives you a chance to observe him. His armor looks strong enough, but his jacket is full of rips and tears. His hood hides most of his helmet, but what you can see seems more technologically advanced than you expected. There's guns and knives strapped to his thighs and you think you see a grenade hooked to his waist. It all radiates danger.

You turn your attention to the rest of him. Even with the hunch in his shoulders, he's big. You think he might be as tall Bruce is– was. You get the distinct, strange feeling that you would like the color of his eyes. 

His voice breaks the silence as he starts to wrap your ankle with calloused, warm hands.

"What," you ask dumbly, so lost in studying him, in the feel of his steady hands ghosting over your skin, you've missed what his words were. 

"You should keep ice on it, about thirty minutes at a time. And elevate it until the swelling goes down," He repeats, movements practiced as he finishes tending to your injury, "You got that?"

You remember that well enough, Jason had more than his fair share of sprained ankles when you were growing up, but there's no point in sharing that when you're meant to be playing dumb. "Got it," you say confidently.

"Good," he murmurs, standing up faster than you expected, like he can't wait to get as far away from you as possible.

"Wait," you startle, grabbing his wrist, "You still never told me who you are."

"I never said I would," he half-growls at you, but he doesn't tear his arm away from your hold.

"What if I need to contact you," you counter, fingers tightening into the fabric of his jacket.

He lets out a heavy sigh, and for the first time he seems genuinely annoyed. Red Hood levels you with a glare you can feel even through his helmet and grits out, "Why would you need to contact me."

You almost drop your grip on him, feeling as uneasy as you did watching him beat your attackers, "Well– those men went after me– they knew who I was. That I knew Batman, I mean, Bruce. And if they can figure it out–"

"You don't have to worry about that," he tells you, voice softening at the nervousness you don't quite mean to show him, "I took care of it already."

That does get you to drop his wrist, "But there's more people out there than them. What if Two-Face decides I'm an easy target? Or Penguin gets out of jail. Or–"

He says name sternly, cutting off your rambling, "I took care of it already."

"You– what" you question, confusion and surprise spreading across your face.

"I took care of it," he repeats again, nothing but fierce, decisive truth in his voice, "Anyone who thought they could get to you. Anyone who wanted to use you because of your connection to– to them. I took care of it."

It stuns you, and half expect him to leave you to your shock. But he stands there waiting, patient as if he's ready and willing to face your fury or your understanding. "Why," is all you manage to ask.

"I owe you," he murmurs, like it's his greatest secret, "If it wasn't for me… If I hadn't– If we didn't–" he cuts himself off with a pained groan, "It doesn't matter. It's too dangerous for you to be involved in this."

"I'm good at keeping secrets, and I'm already involved," you breathe out, feeling like you're at the edge of the abyss, "I might as well have a bat branded on me, you know."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you feel like with just one push, everything will change. You need to know. You need to know why he's gone out of his way to keep you safe, why he's offered you so much help, why his fingers lingered over your skin while he wrapped your ankle. 

His shoulders slump, defeated and drained, "I know. It'd be better if you just got out of the city."

"There's nowhere to go, even if there was, Batman has enemies everywhere," you say gently, shifting forward on the couch. "Please? I'm just– so tired of being in the dark." And it's the truth. You're exhausted by the radio silence from Dick and Tim and Barbara. You're sick of jumping at shadows, and you know it's not wrong to reach for something real– a raft in a storm. 

His head snaps up at your plea, and he lets out a low, almost inaudible curse, "You won't like the answer, sweetheart. They say ignorance is bliss."

"Ignorance is a curse," you counter, eyes meeting the blank red of his helmet in quiet defiance. 

"Just– don't freak out," he mumbles after a strained, heavy moment. You nod, and it takes a long, long minute for him to finally move. He reaches up, and the air disappears from your lungs. You expected him to tell you how he knew Batman, why he feels like he owes you, what he's been through to even want to care about your safety– not to reveal his identity. (Even if you had asked for it)

He removes his helmet, letting it hang loosely in his grip. And suddenly everything makes sense. Desperate, clear blue eyes stare right back at you. Red Hood– Jason Todd– clenches and unclenches his fists gaze unwavering as he waits for your judgement. When you offer none but silence, he speaks, "Do you understand now? Do you get why I took care of it? Why I'll keep taking care of it?"

"Jason," you finally manage to choke out, not bothering to hide the way your vision blurs with tears, "They said– I thought– I thought you were dead."

He cringes slightly, a pained look that scrunches his nose the exact same way it did when you were kids, "Yeah."

"You're not dead," you gasp and you don't mean to cry in front of him again, but your tears spill freely as the entire night, every awful thing that's happened since you've lost him, crashes over you, "You're not dead."

That breaks something in him, and he's back on his knees before you, cradling your face and wiping your tears with his thumbs without you even really registering that he's moving, "Yeah," he repeats, like it's the only word he can find in his vocabulary to say.

You press your palms to the back of his hands, distraught and frantic to keep him there, "I missed you."

A myriad of emotions flick over his face, disbelief, hurt, guilt, and a few you don't quite catch before he squeezes his eyes shut and mutters your name with such pain you want to scream, "I'm not– what you remember. I'm not good. You saw first hand what I'm capable of."

"I don't care," you stumble out quickly, "If you hadn't been there– if you didn't save me they would have–"

Your voice trails off when his finger tighten for the briefest second against your face, and his eyes open, flashing with a darkness you don't recognize, "I wouldn't have let them. It won't happen." His voice is hard, firm with certainty, and if the rage simmering under his voice was directed at you, you think you would have run.

But it's Jason, and the anger disappears as quickly as it comes once he starts drying your tears again. You exhale shakily and lean into his touch, relief outweighing any nerves settling in your stomach, "I'm glad you're here."

His fingers still over your skin for a moment before his fingers continue their soothing pattern against your cheeks and under your eyes, "Me too," he says softly, like admitting it too loudly will break something. His gaze darts to the window, and your heart drops in your chest. 

"I don't want you to go," you plead, and before you think better of it, you push off the couch to bury your face in his throat, arms hooking around his neck like they're your last life line.

He stiffens, and you freeze. You messed up, you messed up and now he's going to hate you and he's going to leave and never come back and you're an awful person for even thinking he'd want to hug you and– and his arms come up to hug you back, crushing you to his chest. 

He runs his hand up and down your spine, soothing you the same way he used to, "I'm not going anywhere, unless you want me to. Okay?"

You nod into his shoulder, the tension draining from your body. He's warm. You have no idea how you didn't catch on to the fact that it was him sooner. He still smells the same– save the gun powder– and he's still as gentle as he's always been when he touches you. 

"I'm so sorry–" you choke out, pressing yourself as close as you can to him, wanting to hold him against you forever, to prove to yourself again and again that he really is alive.

"We don't have to do that," he murmurs, and you nearly melt when he presses a kiss to your temple, "We can save the apologies for later."

You find yourself nodding again, wanting to savor him, the moment, the feeling that for the first time in longer than you can remember, something like hope is blossoming in your chest. You giggle a little when an absurd thought crosses your mind, unable to stifle it.

"What is it," He– Jason– asks quietly. 

"I need something new to do on Sundays now," you say into his shoulder, a smile forming on your face, "I used to– it's not funny– but I'd visit your grave then and now you're not dead and now I–"

"Don't have to," he finishes for you, gentle and almost fond. 

You hum in agreement, even if it wasn't what you were going to say.

"We can do something," he offers, tucking you closer. 

The suggestion makes you feel like you're floating on air, and longing wells in your throat, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he echoes, and this time you do melt when he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, "We'll make a tradition of it."

"I'd like that," you admit, shy to reveal how much that means to you.

Jason squeezes your waist in answer, voice as tender as yours, "Me too." 

Your smile grows wider despite yourself. You still have more questions that you can form right now, but Jason is rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. So, Red Hood can wait. Gotham can wait. Everything else can wait until you both start to stitch yourself back together in each other's arms. 

[apatheticsunday]

Siblings Energy

AKA "the Batfam find out Jason is alive and lovingly bullies him back into the family" headcanon!!

I read this one post where it was like, Damian climbing through Jason's window while saying something actually batshit insane and Jason's just like??? mouthful of pasta, just sitting at his kitchen table, and I'm ridiculously amused by it. Because hell yeah!!

Give me actual sibling energy. Give me, "What's yours is mine and what's mine is mine, because fuck you!! No, I'm not giving back your leather jacket, finders keepers. Yeah, it was in your bedroom but now it belongs to me."

I want recently-revived Jason Todd deliberately avoiding the Batfam because he's plotting his Grand Reveal (the Red Hood, Crime Lord and Ruthless Murderer is the formerly dead Robin?? How could it be?? He craves the utter disbelief, the shock, like any dramatic theatre kid). I'm just gonna... gently wrap up Under the Red Hood in a towel and put it in the freezer where it can't hurt us anymore. We're in Wayne Family Adventures Fandom-Land now, guys.

And Dick Grayson was born and raised to be an older brother, his dad humor and oldest daughter syndrome is God-tier, and he'd recognize his little brother anywhere. Even if he's built like a brick shithouse, has a scary deep voice, and is significantly more murder-y than his Robin years. That's his little brother!! That's his Little Wing, his Jaybird!! Dick sees what Jason's doing - the acting out, refusing to talk to his family, etc., and is just reminded of when him and Jason used to fight. Dick would be pissed, Jay would be pissed, but in the end, a greasy BatBurger and a comically bad action movie would have them pissing themselves in laughter.

So, that's what he does. Jason comes home from being a crime lord to find The Meg 2 paused on his TV, lukewarm BatBurgers (extra fries, his favorite), and Dick scrolling through TikTok on his couch. There's a new fuzzy Wonder-Woman themed blanket thrown over his armchair.

And yeah, Jason is pissed but Dick looks up and smiles - so excited, hopeful, exactly like the older brother he is that Jason just... sits down on the couch. Eats his stupidly good BatBurger (no pickles, how did Dick remember Jason hates pickles?), and snorts at the shitty CGI, excessive explosions, and comically too-serious acting. Dick accidentally inhales his BatSoda through his nose at one of Jason Statham's one-liners. There are no apologies because there doesn't need to be. Because there's an unspoken understanding between siblings, there doesn't even need to be an I missed you, I love you so much, please don't leave me. You just know.

But it doesn't stop there. Soon Jason has Tim, his goddamn replacement, collapsing on his new Wonder-Woman blanket and mumbling out a "Dick said you're back" almost sounding relieved before passing out on his couch. Which. What in the flying shit, Dick. But the kid's all bruised up, weary like the homeless kids from Crime Alley, and Jason heard about "JJ" during one of his and Dick's bi-weekly movie nights. So... maybe he lets the kid stay. Besides, it's not like letting his replacement take a nap on his couch will open Pandora's box, right?

....right?

Cue Jason suddenly having this blond purple-obsessed Batgirl variant harassing him for his abuela's hot chocolate recipe (sorry, Alfred), Babs bribing him to visit her at the library with a limited edition of Pride and Prejudice, a Black Bat silently accompanying him on patrols around Crime Alley, and Meta dressed in yellow enthusiastically greeting him whenever he's grocery shopping downtown. (Downtown Gotham is the only place you can get fresh produce, okay? And you beat the crowds if you go in the morning! He's not an old man, Dick - fuck off.)

So, when Damian busts through his window while Jason is eating homemade Alfredo, he's... not really surprised anymore. He doesn't think anything can surprise him after Steph body-slammed him in his own bathroom one morning, screeching, "You make fun of my boy Jason Statham again, I'll shove that toothbrush so far up your-..." Or that time he turned around after getting dressed and Cass was sitting on his bed with a comic book. He did not shriek.

And Damian's rambling angrily about Bruce, probably knowing his akhi will let him rant without interrupting or maybe he's so angry he doesn't care, so Jason just... keeps eating.

(Sometime in the future, he gains a reputation for being an Unbothered King, but it's really just the fact that his siblings are deranged and he's become acclimated to their random break-ins.)

[ba9go]

bakugou katsuki finds you annoying (he has a soft spot for you) pt. 2

sort-of enemies to lovers with bakugou!! bakugou being avoidant bc he’s bad at feelings. he’s a little shit in this one but he makes it up to the reader!! liiiiiight angst/comfort.

pls read part 1 before 🧡 part 3 (nsfw)

the more you interact with bakugou, the more you’re baffled by the insults he comes up with.

you bump into him in the corridor, and the two of you are completely alone so it’s impossible for you to pretend you haven’t seen him, so you wave awkwardly at him.

“hey, bakug—”

“fuck off, rabbitface.”

bakugou brushes past you as he walks by, leaving you gaping at him in complete horror. “my ears are not that long!”

“cry about it, maybe your nose will twitch too!” bakugou responds without looking back at you, and you find yourself holding your nose on the rest of your way back to your room. it does not twitch one bit.

the day of the midterm exams, you’re full of jitters, standing outside the classroom and flipping through your notes frantically for some last minute revision.

“nervous?” you look up to see bakugou standing in front of you, smirking down at you with his arms crossed.

“yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “i don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“don’t be stupid. you studied, didn’t you?” bakugou’s smirk drops and he raises an eyebrow at you. you nod, and he clicks his tongue at you. “only thing stopping you now is you, then.” bakugou pokes the side of your head twice, roughly but not hard enough to actually hurt. it catches you by surprise, and it happens so fast that by the time his hand drops back to his side, you’re not sure it even happened.

“better not fuck it up, buttercup.”

as bakugou walks away from you, you’re still feeling frazzled, just not for the test anymore.

by this point, you’ve given up on asking mina and the rest for advice. they’re all convinced of the same thing — that bakugou somehow has a soft spot for you. you don’t believe it.

some days, bakugou looks a little less murderously at you, and you think that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t completely hate your guts, but other days, he completely brushes past you like you’re invisible and you feel like a fool for ever hoping that maybe the two of you could be friends.

but then bakugou starts ignoring you more and more, and you start to wonder if he actually hates you.

you run into bakugou on the way to the gym, and you grab his sleeve before you can even stop to think twice. “bakugou, you good?”

“hah?!” bakugou recoils away from you and looks at you like he’s repulsed by your touch. “fuck do you want, extra?”

extra. you’ve noticed that bakugou’s started calling you that a lot more often recently. you’ve heard him say it before, but not to you. was that all you meant to him now? when did that happen? what changed?

“what do you want? did i piss you off or something? why are you being so—”

“i’ve always been like this,” bakugou hisses at you, and you don’t think you’ve seen bakugou this angry at you before. “and you’ve always pissed me the fuck off. so just fuck off already, would ya?”

bakugou stomps away like godzilla after a rampage, and you’re the tokyo that he’s completely ravaged.

soft spot, my ass.

for the next two weeks, you listen to bakugou. you stay out of his way, you don’t even try to meet his gaze when you walk into class or when you walk past him in the hallways. ignoring him didn’t feel natural to you, but every time you saw bakugou, you reminded yourself that you were just another extra. you’d get used to not talking to bakugou eventually.

the others picked up on this change as well. kaminari casually asked if bakugou had come up with any “interesting, new” names for you, to which you had responded, “haven’t spoken to him in a while, but he did call me an “extra” the last time.”

“extra?” kaminari repeated slowly, raising his brows. “he called you an extra? that’s low. especially since it’s you.” you shrug, and kaminari frowns. “have you talked to kirishima about it? i’m stupid but i don’t speak caveman like bakugou does. kiri’s our best bet at deciphering him.”

you decline kaminari’s suggestion, insisting that it was no big deal, but it seemed kaminari went ahead and told kirishima anyway, because “bro code”.

(1) new message from red riot:

red riot: hey, sorry about bakugou, he’s been a real asshole to you lately

you: hey kiri!!! pls don’t apologise

you: how do u even know lol? kaminari?

red riot: ding ding ding

you: 👎

red riot: sorry… bro code

red riot: i beat some sense into him dw

you: poor kami

red riot: oh no i meant bakugou

you: what

red riot: (👍ᐛ )👍

turns out, your conversation with kaminari had completely set off a chain reaction that you absolutely could not stop, with kirishima (bless his heart) confronting bakugou himself.

you: what

you: u mean u just went over and kicked his ass?

red riot: yup!

red riot: well i guess we took turns

you: ????

red riot: like i got two punches in and he got two punches in and we talked and then we called it a day

you: ???????????????

red riot: (👍ᐛ )���

you don’t dare to ask kirishima for the details of what exactly happened during their brawl, and you don’t know how you’re ever going to face bakugou ever again. the thought of running into bakugou legitimately scares you, so you decide to hole yourself in your room for the rest of the evening, just to be safe.

well, you thought you were safe, until…

(1) new message from Unknown Number:

Unknown Number: It’s Bakugou.

Unknown Number: I need to talk to you.

Unknown Number: You in your room?

you: no (👍ᐛ )👍

Unknown Number: Yeah right

Unknown Number: I’m at the door.

you’re filled with equal parts dread and fear as you shuffle over to the door reluctantly. you peek through the peephole to see bakugou standing there with a plastic bag in his hand.

you open the door hesitantly.

“you look like shit,” bakugou says, and it sounds so familiar and so right, you almost burst out laughing despite the context of the situation. despite yourself, you can’t help the small smile that forms on your lips.

“here.” before you can say anything, bakugou’s grabbing your wrist and handing you the plastic bag. it smells like food so you think its takeout, but you look inside and see that it has a little plastic bento box and metal chopsticks.

“is this your way of apologising?” you grin cheekily, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of him, but bakugou stares back at you unflinchingly.

“yeah,” bakugou says. “is it working?”

‘it worked,’ bakugou thinks as he lets you fling your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug.

“it’s working,” you mumbled into his shoulder, and you feel two large hands grip around your waist.

extras:

(👍ᐛ )👍 is so kiri-coded i love it

(👍ᐛ )👍

kirishima was pissed after kaminari told him what happened between you and bakugou

he walked over to bakugou’s room all prepared with ice packs and shit

knocked twice, waited for bakugou to open the door, threw two punches

bakugou was confused asf but it pissed him off so punched kiri right back out of reflex

the fight stops then and there, kirishima hands bakugou the ice pack, and they both sit on his bed to talk

both are just holding ice packs to their cheeks

kirishima tells bakugou that it was unmanly of him to be mean to you when you did nothing but try to be nice to him

bakugou just listens quietly, he doesn’t really say much, doesn’t really know what to do to fix the situation

like he already knew that he fucked up before kirishima came to rock his shit

but kirishima is a true bro and he gives bakugou advice on how to make things up to you

(👍ᐛ )👍

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @valeriyaaak @v3n7s @deimosjay @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @antiwhores @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy @thesimpybitch @eempxth @hanta-seros-wifey @itztaki @thekidscallmebosss

[rose24207]

Hello. Can I request something where mafia Lando and reader have only been fasting for a few months but Lando knows she’s going to be the one and while the reader is out shopping she’s bumps into her ex who was toxic to her and told her she was clingy and boring before they broke up so reader distances her self from Lando and when he starts noticing he confronts her and reassures that he loves her and she not any of those things. And maybe Lando at the end planing a murder 👀

Yours to protect

Summary: After your toxic ex shakes your confidence, Lando reassures you of his love—but secretly plans to ensure your ex never hurts you again.

Genre: Mafia!Lando

TW: Mafia, plotting

A/N: Thank you for the request! I hope you like it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome! 

Masterlist

The boutique was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of fabric as you flipped through racks of dresses. Shopping used to calm you—a distraction from your thoughts and an indulgence in a moment of self-care. But today, your mind was restless.

Things with Lando had been… incredible, almost too good to be true. You’d been dating for a few months, and he’d swept you off your feet in ways you never imagined possible. From the candlelit dinners at restaurants you couldn’t pronounce to the mornings spent tangled in bed, he made you feel special, loved, and seen.

But as the glow of new love settled, doubt began to creep in. It wasn’t him—it was you. Your past had a way of clawing back into your present, reminding you of all the ways you’d once been told you weren’t enough.

You reached for a soft blue dress when a familiar voice froze you in place.

“Well, well. Look who it is.”

Your stomach twisted. Slowly, you turned to face him.

Liam.

It had been over a year since you’d last seen him, and yet the sight of him made your skin crawl. He stood there with that same smug grin, hands shoved casually into his pockets as if he hadn’t once torn you apart piece by piece.

“Liam,” you said, your voice flat.

“Didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, his eyes scanning you in a way that made you feel like shrinking. “You look… different. Not bad, just… different.”

You clenched your jaw, gripping the hanger tightly. “What do you want?”

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Relax. I’m just saying hi. Can’t I say hi to my ex?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” you muttered, turning your attention back to the rack.

But he wasn’t deterred. Stepping closer, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into that familiar condescending tone. “Still as feisty as ever, huh? Tell me, are you still clinging to whoever’s unfortunate enough to date you now?”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?” you asked, though you’d heard him clearly.

“Come on, don’t act surprised,” he said, smirking. “You were always a bit… much, weren’t you? Always needing attention, always so… boring. Like you couldn’t handle being on your own.”

His words hit you like a slap. You could feel your chest tightening, your confidence crumbling under the weight of memories you’d tried so hard to bury.

“I’m not doing this,” you said, stepping away.

“Hey, don’t take it so personally,” he called after you. “Just giving you some friendly advice. Guys don’t like that, you know. Being smothered. I learned that the hard way.”

You didn’t stop to listen. You walked out of the boutique, the dress forgotten, your heart pounding as his words replayed in your head.

Over the next week, the cracks began to show.

You told yourself you were being cautious, that it was better to give Lando some space rather than risk suffocating him. You stopped texting as much, replying with short, impersonal messages instead of the playful banter he loved. When he called, you kept the conversations brief, always finding an excuse to hang up early.

And when you were with him in person, you held back. You hesitated before reaching for his hand, second-guessed your jokes, and overthought every word you said.

Lando noticed.

He wasn’t one to let things slide, especially when it came to you. One evening, after a quiet dinner at your place, he leaned back in his chair and studied you.

“You’ve been different lately,” he said, his voice careful but firm.

You looked up from your plate, startled. “Different? What do you mean?”

“You’re pulling away,” he said simply. “And I want to know why.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the look in his eyes stopped you. Lando wasn’t just your boyfriend—he was smart, observant, and unafraid to confront a problem head-on.

“It’s nothing,” you said, forcing a smile. “I’ve just been… busy.”

“Busy,” he repeated, clearly unconvinced.

You nodded, hoping he’d let it go.

But Lando wasn’t the type to back down.

“Love,” he said, his voice softening as he reached for your hand. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You tried to pull your hand away, but he held on, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that made your resolve waver.

“It’s stupid,” you said quietly.

“Try me.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. Finally, you took a deep breath and said, “I ran into Liam.”

Lando’s expression darkened instantly. “What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“It does,” he said firmly, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “What did he say?”

You swallowed hard, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “He said I was clingy. Boring. Too much.”

Lando’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as a dangerous edge crept into his expression. “He said that to you?”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “And maybe he’s right,” you added, your voice trembling. “Maybe I am too much for you. Maybe you’re just… putting up with me.”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Lando stared at you, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he stood, pulling you to your feet. Before you could say anything, he cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he said, his voice low but filled with emotion. “You are not too much. You are everything.”

Your breath hitched. “But—”

“No,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. “Listen to me. That guy? He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know how smart, funny, and strong you are. And he sure as hell doesn’t know how lucky I am to have you.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“Do you know what I thought when I first met you?” he continued, his voice softening. “I thought, This is it. This is the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. And every day since then, you’ve only made me more sure of that.”

Tears streamed down your face as his words sank in.

“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And I’ll spend every day proving that to you, if I have to. But I won’t let you believe those lies about yourself. Not for one second.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as sobs wracked your body. He held you tightly, whispering reassurances as he stroked your hair.

Later that night, after you’d fallen asleep in his arms, Lando slipped out of bed.

He stood by the window, his phone in hand, the cool night air brushing against his skin.

“Mateo,” he said when the call connected.

“Yes, boss?”

“I need you to find someone for me,” Lando said, his voice cold and calm. “His name is Liam. I want everything—where he works, where he lives, who he knows.”

“Understood,” Mateo replied. “What do you want me to do when I find him?”

Lando’s lips curved into a dangerous smile as he glanced back at you, asleep and peaceful.

“Leave that to me.”

Thank you for reading!

[fairyhaos]

❖ no such thing as too perfect // jeon wonwoo

wonwoo x gn!reader, 2k+ words

tags: office au, established relationship, fluff, kinda crack, junhui is the best work bestieTM ever, yn is Dramatic and In Love

warnings: none

notes: this was only meant to be like, 1.2k.... idk what happened but im not apologising. also there are a couple of pov switches which i hope make sense!!

“I think I need to break up with him,” you say, and Junhui blinks around a mouthful of salad. 

“Who?” he asks, spraying pieces of feta cheese all over the table, and you wrinkle your nose and brush away a few bits that get too close to you and your bento box. He frowns, and then his eyes widen. “Oh my god, you need to break up with Jeon Wonwoo? Why do you need to break up with Jeon Wonwoo?”

You wince as Junhui's loud exclamation rings throughout the office canteen, making several heads turn to look at the two of you. 

“Don't yell it so loud—and why are you saying his name in italics?”

“Because this is Jeon Wonwoo,” Junhui emphasises again, shoving salad passionately into his mouth before carrying on talking. “He's the only one of your boyfriends that I've actually ever approved of. Which is crazy, because Soonyoung introduced him to you, and I've never pinned Soonyoung as a guy that knows boyfriend-material guys.”

You reach over and lower Junhui’s fork, preventing him from eating and talking at the same time. “I don't know,” you sigh. “I just… I don't think this is going to work.”

“What did he do?” Junhui asks. His face morphs into a more serious look. “Do I need to murder him for you?”

“No, I— no! Don't murder him!” you say quickly, shaking your head. “He hasn't done anything wrong. It's just. I think I need to break up with him.”

The grave look melts from Junhui's face, and then he frowns. “You need to break up with him… even though he hasn't done anything wrong?”

“Yes.”

Junhui stares at you, mystified, then snatches back his fork to keep eating his salad. “Okay, so you've gone insane. Nice to know.”

You sigh at Junhui's response, rubbing your temples. 

Whilst it does sound insane for you to break up with Wonwoo even though he's done nothing wrong, in your eyes, it's actually quite understandable. 

Nothing has gone wrong, per se: you've been dating Wonwoo for about ten months now, and everything has been perfect. He's been perfect. 

Maybe… a little too perfect. 

He's always being so gentle and courteous, silently reading your emotions and knowing exactly how you're feeling at any given moment. He knows what you need before you even know that you need it—giving you little cheek kisses to remind you that you're loved, pushing a chocolate bar into your hand when you're all dizzy and tired, hugging you to sleep when you've had a bad day. 

The bento box that you're opening and having for lunch? That was prepared by him too. 

Jeon Wonwoo is just so goddamn perfect, and it worries you. 

“I don't think I'm good enough for him,” you admit whilst Junhui is busily sipping his water. 

It's fascinating how he manages to eat so frantically whilst eating so slowly at the same time, you think idly, as Junhui chokes on the tiny sip he was taking. He sets down the glass, wiping his mouth and blinking at you. 

“Sorry, what?”

“Come on, Junhui, do I really have to say it again?” you complain, beginning to open your bento box. “You heard me.”

“Yeah, and I couldn't believe my ears,” he says, tilting his head sideways. “You? Not good enough for him? Please. That's crazy.”

You make a questioning noise. “You just said that he's the only boyfriend of mine that you approved of.”

“Exactly.” Junhui stabbed his fork in your direction, before going back to shovelling leaves into his mouth. “You're perfect for him, and he's perfect for you. I predicted it from the moment you met.”

“I don't know about me being perfect for him, but he really is just too perfect for me,” you whine. “Him and his stupidly warm eyes and that smile… oh, Junhui, he makes me feel like the most beautiful person in this entire universe.” You look down at your bento box, pouting. “Wonwoo's just so perfect.”

Junhui makes a face. “Gross, but okay. I still don't see your point, though. Wonwoo's perfect, and you're both good enough for each other. I don't see why you think you need to break up with him.”

Still looking down at the bento box, you let out a sigh. All of the food is neatly packed away into the separate compartments, and he's even arranged the sesame seeds on your rice into a little heart. It's an awfully goofy but also an awfully Wonwoo thing to do, and you can feel your heart squeezing painfully in your chest, the longer you stare at it. 

This is not good. You are far too in love with Wonwoo. 

That's what you tell Junhui, and he stares at you with utter disbelief as if you've finally admitted that you really have lost your mind. 

“And what makes you think that he's not far too in love with you?” Junhui asks. “You know, one of the reasons that I approve of Wonwoo is because he's just so so in love with you. Like, almost disgustingly in love with you.”

“What?” You blink at him, before shaking your head. “Junhui, no, this is serious. Wonwoo's just so perfect and I'm so in love with him and—and it's actually getting dangerous now. I've literally fallen in love with him.”

Junhui stares at you for a long moment, wondering whether you're actually being serious about all of this. 

“That's not a bad thing,” he insists, and then chomps on his salad in frustration. “Y/N, that's not a bad thing at all.”

“Yes it is,” you say, despairingly, looking forlorn as you prop your chin on your hand. “I love him too much. It's gonna—it's gonna get too overwhelming, soon, and then he'll start thinking I'm weird, and he'll distance himself from me, and then we'll break up and I should end this before that happens.”

Junhui shakes his head. “I don't think that's true.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it isn't. He won't break up with you.”

“Not yet.”

Junhui looks away exasperatedly, because you're adamant in wallowing in your despair over having to break up with Wonwoo because “he's too perfect” even while quite happily eating the lunch that Junhui knows Wonwoo probably prepared for you. 

It's insane, he thinks, because it's obvious to him that Wonwoo loves you a lot. But he knows you and your negative thinking, and short of Wonwoo walking in here and professing his love to you all by himself, Junhui can't think of anything that could possibly convince you otherwise. 

As he looks past your shoulder to the glass doors of the office canteen, however, he blinks. 

There's a tall man entering the canteen, his dark hair all fluffy and his glasses-rimmed eyes scanning the area, lips pursed into a look that could almost be described as bored. He has his hands in his coat pockets, wearing the most simple casual fit ever, but he exudes such cold model energy that even Junhui blinks again. 

And then he watches as the man catches sight of you and Junhui, and his entire demeanour just softens. 

Junhui bites back a grin. 

Wow. Maybe he’s, like, actually psychic. 

“Wonwoo's here,” he says abruptly, and your head snaps up so fast that he can hear the audible click that sounds in your neck. 

“Where?” 

Junhui doesn't get to say anything, however, because he sees the moment that your eyes clock the tall man that's striding into the canteen, the light catching the frames of his glasses, and watches as you positively melt, in much the same way that the man had done when he saw you. 

He can almost hear every infatuated thought that runs through your mind. 

“Wonwoo,” you breathe, once Wonwoo steps close enough to the table that you and Junhui are eating at. His hair is all fluffy and windswept, and you resist the urge to smooth it down with your fingers. 

“Hello.” Wonwoo bends down, presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You weren't answering your phone.”

“Hm? I didn't get any text notifs from you.” You check your phone, trying to turn it on, only for the screen to remain black. “Oh. Is it dead?”

“I suspected as much,” Wonwoo says dryly, but there's a fondness in his voice as he pulls out a power bank from his pocket. “Here.”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, you're a life saver!” You look up at Wonwoo, smiling at the way his eyes look so warm as he gazes down at you. “Thank you.”

Junhui slurps his water loudly. 

“Sorry,” he says, sounding not sorry at all when the two of you look over at him. “Don't mind me.”

He's grinning mischievously, for reasons that you cannot fathom, and when he leans forward to peer up at Wonwoo with curious eyes, the mischief in his grin only increases. 

“So, Wonwoo, why are you here?”

Wonwoo tilts his head, pushing his glasses up at the same time. “You're Junhui.”

“The one and only,” Junhui says brightly. “I'm Y/N's work bestie. I've heard loads about you.”

You hiss in annoyance, kicking Junhui under the table even as Wonwoo laughs amusedly, placing a hand on your shoulder affectionately. 

“Wen Junhui! Why would you say that?”

“Do you talk about me that often?” Wonwoo asks, and his tone is somewhere between genuinely curious and adoring and you kind of just wanna sit there and listen to his voice forever. 

“Oh, all the time,” Junhui says, eyes gleaming, and you snap your gaze back to him, exasperated. “Y/N loves you so much. I hear about the extent of it every day.”

Wonwoo looks down at you, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

You kind of want to deny it, but then that would mean lying to Wonwoo, so you don't. 

“Maybe?” you say weakly, cheeks burning as you smile sheepishly up at him. “You're just, uh. Really really lovely. And, um, I kind of love you. A lot.”

Wonwoo laughs, a full and endeared laugh, twinkling with the light of a thousand suns. “I'm glad. Because you're really lovely, and I love you a lot too.”

Your eyes widen, and suddenly it's like it's just you and Wonwoo in the canteen now, him with his hand on your shoulder and those eyes, holding your very soul in place as he just smiles so lovingly and oh God you really do love him. 

“Oh,” you say, soft. “Wonwoo…”

Wonwoo just smiles again. “Anyways, I came by to let you know that I'll be finishing work a bit earlier today, so call me when you're done and I'll drive by to pick you up, okay?”

You nod, mute, stunned by the gentlest words of “I love you” that had left Wonwoo's mouth just seconds before. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Junhui chirps, but Wonwoo doesn't seem to hear, because he's looking down at you again, before swooping in and placing the lightest kiss on your nose and you feel like you could combust on the spot right there. 

“I'll see you later?” he says. 

You nod. “I'll see you later.”

Wonwoo smiles, and then the hand slides off your shoulder and he walks away. 

You watch him go, watch him walk through the tables and then get to the glass doors, where he turns around one last time to wave goodbye before disappearing outside, and really, it's insane how much you love him. 

And how much he loves you, it seems. 

“So. He took time out of his own lunch break and came all the way here to give you a charger because he knew that you'd forgotten one and to tell you that he's picking you up later?” Junhui says, making you reluctantly turn back to him. “Y/N. If this doesn’t make you see just how in love with you Wonwoo is, then I’m gonna kick you.”

“Hey, no need for violence,” you say, raising an eyebrow, and Junhui pulls a face. 

“So do you see it or do you not?”

You look over your shoulder again, out at the doors. Wonwoo’s no longer there, but you can still imagine the imprint of his warmth, lingering like the softest lavender scent over the entire area. 

“Maybe I do,” you say, all wistful and dazed, a smile on your face. “Isn’t he just so perfect?”

Junhui grins, and makes use of your distracted state to steal a carrot stick from your lunch, crunching on it loudly.

“Perfect and in love with you,” he points out. “So do you still feel like you need to break up with him?”

“Hm?”

You blink, eyes still all starry from your few minutes of interacting with your boyfriend, his soft smile etched into your mind. It takes a moment for Junhui's words to register, but then they do, and you can't help but laugh. 

“Oh. Oh, no. He and I are perfect.”

Junhui grins. He really is a psychic. 

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect

[eclipixels]

Meanie

Rafayel x Reader

Content: Rafayel's brattiness goes a little too far and he makes you cry

[2,026 words]

      It had been one of those days, the kind that felt cursed from the moment you opened your eyes. The kind where every little thing seemed to pile on top of the last, weighing you down until the smallest inconvenience felt like the final straw. And as if the universe hadn’t already decided to test your patience, Rafayel had spent the entire day being an absolute brat.

      It had started first thing in the morning, before you’d even had the chance to fully wake up. You’d stirred from sleep, groggy and aching, only to realize that you were freezing. Confused, you reached down and found nothing but the thin sheet clinging to the edge of the bed. The thick comforter, the one that had been keeping you warm all night, was completely wrapped around Rafayel, who was snuggled up in a cocoon of stolen warmth.

      You shifted closer, nudging him lightly in an attempt to reclaim even a small corner of the blanket. “Raf, share the blanket.” you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep.

      All you got in response was a low groan, followed by him rolling even further away from you, tightening the comforter around himself like it was a suit of armor. Then, with the kind of sleepy arrogance only he could manage, he muttered, “Figure it out, princess.”

      Your eye twitched.

      Unbeknownst to you, this was his dumb way of wanting you to cuddle him. He assumed you'd snuggle him for warmth.

      Biting back a grumble, you decided to let it go. Maybe he was just half-asleep and unaware of what he was doing. Maybe he’d share once he woke up properly. Maybe—

      Nope. The second you tried to tug the blanket back, Rafayel let out the most exaggerated, drawn-out sigh, like you were personally ruining his entire morning. Then, instead of being a decent human being and sharing, he grabbed your pillow and placed it over his face with a dramatic huff.

      Fine. Whatever. It was probably a good time to get out of bed right now anyway.

      Dragging yourself out of bed, you shivered against the cold air and forced yourself toward the bathroom to do your usual routine. That’s when you realized you got your period. Great. Just great. The dull ache in your lower stomach had begun, and each step sent an uncomfortable throb through your body.

      You headed to the kitchen in search of your favorite tea, knowing it would help. Just the thought of it eased your tension slightly. But as you arrived, the familiar aroma already filled the air. Standing at the counter was Rafayel, cup in hand, his lips curling around the rim as he took a slow, satisfied sip.

      Are you serious right neow. Bruh.

      “Please tell me that’s not the last of my tea.” you started cautiously, eyes darting toward the empty tea box on the counter.

      “Yeah,” he blinked at you, then, with zero remorse, he shrugged. “I can have Thomas get you some more.”

      You took a deep breath. Counted to three. Reminded yourself that murder was illegal.

      He wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was just being Rafayel. A walking headache disguised as a very pretty boy.

      Fine. You’d handle it. You’d push through. You’d make do with coffee instead. It wasn’t what you wanted, but at least it was warm.

      You thought maybe, just maybe, that would be the end of his antics for the day. But no. Oh, no. He was just getting started.

      He spent the rest of the morning flicking the strings of your hoodie whenever he walked past, tugging at them just enough to be annoying. He poked you randomly for no reason and whined when you wouldn’t share your ice cream with him. When you had finally settled onto the couch to distract yourself with a movie, he’d waltzed in and changed the damn thing right as the plot was getting good. And when you glared at him, he just shrugged and said, “It’s not my fault you have bad taste in movies.”

      For the record, your taste in movies was excellent. He was just an insufferable little gremlin.

      You tried, really, really tried, to brush it off. To let it slide. Because normally, this kind of thing didn’t bother you that much. Normally, his teasing was something you could handle, even enjoy in small doses. But today was different. Today, your body hurt, your patience was thin, and everything felt heavier than it should.

      And then came the final straw.

      You had spent the entire afternoon resisting the urge to snap at him, telling yourself that he’d get bored eventually. That he’d stop pushing your buttons and go back to being tolerable. But then, when you were sitting at the dining table, desperately needing just one tiny moment of kindness, you spotted it—Rafayel’s favorite raspberry cream puffs. A fresh, buttery, flaky piece of heaven, sitting untouched with a sticky note of his name.

      You hesitated before asking. He’d already gotten on your last nerve,so maybe he’d take pity on you this once.

      “Raf,” you started, careful, cautious. “Can I have a bite?”

      He glanced at you, then at the pastry.

      For a moment, you thought he might actually say yes. His fingers drummed against the table, and he seemed to be weighing the question in his head. But then, right when hope sparked in your chest, he picked up the pastry, raised it to his lips, and took the biggest, most exaggerated bite humanly possible.

      Your mouth dropped open in disbelief.

      And that was it. That was the moment your already fragile patience snapped like an overstretched rubber band. You didn’t even have it in you to argue. Instead, you felt your throat tighten, hot frustration prickling behind your eyes before you could stop it.

      It wasn’t even just about Rafayel; everything felt overwhelming, and all you wanted was for him to be sweet to you today. The weight of the day had pressed down on you like an unbearable blanket, suffocating in its intensity. It wasn’t just the cramps or the discomfort; it was everything. The hormones, the exhaustion, the world itself feeling just a little too sharp around the edges. And yet, Rafayel had spent most of the day being bratty, teasing, occasionally infuriating in that way only he could be.

      Tears streamed down your face as you froze.

      “Baby…” Rafayel’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, softer now, tinged with something almost hesitant. “Are you crying?”

      You turned away from him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling, but it was pointless. He tried stepping towards you but you stopped him.

      “Go away,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

      The words weren’t just a request; they carried weight, a command laced with the bond you shared. Rafayel felt it immediately. His chest lit up with the warmth of it, the magic forcing him still, locking him in place as though the universe itself had pressed pause. His lips parted slightly, caught between protest and realization.

      And then, as if the pieces of a puzzle had finally clicked together, understanding dawned in his sharp sunset eyes. He had felt something all day, an ache lingering at the edges of his awareness, but he had brushed it off. As a sea god, human pain wasn’t the most agonizing thing in the world to him. He could experience it, but it never debilitated him. So, he hadn’t paid much attention to the dull cramps, the underlying discomfort. But now, as he took in your curled-up form, your teary eyes, the way you refused to even look at him—he felt dumb. Of course. You were on your period. And he didn’t do a single thing to help you feel better.

      He got so wound up in wanting your attention that he didn’t realize how miserable his attempts were making you.

      “Do you hate me?” Your voice was small, fragile in a way that twisted something inside him. He hated that you even felt like you had to ask.

      “Of course not,” he said, voice rougher than he intended, thick with something unspoken.

      “Then why were you being such a meanie?”

      That nearly made him laugh, but the sniffle that followed kept him firmly grounded in reality. He let out a slow, heavy breath, dragging a hand through his lilac hair as guilt settled deep in his bones.

      “I’m so sorry, cutie. I just wanted your attention.”

      You didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, he thought you were going to push him away again. But you didn’t. And in Rafayel’s mind, that was progress. Carefully, as if waiting for you to stop him, he reached out and wrapped his arms around you. His grip was firm but gentle, protective without being suffocating. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in.

      “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured against your hair. “Whatever you want.”

      At that, you finally peeked up at him, lashes damp. A spark of mischief danced in your eyes, and your lips curled into the beginnings of a smile.

      “Anything?”

      Rafayel nodded, unwavering. “Anything.”

      And that was how he found himself being dragged around for an entire day of doting on you.

      The moment the words left his mouth, you wasted no time in taking full advantage of his promise. First, it was bubble tea. Not just one, but three different flavors because, in his words, you needed options. Rafayel handed over his black card, watching as you delightedly picked your favorites.

      Then came the hoodie situation. You wanted those fluffy weighted ones. He ordered five because why not? Not just that, he got you a few dresses and accessories too. Of course, they had to be designers, because if he was going to spoil you, he was going to do it properly.

      Your cramps were still bad? No problem. Rafayel ran you a hot bath, complete with rose petals because apparently, a ‘normal bath’ wasn’t enough. He even adjusted the water temperature to be exactly how you liked it, using his evol abilities to keep it warm for as long as you wanted.

      He acted as though all of this was some grand inconvenience, sighing heavily every time you asked for something new, dramatically rolling his eyes, but the twinkle in them never dimmed.

      When you asked him to get you a heating pad, he gave you an offended look. Why were you asking for a heating pad? He was right there? He pressed his palms against your lower abdomen and you felt it start to warm to the perfect temperature.

      While you scrolled through your phone, he sighed. His fingers absently traced circles against your side as he did. “I have become a mere object for your convenience.”

      You grinned, completely unfazed. “Correct.”

      At one point, when you asked him to bring you snacks in the middle of the night, he left and came back with an entire grocery bag full of your favorites.

      “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, setting it beside you with a huff.

      You beamed up at him, eyes full of mischief. “I am lucky.” To emphasize your point, you popped a piece of chocolate into your mouth, chewing happily as if you hadn’t been crying just hours ago.

      Rafayel squinted at you, suspicion written all over his face. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

      You shrugged, feigning innocence.

      He sighed heavily. so dramatically, as if the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders. Then, with zero warning, he threw himself onto the bed on top of you, arm draped across his forehead like he was in some kind of tragic play. “This is karma, isn’t it?”

      You hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider. “Maybe.”

      But the truth is, he didn’t mind. Not one bit. Because seeing you go from overwhelmed and teary-eyed to giggling and carefree—seeing you feel loved, taken care of—was worth every second. If spoiling you until he was broke meant you’d smile like this, he’d do it a hundred times over.

[glitter-stained]

The thing you need to remember about comics ages and timelines is that yeah it's messy there are retcons at stuff and it will never be clear and perfect. But also, DC has an interest portraying age the way they do. They have an interest in aging Barbara down so she can be Dick's pretty girlfriend with whom he raises a cute dog (and maybe a cute little family next perhaps?). They have an interest in trying to keep Tim young and draw him younger than he looks so they can milk his Robin's popularity for as long as possible. They have an interest in drawing Jason to make him look 40 when Bruce slits his throat, to make him look like a grown man fighting a teenager when fighting Mia even though they're the same age (though i mantain that mia is a little bit older), in having him call Tim kid even though they're the same age, in having him offer Tim a drink and Tim pointing out he's not legal when Jason isn't either. They have an interest in Jason looking older in Jim Aparo's art style in ADITF than he looked in precrisis or in 308. They have an interest in Steph magically looking older in War Games, where she gets tortured and brutally murdered, than the fun colourful round and much more youthful art from her Robin run. There are probably many more examples but bottom line it's not fucking innocent. DC knows how to hire artists that know how to draw children it's really not that hard. Characters who look young, characters who remind you that they are young, create more empathy; which is good when you want the public to continue to root for them, and bad when those characters challenge the status quo or that excess of empathy might create pushback after you decide to have them brutally murdered. DC can't have Batman grievously wounding and causing the death of his underage son, but if he looks as old as Batman? DC can't have Jason making a valid point about vigilantism being unsafe for Mia and relating with her with childhood sexual abuse subtext because it makes the heroes (and especially Batman) look bad, but if it looks like this is a grown ass man harassing a teenage girl, then it's clear who is the villain, it's okay, no problem. DC needs Barbara to be younger so the power dynamic between her and Dick fits their idea of a perfect little nuclear family much better and they can shove Barbara back into the role of Batgirl even though she is very much a girl rather than a woman. DC needs Steph to look older when she's tortured so they can be edgy without people being too horrified at them doing something horrifying, DC needs Jason and Steph to look older on the day they die because young looking= innocent which makes it so much harder to victim-blame. DC needs Mia to look younger than Jason so they can make it look like the good old "good victim/bad victim" dichotomy and even though that's not what the story is actually about, regardless of how much it disrespects Mia's character to do so. DC needs Jason to look ugly because it's harder to empathize with ugly people and it makes it so much clearer who is the bad guy and who is the good one, and it's a much easier dichotomy, so much more comfortable than challenging the whole mythos around which Batman is built. DC needs Barbara to be sexy in their traditional male-gaze way, because this is the audience they're trying to appeal to.

So like, I know that I'm nit-picking when I say "actually according to any and all logic Jason is younger than Tim by a couple of months and than Mia by around three years". Or when I say "they should bring back Dickbabs' old age difference" or even interact with Dickbabs as if they still have that difference and refuse to interact with Tom Taylor's version of the ship. I know comics are incoherent and the timeline is messy; but just because it's messy, just because it's always been, doesn't mean it's innocent. So I'm gonna keep nitpicking, and I'm gonna stay an annoying bitch, because I refuse to allow comics to manipulate me out of my empathy. And because I don't see everything and am very aware of how easy it is to be manipulated even when you're careful, I encourage you to add to this with things you've noticed whether it's in portrayal or in art about character age, appearance, or any other device they might use to manipulate our perception of the characters -and what narrative these resorts serve.

[prentissluvr]

something about being close — sam winchester

pairing : s.2!sam winchester x gn!reader, featuring platonic dean ➖⟢ genre : angst, fluff, ➖⟢ cw : sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n ➖⟢ wc : 9.5K summary : sam is acting weird, and when it puts people in danger, you can't let it slide (despite the fact that you're totally in love with him).

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket. 

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger's seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years. 

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.” 

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours. 

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have. 

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up. 

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch. 

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed. 

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel. 

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat. 

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand. 

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love. 

but you still don't quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips. 

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn't seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap. 

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth. 

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible. 

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

[wolverinesleftclaw]

lowkey need logan talking me thru it 😖

oh my god i know, i imagine him just snapping and fucking the reader like crazy. i just know he’d be so vocal during sex. like all that anger omfg. introducing my love peaches as my lil oc for these requests :)

logan talking you through it +18

you’d always known logan had this deep anger inside of him. he tried his hardest to never let you experience it up close. which was why you decided to make a game of it. do whatever you could to make him so mad that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. you loved playing games, you always found yourself on top when it came to them.

you started small, pulling away from him in affection. logan’s deep fear of losing you left him constantly needing some form of affection from you to remind him that you weren’t going anywhere. this blew up in your face faster than anything else you could do when he came home after a mission with wade and threw you over his shoulder grumbling something like ‘jus need to feel you’

so you went big.

logan had left earlier for another mission. now usually you’d stay home like the good girl you were but you were dedicated to your cause so you decided to wear your shortest dress and tallest heels and went out. shooting a quick text to vanessa asking her to meet you at the bar.

you thought for a moment maybe you should at least text him and tell him you wouldn’t be home when he got back but decided against it. you sure did love self-destructive behavior.

‘hey hot stuff’ the soft voice of vanessa rang in your ears ‘last thing i expected was a text from you’

‘oh you know ness sometimes i like to switch it up’

‘mhm, you do realize wolvies going to lose his mind when he can’t find you’

a small smirk grazed your face as you grabbed her hand leading her into the bar ‘that’s exactly what i want’

‘you nasty little thing, i’m so proud’ she laughed calling that bartender over ‘two gin and tonics please, so what is it you want from him’

‘i want him to fuck me senseless’ you state with a smile, ‘ i mean your telling me that he doesn’t have it in him? he’s like two hundred pounds of solid muscle and anger for once i just want to be thrown around ya know?’

grabbing your drink you bring it to your lips as you look around the bar ‘nothing makes him more mad than other men’

‘well if you want to see him murder someone i say go for it, you’d probably find that hot anyways’ she teased grabbing her phone ‘oh look it’s wade’ she said flashing you her screen

‘you enjoy that, i’ll be mingling’ you laughed wiggling your fingers in goodbye, you quickly found yourself at the end of the bar ordering another drink, swallowing thickly you felt a bad vibe in your stomach maybe this was a bad idea.

‘what’s a pretty lady like you doing here alone’ a dark voice said from behind you.

as soft gasp left your throat as his hand touched your lower back. yup, definitely a bad idea.

‘oh um, waiting for my friend’ you croak out looking over his shoulder eyes darting around the room looking for vanessa.

‘yea and where is she now’ he said looking me up and down ‘you know a girl like you shouldn’t be here’

‘and why’s that?’ you question your grip on your glass tightening when he somehow moves closer than he was before.

‘you should be home waiting for your man to come home and take care of ya, doesn’t that sound nice’ his voice dropping octaves as his grip gets tighter on your hip.

suddenly the room got smaller and the air got thicker. what the hell were you doing? this isn’t you and your moment of confidence ran away the second another man started talking to you. you knew your place, you knew where you belonged and it wasn’t here.

‘normally that’s where she’d be’ the gruff voice of your boyfriend echoed around the room.

letting go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding you loosen your grip on the glass quickly getting off the bar stool and away from the man.

‘lo’ you start grabbing the sleeve of his jacket.

‘don’t’ he barked out, his eyes held an anger you’d never seen before and that scared you.

but wasn’t this what you wanted?

he grabbed your upper arm pulling you out of the bar and towards your car.

‘logan’ you tried again

‘stop talking’ he snarled opening your door and pushing you in before moving to the drivers seat. ‘i leave you alone for one fucking night and you decide to go and be a slut huh’

‘that isn’t what i was doing logan’ you argue back turning in your seat to face him as he pulls the car away from the bar.

‘did i say you could talk?’ he asks you as if it was the dumbest question in the world. your silence making him angrier.

‘did i say you could talk?’ he asks again impatiently his hand tightening around the wheel.

shaking your head no, you subconsciously push your thighs together to create some friction. hoping your boyfriend doesn’t notice the growing wetness in your panties with each word he speaks.

the car ride back to the apartment you shared was filled with silence, the tension growing in your stomach as you watched his jaw set and his hands almost break the wheel. not to mention the heavy breathing he couldn’t seem to get under control.

you knew you were in for it the second the door to the apartment closed and he pushed you roughly against it.

‘this is what you wanted huh bubs?’ he groans out slotting his thigh between your legs pushed perfectly against your heat. ‘could smell you the whole fuckin’ car ride’

‘lo…’ you moan as he attacks your neck, feeling his canines against your carotid as he harshly bites down to shut you up.

‘i’m here wondering if it was me that did this to you or that fuckhead at the bar’ he voiced roughly his hands moving under your thighs to pick you up. ‘hmm?’ he hums cocking his head.

‘you logan, only you’ the breathless words leave your mouth without a second thought. pushing your body forward to kiss him he leaned far away not letting you.

‘i’m in control here darlin’ not you’

holding you close to him he locks his lips with yours. the kiss nothing but messy, filled with teeth, tongue, and spit. he walks you to the bedroom throwing you on the bed hovering over you. your thighs pressed together did little to ease the need in your core. ‘cmon honey gunna let me show you how i’ll ruin any other man for you’

‘mhm’ you moan out when he continues his attack on your body, leaving trails of kisses down your chest stopping at the peak of your breast. ‘please’ you say closing your eyes

you heard it before you felt it. the sounds of his claws tearing your dress apart. very few times had his claws ever made an appearance during sex mostly being out of his control.

his mouth laps at your nipple, sucks, biting as his other hand moves down to your heat. ‘so wet already darlin’ i’ve barely touched you’ he cups his rough calloused hand against your cunt, his middle finger prodding your hole lightly.

squirming under him your rendered silent when he forces two fingers into you, pushing and pulling back and forth you moan out his name like a prayer.

‘cmon use your words’ he smiles down at you ‘feels good doesn’t it’ his head dipping down to meet with your neck again, his breath on your ear as he bites down.

‘just remember your mine’ his gruff voice bounced around my head as his ministrations came harder and faster his thumb meeting my clit in haste. ‘you gunna cum for me peaches’

you felt the familiar tension in your lower stomach, like a band that was waiting to snap. your pussy clenching around his two fingers you throw you head back moaning out waiting for that snap.

only for it to never come. your eyes widen as you lean up on your elbows looking at the seemingly put together man. ‘what the fuck logan’

‘watch it baby’ he counters getting off the bed and removing his clothes ‘you didn’t think i was gonna let you off that easy’

you watch as he walks over to the side of the bed grabbing your leg and pulling you forward. ‘open up hun’ he commands grabbing a fist full of your hair.

you eye his large cock placed in his right hand. god it was beautiful. you could trace every vein with your eyes closed that’s how well acquainted you were. the weight of his member made it band downward instead of bouncing up to his belly.

opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out he eased himself into you. ‘just like that…’ he groaned out, not giving you a second to adjust he picks his pace up. hips thrusting forward at a fast rate, his hand in your hair the only semblance of balance you feel in that moment. ‘you look so pretty like this’

moving your hand down your body you fingers barley touch your clit before his rough hand wraps around your wrists pinning it above you. ‘so fucking impatient’ he groans with one last thrust to your mouth before pulling out completely.

his hand that’s wrapped in your hair pulls your head up so he’s met with your face. ‘why you crying peaches? m’ i being to rough for ya’ he mocks before dropping you on the bed slotting himself between your legs.

he lines himself up with your hole before roughly grabbing your hips and thrusting in. the pace he sets is relentless, borderline inhuman as he stretches you out leaving you a babbling mess of ‘yes baby oh god’

‘fuck peaches your so fuckin’ tight takin’ all of me’ he groans his grip on your hips sure to leave marks. ‘such a little fuckin’ slut for me’

feeling your orgasm climbing to its peak you feel your breath getting heavier and your hands clamping onto to anything and everything to stabilize you.

‘be a good girl and cum for me yea’ he commands his rough grip moving up towards you neck with pressure. just the feeling of him absolutely railing the fuck out of you is enough to make you cum but add in the sudden choking and your a goner.

you cum with a scream slamming your eyes shut and your nails digging into logan’s back. it’s not long before his thrusts slow and his hips stutter does he cum inside of you with moans in your ear.

pulling out of you he lays his back against the bed pulling you close. ‘you love playing games don’t ya peaches’ he laughs out against your head.

[beansprean]

E11 Ideas in no particular order:

Simon the Devious rug pull/reveal

Simon the Devious was behind the documentary all along. He is Greg the camera guy. The documentary was produced by the Daltry Brothers Production Company with thanks to the Toby Daltry Memorial Film Foundation

Outrageous nandermo flirting throughout

Nandermo secret off-camera relationship (we already have canon nandermo QPR I just wanna remind everyone Guillermo is officially in the polycule)

We find out via tv news in the background that Jordan got hit with that sign Nandor threw and he died (no one cares bc they are doing more interesting things)

Nandermo get served by the local Staten Island Chapter of Vampire Vigilantes for operating as superheroes without a permit

"Clip show" where they all watch the documentary

"Clip show" where they all watch the documentary and its full of 'deleted' scenes that we have never seen before (leading to revealed secrets and arguments and confessions and-)

1 hour special that is literally the documentary (with a special guest narrator)

The Guide x Miguel I am so serious

The entire episode is just a backdoor pilot for a spinoff series (seanmaine sitcom?) (life as cravensworth's robinson's monster?)

The house blows up/is destroyed somehow

Colin, as part of the house based on my own personal EV lore, dies or nearly dies bc of this. They get a new house and bury him there and then he pops back up babystyled and the monster has to be his dad now

The monster sacrifices himself to save his dads (noooo!!!!!!!!)

Last scene all the vampires are going into the fancy room to have an orgy and Nandor pokes his head out to say 'arent you coming Guillermo?' and he grins and shrugs at the camera and goes in and thats how it ends

Jenna was there The Whole Time (please god it would be so funny i will die on this hill)

Guillermo dies and Nandor has to turn him anyway

Guillermo dies and Nandor tries to turn him but apparently thats how energy vamps are made whoopsie

Laszlo says "Guillermo" correctly

Red carpet premiere of the documentary with all the fan favorite characters returning as guests

(maybe even including the two Freddies bc it would be very funny. Nandor getting jealous like excuse me step away from Guillermo you had your chance and Freddie is like oh sorry no I'm the other Freddie and Nandor is like o rly hello and Guillermo is like exCUSE ME STEP AWA-)

Red carpet premiere of the documentary with all the fan favorite characters returning as guests that turns out to be a trap set by the Vampiric Council and they all have to fight their way out of that shit again

Red carpet premiere of the documentary that turns out to be a trap set by Batdor and Robllermo to murder a bunch of rich people

Nadja starts an mlm foot pic empire with the monster as her bouncer (dressed in a cute little pimp suit and feathered hat)

Somehow, the Witch's Skin Hat has returned

Guillermo returns to his pre-corporate color palette (greens and browns and reds and patterns pls!!) but its well fitted and non shitty sweaters

All the ghosts of all the people they ever killed/buried at the house rise up and attack (including lisa's severed head), and this somehow leads to Dolly finishing her unfinished business and saying goodbye

The Guide is proud and relieved to see that Nandor is no longer obsessed with her and they are buddies now

She insinuates that he found what he was looking for (in Guillermo). sometimes you hurt every woman in your life because your soulmate is a man

Sean dies (noooooo!!!!!!!!)

Sean gets turned into a vampire

Sean gets turned into a vampire and immediately breaks every rule and also turns Charmaine and somehow manages to take over the entire eastern seaboard and overthrow Tilda Swinton as supreme leader of the Vampiric Council

MAJOR timeskip, like multiple years or even decades. 10 year retrospective post-documentary release?

They recreate the supernatural finale beat for beat, complete with colin in a very bad wig and two covers of "you're dead" back to back to fill up the runtime

Vampire society rises up against the house after the documentary is released and they all die

[youryanderedaddy]

Oleander

Summary: Nine months ago you killed a man. Now you're sharing a drink with his brother. Life works in mysterious ways. tw: female reader, implied murder, captivity, dub - con, hate fucking, degradation, cruel reader

Sometimes you wonder if you’re a good person. It’s nice, almost, to lose yourself in meaningless philosophical battles in your own mind - it reminds you of high school, of balding teachers making you read Kant and Plato, raving on and on about dead men that will never come back to agree or disagree with the countless pages they made you write about them. It’s easier now, though - easy to lose yourself in semantics, to water down hundred years of morals and ethics into a simple question. Am I, the way I am, the way I’ve always been, good? 

These thoughts always come back when the liquor hits your system. You can’t believe Devan let you drink with him tonight. He must be getting lonely, you realize. Your hands are too shaky and slippery to hold the glass, and you end up spilling half of it over your chest anyways. Your shirt soaks the liquor quickly, and the sharp smell of sanitizer makes you feel as if you’re running through a cold hospital corridor. If you squint, you can almost imagine the needle poking at your vein to draw fresh blood. 

Devan watches you with odd fascination - as if you’re a child learning how to walk, and takes a sip straight off the bottle. Were you any less drunk, you’d be disgusted, yet now all you think about is how he’s drinking more and more of the bitter medicine, leaving less for you. And you need it. God knows you need it.

“Messy, murderous slut.” He mumbles under his breath, reaching out to you with a disoriented shake of his hand. “You ruined my fucking life, you know?” He manages to take a hold of your elbow. You flinch impulsively but his hold, in all its drunken angst, is unrelenting.

“You ruined your own life.” You intend your answer to be playful, but it comes out venomous. Maybe you both need some sleep - too bad the bottle is still half full. You pour yourself some more. “You’re 27 with no education, job or any support network. Even your parents don’t call you anymore, because, well… what even are you without him?” You let yourself get closer to the man - so close you can see his eyes illuminate in fear. His skin is warm like concrete melting under the sun. Tonight you are cruel. Tonight you are free - even as the tears fall down your freezing cheeks. “Admit it.” You inhale so quietly you barely feel your lungs. “You fucking love it.”

Even as his hand connects to your cheek in an audible slap, you can’t help running your mouth off. You are absolutely intoxicated - and the sting feels like a kiss to your lonely, untouched face. How long has it been since someone held you?

“You fucking love that your brother died, deep down. I mean, it’s the perfect excuse, isn’t it? You finally have a reason to be this fucking miserable.” Your smirk, filling up with glee - just like a child torturing a helpless ladybug on the ground, it’s so wrong yet feels so right. ”Besides being a lousy loser, of course.”

“How fucking dare you!” Devin flips you over with ease, throwing you on the ground. There is a raw, animalistic sadness in his big black orbs bleeding into his rage, and it makes it impossible to be scared. Even as his thick fist wraps itself around your throat, it’s hard not to burst into laughter. All the good hazy feelings take over logic and now the bleak feels like a big joke of nature. “Joe was… He… He was…” Everything, he tries to say, but his voice breaks into a pained howl and his breathing shallows before the word can roll off his colorless tongue. For a passing moment everything stills.

“It’s all your fault.” Your captor hisses weakly, his hand trembling around your warm inviting flesh. “I should have killed you that first day… that first night.” His fingers dance around your throat, carefully avoiding your jugular. “It would have been so easy. You do have a beautiful neck.” His voice lowers. “It wouldn’t be hard to–” He squeezes again - tight, tighter, and you see stars. “Maybe then I’ll finally be at peace.” He’s staring at you, intently, but it’s himself he’s talking to. 

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. You can feel a certain fullness in your sides and a dull pain tugging at your collarbone from suffocation - but your mind can’t wrap itself around a single coherent thought other than to hurt him. It’s like the more you hurt him, the more it hurts inside you. “You can’t kill me.” There is no sass in your tone, no mischief - just plain cold acceptance.

Devin stops in his tracks to stare you down as if you’ve lost your goddamn mind. Then he laughs. He laughs so much his hand slips off your throat and you can finally breathe again.

“And what makes you so sure?” He finally collects himself enough to ask, leaning towards you. If anyone were to see you now, they would think you’re two lovers about to elope. “Because…” You avert your face away from his watchful eyes - there’s something about them, a wild flame that makes you sober up quicker than you’d like. “I’m the only person you hate more than yourself. If you kill me, the game is over.” You give him a sad smile. “And you’re all alone again.”

The man grabs your chin, forcing your lips to pucker up like a doll’s. “Like I need a fucked up bitch to keep me company.” He says, yet he keeps moving your head up and down as if he’s inspecting you for damage. As if he cares if you’re bruised, as if his fingers want to feel you for just a second longer. “Then let me go.” You bite back, and you watch his face go dark like a night sky. “No.” The boy - man shrieks, holding onto your arm for dear life. It hurts… but it’s also warm and tight - like an embrace, but not quite. “You deserve to suffer.” He quickly adds, pulling you closer to him. “Then torture me.” You add more fuel. “Do something. Anything.” You sink your teeth into his knees. “For once in your shitty miserable life do so–”

He kisses you. 

You don’t know how to describe the kiss. It’s neither passionate, nor aggressive. It’s desperate, yet it lacks strength. It’s a rushed thing. It’s a memory reminiscent of summer - in a quiet village, after an atom bomb. His lips are the flowers that eventually bloom before they’re stomped by soldier boots. You’re the half - lit match that turns it all to ashes. Your bodies are meant for destruction, and that’s why they fit together perfectly. 

“Let me have you.” He almost pleads once you separate, breathless, on the brink of insanity - as if he isn’t already there. His hands are on both sides of your waist, squeezing so hard it hurts, unstable fingers ready to grab and grope at any shape malleable enough. 

“No.” You wince, but your eyes remain cold and challenging. “Fuck you.” Devin replies, roughly spreading your thighs apart. “Fuck you.” He repeats as he rips into your throat, dragging his teeth against your sweet spot, making you really feel the sharp points tearing into your soft vulnerable skin. The thought of leaving his mark on you makes his stomach turn - and it terrifies him. You try not to look down, but you hear his belt hit the ground and soon his pants follow suit - and then you sense it right against your entrance. Sticky slick whiteness coats your white panties as it drips from the purpling tip so full it might burst by the friction alone.

His hard length rubs along your wet slit and with clenched teeth you anticipate the burn of the stretch, the way he’ll rip your underwear from you, your last protective shield - but it never comes. Yet you see it move in and out, in and out of you rhythmically. You can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, his rasp groans into your ear, his hands moving your torso back and forth like a carousel. You finally look down. 

He’s fucking your thighs - through your panties, no less. 

“Hold your legs together.” The man barks at you, but his voice is so needy you can’t help giggling even as he manhandles you around like a ragdoll. “T-tighter.” You squeeze your thighs snuggly against his cock - and you hope it hurts him more than it hurts you. You throw your head back, leaning on his shoulder as you jeer gutturally, letting it all out in systematic bursts of laughter that sound more like black cigarette coughs. Or puffs. “God, you’re so pathetic.” You lazily stroke his shaft as it peeks down your stomach, oozing with pre - cum. “I bet your brother would have fucked me like a real man.”

He moves your head to the side with a brute slap, kissing you sloppily anywhere but your mouth - but it still does the trick of shutting you up. “Too bad he’s dead.” He leaves a trail of wet pecks down your throat. Your stomach is sticky. You feel disgusting. “Guess you’re mine now.”

You roll your eyes.

“Dream on.”