#and I mean the really bad ones where it’s full pockets of blood

[poe-slittleraven13]

I just——do that not understand that ‘death of mother’ is one of the most common results? For many, many reasons.

Like, a fetus is a baby parasite on your body, being pregnant/giving birth can both kill you and make you wish you were dead.

It’s extremely common. But also, these are the same people that call birth a “miracle” so I’m not too surprised that the majority of them (especially the me ) don’t understand what the human body goes through to get pregnant, maintain the pregnancy, give birth, and everything after

Republicans have cottage cheese for brains because the baby does try to abort the mother like with regularity

[yeyinde]

The 141 finding out you've never had sex.

Just casually drinking, playing cards. A joke causes it to slip out.

body electric: the virgin edition

Gaz, the instigator, mutters something about not having been fucked in ages. this springs up a sudden surge of comradery, because, yeah. neither have they.

Soap's devote Catholicism (i like to imagine) leaves little room for flippant intimacy. he tries to be a good boy. key word, of course, being: tries. but the last serious relationship was years ago. back when he was grunt. he's pent up. abstinence, yeah? he holds it tight in his hand. but the thing about fists is that they're often mistaken for anger. Soap's a realist masquerading as an optimist. he knows whoever falls into his jowls next will be a MacTavish by the time he's through with them. and commitment. well. his comes at a price. a hefty one.

Ghost prefers casual flings where he doesn't have to take any clothes off. unzips his trousers, frees his cock, and then tries to pretend he's a real, flesh and blood, human. to feel something, anything, except a vacuum between hollow bones. but his tastes are peculiar. on the side of unhinged. he hasn't found the perfect body yet satiate himself with.

Price. well. with his bloody hands, he thinks he'd rather not dirty the same people he swears to protect. and divorcing at the age of 30 does that to a man, maybe. his role as a captain (an excuse in retrospect) also keeps him from unleashing his wants. the very same ones that are probably best under lock and key, anyway. it's just for the best, really. something he ought to do because the moment he has another chance to sink his teeth into someone's neck, he'll tear them apart. break them into pieces.

despite bringing it up, Gaz knows the real reason he's single is because he's pushy. he wants. so he takes. and then takes some more. more. more. until his gullet is full of the person he's obsessed with. carrying them around in his breast pocket everywhere he goes. the perfect mate. the one he can shower with unfettered affection. a deluge, in all honesty. one with the ideation to drown. biblical floods. trapped beneath him. he likes it more than he should, but. singedom, then, he supposes.

and then you roll the dice. admit, sheepishly, that, technically, you have them all beat. zero is always lesser than five, ten, twenty. but it's this misstep—zero, never—that catches their attention.

suddenly, you're not surrounded by kin but a pack of wolves. all hungry in their own ways, all starving. it just makes sense to quench their hunger with you, doesn't it? friend, ally. pretty little thing. so sweet for them. and perfectly mouldable. putty they shape to their hearts desire. the perfect mate.

Soap grips his rosary. the sign of the cross, heavenly Father and Holy Spirit, digging into his palm like the burn of a baptism. what's devotion if not pain? he cuts himself on the gold. offers blood of the sacrament to whoever might be listening, and leans in, sniffing.

Price's knuckles are white. he leans back, hidden in shadows. all you can see is spark of burning orange from his cigar as he takes mouthful after mouthful of smoke, contemplating. assessing.

"that so?" he doesn't even need to look at his Lieutenant to know that the man has gone still. too bad for you, it's not from shock.

Ghost barely holds himself back. keeps tight in his seat. fists clenching. unclenching. he has a good enough read on the people around him to see the unfiltered desire ripping across their face. scorching. but to bite, with his mouthful of jagged, seraded teeth; ones meant to rip, break, tear, would ruin you. permanently. unequivocally. and—

"wanna give it a go?" all eyes turn to Gaz, electric in his seat. eyes smouldering umbre. "i mean, you trust us the most, don't you?" us. it's stunning, he thinks, the way Gaz can weave tapestry in the air like this with just his words. one tangled like shibari binds. "and we care for you a lot. we'll be gentle. it's up to you, of course, but—"

Soap's bloody hand disappears under the table. you gasp. "yer askin' fer it, ain't ye? beggin' so pretty fer it."

"n-no, i—"

"mind your manners." Price. his voice is chiselled into char, authoritative; low. a lulling command spoken in a breath of smoke. "and don't lie, love. or i'll have to take you over my knee."

the tension is thick. Soap's arm moves, slow. deliberate. Ghost has clench his jaw to avoid bearing his teeth. snarling.

Gaz cuts it with a knife. hews compliance into your skin with a fine needle point. "it's okay. we'll take such good care'a you. make you feel so good."

your submission is a heavy thing. oppressive. the shallow dip of your chin, the blistering heat simmering under your flesh, burning right, is the prettiest fuckin' thing he's ever seen. he does clench his jaw this time. tight, tight. tight

until something pops.

"okay." you yield. head bowed. beautifully submissive.

when he looks around, catches the predatory crackle in the air. his hackles raise. immediate. instinctual. and ah, right.

it's easy to forget he's surrounded by a wild pack of stray dogs. starving ones, too.

[flowershines]

closer cat fight

summary: Being the 8th member of Enhypen means that you get to spend time with people that actually make you feel special but little does everyone know that during most of those times your on your knees in front of them as you pleasuring them everyday.

warnings: smut, mentions of sex

< masterlist >

“Well it doesn’t help that your clumsy ass kept falling over my foot every five seconds.” Jay exclaimed loudly to the man who you had been walking next to since the concert ended, “It’s not my fault you can tell your rights from your lefts, use your brain.” the man next to you barked back. ���Say that shit to my face again.” Jay stopped in his tracks to face the man while walking closer to him, almost to the point he could feel Jay’s breath on the tip of his nose. “Use. Your. Bra-” Not letting the man finish his sentence, Jay pounced himself on the man swinging at his face leaving a dark bruise on his eye right next to the mole on his nose. You started to run to the dressing room where the other members were laying on the couches; relaxing, slamming the door open you caught everyone’s attention. “Jay and Sunghoon are fighting.” You exclaimed out of breath just as you heard grunting and yelling in the background, the members wasted no time and started to run to the two. “Shit.” You had heard Heeseung mumble under his breath as the punches from the other hall had gotten louder, “Break it up, break it up.” he said as he tried to pull them away from each other. Jake had moved behind you to grab onto Jay to try and pull him away as Heeseung and Jungwon tried to pull Sunghoon away from Jay, meanwhile you, Sunoo, and Ni-ki just stared at the two. Blood ran along the side of Jay’s face as some of the blood traveled down to his lip; resting on it, Sunghoon had his hair messily laid over his eyes as the left one started to swell while his knuckles were beaming bright red from the sudden change of pressure on them. “The hell is wrong with you two?!” Heeseung scolded the two of them pushing his hands out; preventing them from hurting each other even more, “Jake and Y/n take Jay into that room, we will take care of Sunghoon. Sunoo and Ni-ki, go get first aid kits for each of us.” everyone nodded.

Walking in front of them you held the door open for the both of them as Jake helped Jay sit on the chair, “I got it.” Jay said full of anger causing Jake to back up shaking his head back and forth. “Just trying to help, man.” He simply stated sitting on the chair opposite to his friend as you stood against the wall in between the two, waiting for Sunoo or Ni-ki to hurry up with the first aid kits. Sighing to yourself you looked at how beat up your friend had gotten and started to feel bad about everything even though there was really nothing you could have done to prevent the situation from happening, the sound of your phone going off from your back pocket pulled everyone’s attention away from their thoughts and now on you. Pulling out your phone you saw the contact photo of Heeseung as well as a text saying ‘what happened?’ followed by another text saying ‘Sunghoon hasn’t been saying anything except to ask you’, “Who is it?” Jake asked, tilting his head towards the side looking at you with concern. “It was just Heeseung asking what happened, nothing to worry about.” Finishing your sentence Jay looked up at you with shimmering eyes; his tears made his under eyes and the tip of his nose turn a light pink color, by the way his eyes tried to contain his tears you could tell he was trying to act all tough but on the inside he wanted to break down and start sobbing. “Jake, I can take care of Jay for right now, can you go see where Ni-ki and Sunoo are with the first aid kits?” After nodding his head you finally texted Heeseung back ‘they were just arguing about their placements on stage, then things got physical.’ walking over to Jay, you sat down next to him opening your arms. He turned to you and let his head nuzzle into your neck the longer he rested his head on your neck you started to hear a faint cry while rubbing his back the door opened with Jake holding the first aid kit, Jay had heard the door open causing him to lift his head up and quickly wipe his tears away. “Ni-ki and Sunoo both went to the dorms with Jungwon, how are you holding up?” He asked, walking closer to Jay while opening the small container filled with bandaids and other assentails, “As best as I can be right now.” a small smile tried to appear from the corner of his mouth but failed to reappear a few seconds later. Taking out the alcohol pad; Jake placed his arm out to you waiting for you to take it as well as a couple of band aids to stop the bleeding, grabbing the items from his hands. You placed the band aids on your thighs as you opened up the packaging of the alcohol pad while handing Jake the trash, so that way he can throw it away when he gets up because you would still be taking care of Jay.

Slowly placing the thin cloth on the side of his face he hissed from the sudden sharp pain coming from his open cut, “I know, I’m sorry. But it is going to clean it.” you said while rubbing his shoulder. You could tell that he didn’t like the feeling; who would, his eyebrows were knitted together, eyes squeezed shut, and his nose was all scrunched up. Finishing up cleaning his cut you passed the trash to Jake once more and opened the package to the band aids while softly trying to place them on the cut trying not to be too harsh that it would hurt, “That’s good for now, when we get back to the dorms we can check on it again. Clean it better than just what the first aid had.” you explained pulling out your phone to check in on Heeseung and Sunghoon in the room across from you. ‘How is it going over there?’ Not even a few seconds pass by and your phone already dings ‘We are just finishing up, about to head back to the dorms. What about you guys?’ ‘We are all done, just about to leave. Make sure to stay there for a minute while we get Jay to the car, don’t want another outbreak to happen.’ Putting your phone back in your pocket you started talking to both of them, “Heeseung is going to be heading back to the dorms with Sunghoon soon, so we are going to leave right now. That way we won’t run into them.” They both nodded their heads, Jay stood up and walked over to you while Jake started to walk over to the trash cans placing the empty wrappers in the trash. Walking to the car you figured the guilt started to get a hold of Jay because the whole ride he didn’t say a word and hung his head low while his eyes scanned the woods outside the windows meanwhile Jake was talking your ear off, talking about anything that came to his mind even at one point he started to trace the veins on his hands with his index finger. Pulling into the parking lot you noticed how Jay’s hands laid loose on his lap as his fingers started fidgeting with his nails even occasionally biting them as well, walking into the dorms you noticed how the band aid you placed on the cut started to leak through and started dripping down his face once more.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom with Jay, to clean up his cut again. I got it from here.” Jake nodded as he walked past the two of you and headed towards his room, ushering Jay into the bathroom he placed down the lid of the toilet seat and sat down on top of it as his head still hung low staring at his hands. Placing your thumb under his chin you pushed his head up to look you in the eyes, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, I know you are. You both are best friends. I know you and I know him, you both will come around and apologize. Maybe not now but it will definitely happen.” “It’s my fault, I know it is. I need to apologize to him when he gets here-” cutting him off you held onto his shoulders to stop him from ranting on further. “No. Not now at least, do it tomorrow. Gives you both time to cool off.” He nodded as you released your finger from his chin as you grabbed a cloth from under the sink, running it under the cold water. Taking off the band aid it looked like it had gotten worse, he stood up and stood next to you in the mirror as he looked at his bleeding cut but as he turned his head you noticed a bruise that formed on his chest. Making sure your eyes didn’t deceive you, you pulled his shirt down a little more only to notice that the bruising had gotten worse as well as other cuts along his body, “Geez, Jay. Why don’t you just hop in the shower while I get all the medicine and other essentials out.” you turned around before you could even see him nodding his head but the sound of the water running behind you made you know that he had heard you. Grabbing some items from under the sink you placed them on the ground next to where you were kneeling, filling up both of you hands you went to turn around still kneeling to tell him the you were going to get an ice pack and dry clothes for when he gets out but was only met face to face with his dick through the glass slide in door. Quickly turning around you softly apologized “I-i’m sorry, I was going to get you clean clothes as w-well as an ice pack for when you get out.” you told him quickly while rushing out of the bathroom fast enough so he wouldn’t see your embarrassed state.

Walking into the kitchen you saw Sunghoon resting up against the island rubbing his temple, “You okay? How bad did you get hurt?” you walked over to him immediately rushing towards his tired figure. Placing your finger along the band aid on his arm he just watched the way you would touch him, his fingers came down to your hands holding them for reassurance, “I’m fine, if anything I more likely hurt Jay more than he hurt me. Speaking of how is he?” he asked looking anywhere but your eyes as shame filled his aura. “He’s doing okay, cleaning the cuts in the shower. ‘Cause of your long ass nails.” You giggled at your own comment as a smile started to appear on his lips, walking over to the freezer he followed closely behind you. “Whatcha doing?” He asked getting closer to you, “Getting an ice pack and clothes for Jay once he gets out of the shower.” nodding his head he whined “How come Heeseung didn’t give me any of this treatment? He gave me a band aid and said I was good.” a pout appeared on his face resting you hand on his back you started to move your hand in circular motions giving him immediate relaxation. “Oh, you poor baby. I’ll help you too, don’t worry. Why don’t you get in the shower with Jay then.” You stated jokingly as you headed to Jay’s bedroom, turning around and he wasn't by your side. Figuring he had still been in the kitchen waiting for you there was talking a room away from you, Heeseung had probably come out to check on him as you were still picking out clothes for Jay you had grabbed a loose black t-shirt, white and black shorts, and boxers. Walking to the bathroom you had noticed no one was in the kitchen just then instant laughter filled the bathroom; no way he took your joke literally, knocking on the door you hear Sunghoon’s voice say a soft “come in'' covering your eyes you placed your hand over you eyes; shielding you from any possible thing you could’ve possible seen. Opening the door slightly you slid in not opening the door fully for their privacy as your back turned against them you placed Jay’s clothes on top of the toilet seat as placed all the medical items you placed before on the sinks outer shelf, “What about my clothes, Y/nie?” Sunghoon asked from behind you “R-right.” walking out of the bathroom once more you shut the door behind you and took a deep breath. Walking into Sunghoon’s room Jake was laying on his bed waiting for Sunghoon, “Sung- wait Y/n what are you doing in here?” he asked, looking at you sitting up from his spot on the bed leaving wrinkling sheets underneath him. “He’s in the shower and needs clothes.” “Wait but I thought Jay was in the shower.” grabbing the clothes he needed you answered his question as you left shutting the door behind you. “He is.”

Walking back into the bathroom this time you placed Sunghoon’s clothes on top of the ledge on the toilet, as your back still faced them you asked “Anything else?” “Yeah, can you check my cuts I want to make sure that they are looking fine.” you heard Jay say from behind you “But-” “Please, Y/n.” he begged causing you to take in a deep breath mentally preparing yourself for the situation you are about to face. Slowly turning around you faced Jay who had his wet hair sticking to his forehead on top of his cut, moving your eyes down his body to scan across for any more cuts you couldn’t help but notice how his abs shimmered due to the water. Sunghoon had watched as your eyes traveled further down, “I think his cuts stopped at his chest, Y/nie. Looking further down, for what?” “N-nothing. I wasn’t looking down. I was just looking at his injuries thank you very much.” you swiftly finished “Mhm, i don’t think there are any injuries on his dick.” a smirk appeared on his lips as Jay’s cock twitched from the thought of you staring at his dick. “But good thing you’re not the only one that enjoys it.” Your eyes traveled down as you saw his cock becoming hard with every second that passed by, “Y/nie, you keep giving Jay a special treatment today. What about me?” your eyes looked at him up and down to your surprise he was already rock hard while staring at you. You would be lying if you said that you weren’t wet because having two hot men staring at you both dripping wet and naked; sounds like a dream, “Why don’t you come in Y/n, clean up yourself too.” thinking about it Jay interrupted your thoughts. “Yeah Y/n, please come in. You took care of me, let me help you.” Nodding back at the man you started to take off your shirt leaving you in your bra as the two men stared in awe, “If I get in no funny business though.” you demanded causing them both to nod. Before any more movements you questioned them, “I thought you two weren’t good with each other?” you asked “We’ll solve or argue more about the problem later.” Sunghoon commented as you started to strip off your pants, you were feeling a bit nervous since you had never been close in this way with the two of them before, “Can you both turn around?” you asked fiddling with your hands “Yeah.” one said “For sure.” the other said picking up your head you were faced with two muscular backs facing you. Finally stripping off your bra and underwater you slid past the glass door to the bathroom, while scotching past the two of them to go right underneath the hot water. Instant relief fell from your head to the bottom of your toes “Okay.” you said as both of their figures turned towards you as Sunghoon’s eyes immediately started to scan your body from head to toe, “You’re gorgeous Y/n.” Jay said walking closer to your figure his eyes never leaving yours. His hand traveled up past your face to brush your wet hair behind your ear while sliding his hand down to your shoulder slowly rubbing his finger back and forth in a southing manner, “Hoon if you have never seen a girl this way just say that, your actions give it away.” he snickered to himself as he stood by your side. “I have.” Was his short and simple answer as Jay’s hand moved down to your back rubbing circles on your back, meanwhile Sunghoon was constantly glancing from your eyes to your tits to your cunt. You couldn’t blame him though because you were staring at his aching cock, as you had felt Jay’s cock laying on the side of your upper thigh. Before you got the chance to move over a hand started to wrap around you waist turning your body towards him, eventually turning around face to face with him his fingers ran through his wet hair that would stay in their spot due to the water. Leaning down closer to you he placed his lips together; kissing your temple as he trailed down to your lips then neck then further down, the kisses he left on your neck felt desperate for more that later on; would surely leave marks.

His kisses feather all over your body as another pair of hands appeared on your back, the amount of pleasure you were receiving from his tender kisses made you make small moans. Placing your hand over your mouth trying to contain them a hand wrapped around your wrist pulling your hand away from your wet and desperate lips, “Don’t hide those beautiful noises from us, princess.” a husky voice said from behind your ear; the figure was so close you that you could feel the breath of his every word and it comforted you oddly enough that you never wanted this moment to ever end. Jay started mumbling small praises on your skin as he kneeled down to start kissing your thighs as your pussy clenched around nothing but desperation, pleas fell from your lips as Sunghoon started to move your hair to one side of your neck while attacking the other side with kisses. “Doing so good for us pretty girl.” Jay praised as his lips found their way up to your cunt “Please.” you begged them for more as a breathy moan echoed through the room, the kissing on your neck suddenly stopped only to be replaced by a hand pulling your head back to face the figure behind you. “So pretty.” He said giving you a spider-man kiss as the feeling of ache and desperation filled through your body the feeling of him twitching against your ass pulled you out of your thoughts while he whispered a whine “Can’t help it, you do this to me.” his grip on your throat and waist tightened as he felt embarrassed due to his erect cock. “Can I?” A voice down by your legs asked looking up at you in your eyes, as you gave him instant approval he wasted no time by moving directly down to suck on your clit while lifting up one of your legs placing it over his shoulder to give him more access. “Taste so fucking good.” He mumbled on your cunt sending vibrations through your whole body, the man behind you started to feel jealousy fill through him cause of your praises to the other man. Feeling the sudden pain on your ass made your head instantly turn around to the man standing behind you “This. Body. Is. Fucking. Mine.” he demanded smacking your ass with every word, “Like to see you try.” Jay cockily replied to the man only adding more fuel to the fire. Pulling you away from the man he pushed your helpless desperate body against the wet cold shower wall while leaning down to your ear whispering “Can I?” whispering back a small broken, “Yes.” he wrapped his hand around his red and aching cock giving it a few strokes just before shoving his heat inside yours. A breath of relief was heard as another breath was heard from the opposite side of you but the sound of the noise was not one from relief but rather a sigh of jealously, turning towards the sound Jay was standing there with his aching cock in his hand as his hair messily laid over his eyes and forehead. His eyebrows knitted together from discomfort while his eyes were tranced on the way his best friend was pleasuring you, “So fucking tight, just couldn’t wait to be fucked; couldn’t you?” Sunghoon asked as a smirk grew from one side of his face to the other eventually being placed between his teeth. You tried to tell him how good he was doing and praise him about it but the only thing that came out of your helpless mouth was a small whine only heard by him, leaning closer to you his cock was pushed deeper into your cunt “Make such pretty noises, love.” he whispered while placed his head in the crevice of your neck. “Princess.” Jay whined moving closer to you while his lips brushed against your as he brought you into a passionate kiss, moaning from the man behind you; fucking you only made Jay want to fuck you better than his friend ever could. Moans filled the small room while the glass wall and mirrors were no longer clear but instead filled with condensation from the heat of the shower as well as the heat from having sex, you turned to look at the water dripping down on the slide door and couldn’t help the way your fingers traced the water all the way down till you could no longer reach it from your current standing position.

His cock pulsated inside of you while your eyes were slightly open watching the way Jay played with the buds of your nipples, small swears and an occasional praise would be said from the man behind you. Jay was the complete opposite of Sunghoon; Sunghoon fucked rough and fast while occasionally praising you but not in a good or bad way ‘Just like that you fucking slut’, meanwhile Jay fucked you gentle and caring sometimes he wouldn’t even cum but would stop because you did, he puts your pleasure before his as he praises you for everything you would do ‘Yes princess, keep going. You look so gorgeous right now.’ Of course they both treated you like you were the only girl in the world for them but you couldn’t have yourself thinking about them every day like this or else the way you feel towards them would change; maybe it’s to late for that though, “So fucking beautiful.” Sunghoon grunted while squeezing each side of your face with one hand. His words helped you get out of your head; they always did, his hand snaked around your waist as he held you tighter than before while fucking up into your tiny cunt like a touch starved man. Your hand snaked down along Jay’s abs while looking into his eyes as your eyes stared into his you noticed how his pupils grew bigger than normal, he whispered a small ‘thank you’ as your fingers grazed his aching cock while his lips fell in between his teeth biting hard till his lips turned a light pink. He tried hard to control his noises to the best he can so that way the other members wouldn’t hear anything but on the other hand Sunghoon was louder than you; maybe he wanted them to hear at this point, “Yes love, keep clenching around me like a little bitch in heat.” his hand slithered up to your hair grabbing it and pulling it back till you face him and not Jay. “That’s right, look me in the fucking eyes while I breed this tight cunt.” His grunts and Jay’s moans made you drenched and helping your climax reach closer and closer to you, Jay was fisting his dick like there was no tomorrow; he imagined that he was the one fucking you and not his best friend. The way he would’ve taken care of you making sure you came multiple times before he even would think about his own pleasure, the way he would- “Fuck i’m gonna fucking cum.” his thoughts were cut off by Sunghoon grunting while fucking into you faster than he was before as a moan would be let out as he released inside of you. Not long after you and Jay came at the same time while looking at each other; finishing off, “I’m gonna head to my room gorgeous girl, if you need me just come in.” Sunghoon said while getting out of the shower with his hair still drenched and just simply wrapping a towel around his waist and grabbing his clothes as he exits the door leaving wet footprints on the ground. Turning towards Jay you felt cum start to drip down the back of your thighs causing a small gasp to fall from your lips, Jay smirked “Let’s get you cleaned up princess.” he smiled bringing you in closer till you could feel his chest on your back. He wrapped his arms around your bare chest as he whispered in your ear “Thank you so much.” while kissing your cheek, you turned to the side barely being able to see him “I’m sorry, I didn’t really acknowledge you as much I wanted to trust me I d-” he cut you off by placing a passionate kiss on your lips. “Don’t apologize, I am thankful enough that you even looked at me in that way. Plus I still came, didn’t I?” He asked already knowing the answer while you nodded your head at his question, “See then we are all good but next time I’ll fuck you better than he ever could.” he cockily said causing a shade of pink to appear across your face. “Shouldn’t we be getting out?” You asked changing the topic “Not yet, wanna stay here with you for a bit longer. Can I?” You nodded as he hugged your warm body tighter causing a smile to spread cross your lips.

tags list:

@luvyev @honestimage @siria000023 @tooshyshaa @heeseungshim @juliesblogs @wonpoem @weyukinluv @cha0thicpisces @jungwonloveer @zouzie008 @wooziswife @jwonistic @wonniesdoll @wonki-luv @en-gene2 @deobitifull @cupidhee @namdeyuoi @hanienie @gfjydhufvh @nyfwyeonjun @sangzhi4 @peonywon @caravm @heeseungsbabyy @sunoosets @anwonie @jungwonnieee @certified-niki-lover @aprilsssinterest

[wonhaz]

break my heart again - y.jw

pairing : jungwon x fem!reader genre : classmates au, hanahaki au, angst, unrequited love, inspired by laufey's song - let you break my heart again wc : 2.2k warnings : child neglect, sickness, hospitals, blood, major character death, eating synopsis : yang jungwon breaks your heart, but you love him, and you'd let him do it again, and again. because you would rather die than live your life not loving him, and you do just that. a/n : i don't know why all my fic ideas from my bias (jungwon) are all so angsty but here you go ig! i put a lot of effort into the meaning of each flower and their symbolisms in the story so u can even google it if you want the full experience or full meanings. this laufey song makes me want to cry my eyes out but i hope u like the fic!

"one day i will stop falling in love with you."

you loved yang jungwon, but he didn't love you back.

he was the only thing you could think of, but you know well that he doesn't care about you. all of your friends told you to move on, to forget about him. you've tried, you really have, but nothing seems to work.

jungwon was everything any girl could ever want, top of the class, kind, funny, and not to mention, extremely cute. you're pretty sure every girl in school had feelings for him at one point, you were no different. you thought it would just be a happy crush, how did it get this bad?

how did you meet him? simple, he was your classmate, that's it. just your classmate. he knew if your existence, but only because of his role as class president, aside from that he had no reason to interact with you. he never saw how you looked at him with your lovesick gaze as he took down notes, he never saw you in the bleachers watching every single one of his competitions, he never saw you clutching your chest in pain, no matter what you did, he never saw you at all.

but you let him do it. again, and again, and again. as long as you were alive, you would let him break your heart again. all because you love yang jungwon.

your parents were busy, always out on business trips, leaving you all alone at home with no one to talk to. all you did at home was day dream and come up with fake scenarios and alternate universes where you and jungwon were a couple. did that help your current situation? hell no. it made it worse.

you sit at the dining table. alone. your plate with pie and your cup of coffee untouched, you were hungry, but had no appetite to eat. suddenly your favorite foods looked disgusting. you've read about this happening.

it's getting worse.

walking to school, you feel a pang of pain in your chest. quickly running to a hidden alley, you clutch your chest in pain. you feel as if you're about to throw up, trying to cough it out, petals fall out of your mouth instead. you watch as they float down to the floor, looking at them with a bitter smile. picking them up, you stuff them into a pocket in your bag.

arriving at school, you walk into the classroom. there he is. sitting on his friend's table laughing. walking to your seat, you lay your head on your table. listening to him laugh made your day better, but worse at the same time. each laugh he let out increased the growing pain in your chest.

you're grateful your teacher doesn't notice.

that nobody at school notices that you keep going to the bathroom. your friends don't notice either, you don't know whether to feel hurt or happy. hurt that they don't know you're in pain, happy that it will make it easier for you to leave this world since they don't pay attention to you. quickly locking yourself in a stall, you start coughing with no end. daffodil petals leave your lips with red stains. your blood. taking out your phone, you search up the meaning of daffodils. "daffodils symbolize unrequited love, rebirth, new beginnings, and eternal life."

eternal life. something you knew you didn't have.

during lunch break, you see jungwon in the halls. he's smiling holding a small bouquet of pink tulips. you look at him with a sad smile, you know it's not for you, it would never be for you. feeling the need to cough again, you run into an empty hallway and pink petals leave your mouth. pink tulips. crazy to think how quickly seeing jungwon could affect you.

finally deciding to see the doctor, you go to the hospital after school. you sit on the cold metal seats in the waiting room, waiting for your name to be called. "shim _______?". quickly standing up, you made your way into the doctors office and greet the doctor. "so what brings you hear young lady?" he asks. "this." you respond, taking the petals out of your bag and spreading them on his desk. you see the doctor's eyes widen and he looks at you. "hanahaki.." you hear him say, "how long have you been coughing up petals?", "about a month." you say and he shakes his head, "this means that you only have a bit of time left, meaning you've had this for months but only started coughing petals until recently. I'm afraid you only have 5 months left.". your heart drops, but it's alright, it was already broken. nodding, you tell him you understand. "do you plan to have the surgery? or is there a chance the one you love will love you back?" the doctor asks with hopeful eyes. you shake your head, "neither." you say, "i don't want the surgery, and the one i love will never love me back.". "______" the doctor says your name softly, "you'll die.". "i know." you say,

"but i'd rather die than live a life not loving him."

you leave the hospital that day knowing you have 5 months left. nothing would heal your broken heart. jungwon could never grow love for you, the only thing growing was the flowers in your lungs. you make your way to your home, if you could even all it one. you didn't even know where your parents currently were, but you do know that "business trips are more important." according to them. laying on your bed, you stare at your ceiling, just a few more months you think, and all this will be over.

you try to make the most of school.

since in a few months you won't have to go, grades are not something for you to worry about anymore. it didn't matter with your current situation. you went to school to see him, and only for that sole reason. sitting with your friends at the cafeteria, you stare at jungwon seated on the opposite side of the room. seeing him smiling makes you smile. seeing him happy makes you happy. one of your friends ask you if you're okay. "are you okay, _____? you haven't touched your food at all.", truthfully, you didn't feel like eating anything these days, but you can't tell them that. "yes, I'm alright, just got a little distracted." and they nod. they continue their conversation and your eyes find your way back to jungwon. he's getting up to leave, you excuse yourself from your friends and follow him out at a distance.

"jungwon! when are you asking your crush out? you've already given her tulips!", you hear one of his friends say. "soon, not sure yet." he responds nudging his friend and laughing. "but i found out she likes roses." jungwon says, almost instantly you feel your chest tighten and you know that you need to make a run for it. you run in the opposite direction to the bathroom and lock the stall door. you start coughing, the pain in your chest becoming unbearable. red rose petals with blood on them.

you always thought roses were beautiful, but with beauty comes pain. the thorns growing in your lungs making your breath hitch. you knew that your time was running out faster than expected.

three months left.

you start writing in a journal, in hopes that someone will find it after you leave. that they'll read about your last months loving jungwon. that they'll read about your tragic love story that never even was a love story in the first place. you write about jungwon and all the things you liked about him, about being left alone at home, and about ever single kind of petal you have coughed up, sticking them to the pages and learning about the meaning of each one. you learned that red roses symbolized love and romance, how ironic. two things that you would never experience. not in this life at least, hopefully in the next.

one month left.

you wanted to talk to jungwon before you left forever. even if it was short and made no sense. you knew he got to school early and you made an effort to get there early too. he sat at his desk studying for the test later, mustering up the courage to walk up to him, you stand at the end of his desk and he looks up and gives you a confused look. "hi _____, do you need something?" he asks. "thank you, jungwon." you say and his eyebrows furrow. "for what?", "for everything." you say with a smile. "you're welcome?" he says still confused. flashing him a small smile, you get your bags and walk out the classroom leaving him alone, his eyes follow you as you walk out. he shrugs and goes back to what he was doing. he doesn't care.

that broke your heart again.

one week left.

you thought you were well prepared for your departure. you wrote a letter to your parents, leaving it on their table. you weren't even sure if they would ever come home and read it, but it didn't matter. their not-so-golden only child would be gone and they wouldn't even know. you wrote a letter to each of your friends, it was easy since you only had a few. you gave it to them at school and made them promise to read them in a week. you wanted to go in peace. you wanted to go alone.

3 days left.

you go to school to gather everything from your locker, touching the cold metal door for the last time. you greet your favorite teachers before you leave, you even buy your favorite drink from the cafeteria, you were going to miss how it tasted. you walk out of the school and turn to look at it. it would be the last time you see the school. the school you dreaded going to, the school where you met yang jungwon. you decided you were going to spend your last few days at home before making your way to where you plan to depart forever.

one day left.

you tidy up your room, straightening up your pillows and bedsheets. you clean your messy desk and leave the journal right in the middle. the journal that contained your thoughts, your fondest memories, the memories of your last months on this earth. making your way to the kitchen, the light the refrigerator emits feels blinding. taking out the last slice of leftover pie, you make yourself a cup of coffee to go with it and sit alone at the table. you didn't feel hungry, not anymore, but you forced yourself to eat your favorite foods one last time. you savor the taste of the coffee, the warmth temporarily soothing the pain in your lungs. you felt sick that night, maybe because you forced yourself to eat, maybe it was because you knew your time was running out. either way, you tried your best to fall asleep.

3 hours left.

you make your way to a field deep in your favorite park. it was off limits but you used to go there alone anyways. laying under a big tree, you stare up at they sky, you'll be up there soon. you feel your eyes start to tear up, you're crying. you don't mean to cry, but it's as if your body knows that your time is about to run out.

1 hour left.

"one day i will stop falling in love with you."

you tried to stop loving yang jungwon. heaven knows how much you tried. jungwon would never love you, but you would never stop loving him. you would love him even if you were dead. you would love him as you watched from above.

"some day, someone will like me like I like you."

is what you thought. that wasn't going to happen anymore, maybe not in this life at least. you were classmates. and you would remain classmates for the rest of his life, and your short one.

10 minutes left.

you look at the green grass and trees surrounding you. the sun was setting, painting the sky a mix of purple, pink and orange. you smile. if only jungwon was beside you enjoying this too.

but he wasn't. but the thought of it made your heart flutter.

your heart. your broken heart.

you loved yang jungwon, but he broke your heart. he has multiple times but he never knew. you would still let him do it again in every life, because that's how much you love him.

you begin to feel sleepy, it's almost as if your life is being drained out of you. you bring your hand up to your chest, to where your broken heart lies. the vines in your lungs suffocating you.

you look at the now dark and starry sky and let out one last breathe.

"i love you, yang jungwon." you say and close your eyes for the last time.

epilogue.

10 years later

the wind rustles the leaves of the tree you once lay under. some leaves fall and slowly land on the grass by the base, beside it, a flower has grown. a daffodil. the first flower you ever coughed up. you searched its meaning back then.

"daffodils symbolize unrequited love, rebirth, new beginnings, and eternal life."

maybe, just maybe, fate will let you have your new beginning.

that fate will give you another chance in your next life to be with the one you love.

[serialkilluh1996]

☠︎︎The Cause☠︎︎

Psychic-Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Dead-female-reader

When Kyle arrives on scene to investigate your suicide, he finds that he can't, and I mean cannot, drop your case.

Proshippers, Comshippers DNI

Warnings: suicide, gore, guns, angst, contact me if I need to add more.

It wasn't a pretty sight; the bright, flashing police lights, the yellow caution tape. It was pretty overwhelming and took quite a toll on his anxiety.

One could blame him by saying he shouldn't work a job he wasn't mentally equipped for, but only someone deeply desensitized is mentally equipped for the things one saw working on his task force, especially not this time.

For example, the sight of CSI showering you in camera flashes, leaned in close to get a good angle of your blown off head as you slouched in your seat.

It was bloody, messy, splattered across the enclosure of your vehicle, your brain scattered across the place. It wasn't for the weak stomached.

He winced as he watched them pull you out of the car, laying you on the stretcher. Your head gushed and oozed with the movement, leaking across the scene, your hand shriveled, tight around the gun you used to end your life. Even in death, you held it tight, your fingers locked tightly around the trigger.

"Gaz," Price snaps the man out of his trance. "You're doing it again." Gaz sighs at the Captain's words, knowing he was right. He had a bad habit of zoning out at scenes like this, but he did try his best to stay focused.

"You're one of my best men, Gaz. I need ta know you can handle this mission without havin' another episode." "Of course, I can. I've seen worse." His brows furrow, almost taking offensive. He wouldn't dare back out, but he couldn't tell him the real reason why.

"You've seen better and felt worse." Price counters, putting his hands in his pockets. "I know it looks...awful. But if you can't fulfill the job, I can find someone else to fill in for ya." He snorts, backing up as they passed them with your now covered corpse.

Gaz closes his eyes, his skull tingling at the sight of you hidden beneath the thin white sheet, blood seeping through around your head. Seeing you, what was left of your face, shielded by the blanket sent a certain urge through Gaz. Not a sexual urge or a violent urge. It didn't even feel like a human desire. It was something beyond that. A guilty urge. A soul-haggling requirement to make things right.

He felt numb yet prickly all over, weak in the stomach and full of adrenaline. Then suddenly, it was gone. The second they lifted you into the ambulance, the feeling was snatched away from him. Gaz breathes heavily.

"...I-...I can't drop this mission, Captain... It's meant for me." He expresses, watching the ambulance pull off. He couldn't help but want to follow it, even knowing exactly where the thing was headed. "Whateva ya say, Gaz."

12:03am

Gaz can't seem to get himself to sleep, even knowing how snarky he can get if he doesnt get enough rest. He sits elbows out against his computer desk, constantly rewatching the final video you recorded. He knows it's not healthy, but something about your face drew him in, like a sailor to a siren's song.

There was something about the look on your face as you rambled on and on about God knows what, a melancholy smile making it's way onto his face as he watched you prolong your death. For someone talking to themselves, you were a great conversationalist, ignoring all the stuttering and trailed off sentences.

Can't really expect a girl to be calm and collected while she's trying to kill herself, can you?

To Gaz, it didn't really seem like you wanted to die. It seemed like you needed someone to talk to. He felt bad. Guilty. Something was telling him that if he'd gotten to you sooner, he could've talked you out of it. But even with the guilt, he couldn't move past how absolutely gorgeous you were to him. Just...raw, natural, frantic. No facade.

Gaz had a thing for crazy unpredictable women. His whole life, he's been a calm, level-headed guy and he was raised to remain chill in even the most devastating situations, and to help others in need.

So, seeing girls who were always on the verge of a break down, just a second away from chaos, it made him feel...leveled. he felt like he could help them. He wanted to help them. Badly.

He had an awful "I can fix her" mentality, and anytime he finds himself in a situation that he knows he can solve somehow, he feels bad when he doesn't. And he knows he could've helped you. He just...didn't. There was something much he could've done for you.

Bang! He shudders, watching you commit the final act. He was on his third time watching this video and he jumped every. fucking. time. He just could NOT prepare himself to see you die.

He closes his laptop, leaning down into his hands and rubbing his face. "Damn..." he cursed, sighing. "...why'd you do that?..." he asks in a whisper, almost angry that you didn't get the help you needed.

"... I'm sorry..."

His head lifts immediately, heart instantly palpitating. "Breathe, Kyle, Breathe" He tells himself, resetting his breathing patterns slowly but surely. He turns around to see a girl sitting at the edge of his bed. Not just any girl. You.

Your head was in...better condition. It was still put together of not for the smoke coming from the cracks around your eye, resembling the areas that had blown off.

"Oh, ☆☆☆." He turns out of his chair, pulling you close into his arms. "It's okay, baby, its alright." He cradles you against his chest. "It's okay, ☆☆☆...damn, you shoulda called me, girl....you shoulda called me..." He sniffles, clinging onto you like a little girl holding her broken porcelain doll.

"I forgot your number..."

Your voice was blank, monotone, with only a hint of emotion; shame. "I know, honey, I know...that's my fault. I shoulda kept in contact with you...uh, how much do you remember? Do you know who you are? Who I am?"

"..Kyle.."

"That's...that's right. Kyle. That's good. You're not far gone. What am I to you, ☆☆☆? What's our relationship?" He tries gage how much you remember after death. It would determine if you could still stay with him.

"My boyfriend..."

He sighs. You must not remember the breakup. He didn't want you to either. It made him feel awful. Gaz felt he shouldn't have left you during your worse. He knew you were going through so much and he just abandoned you. "Yeah, that's right, angel..."

Oh, his poor baby didn't even know... just dead and clueless. But he'd much wrather you not remember the breakup, knowing damn well that's probably what triggered your suicide in the first place. He wouldn't dare remind you that he was the cause.

You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself.

Banner credits go to @ghoulbloggerrr!

[water-loos]

Bad Idea, Right ?

“I know we’re done, I know we’re through, but, God, when I look at you…”

player!mean!steve harrington x fem!reader

series masterlist ; next chapter

cw: college au, MILD EMETOPHOBIA WARNING (mentions of gagging/pretending to vomit), vulgar language smut (p in v, creampie, unprotected sex), hate sex, arguing

wc: 5k

a/n: guys please be nice this is my first time writing full on smut

It was easy to change the code for your apartment building. It was easier to sit closer to the front of the class and start participating more as sort of a Steve repellent. Even deleting his number was a piece of cake after a couple of weeks.

What wasn’t easy, was going out.

Despite it being summer when all of the college kids normally went home to their hometowns, your group of friends that lived in your building chose to move to the city permanently and stay for the summer, all in the name of partying and being drunk in public. It had seemed fun at first, and you had been excited at one point.

Then, your friend Eddie said something in a casual conversation that ruined your entire summer.

“Yeah, by the way, Steve’s still holed up at his place. His roommate works 24/7 and doesn’t really do much, so he’s kind of been stuck. I think we should invite him to come out with us tomorrow,” He had suggested innocently, the situation between the two of you was kept so well under wraps that everyone but Alexandra had been kept in the dark. “What d’ya think?”

Well, Alexandra and her girlfriend, Robin. Who was Steve’s best friend. And had apparently been giving him hell about the way he treated you.

Eddie still sat beside you on the couch, sweet and clueless. You gulped before answering. “That’s fine. The more the merrier, right?”

“See! That’s what I told him, but he was all like “Well I don’t know you’d have to ask, you can’t just invite me to someone else’s plans”, which I think is a stupid mindset,” He gave a dramatic and frankly spot-on impression of Steve that almost made you laugh. “I’ll just tell him he should come.”

“Did you tell him who’s coming? Or just that it’s mystery plans?” Robin chirped in from the kitchen, shooting you a knowing look from over the back of Eddie’s head. “You know how he is with knowing everyone who’s at a function.”

“I did not, actually,” Eddie realized and whipped out his phone, flipping it open and clicking through his contacts to find his message thread with Steve. “I’ll text him right now. I don’t think he’s doing anything.”

You watched the screen diligently from where you were sitting, pixelated text bubbles popping up.

—

i just talked to everybody and they said you’re good to come out with us saturday

Who’s going?

rob, alex, nance, sean, jared, and alex’s roommate

—

You bit your thumbnail as you watched a typing bubble pop up, disappear, and then reappear for the next minute.

“He’s taking forever.”

“He always takes forever!” Robin called from the kitchen as Alex walked out from her room.

“What’s all the shouting for?” She grumbled, clinging onto Robin.

“I’m trying to get Steve to tell me if he’s coming out with us on Saturday,” Eddie explains and sends a few question marks in the message thread. “He keeps typing, and stopping, and typing again.”

Alex whips around and shoots you a wide-eyed glance. Eddie’s too enthralled in his phone to see you shoot one back.

—

I just realized I have a work thing that night.

Sorry.

—

“He says he has a work thing. He’s no fun,” Eddie sighs, shuts his phone, and tosses it onto the coffee table.

Your stomach churns and guilt fills your veins. When you cut Steve off, you didn’t want it to stop him from hanging out with everyone else. You’d rather not go and let him have fun instead.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, indicating you had received a text. Your blood ran cold at the possibility that Steve could be the one texting you, and you immediately handed Eddie the remote that was in your lap in favor of scrambling to open your messages.

You couldn’t help but deflate a little when you saw it was just Robin, asking you if you were alright.

—

u ok?

yeah, i’m fine rob, but can you do me a favor?

sure

what’s up

can you text steve and ask him if he’d consider going out with you guys if i don’t go

what

no i’m not doing that

u don’t have to do that

he’ll be fine

can you just do it? please? i don’t even want to go that badly

i’ll buy you food

please?

fine

but i don’t think U should have to not go out with UR friends bc he’s uncomfy

—

You clicked your phone closed and settled into your seat on the couch, trying to focus on whatever horror movie Eddie had put on. Your phone buzzed not even five minutes after you had closed it, prompting you to open it again.

This time, it was an unknown number.

Your heart just about stopped.

—

Why do you want me to go out with everyone on Saturday so badly?

because i feel bad for being the reason you won’t go

so i’ll not go so you can, eddie really wants you to go

What if I just don’t want to go at all?

i want to make my friends happy, steve

robin and eddie and alex love you, and everyone else will love you

i want them to have a good time and they will if you go

please just go, for their sake

I have a better idea.

Don’t go out with them, and come here.

—

You pause and consider it. It couldn’t be that bad if you did go over. You could bring the six-pack that was in the back of your fridge that you hadn’t had the heart to toss yet, and you two could watch a movie like before. As much as it was easy to separate yourself from him, from everything, you still laid in bed and cried almost every night because your comforter still held the smell of his cologne no matter how many times you washed it. You still had one of his zip-ups, and you kept it right on your bedside table. The Altoids tin with his last cigarette still rattled in your purse.

Your phone buzzed twice in your hand.

—

DONT DO IT. DO NOT. ISWEAR TO FUCKING GOD

don’t listen to him

—

You lifted your head to see Robin and Alex standing behind you, glaring. Alex made a motion of slicing her neck.

That was enough to make you snap your phone closed and go back to pretending to watch the movie.

But it couldn’t be that bad.

Right?

———————

Saturday rolled around, and you had pulled out all of the stops. You blew out your hair, shaved your entire body, and even picked out your favorite pair of jeans that hugged your body just right.

Everything was perfect.

Your friends stood in your apartment, bottles of liquor covered your island, and music was bumping. It was a good pregame, and the energy was high.

“Alright! Let’s get this show on the road people!” Eddie cheered, a shooter between his pointer finger and thumb. “One last shot and then we leave.”

Jared, who had been standing ahead of where you sat on the couch, turned to help you up. The smile that was on his lips faded quickly, and his face fell into a concerned expression in the blink of an eye. “Are you good?”

Step one was complete.

You shook your head slowly and opened your eyes, trying to look as helpless as you could. “I’m really dizzy. I don’t think I should have smoked that cigarette.”

“Oh, shit, Alex?” Jared turned and called for your roommate, who rushed over quickly. The chains that hung from her shorts jingled as she rounded the couch and bent before you. “I think they’re gonna be sick.”

“Babe, I told you not to smoke with Eddie,” She tutted, lips between her teeth.

Before she could say anything else, you jumped up from the couch and rushed to the bathroom with your hand over your mouth, slamming the door behind you.

Step two.

You sat down on the floor next to the toilet and pretended to gag, doing your best to have the sounds you were making reverberate and sound realistic.

You kept it up for a couple of minutes before groaning loudly and flushing, which Alex took as an okay to knock on the door.

“You okay?”

“No. Just go without me.”

“Are you sure? We can just do a night in—“

“It’s fine, Alex,” You croaked. “I’ll be fine. You guys go out and tell me all about it tomorrow. I just want to chill out for a while.”

“Okay, babe. Call me if you need anything,” She agreed quicker than you thought she would, and you could hear her walk away from the door.

Step three.

You waited the ten minutes it took for everyone to get out the door, listening diligently for the faint sounds of their overly loud drunken voices to disappear. You left the bathroom as soon as you heard the door close, and you watched from the crack in your curtains as they pranced down the street and around the corner.

That’s when you grabbed your bag, Steve’s zip-up, his six-pack of beer, sprayed one last drop of perfume and left your apartment.

———————

One tumultuous twenty-minute drive later, you stood in front of his apartment, tossing your hair with your free hand as you debated on knocking.

This was such a bad idea.

But it was fine because you were just returning the last of his things. You were going to give him his things and maybe one more piece of your mind, and then you’d leave and cry in bed. It was a foolproof plan.

So you decide to knock, two raps of the knocker. You adjusted your posture one more time and crossed your arms. It would be fine. It’s a quick trip.

Step four.

Then, the door opened. Steve Harrington stood there, smiling at you with a look that could send someone to their knees. His shoulder leaned against the doorframe, and he matched your posture. It made your heart ache.

“There you are, pretty,” He quipped, letting his eyes drag slowly over your frame. You hadn’t changed, and the strong A/C that escaped the open door rose goosebumps over the sliver of stomach that showed above your jeans and the swell of your tits that was exposed over your favorite going-out top. “Almost thought you wouldn’t come.”

You tried your best to roll your eyes and pushed past him into his apartment, arms still crossed. “I’m just here to drop off your shit. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“You dressed up just to bring over my things?” He shut the door behind you and followed you into the kitchen, where you set down all of his stuff. “Sure.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might have plans after this? I don’t sit alone in my apartment like you do.”

“Oh, is that why Eddie called me?” He rounded the counter to stand in front of you, hands bracing either side of the counter outside of your hips. “Rambling about how I should ditch the work thing and come party because his favorite friend got sick after one cigarette?”

Shit.

He stepped closer once he saw your expression drop, one of his knees wedging between yours.

“I think we both know why you’re here, sweetheart.”

“You’re the one who texted me. Don’t act like this is my idea,” You said, voice wavering so slightly that you weren’t sure that he’d catch on.

“Oh, baby,” He tutted, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear and letting his hand trail down your neck. “I’m just feeling like the luckiest guy in the world, getting to be the one you get all prettied up for.”

You folded the second he pulled you closer, connecting your lips. It was like you were putty in his hands, and you were molded just for him. His hand almost gripped the back of your neck as your hands landed on the sides of his waist, anchoring him to you. The kiss was hot and hard like you were taking your first drink of water after walking through a desert. his other hand was quick to grasp your ass, pulling on it slightly as he groaned into the kiss.

“Wearing my favorite goddamn jeans,” He murmured into your lips, letting his hand smack your left ass cheek a little bit. “Just f’me.”

“Not for you,” You grumbled back but grabbed the front of his shirt and let your leg hook around his hip as he pressed you into the edge of the island. “Never for you.”

He chuckled and took one quick movement to set you atop the counter, letting you look down at him as his hands smoothed up your thighs. “I don’t think telling yourself that makes it any more true.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Aren’t you going to do that for me?”

You knocked his hip with your leg moderately hard, catching his attention. “I’ll walk out right now. This is the last time I’m ever dealing with your shit. I’m serious.”

He just blinked at you, eyes glazed over. But not with a realization that this was the end of you two. That’d be too easy.

That stupid smirk that haunted your dreams popped up on his lips seconds later.

“You’re so fucking hot when you hate me.”

He let his hand slip into the crease of your hips and thighs and all but smashed his lips into yours, groaning a little when your hands reached up to tug at his grown-out strands of hair. He was quick to pull you closer then, your legs wrapping around his hips as he leaned you across the counter. His lips started a burning and sloppy descent down your neck, his hands greedily grabbing at what he could of your ass. He nudged you further and further off the counter as you pulled him closer with both of your legs, and he was practically holding you soundly around his waist.

“You’re not fucking me on top of a counter, Harrington,” You breathed, a little less weight behind your words. “My back still hurts from your stupid car.”

“She’s not stupid,” He huffs against your neck and steps away from the counter, hosting you higher on his hips. “But have it your way.”

You scoff as he references his car as a ‘she’, but the annoyance doesn’t last long as he quickly turns the corner after the kitchen, goes into the first door on the right, and all but tosses you onto his bed. It’s huge and the comforter almost puffs out around you as he closes the door and locks it quietly. He wheeled around at light speed after that, as you positioned yourself, knees up and posed, the chunky heels of your boots digging into his navy sheets. You pulled in your shoulders and pushed out your chest, arms locked behind you.

The second you cocked your head at him, he froze, and you swore that he short-circuited.

“You just going to stand there and gawk at me?” You raised an eyebrow and watched his cheeks grow pink in the dim light of his bedside lamp. “Commit me to memory while you can.”

He was quick to step forward then, a surprisingly gentle hand reaching for your ankle. You watched silently as he slowly pulled down the zipper of one boot, slid it off, and placed it quietly on the shag rug beside the bed. He did the same for the other boot before kissing up the length of your calf and knee over your jeans, alternating legs. You let your arms drop to your elbows, entranced as he lowered your knees and made his way up your thighs, surprisingly tender as he almost worshipped your legs. The nature of it all made your chest tight, those feelings you swore to keep at bay swelling to the surface.

Once he reached your navel, he didn’t waste time letting his fingers grasp the edge of your top, pushing it up as he pressed gentle pecks all over the expanse of your stomach. His head didn’t rise as you carefully lifted your shirt over your head and let it drop to the floor. His pace quickened then as his kisses turned to love bites, his teeth sharp and his lips soothing. Your breath hitched as his hand skirted around your back and unclipped your bra with nimble fingers. He pushed the straps down your shoulders as you slipped them off one by one, the lace material dropping beside your top.

He left larger hickeys on the swell of your breasts and sternum as he trailed back down, fingers already popping the button of your jeans and skirting along the seam between your legs. You preened in response and lifted your hips, urging him to push the tight jeans over your plush hips already. This needed to be quick before the facade you’d built in the last twenty-four hours started to crack.

“Please.”

You whispered the word so softly that you almost didn’t know if he’d hear it, but it was like a switch flipped the second it left your lips. Your jeans were flying off your legs, white lace panties dragged with them. You were next, his hands moving to your calves and pulling you toward the edge of the bed, your legs dangling off the edge. The boy did nothing but drag a hand down the side of your now naked frame, smirk, and slowly lower to his knees between your legs. The sight alone made your core gush, clenching around air.

You were quick to scramble to your elbows, watching him retrace his earlier steps across the expanse of your legs, leaving tender kisses and gentle nips across your skin as he inched closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. He slowed even more, then, simply looking at your cunt, unmoving.

“Stop teasing me,” You huffed, leaning your head back for a moment. “You’ve seen me a million goddamn times.”

“You said to commit you to memory,” He replied nonchalantly. A finger came out of nowhere and circled your clit as he rested his head on the plush of your thigh. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

You whined softly, heartbeat quickening. “Do it faster, then.”

“You that eager to get in and out of here?” He scoffed, adjusting so that his thumb kept a slow, torturous pace on your clit, while the middle finger of his other hand began to circle your entrance, teasing delicately. You whined in response, more pissed off than anything.

“What do you think?” You huffed, attempting to shift your hips closer to him and urge his finger inside of you, but Steve simply moved his arm to bracket across your hips and hold you in place. “I didn’t come here to spend the night. Now, could you please just fucking touch me?”

You saw a flash of something in his eyes, something you’d never seen before, before his mouth was on you. His arms moved to loop around your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, tongue running figure eights from your clit to your weeping entrance so harshly that you almost shouted. You moaned softly over and over as he almost ravished you, lewd wet noises ringing through his echoey bedroom. You had almost forgotten how good he was in bed, and how he was obsessed with eating you out. It was always his favorite part of your nightly routine. It might be yours too.

Your heart ached the second you thought about how you had missed him, and you squeezed your eyes shut to wave those thoughts away. You tried to focus on the pleasure building up as an orgasm crept up on you, your moans turning into soft gasps.

“Fuck,” Your elbows ached behind you as you let yourself fall back onto the bed, hands twisting into the sheets below you. His arms kept your hips locked in place as you tried to squirm and give yourself a little more friction against his tongue. His pace had turned slow, but not any less passionate as he took his sweet time switching between sucking on your clit and dipping his tongue around and into your entrance. “Don’t stop, if you stop I’ll lose my shit—“

All of a sudden, two fingers were slipping into you and curling against your g-spot, making you squeak and writhe in place as the feeling of your orgasm slammed your senses. Your breathing turned erratic as he lapped up your cum and helped you ride out the high, your head elbows falling out from underneath you.

“That’s one way to get you to shut up,” He snorted, standing from his kneeling position. His hair wasn’t as wild as it normally was after he spent time between your thighs— the sight of him looking like he’d got ready two minutes ago made your heart ache. But, you were somehow glad you managed to keep your hands off of him. It meant you still had your self-control.

“You’re such a dick,” You scoff, chest heaving as you pushed yourself up onto your hands. You watched his eyes follow the way your tits jiggled as you did so, and rolled yours. “You planning on fucking me, or are we done here? I could still make it to the bar if I catch a cab.”

His face stayed stagnant and slightly flushed, but his eyes managed to widen ever so slightly. “You weren’t kidding.”

Jackpot.

“What made you think I was kidding?” You laughed slightly, even though you felt sick. You sat up fully then, closing your legs and crossing your arms with as much confidence as you could muster. “Look, Steve. I came here for two things: to drop off the last of your stuff, and to get off. It’s not that deep. If you want to jack off on your own time that’s perfectly—“

He was flinging his shirt off and rushing to unbuckle his belt in the middle of your sentence, and was on top of you before you could say “Fine”. He pushed your back onto the bed and his lips latched onto yours in a bruising kiss, one hand manhandling your chin as the other held him up beside your head. His hips pressed your legs apart once more, the rough fabric of his jeans giving your still-sensitive clit some much-needed friction as he rocked with the kiss.

“You think I’m going to choose not to fuck you when you’re sitting right in front of me?” He mumbled against your lips and rocked his hips again. “With a pussy like yours? Not a fucking chance.”

Your hand slipped down to palm over his bulge and gripped him through his pants suddenly, a small gasp falling from his lips as he pulled away from the kiss. “I liked this so much better when you didn’t open your fucking mouth.”

Before he could bite back, your deft fingers made quick work of popping the button of his jeans, then pulling down the zipper in record time. His other arm came down beside your head to hold him up as he watched you between your bodies, your ring-clad fingers pushing his jeans and boxers down enough for his dick to spring free. You tried your best to not openly moan at the familiar sight of him after so long and gave him a couple strokes as your other hand continued to push his jeans and boxers down further.

“You still on the pill?” He huffed, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you. That confident man that had just made you cum in two minutes flat was long gone, and you were left with a puddle of a boy, ready to do whatever you asked. “Please say yes. Need to feel you.”

You gulped at the sight and continued to feed into this confident facade you were putting on. “I have no reason to not be on it.”

He blinked, his eyes flashing with that emotion you couldn’t place again before he kissed you deeply once more. You took the opportunity to shift your hips and guide his tip toward your entrance, tapping his side to signal he could push in. He did so as slowly as possible, his cheeks pink as he pulled away and looked between your bodies, watching you stretch around his length. “Fuck. I’ve missed this.”

Your throat grew tight as he bottomed out, your hands landing on the bed, just outside of where he braced himself on his forearms. You adjusted quickly to his size, which you had forgotten about, but then, all of those emotions you had been trying to desperately push aside started to arise. Your eyes pricked with tears, and you tried your best to close your eyes and pretend you weren’t about to cry during this.

“Move, please,” You whispered, trying your best to keep your voice even. “C’mon, Steve. Do what you do best.”

He didn’t react to the jab and rolled his hips, barely pulling out. Just how you liked him— grinding inside of you like you were one. It made your tears come on faster, your eyes squeezed shut as you willed yourself to get it together. Your moans grew watery and quiet, your throat thick with emotion as he rutted into you, his hair finally flopping down toward your face. He stayed like that for a brief moment before reaching for your legs and urging them higher on his hips, giving him more space to pull out and ram back into you.

The pleasure you were feeling was almost blinding, but no matter how much you willed yourself not to let your tears fall, you could feel droplets leaking from the outer corners of your eyes with every harsh thrush and whine that fell from your lips. Your chest hurt with your feelings as you felt another orgasm rapidly approaching, your fingers twisting again in Steve’s bedsheets once more.

Then he stopped. He stopped at the end of a particularly hard thrust, his tip pressing against your g-spot, making you squirm and finally open your eyes to look at him in surprise.

“Are you crying? What’s wrong?” His voice was soft, eyes searching your face with concern. “D’you need me to stop?”

“I’m fine, keep going,” You huffed, squeezing your eyes shut again. “Don’t worry about me, just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Am I hurting you? What’s going on—“

“Please, god, just keep going, Steve!” You exclaimed, voice breaking. “Come on. Please.”

“You promise you’re okay?” He asked again, voice almost a whisper. One of his hands came up to brush your wild hair away from your face. “Promise me and I’ll keep going.”

“I promise,” You squirmed, letting out a whimper as you did so. “Please, Steve.”

With your promise, he was pulling out and quickening his pace, his hips all but slamming in and out of you as you moaned beneath him, eyes closed once more as you willed your orgasm to come any faster. With one sharp thrust, and one more press against your g-spot, you were cumming so suddenly that you swore your saw stars, and Steve followed seconds later. Your moans mingled as his body weight came down on top of you, a grounding weight as you both recovered from your climaxes.

Your tears only got worse when you felt him try to wrap his arms around you and roll the two of you over, but you kept your back on his bed and gently pushed away his arm with a shake of your head. The look in his eyes, that emotion you had seen in his eyes returning, made you feel sick as you sat up in bed. It took you a moment to gain the strength to swing your legs over the side of the bed and rise to your feet.

You ignored his piercing gaze as you wiped the tears from your face, collected your clothes from around the room, and let yourself into his en-suite bathroom. You tried to ignore the sound of him rising from bed as you cleaned his cum from between your legs and redressed yourself, trying your best to keep your composure until you at the very least got to your car.

He knocked on the door just as you finished fixing your hair, your hands gripping on the edge of his marble countertop.

“Can we talk? Please?” He asked at the door. “You can’t just leave after that. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

With one last deep breath, you opened the door and pushed past him. “That’s exactly what I’ll be doing. I have no reason to stay.”

“But you never left after before,” He huffed, blocking the doorway momentarily.

“That’s because I wanted to be around you, Steve,” You bit back.

“Obviously you wanted to be around me ten minutes ago when you were in my bed,” A scoff left his lips as you pushed past again into the hallway of his apartment. You bristled at his words, wheeling around on your heel.

“I came here to fuck, Steve. I didn’t come here to be around you,” You said evenly, your eyes boring into his. “You gave me an opportunity, and I took it. That’s all this is. That’s all it ever was, right?”

“It’s not like that—“

“You don’t get to be butthurt when you get a taste of your own medicine. I’m leaving, and you can go fuck yourself from now on,” You turned back around and reached for your thumb, where the last piece of Steve in your life laid. A gold signet ring with his initials carved into it in ornate cursive, perfectly sized for his ring finger, and your thumb. You pulled it off with ease, tossed it onto the counter, grabbed your keys that had fallen out of your pocket earlier, and headed for the door.

“So this is it?” He asked from the far side of the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest. “This is the last time I’m seeing you.”

“Whatever this is was over months ago, Steve,” You snorted and opened the door, soaring one last glance over your shoulder at his shirtless frame. “You need to get over it.”

———————

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

My Unpopular Hobie Brown Opinions (& Headcanons) - [Part 1/??????]

Excuse me excuse me i got some shit to say that needs to be said cause this just what i be thinking when i be thinking too hard cause i be doing that sometimes (photo is of me when i be thinking cause i be doing that)

_______________________________________________________

First of all - Hobie doesn't have a smart phone.

Those little fake text yall be making? Where Hobie has a blue bubble? Nah bro not happening.

You think Hobie Brown is walking around with Siri in his pocket?? Siri who listens in on you and responds to the things you're saying while storing your info?

He isn't.

And he's not on twitter either so you can put those fake tweets in the basket too

He's not scrolling on the bird app giving Elon Musk revenue and engagement

Hobie seem like the type to walk in your house and start bad mouthing your Alexa. Be in your kitchen like 'Hey Google, kill yourself'

He has never opened or witnessed Tiktok and he never will

AT MOST he has a burner flip phone like a plug. And even then you have to pray he buys minutes. Voicemail? FULL.

Hobie is not a player.

He's from the 70's - the strongest time for HARDCORE second-wave feminism. Like bra-burning. Plus he's in the punk scene. He knows better than to say some slick shit or pull anything

BUT if ya'll make it clear it's casual and you catch feelings.. damn that sucks for you

Also, Hobie Brown doesn't get jealous. Lets stop the cap right now.

Mans doesn't even believe in private property and you think he'd feel comfortable being possessive over his partner

ESPECIALLY if they're a woman?

And secondly what insecurities does he even have to make him jealous? Can YOU , right now ,even imagine a man that would make Hobie Brown insecure/jealous?

I'll wait.

Realistically speaking, if you're not punk he's not into you most likely.

You don't have to listen to the music or 'dress the part' he doesn't care about that i mean like politically if you aren't in the movement good luck

Like if you turn down going to protests, or organizing,

or you don't wanna do community service with him he's not gonna feel it.

And he'd most likely be into people educated and into thinks like communism, socialism, anarchism, etc. If you can't hold a conversation about the immoralism behind being a landlord, then yeah there might be some awkward silences

Also can't believe I have to say this but ACAB and I mean that.

If you fuck with cops, Hobie doesn't fuck with you. Unless they're your family and even then they're on thin fucking ice.

Hobie has one-on-one interacts with fascists cops on the regular. The actively know who Spider-man is and target him.

Of course he's gonna hate them, or vent about them. The same way his one good experience with Gwen doesnt make him like the Society, having one good theoretical experience with a cop wouldn't make Hobie not hate cops.

In addition, Hobie has canonically killed people and is willing to kill again any day of the week if he has to. He stays ready.

He's done it with his guitar and he'll probably do it again in the future

And if you're with him you'd genuinely have to be comfortable and okay with that.

What are you gonna do? Defend a fascist? Exactly

So if he comes home with blood on him that isn't his, how you react is on you-

He's still gonna sleep good as hell at night

Hobie isn't very romantic. Like at all.

He's not buying you flowers - that's a sexist trope. He's not taking you to the movies because fuck the studio execs. He's not celebrating Valentine's Day because it's literally made up and he'll only celebrate anniversaries if you REALLY want to

He probably isn't chivalrous at all because he doesn't think to be - it's outplayed. So he's not opening doors and pulling out chairs or nothing

I feel like he's the type that if you got mad about it he'd be genuinely surprised because it just doesn't occur to him to be romantic

He'd be like 'why the fuck do you need roses?? i mean i love you i can knick you some if u want??'

He'd probably feel like all that is superficial as hell, and show his love in other ways

like stressing that you text him when you get home or always asking if you've eaten

he'd be like 'had any scran' or 'you've eaten right?' and if you havent hed immediately turn and go looking for the nearest food to give you (food insecurity does that to you)

Oh and he is not getting married not even a hippie wedding

cause Hobies not buying a ring (gold mining causes suffering anyway) and he's not proposing and if his partner proposed I feel like he'd be shocked in a slightly uncomfortable way

I could absolutely see him being poly. Like either being in a thruple, but most likely just having multiple seperate partners who also have partners

i can see Hobie being a baby daddy. Not in the bad way. In the good way. But not in the Peter B. way.

Not elaborating on that last part it just is what it is

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

okay ill leave this here before it gets long also no proofreading oop - but tell me what you think id love to hear your thoughts! What you agree with or disagree with and why :) im chill and nice and not a twitter person i promise lol

but also, I said what I said <3

[ddejavvu]

Eddie and Steve planning a whole Valentine’s Day of stuff for your first Valentine’s together. Except you don’t turn up to Steve’s house where they’re both waiting. And then they get a call from your friend. And they have to find you getting stitches in the hospital before you can leave, because you accidentally got a little injured on your way over. But it’s all panic over and giggles when they can kiss you better and wait for you to get the all clear and continue your plans ❤️

"I'm calling it," Steve decides, gnawing on his lip, shoes wearing a track in the carpet.

"Sit down, Harrington," Eddie scoffs, and the teasing nickname comes out harsher than he means it to out of nerves, "Just- just be patient, okay? I'm sure she's just.. getting gas, or something."

"For forty-five minutes? No, Eddie, something's wrong." Steve sighs, and he rakes his hand through his hair again. Eddie's watched him do it 12 times in the past 5 minutes, if he's not careful he's gonna pull it right out.

"Listen, there's nothing we can do! She's on her way to meet us here, if we leave then she'll show up and have to go right back out again to look for us. And- and she'd probably freak out if we weren't here! The best thing we can do is just stay put, okay?"

"No, not okay! You- you stay here, then," Steve jams a hand in his pocket and pulls out his keys, "I'm gonna look for her."

"Dude-" Eddie scoffs, throwing a hand over his eyes and dragging it down his face, "Can you just-"

The phone rings.

Both men bolt for the receiver, Eddie knocking his foot into Steve's on accident. It sends the latter swerving to brace his shoulder against the wall so that he doesn't topple over, and Eddie shoots a hand out to brace against Steve's waist and steady him.

"Hello?" Eddie's hair is dangling off his shoulders, nearly tangling itself with the phone cord.

All Steve can hear is muffled speaking, a tinny sound through the speaker. But Eddie's face pales, and he know it can't be good.

"Jesus, yeah," Eddie huffs, reaching for his own keys, "Just- we'll be right there, okay? Tell her- tell her we're on our way."

Steve grabs Eddie's shoulder when the man rushes to hang up the receiver, "What was that?"

"She's in the hospital," Eddie mumbles, and Steve's stomach drops, "Just- stitches or something, I- I dunno. Let's go, Steve, she's waiting for us."

"Wait," Steve calls, brandishing his own keys towards Eddie, "My car."

"It doesn't fucking matter who's car we take!" Eddie scolds him, jamming his feet into his sneakers, "We just need to get there fast."

"If we take your van we might not get there at all," Steve snaps, forgoing shoes for slippers by the door, "That bag of ass is gonna quit on us when it really matters, I just know it. My car."

"Fine," Eddie grumbles, snatching a plush teddy bear keychain off of the table that they'd planned to give you when you got there, "Let's go."

--

It's not as bad as it looks. It does look bad, it was a big cut. But not a deep one, thankfully. You'd just scraped your hand along a jagged strip of plastic at the gas station, your tank full but your hand slowly leaking blood.

It had been a short but scary ambulance ride, to say the least. But now you're sitting in a hospital bed, hand in stitches and limbs antsy. You knew Steve and Eddie were going to be worried about you even if it wasn't a bad cut, and you hated to think of them waiting for you all that time without knowing where you were.

You should have known they'd come bursting through the doors, and a knot of anxiety in your chest loosens at the sight of them, panting, red-faced.

"Guys!" You gush, reaching out for them and forgetting the IV in your arm, "Oh- uh, come here, please."

"Baby," Eddie croons, possessing little to no decorum as he crawls up onto the bed despite Steve's protests, "We were so worried!"

Steve grabs Eddie by the hips, yanking his lower half off of your bed and into the chair by your bedside, "Yeah, are you- are you okay?"

"I'm fine," You showcase your stitches, and your cheeks heat up when Eddie leans over to press his lips to them.

Then his face wrinkles, and his lips rub together, "That felt weird."

"I'm sorry," You moan, letting Steve tug you forwards by the back of your neck to kiss you, "I ruined Valentine's Day!"

"I'm pretty sure you saved it," Eddie muses, "Would'a been shitty to plan your funeral tomorrow, so we're glad you got yourself to the hospital."

"You didn't ruin it," Steve promises, tugging the teddy bear out of Eddie's back pocket and pressing it into your hands, "We're just glad you're okay, honey."

Eddie bumps his nose against your temple and you lean against him, his lips pressing rapidfire pecks to your cheek. Steve's hand looks lonely on the bedspread so you grab it, squeezing as he smiles up at you like a lovesick puppy.

"Stevie," You coo, turning on the charm as high as it'll go with a few bats of your eyelashes, "I saw chocolate in the gift shop.. Can I have some?"

"We have chocolate at home-" He starts, but gnaws on his lower lip when you make your eyes extra sad and shiny, "-But.. But I guess if it would help you feel better."

"It will!" You cheer, leaning your cheek against Eddie's own, "I think Eddie needs some too, y'know. He seems pretty scared."

"I'm a bundle'a nerves," He nods, grinning up at Steve, "Dark chocolate for me, Stevie."

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

i assume you'll be coming for blood (that makes two of us)

Chapter 4

Ao3 | 1.6k words | Sweetheart's POV

The trail gets hot. Sweetheart finds something. They steal themself for what comes next.

TW: dead body, blood, dead parent, could be construed as MCD

Hey, Dad. Just checking in. 

Hey kiddo! It’s been a few weeks. Honestly, I was starting to get worried. 

Sorry. Work. I’ve been busy. 

But safe, right?

Yeah.

Because you promised me you would be when you took this job.

I know, Dad. I promise I can handle whatever DUMP throws at me. 

So could your mother.

Dad. 

I’m sorry. I just worry. You got her strength and tenacity, but you also got her bullheadedness. And I’m sorry to say that’s what got her killed. I worry because I know you won’t reach out for help when you need it.

Then what do you call this?

Do you need help? Kiddo, if you’re in trouble, just say the word. I will DESCEND!!

I’m fine, Dad. Just wanted to say I love you.

You locked your phone before his frantic typing could culminate into a panicked reply and pointedly ignored the insistent buzz of your phone in your coat pocket. That had been more of a tell than you’d intended, but the thought of walking into this kind of trouble without telling him made your throat close with grief. You didn’t say ‘I love you’ often, and you didn’t say it without reason. 

Your mom used to say it liberally. She said it when she woke you up for school in the morning, when tucking you into bed, when you made her laugh, when you broke her heart. She had a lot of late nights, and you never slept when she was away. You would pretend to when she snuck into your room in the wee hours of the night or morning. She would bend over you, smelling like sweat and blood and expended magic. You stayed still and silent as she pressed her thin, shaking lips to the crown of your head and whispered it into you;

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” 

Like a promise. Like a prayer. 

Your chest ached with the absence of her. 

By the time you found it again, the shade had become fully corporeal. Dahlia was a great town for it, full of powerful, magical people, and stupid, stupid college kids who would brush off its after effects as a bad hangover. 

It was actually a rather clever method, how you found it. You got access to D.A.M.N.’s clinic records through less than legal means, thanks to a friend of a friend who didn’t ask questions when fifty bucks were involved. You tracked the shade’s effects through a half dozen students, found a few of them who also folded at the offer of another fifty bucks and found out their frequent haunts. You formed a geo profile (something you’d learned in the Academy but had never had occasion to use, much less with a proper paper map and pins) and triangulated an area where the shade was most likely to be. 

Now, you had an area of about three city blocks to patrol, you were dodging non-stop calls from both your father and Jet, and you were flat broke from all of your very illegal bribes. 

You were considering becoming a private eye. If this was how effective you were with no oversight, you’d have finished this case up in a matter of days. 

Although, you weren’t actually sure how many days it had been. You weren’t exactly sleeping regularly. 

When you cornered it, it was in a little park just off of college town. It was barely a park, really, more of a very large median. It was a stretch of poorly maintained grass, a smattering of small, young trees, and exactly three benches. On one of said benches, there was a crumpled form, curled over one of the arm rests of hostile design, obscured by layers and layers of ratty clothing. When you spotted them, you cloaked without even thinking. Your magic fell over you like a blanket and smothered out a handful of the sensory indicators around you. That was the downside of cloaking, afterall. Your senses weren’t entirely stolen, just dampened. But in your line of work, that could be the difference between life and death. 

The closer you got, the more you convinced yourself that the figure was just someone trying to sleep in a dry, semi safe place. The rounded armrests that cut up the bench were designed to deter this, but something digging into you only worked so long when you were bone tired. You didn’t think it would do much to you at the moment. 

You placed one hand on their shoulder and slowly, as though not to startle them, rolled it back to reveal their face and chest. 

He wasn’t sleeping. You knew as soon as you saw his skin, dewy and gray, that he was dead. Two, ratty jackets pulled back to reveal a slim frame and a drawn, boyish face. As you disturbed him, his body let loose the torrent of blood that his crumpled rib cage was holding in. It spilled, still hot, over your shoes. 

He was young. Barely eighteen, if that. Thick glasses, dusty hair, a smattering of freckles across his nose. Everything he had on him was packed into a well-loved, bright green Jansport backpack. He was a kid, just a kid. 

He had been empowered. You didn’t know how you knew, but you did. It was some sort of absence, you thought, some emptiness where he had once been so full. Your threads strummed uneasily towards him, but found no reply. 

He looked so small, curled in on himself on that park bench. 

Your mom had looked small too. She was an exceedingly lively woman, and a fire elemental so powerful that she had struggled to contain her heat even when not impacted by her emotions. Her aura felt visible at times, tangible, like you could wrap your chubby toddler fingers around her power and pull.

It was a closed-casket funeral. The shifter that had killed her very nearly tore her apart. Your father had her buried in a white button up, slacks, something your older brother had snagged from her closet without thinking. You figured that your dad wanted it over with, wanted her in the ground. He had to identify the body. You remembered sitting in the waiting room while he went in to see her. You could hear his wails through the walls. You’d be surprised if anybody in the hospital, anybody in Dahlia, anybody in the world was saved from his screams. 

The doctors did everything medically possible, but there was only so much one could do to make such a mangled corpse look normal, look human. There were thick, medical staples stitching her demure features into another face entirely, lopsided and strange. You had stared at her in the visitation room, tearless, for half an hour before some well-meaning relative or another pulled you away. Your brother and sister had refused to look at her, your father couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to do it, but you couldn’t look away. There was something enticing about it, looking at her and trying to find all of the bits that were missing, to decipher the riddle of her glued-shut eyelids, the hollow, serene pose of her always moving, always working body. There was something powerful about her. Even her corpse held an echo of it. 

You numbly retrieved your phone from your coat pocket and found Jet’s contact. He answered on the first ring and let out a string of protests and admonishments that he must have started long before your call came through, judging by the hoarse quality of his voice. 

“I’ve got a body.” You said, reported. The Investigator overstock you, forcing out the emotion that threatened to topple you and replacing it with the familiar cadence of your crisis training. You felt for his pulse, found nothing. You sent a static shock of magic into him to see if pain or stimulus would rouse him. It did not. 

“What are you talking about?” Jet snapped. “You need-” 

“I’m in the park off Jackson.” You interrupted. “I’ve got a body. Slashed, but not a shifter.” You knew what it looked like when a shifter killed. “I need a unit out here immediately. The shade is corporeal.”

“Investigator,” Jet balked, “you are not cleared for duty. Dr. Collins is calling for a psych eval. Do not tell me you’re still working your case.” 

“Well, I don’t like to lie to superiors.” You sighed. You stood and forced yourself to turn away from the kid- the body, you reminded yourself- taking in your surroundings. It was dark. Shades could hide in the shadows nearly as well as you could. You re-upped cloak, let your magic ripple through your clothes, your phone, muffle the sound of your voice and heartbeat. “Regardless of my clearance, this thing has killed and I intend to finish my work.”

“You’re in over your head.” Jet snapped. “And if you don’t disengage and report back to HQ immediately-”

“Jet, I’m in the heart of college town right now!” you seethed through gritted teeth, “If I leave it, it’s going to cut down a dozen college students before anybody bothers to deal with it. Send backup or don’t. I’m not letting it kill anybody else.” 

You were shaking with rage or panic, which you didn’t know. You turned on your heel, towards the scant tree line, and started walking. The only evidence of you was the bloody footprints you left in the grass. 

You pulled up Milo’s contact in your phone. You typed out your dad’s phone number and sent it without allowing yourself to overthink it. 

That’s my dad’s number. If anybody happens to me, please don’t let him be the one to identify my body. 

You stuffed your phone back into your pocket and turned your mind towards the matter at hand.

[maximura]

So I wrote a maybe draft for a Gang AU with Ateez that I maybe will finish, if anyone is into that kind of thing. It has swearing and mentions of blood.

****

It’s a chilly Saturday night in downtown Seoul and Seonghwa can hear the muted throbbing bass from the club on the other side of the bathroom door. He can smell the sweat and smoke of too many people and feel the stickiness of spilled vodka underneath his boots. It’s disgusting but that’s why he’s here. 

The graying strip of fluorescent light above his head flickers as bugs fly head first into it. He muses over the fact that he feels the same. But he can’t go home yet, his watch tells him it’s only 11:45pm. Only three hours to go. 

The mirror is dirty, spotted with fingerprints and water and whatever else he doesn’t want to think about. Not that this was the time to contemplate hygiene. 

Seonghwa’s black Dior suit hides the blood stains but his white shirt doesn't. It takes five minutes of scrubbing to make himself presentable and not alarm other people into calling the cops because some guy is washing a bloody shirt in the bathroom of a dodgy club. But nobody asks. Maybe it’s just wine. Normal people like to think the best, it helps them sleep at night while the monsters are out running the city.

He’ll burn the shirt later. 

By the time he leaves here there will be countless amounts of DNA smeared all over this bathroom. It’ll be impossible to trace anything to anyone without implicating half the youths of Seoul. 

Seungcheol told him that once and he doesn’t forget it as he rinses off his knife in the sink. Stellar, it was called, carved in cursive across the dark wood handle and given to him after his first kill. 

With his blade and clothes as clean as he can get them, Seonghwa raises a wet hand to wipe a stray smear of blood from his cheek. He can't remember whose it is. Not that it really matters. 

He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing when it sits awkwardly for a moment before hurriedly raking the dark strands the other way. 

There’s a soft buzzing from his pocket, just three before it stops.

“You alone? Line clean?”

“Not yet.” Seonghwa replies, exiting the bathroom and making his way through the back of the club.

The person on the other end waits until the thumping bass fades away and Seonghwa steps through the door into the empty back alley. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Issue?”

"Kim's missing."

His weariness turns sharply sober and edgy. He stops breathing for a second, stomach falling to the ground without warning. 

God, he fucking hates surprises. 

There’s millions of Kims in South Korea but only one that means something. It’s the last thing he needs to hear. It’s a guarantee there will be no sleep in his future. 

“How? When?”

He almost doesn’t want to know.

"Not over the phone. Come in. Pick up the kids on the way, usual place.”

“Yeah…..alright, sure”. 

Seonghwa hangs up and strides to where his black AMG is parked next to a few bikes. He takes three deep shaky breaths, wills himself to dissociate from the feelings he’s stamped down into the ground and puts his ‘At Work’ mask back on. Revving up the growling engine, he pulls the AMG onto the highway towards Lily’s Diner, driving well above the legal limit but knowing the cops in the area have bigger fish to fry right now, he made sure of that. 

Predictably, the “Kids” are right where he thought they'd be. He can see their mouths moving from inside the Diner, an argument in full swing no doubt, and that’s even before he’s even pulled into the parking lot. Some things just never change. It’s almost nice, if he was someone who regularly indulged in the sentimental. 

The kids don’t see him so he calls the one more likely to answer. 

"Yeah?"

“I’m in the parking lot. There’s a call-in, we gotta go now.”

There’s a heavy pause on the other end. 

“How bad?”

“Worse.”

Yunho has always been quick to read people, even through the smallest twitches on their face or slightest shifts in their voice. It was a useful skill in the field but Seonghwa has never liked it being used on him. He’ll make an exception tonight if it means less bickering.

“Okay. We’ll be out.” 

They hang up and Seonghwa waits, digging around the glove box to locate some Skittles before remembering that he ate them already. 

Fuck this Long Night.

******

"So get this Seonghwa-"

“No names in the field.” He scowls. “Wait till we’re out of ear shot at least.” 

Mingi just never learns. Blessed with freakish energy and strength but cursed with recklessness and a voice that carries too loudly across any parking lot. 

“Paranoia getting to you again?” Mingi asks with a wide grin. “It’s midnight and the only dangerous people here is us."

Seonghwa regards him through the rear view mirror; sharp tense eyes meeting bright curious ones. He knows for a fact that Mingi’s job tonight was tough but looking at the blonde in the backseat now, with his hair being tousled by the night breeze, you’d mistake him for any other carefree kid on a night out.

Seonghwa is wrestled back into the present when he feels eyes boring into his face. While he’s been looking at Mingi, Yunho has been silently watching him, stealing whatever information he needs to arrive at whichever conclusion he chooses. 

It’s unnerving. 

“You two have any problems tonight?”

Work talk. Shop talk. It’s a safe topic. Seonghwa will keep it going as long as he needs to because he can feel all the questions on the tip of Yunho’s tongue. 

They both know Yunho feeds on information; possessed with a desire to know everything about everyone in every situation. He hadn’t always been like that, Seonghwa thinks regrettably. The twenty-three year old staring at him now is nothing like the scrawny insecure kid he met all those years ago on the street. 

They both also know that Seonghwa holds all the secrets and does not surrender them easily, if at all. There are some secrets that not even Seungcheol, their leader, knows. Secrets that will be buried with him when he dies. 

“No problems.” Yunho replies shortly. “It was fine.”

“No it wasn’t! I need new weapons!” Mingi protests, ignoring the silent battle of dominance playing out in front of him. 

“What’s wrong with your current lot?”

“Ugh, it jams every time it gets damp!” Mingi cries, throwing his hands in the air and nearly taking Yunho’s eyes out. “I’m going to ask Wonwoo for some new shit when we get back. He said I was his favourite and I’m going to capitalise."

Like a switch, Yunho’s stony face lights up with laughter. “What? You are definitely not his favourite. He was being sarcastic.”

Mingi pauses, hand on his chest like he’s wounded. “No, but he said it fully serious.”

Yunho rolls his eyes. “That’s just how he talks, Mingi. He tells us we’re all his favourites. That’s the joke because none of us are his favourite.”

Seonghwa snorts out a laugh. 

“So this whole time…” Mingi trails off, a look of betrayal flitting across his face. 

“Yeah, he finds you as annoying as the rest of us.” Yunho says with a chuckle, petting Mingi’s blonde hair fondly. “He hates everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, almost everyone.”

There’s a beat of silence and Seonghwa lets go of some of the tension in his shoulders. It lasts approximately ten seconds before Mingi’s head suddenly pops up next to him. 

“Hey Seonghwa, I’m still your favourite though right?”

******

When they arrive at Headquarters Seonghwa punches in the new code and nods to Stanley, the security man pretending to be the Gardner, as they drive into the gated property. As far as he knows, there were no flowers that bloomed solely at night, but their neighbours were either stupid, apathetic or just as crooked as they were to ignore it all. 

Once inside, Seonghwa sends Mingi and Yunho to clean up but he makes his way up to the main office. 

“Well? You found him yet?”

Seungcheol is at his desk when Seonghwa bursts through the door, hissing a loud ‘fuck off!’ at the two guards who attempted to search him. 

Seungcheol allows it, nodding for the guards to stand down.

“Well?” Seonghwa asks again. “Do we have anything?”

“No.”

Seonghwa slumps heavily into one of the leather chairs in the room. 

Seungcheol regards him quietly and calmly. “I was going to wait till the others got here.”

“Oh fuck that, I deserve to know first.” Seonghwa spits out, knowing that, despite his own seniority, Seungcheol is still older and he’s dangerously close to stepping out of line here. 

“Hongjoong was contracted to take out Big Red tonight.”

Cold dread settles uncomfortably in Seonghwa’s stomach, with worry and anxiety gnawing at him until everything is replaced with anger. 

“He didn’t tell me that.”

“I told him not to.”

“So you sent him on a secret suicide mission by himself? Not even a team could take on Big Red right now. What the hell, Seungcheol?”

“We had intel things would be favourable.”

Seonghwa snorts derisively. “Well, him being missing doesn’t make it very fucking favourable does it?”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Seonghwa talks down his rage; not just at the fact that Hongjoong is missing but at the sheer amount of disastrous decisions being made without his knowledge.

“The intel was bad. Jongho took care of the source.”

“No shit it was bad.” Seonghwa scoffs, as if a mole dying was meant to make him feel better. “So you don’t know anything?”

Seungcheol leans forward in his chair. “There’s not much to go on: we think Red’s still on the run because nobody’s called it in yet. The entire building they were both in burnt to the ground. No survivors.”

“That’s nothing to go on.” Seonghwa mutters. “How do you even know there’s no survivors? Have you looked?”

Seungcheol’s poker face flashes with something akin to regret. It’s barely there but Seonghwa caught it. 

“What? What is it?”

“Well, it would seem that your little pal got himself some kind of fan who saw the whole thing. 

Seonghwa is dumbfounded, staring lamely at Seungcheol as he continues. 

“If he's meant to be so hard to find and kill, I don't even know how this kid managed to track him down and follow him in the first place.”

“Wait, how do you even know this? Where’s this kid now?”

“Wonwoo’s feeding him in the kitchen.”

“What? Are you serious?” Seonghwa laughs incredulously, “You brought a fucking unreliable witness back here? Are we in the witness protecting business now? Have you actually lost your mind?”

Seungcheol lets out rare weary sigh. "You want to see him?"

No, he didn't. He's had enough of kids and stupid decisions for one night. 

"Sure."

*****

The Kid looks maybe 18. It was hard to tell. Maybe the tears made him look younger but the soot and grime made him look older. 

Wonwoo nods a greeting as Seonghwa enters the kitchen and stands up to leave them alone. 

Seonghwa sits down at the table. 

"You ok, Kid?"

"Don't call me that!” 

The snap was unexpected and Seonghwa can't help but be amused. Just seen death, kidnapped by a gang and this kid still has the balls to talk back. 

“Okay, so you’re not a kid. Got it. You have a home to go to? Parents?"

The Kid shakes his head. It’s a movement and answer that trips a wire in Seonghwa’s mind. 

"Okay then. You gotta name?"

"He said no names in the field."

And Seonghwa wants to laugh at that. Typical Kim Hongjoong.

"We're not in the field now though."

“Well, I’m not stupid enough to tell you my name.” The Kid huffs defiantly, even through the dirt and tears. 

This kid. Seonghwa can see why Hongjoong might've been tempted to let him get close. 

"Okay. Different question. How did you know him?"

"I don't. I just followed him around."

"Yeah? And he let you? You know what he is right?"

"He's a killer. Just like you."

The Kid turns to look him in the eyes. They’re as sharp as the ones he’s seen in the mirror and suddenly the teenager looks both young and old at the same time. There’s a weariness, sadness, tiredness but above all, the steely silver light of determination. 

"He's not dead."

The statement punches Seonghwa right in his chest. "What?"

"I couldn't find a body. It means he's not dead."

A few years ago Seonghwa might've been more naive, might’ve been too optimistic or pessimistic based on emotions, but now, he only plays with fact and probability. And right now, those tell him that despite the whole building burning down and no gang wars erupting over Big Red’s territory: no body means no kill. Assassins survive for a reason. Especially Kim Hongjoong. 

"You looked?”

The Kid nods. "Until the cops and fire guys came"

"Did you tell this to anyone?"

"Only you."

"Why me? How do you know me?"

"He told me to find you. He told me to trust you....." The Kid pauses. Obviously debating whether to trust anyone at all. "He told me to look for the model guy with the most expensive suit. That's you isn't it?"

Seonghwa wants to laugh but his mind just reels from the information. This wasn’t just a random Kid. He clearly had some sort of relationship with Hongjoong, one that Seonghwa didn’t even know about. 

He pushes aside the feelings of betrayal and settles on processing the fact that this kid has spent enough time with Hongjoong to figure out what he might look like. It means Hongjoong has described him, in detail, to someone. Just in case something happened to him. 

This kid was the lifeline. And Seonghwa was the emergency contact.

Fucking Kim Hongjoong. 

The kid lets out a sheepish yawn and Seonghwa checks his watch: 2am. 

"You got anywhere to go? It's late."

He’s met with a non committal shrug. 

“You want me to drop you off somewhere?”

“I don’t know.”

“Someone out there is looking for you right?”

“No.”

Seonghwa just stares at him before taking in the worn out clothes, the Nike hoody that looks suspiciously like the one he got Hongjoong years ago, and the total lack of any real personal belongings near him. 

Seonghwa clears his throat uncomfortably. "Ah. Well. I'll talk to er, the others about where to...put...you."

He walks out of the room swiftly and finds Seungcheol in the main lounge room they used for most meetings. He must’ve had the strangest expression on his face because Seungcheol doesn’t even demand a status report right away. 

“What? What is it?”

“He…said he looked through the wreck of the building, after the fire was put out. He couldn't find a body. Any body. So maybe they're both alive.”

“Someone pulled them out.”

“I think so. It would explain why nobody’s claimed Hongjoong’s kill and Red’s minions aren't tearing themselves apart for a piece of the territory.”

He looks around room. The black couches in the corner now filled with the sleeping forms of the Yunho and Mingi. 

“You filled them in?”

Seungcheol nods, “Only what they needed to know: that Hongjoong’s missing.”

“Where’s Jongho?”

“He’s fine, just delayed by the ferry. Something about a storm over the ocean.”

Seonghwa nods. “The Kid. He’s a street kid. I don’t know who he belongs to, he says nobody but someone out there must be missing him. I'm not sure it was smart taking him here but he knows too much Seungcheol. He knows a whole fucking lot.”

Seungcheol rubs his temples. “That’s what I was afraid of. It’s part of the reason I took him here.”

“Part of?”

“Well, he also asked for you. By name."

They stare at each other incredulously, before simultaneously muttering, "Fucking Kim Hongjoong.” 

[weretheones]

All You Got | Part 2

Part 2: One Bullet

Series Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count:
 4.5k Warnings: description of injury, blood, violence. A/N: part twooooo! we learn a bit more about the reader here, maybe a couple more hints about the knife??? oh, and daryl finally asks some pressing questions. enjoy :) 

Ropes of ivy invaded cracks in the road, expanding past what must have once been pristinely manicured lawns. The street was quiet. Sober of the previous night’s constant activity. Even the hungry bellies of the wandering dead had been settled by apathy, and, of course, a complete lack of consciousness.  

It was odd to watch them this way.

Without a warm body to rip apart, they really just seemed lost. Unsure where to turn until a noise or smell drew their attention. If it wasn’t for their mangled limbs or grey skin, you might’ve forgotten how vicious they could be. Yet, the thought of becoming hollow like them, driven by hunger alone, was almost more terrifying. 

You looked away. 

Behind you, the man who’d saved you from those same vicious jaws was packing the few supplies he’d found in the house. A fridge full of expired cheeses and cabinets stacked with bottles of wine that must’ve cost a pretty penny, but not even a can of beans; beyond material wealth, even a house as appealing as this one was relatively empty. The new backpack he found, label still attached, was barely half full. Some batteries, newspaper, a couple of reusable water bottles, and one travel-sized bottle of ibuprofen. He’d already given you two to dry-swallow twenty minutes ago. 

They were starting to kick in. You stood by the couch with only a dull throbbing to remind you of the fragility of your situation. Wounded by the one-eyed man you’d naively followed into battle and with no hope of reuniting with your friends— hell, even if their bodies hadn’t been riddled with bullets and teeth marks, you weren’t sure you’d want to see them again. Not after their willingness to shed blood, driven by fear, greed, and selfishness.

At least you could say it had only been fear on your part. 

With a sigh, you leaned your weight on the arm of the couch, finger tracing down the curtain you held back, hoping to find an exit beyond the road. The white fabric was soft. Thick. An idea popped into your head. 

“Do you have a lighter?” 

The first words spoken since your defiance made him pause. Eyes narrowed in something other than contempt, for once, as he seemed to weigh his options. 

He stood up and walked to the couch, digging in his front pocket. A small, silver zippo sat in his open palm, like an offering. You reached forward to grab it, but he was quick to snatch it back, dirty fingers wrapped tight, as if you were about to fight him for it. 

You couldn’t hold back the flash of a scowl. This dynamic was more than clear. He didn’t like you, not one fucking bit. You couldn’t blame him, but it didn’t mean you had to like him, either. Every time those harsh blue eyes dragged across your skin, the grime that painted you felt ten times heavier, as if guilt was seeping through your pores to settle with all that blood and filth. 

But of course, there was that pesky part of you, not as deep down as you’d prefer, that wanted to prove to him that you weren’t all bad. People-pleasing, even at the end of the world. 

You took a breath and rationalized, “We can’t stay here, but none of those cars work and I can’t run. So we need a distraction.” 

“Ya wanna set a fire.” 

You shrugged. “Unless you have a better plan.” 

His eyes flicked behind you. 

“Curtains won’t work. Need somethin’ ya can throw, something that ain’t gonna get weighed down.” 

The scowl slipped from your face, briefly replaced with a confused furrow of your brow. You hadn’t even mentioned the curtains. He was certainly observant. 

“What about that newspaper you grabbed?” You limped toward the bag.

With a quick stride, he snatched the bag from your hands. Irritated, you were about to protest, maybe even snap at the man who’d been treating you like some child he was forced to babysit rather than the capable and worthy partner you internally swore to be. But he cut you off before you had a chance to do anything other than open your mouth and glare. 

“Ya can’t run.” 

Intent to set the distraction himself, he turned on his heel and walked down the hall. 

—

The cars were staggered throughout the road, one parked by the sidewalk, another one in the middle of the lane, diagonal. A few stragglers had wandered on their right side, but the majority roamed the left. If there was a way to distract those outliers, to send them to the right side with the others, there was an opportunity to use the vehicles as cover while crossing the street. 

Another house sat across the street, but from the look of it, the backyard opened into the woods. 

That was the plan. Sneak out the side door, set the distraction, then use the cars for cover to get into the forest. There’d be more places for you to hide in the thicket of trees compared to the vast openness of suburban streets. And if you could hide, you could spend more time off that wounded leg. 

It also meant more food. Squirrels, rabbits, and anything else the crossbow-wielding man could find. 

That was if he’d bring it back for you. 

The side door creaked open. He had one hand on the handle, the other holding that crossbow to eye level. Twisting from left to right to scan the alley, steady and cautious seemed to be his typical approach. 

That bag, where he’d finally stashed your knife, was strapped across his back now. You glanced down at your empty hands and bit back a sigh— this was not how you wanted to escape a small herd. With your bare hands and a stab wound in your thigh that would just not stop throbbing, ibuprofen and all. 

There was a stray biter from the back, hanging around the corner of the alley. It turned toward you, revealing the other side of its rotting face. Skin hung off decaying muscle and black blood dried down its chin and neck. Left eye missing. Its mouth opened, ready to release a strangled moan and alert the others, but a bolt stabbed through that empty eye socket, instead. Limp, it dropped to the ground. He held up a shaky hand, continuing to eye the biter. Waiting to see if the noise had alerted the rest of them and you’d have to retreat into that house for another night, after all. 

A tense second later, his hand lowered. Gritting his teeth, he dragged the crossbow cord back until it clicked in place. Reloaded another arrow and turned back in the direction of the front of the house. 

Following his lead, you started to move through the side alley. Growls and moans on either side, just out of sight, as cruel reminders of what was waiting for you if you tripped, made a noise, or any mistake. He moved slow, placing his weight on the gravel as even as possible. Thanks to a firm motivation to not die, you managed not to drag your foot with every limp forward, and to fight through the pangs of pain that shot up your leg every time you inevitably stepped on it. 

At the corner, he crouched down and turned back to give you another signal to be silent. 

As if you needed it— you were doing well keeping quiet, all things considered. 

With a single, careful scan of the road, he pulled a wad of newspaper from the bag. He held the lighter, flickering with flame, underneath the edge of the paper. It caught quickly and he waited a second for the fire to catch higher before whipping it around the corner of the building. From the ruffled sounds of leaves and popping flames, the burning pages landed in a bush, which meant that a bigger fire was about to burst. 

At least it’d be a good distraction. 

When the dead started to shuffle toward the smoke and flame, the two of you moved from behind the house. Faster than you’d travelled the alley now that you had grass to soften the sound of your steps. The first car was a short sprint away. Once you reached it, aching leg and all, you were hidden from the biters walking into that burning bush. 

Red paint hot from the sun, you hovered beside the vehicle, waiting for his signal to move to the next. He curved the corner, keeping his crossbow high and attention focused on the dead ahead as you used the truck of the car as cover— just in case. 

After determining the coast was clear, he waved his hand forward. Just like the first, you followed him behind the second car. It wasn’t much farther until you could use the cover of the house ahead to get away from the dead, who were much too busy swarming themselves around that smoking bush to notice, anyway. 

All things considered, it had been a good plan. A smooth distraction. 

Of course, it was in that home stretch when it finally slipped up. The archer’s eyes caught on something; attention narrowed in and his crossbow lowered, slow and hesitant. As if he’d fallen into a trance of sorts, eyes glossed over as he stared past the vehicle’s rear window. You briefly wondered if exhaustion was finally catching up, and if you were about to be the cushion for his collapse.  

“Hey,” you whispered, “what’s wrong?” 

Ignoring you, he trailed around the car without much care for the biters ahead and yanked the passenger door open. Every movement was harsh. Demanding. One hand held the crossbow, while the other pulled something out and clutched it. Inspected it. Fingers dancing along the orange and red fabric like it’d spell out something for him. 

“This is—“ he growled, abrupt, while clenching his fist around the fabric. Neck corded with tension, it seemed the words caught in his throat. 

“What?” 

Towering over your crouched frame, he stood to his full height, head spinning in circles as he scanned the street. 

“Get down!” you hissed, grabbing his forearm.

“Get your hands off’a me!” 

Your eyes went wide, snapping between his snarling lip and the swarm of biters well within earshot. 

One turned, sniffing the air. 

You held your hands up and tried to reason in a hushed whisper, “They can still hear you.” 

There seemed to be a split second of realization, the weight of his heavy stare lifting an inch at your meaning. His head bowed before he crouched again. The anger lacing the blue of his eyes seemed to slip away once they landed on the item in his hand, fingers still gripping tight. It seemed like just some sweater, or maybe a poncho, but the way his tone had shifted so suddenly, jaw still tense from the ordeal, you knew it meant something to him. 

“Shit. Do you recognize that?” 

That was the most you’d let yourself ask. Satisfy your immediate curiosity, don’t push your luck. He always seemed incredibly restrained and you didn’t want to steer a man you barely knew over the edge. Especially not now, with biters just around the corner, already alert and curious from his outburst. 

His mouth drew in a thin line, but the vein in his forehead answered you, enough. Something squeezed inside your chest, ringing drops of sympathy from your heart. You knew what it was like, more than he might’ve realized, to find something that belonged to someone you lost. Left abandoned with no trace of them. You blinked as your expression softened, looking out to the street. 

Gentle, you asked, “Do you recognize any of them?” 

He shook his head. 

Your mouth parted, hoping to ease some of that tension that traced his features; the subtle hints of self-discipline in his expression made your heart ache worse than it should have. 

Instead, a growl ripped through the air, as rough as the lingering friction between you two. More importantly, it was close. Both your heads snapped over the car to see the dead from the backyard swarming the alley you’d just passed through. They were rushing forward, tripping over their own frail, broken ankles in their dash. Hungry monsters coming straight for you. 

The smoke must’ve risen high enough to draw their attention, and when they’d turned into the street, it was the perfect view of you and the man still stuck at the side of that car. Sentiment holding you back. 

“Damn it,” he cursed. 

The poncho was stuffed in between his broad rib cage and the strap of his bag, and without another thought, you both started running— or, for you, it was the closest thing that could pass for running. Frantic limping, practically tripping over yourself. Hell, you probably didn’t look too different from the dead on your trail. But, if you let up, you were sure they’d rip into you, nonetheless. Blame that on your distinctive lack of rotting flesh. 

Dashing across the front yard of the second house and then down the alley was the easy part. The road and lawn were even, so your limp didn’t get caught in roots or loose ground. The forest, on the other hand, wasn’t an ideal landscape. Though it was certainly better concealed than the open road, you had to pay special attention to divots and any other potential tripping hazard below. You weren’t clear of danger yet; biters didn’t tire, and they certainly weren’t held back by any type of wound, like you. You’d seen dead with their damn guts spilling out trap survivors before. Not much other than a bullet in the head stopped them. 

Adrenaline could only do so much for you. Pain was heavy in your leg, and a part of you— a scared, pessimistic part of you— anticipated another collision with the damp earth. 

It felt like the man ahead was moving ten times your speed, the dead at least five, and you tried not to think about the possibility of this being your end. Face flat in the earth, ripped apart by dull teeth and overgrown fingernails. Instead, you tried to focus on the simple facts that you hadn’t fallen yet, and maybe more surprisingly, that the man ahead of you had looked back to check on you not once, but twice. 

Another flash of that orange and red fabric passed you by, only this time, it was stark against green grass. Time seemed to slow, glancing between the man, still moving with vigour ten or so feet ahead of you, and the object of his sentiment, falling to the ground. 

If there was one thing you were realizing since meeting him, it was how fucking reckless you could be. 

Problem was, it didn’t even feel like a choice. There was still fear in the back of your mind— there always was, it seemed— picking away at your last inch of perseverance, but the second you saw that poncho drop, you swooped down to pick it up, anyway. Even if that meant slowing pace and almost tripping over yourself. But if it’d been his knife, if it’d been you losing the last bit of him you had left, you’d want whoever you were siding with to fight for it, too. 

Intentions could be good, but reality always caught up. Pessimism won and the damp earth finally collided with your cheek after a stick in the mud caught your toe. It was less painful than the fall yesterday, but the bruises from that ordeal were still fresh and began to welt again, almost immediately. 

“Come on, girl!” 

With a low groan, you bit the inside of your cheek, hard, and then pushed back up. Not quick enough, it seemed, because a hand— a warm one— wrapped around your bicep and yanked you up to his side. An arrow cut through the muggy, humid air above your head just as you caught your balance with your good leg, tumbling free of the man’s grip before continuing forward. 

That damn poncho, still tight in your grip. 

—

The next time you collapsed, it was intentional. 

Dirt smeared across your jeans and hands, you palmed the ground you laid on. 

Panting. 

There wasn’t enough air, there wasn’t enough water, there wasn’t enough of anything— save the beat of your pounding heart. No matter how many deep inhales you tried to take, you ended up sucking in another, too quick, in a desperate attempt to catch the breath you lost miles back. 

It’d been mutually decided that a fallen tree trunk was your best cover in case the dead did catch up from the approximate three-mile stretch between the herd and yourselves. A stretch that was hard to believe, but it’d been a while since you could properly hear their hungry growls. And considering that every part of your body was spent of energy, with nothing left to feed your muscles as the adrenaline wore off, you were content to extend your belief if it meant resting for a moment. 

Even the pain in your leg had dulled, too weak to do anything but throb. 

It was with your head resting on that large log that you finally let go of that poncho. With the little energy you had left, you tilted your head to him, eyes dragging over the drops of sweat rolling down his neck, pooling across the expanse of his similarly heaving chest. The loosened button of his shirt revealed a peak of damp, untanned skin, and his eyes were shut, lips parted to pull in deeper breaths. 

You swallowed, then said, amidst heavy pants, “This belongs to you.” 

His eyes fluttered open, lids still low, but he managed to turn his head to you too. Exhaustion tore his surly demeanour down; if he’d been trying to hold the usually mean stare he reserved for you, he couldn’t manage it. 

A heavy hand landed on the poncho dropped between you. He gripped it as tight as he had your arm when you’d fallen, fingers dipped into colourful fabric. 

In all honesty, he’d done most of the work to get here; navigating the forest, killing the biters that came too close, and grabbing you every time you fell behind. If it hadn’t been for his persistence, you weren’t sure if you’d be here anymore. 

The poncho was the least you could offer. 

You couldn’t tell how much time had passed lying in a mix of dirt and moss. 

Eventually, both your breaths had evened out, and a while ago the man had even gotten up and began to make a fire from the smell of it. You’d been staring at the sky, instead. Between the trees, there were flashes of dark wings across the expanse of blue. Shadows of leaves fluttering in the wind, dabbling bits of sunlight across your damp chest. Eyes half closed, you listened to the soft rustle of the wind and the chirp of the birds. You were in your own world of exhaustion, it seemed. 

Sometime between the smell of smoke and the glow of embers, your attention dropped from the open unknown above you, to the strong back of the man, similarly stained with uncertainty, ahead. 

There was something captivating about him, and in particular, about his stubbornly loyal streak that seemed to get you on the receiving end of his help twice now. He could’ve left you for dead back there. A lot of people would have, or at the least, they would tell him he should have. It would’ve saved him a lot of trouble. Distracted the dead long enough that he could’ve stopped running miles ago, given him one less mouth to feed, one less wound to take care of. It might’ve even given him some type of relief to execute retribution on someone who’d wronged him and his people. Leaving you for dead could’ve solved, at minimum, half of his problems. 

But he didn’t. 

You stuck your neck out for him once, and he saved you after. That made you even. This made you something else. Allies or indebted, you weren’t sure. What you were sure of was his resilience, that much had been obvious since the moment you first met him. Hell-bent on surviving. You figured the stubborn will had something to do with that. 

It was odd to know all that, and not his name.

“Hey,” you said, voice hoarse, but still stronger than any muscle in your body. “What’s your name?” 

He stiffened, but glanced over his shoulder to meet your eye. 

“Daryl.” 

You nodded, briefly, before you offered your name with a shaky breath. You rolled your shoulders, adjusting your position across the fallen log. “I figured I should know who I’m thanking.” 

His— Daryl’s— glare had always been intense. Abrasive, like it was dissecting you with a dull blade. You tried to soften it with a genuine thank you, slipping off your tongue with a sweet ring of gratitude. 

Instead, it was like those two words snapped something within him, patience stretched to its thinnest.

“Ya used a bullet.” 

His tone wasn’t a question, but it still caught you off guard.

“I— What?” 

He dropped the bundle of sticks in his hand. Full attention on you, instead of the small fire. “Your clip was almost full.” 

You caught on then— when he’d taken the gun from you, back at the cabin, he’d been using it to kill the swarming biters. You’d heard a couple of shots before you finally passed out, but considering how far he’d made it while carrying you, it made sense that he’d fired the rest. 

Save that one bullet. The only one you’d used before you found that cabin. Before he found you. 

“Just one,” you muttered.

“For what?” 

Your voice slipped away then, resolve lost at the mention. Cracks of guilt began to run through your heart, deepening with every weak beat. “I didn’t—“ you shook your head, “I never wanted to—“ 

“I didn’t ask ya tha’,” he growled, standing up. “Who’d ya use it on?” 

You swallowed. With every step closer, his want was as clear as his intimidation. No pleading, no regrets. 

Just the truth. 

“I killed someone.” 

Concern twisted his features, just enough for you to realize that he was probably considering all of his people being on the receiving end of that bullet. Imagining the hateful, cruel look in your eye when they finally dropped dead. But if he could see past the anger swarming his vision, he might’ve noticed the curl of your lip, the rapid frequency of your blinks; disgust painted along your features, reserved for your own actions. 

“Mitch.” 

Daryl knew everyone at that prison. Everyone. Mitch wasn’t one of his people. 

“The guy in the tank,” you clarified. 

“Ya shot one’a your own?”  

“He— he tried to kill a kid. We made it up to the planters, I was— I was trying to find my friend so we could—“

His eyes narrowed, and you backtracked. Only the facts. 

“Some kid was fighting them off. He was reloading and couldn’t see Mitch coming, so I—“ you stopped to catch your breath. Slow and deep, just like he taught you years ago— fuck, you wished you had that knife, those initials to trace under your thumb. 

“I stopped him.” 

Daryl’s eyes were still tight on you. Unforgiving in the way they dug through your weak appearance, the way you tried to balance your fragile thoughts with a heavy inhale. The sight twisted his gut. 

Instead, he narrowed his attention on trying to find any hint of dishonesty, insincerity, hell— anything he didn’t even like the idea of— lingering behind your words. 

“Why?” he spat, as if he already knew he wouldn’t like the answer. 

You shook your head and exhaled, “He was a kid.” 

He looked down on you like something stuck on his shoe. Some small, inadequate thing; it made you feel weaker than any wound or sprint could.

Daryl snarled, “There were a lot of kids there. Sick ones. A baby.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“Nah. Ya didn’t know shit ‘bout us, nothin’ more than those lies tha’ asshole told ya.” 

From shame, your mouth was sewn shut. An apology hanging off your tongue, unable to break free, even if you knew it needed to. 

Would it do anything, anyway? Nothing you could say would bring those fences back up, bring his family back together. Nothing would fix the mess of Brian’s wrath. 

A brief moment of wonder passed you by— Brian had told you lies, so many lies, but the story of his daughter, of his town, was laced with such genuine pain and loss. You weren’t sure what had driven him to such violence and anger, or what made him rip away the only good thing left in this world— people. Maybe you’d never know. 

Maybe it didn’t matter, anyway. It was over. They were dead, or gone. Nowadays, that felt like the same thing. 

Without another word, he crouched by the fire again. 

The way he handled the fire was gentle and calculated, even if he’d been so relentless and hostile with you, just seconds before. Eventually, the throb of your leg called your attention again. The sight of the red-stained flannel wrapped tight around your wound, and what it meant— Daryl’s aid, even with something as heavy as the prison’s attack weighing down your integrity— made something grip your heart just as tight. 

“Then why’d you help me?” 

His shoulders stiffened. For once, he refused you that look. The one that beckoned every harsh, guilt-ridden thought to consciousness. Made you hyper-fixate on your wrongs because there had to be a reason why he looked at you like that. 

You weren’t sure how you felt about its lack, now. It might’ve been piercing, but it had a way of opening him up, too. People had always told you anger made you stupid. Even for a man as guarded as him, it broke him down and made those narrow eyes a bit easier to understand. Aggression made him vulnerable, or at least, a bit softer around the edges. 

If there was any time you wanted to read him, it was now. Could you trust him to keep helping you, as he had with the biters? Or would you wake up the next morning, alone and defenceless? 

The peak of sun shining between bright green leaves was lower than before. Golden light cascading on soft grass and the drops of sweat trailing down your chest. Sunset was close. 

He never did answer you. 

————————————————————

-> part three

A/N: ok daryl is a little mean but... can u blame him? u kinda fucked up, reader </3 but at least u saved him his poncho hehe. 

thank u for the support on this series so far :D it means so much.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

[zmediaoutlet]

murder in the city

for @wincestwednesdays - blood

They've started dimming the bunker lights at night. More like a real place, that way, a motel or a house to squat in. The concrete floors are cold on Sam's bare feet. Still doesn't totally know his way around, but that's all right. There are plenty of long nights ahead to figure out the layout. Or maybe not that many. He's been trying not to think about it, but. Lot of long nights.

The infirmary, the gun range, the library. The kitchen, and the coffeepot, and the newspaper left on the island with a couple of obits circled in thick sharpie, and it's probably meant to be a distraction for him but it's probably a real job, too. Sam leans over to check it out but his eyes blur and he sinks to his elbows, and then puts his forehead down to his clenched fists. His mouth tastes like pennies. All the time now, practically. In his throat the urge to cough rises and he breathes very carefully through his nose because he just—doesn't want to. He doesn't want to have to.

A box of black Lipton appeared on the shelves, when he kept coughing and hasn't stopped. He heats water in the old-school steel kettle, leaning against the stovetop, his fingers shoved in to the soft part of his throat next to his windpipe. Like if he strangles himself maybe that horrible tickling urge won't creep in. He keeps his eyes closed and feels his pulse thump against his fingertips, slow and steady. Imagines a day sometime soon when that'll change. Either staggering and erratic or all-too-fast—like years ago, in those worse days, when there was no unexplained tea as a clumsy attempt at care, when the iron-taste riming his teeth was all his own fault.

If all this goes the way he expects, it'll be yet another broken promise. His ears ring. It takes a second to swim past that to realize that, no, it's the kettle, whistling. God, he's tired.

"You gonna make your tea or do I gotta do it for you, Miss Marple?"

He jerks, turns. "I—sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"Unless you made me have to pee I think you're innocent, this time," Dean says, but not really smiling. He's wearing the robe he claimed, hands deep in the pockets. Squinting at Sam across the kitchen like there's something to see.

Sam turns and busies himself with the kettle. Splashing over the tea bag, pouring too fast so that it judders out of the spout, spattering the back of his hand. He hisses, and for the hissing he's punished with not being able to keep the cough down, and it stings, god—stings so bad, not that deep down-in-the-lungs coughing that feels like it's actually doing something, like the one time he got the flu and thought he'd turn inside out, but just—scratching, shredding, making his eyes water and his mouth fill with—

"Jeez, you're a safety hazard," Dean says, and he's right there, at Sam's side, taking the kettle away, a clatter of the steel somewhere, and then his hand heavy between Sam's shoulderblades. Warm, patient, while Sam hacks and shudders and tries to remember how to take breaths that feel clean. "Yeah, okay. Get it out."

There's no getting it out. Sam inhales very cautiously through his nose and doesn't say it, because that would be cruel, and it's too late or maybe early to get into that kind of fight. Especially when Dean's warm against him, and soft in that robe. His arm slides down around Sam's back, and Sam doesn't need help walking but he lets Dean take him over to the sink, and he leans down with his elbows on the porcelain rim and washes his mouth clean, spitting. With the lights low he hopes Dean can't see the color.

He sits with his back to the table and watches Dean move around the kitchen. His space, like the library's Sam's. Dean wipes up the spilled water and puts the kettle back in its place and glances at Sam, and then goes to the pantry shelf where he's got a bottle of bourbon stashed and pours a healthy glug into Sam's mug. "Seriously?" Sam says, and Dean shrugs and then pours another mug full of bourbon for himself, and brings both of them over to the table. He holds Sam's out to him handle-first and says, "It's medicine," and Sam smiles at him, too tired to do otherwise. Dean clunks his mug against Sam's, very carefully, and Sam winds the trailing string of the teabag over his knuckles and takes a sip, cautious. Hot, both temperature and alcohol, but sweet too. Might not really help but it feels good, and that's something, at least.

Dean waits for him to swallow, and then drinks his own mug down in a single shot. Grimaces into it, when it's empty. He looks as tired as Sam feels. Maybe more. Sam sits forward and sets his hand on Dean's hip, sorry in this—thin, entirely inadequate way. Knowing he'd make the same choice all the same. Dean licks his lips and sets his mug on the table by Sam's shoulder and then steps between Sam's knees, and Sam puts his forehead to Dean's sternum and holds Dean around the waist. Warm dark. His mouth tastes like bourbon now, at least.

Fingers through Sam's hair, carding it off the back of his neck. "You slept through the night once, this week?"

He takes a deep, careful breath. Raw over his raw throat. He's not supposed to lie, anymore. He promised. Dean's always asking Sam to make promises he'll be forced to break. "Once, I think," he says.

Dean sighs but doesn't call him out. Maybe he doesn't want to fight, either. Ever since they moved in here it's been—good. Better. Dean happy to have a home and Sam just—well, it doesn't matter. He leaves his forehead against Dean's chest and feels his breath rise and fall, his fingers tucked just barely inside the elastic of his boxers, holding on. Dean has a place, here, the safest place either of them has ever seen, and all this knowledge at his fingertips, and if Sam manages not to screw up these trials then it'll be—worth it. The world safer and Dean… he'll be okay, Sam thinks. In this bunker their family gave them. It's worth it, for that.

"Can't believe I got up for this sappy crap," Dean says, very quiet.

"Thought you said you had to pee," Sam says, muffled, and Dean says, "I can multitask," and then tugs on Sam's hair at the back so he's forced to tip his head and look up, and before he can say anything Dean dips down and kisses him, soft with a closed mouth, just—pressing close. When their lips part with barely a sound he holds there, his forehead against Sam's and their noses brushing and his breath coming slow against Sam's mouth. Steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. Sam's anchored his whole life to it more than once. He touches Dean's throat and then drags his fingertips down, hooking the collar of his t-shirt, feeling that empty space where he used to wear—but that doesn't matter, now. Dean's here. Nothing matters more than that.

"You're wearing my shirt," Sam says, fingers caught in the v-neck.

"Finders keepers," Dean says, and then lifts up, and tucks Sam's hair behind both of his ears, and looks at him, eyes low and tender in the dim. "Man," he says, soft, and Sam doesn't know why, but then Dean touches his chin with one thumb and says, in a more normal voice, "Finish your tea, princess, and then come back to bed, huh? Cold down there without the human space heater."

"Not exactly selling it with your icicle feet," Sam says, and Dean shrugs, smiling at him kinda one-sided, but then he leaves the kitchen, and Sam's left there, listening to him scuff along the hall until he can't. He sits with his mug in both hands, looking at nothing across the empty kitchen. Since the first red spot he's been composing a note, mentally. Trying to figure how he could say everything that's worth saying. He never ends up writing anything down. Nothing he can think of comes close.

He drinks his tea. Leaves the mug by the sink knowing it'll make Dean bitch at him in the morning. His mouth still tastes like metal. But then—when he goes to Dean's room, he gets into bed and puts his arm around Dean's waist and puts his nose to the soft buzz of hair at the top of Dean's spine, and Dean sighs and pushes back against him, and he's warm against Sam's whole body except for his toes that tuck in behind Sam's ankle, freezing, like he's done since Sam's earliest memories. His skin like ice and then warming slowly against Sam's. What more could Sam ask for.

[prolestariwrites]

Three To One

Fandom: Resident Evil Rating: T Characters: Jake Muller, Sherry Birkin

Summary: Sherry is nothing like any of the girls Jake has ever met before. It's too bad he has no idea what to do with that.

A/N: Just a quick oneshot because I love this couple. This is also on AO3 so if you prefer go ahead and read over there (link to my profile is in my header). If you like this please share so others can find it too! Thanks for reading!

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

Jake is just getting inside his room when his phone buzzes. “Shit,” he mumbles, his arms full of his equipment, which he quickly drops on the bed after kicking the door shut. He pulls his pack around and fishes inside the front pocket for the phone, but it quits its vibrations before he can find it.

He sighs when he finally gets a grip on it, figuring it’s another job. Whether or not it’s one he will actually do remains to be seen: he’s been out of the mercenary business since Liangshang, focusing his work now on BOWs instead of politics. The money isn’t as good, which means he can’t really afford to miss a job, so he sits heavily on the mattress as he snaps the top of the phone up.

Before he can go to his missed calls, a text message pops up. He presses his thumb to the blue square, his eyes widening when Sherry’s name appears at the top. Their last conversation fills the screen until the bottom, where her new message reads: >Call me when you get some time, okay? :D 

He clears his throat, rubbing his other palm on his thigh. A quick check confirms it was Sherry’s call he missed, and for a moment he wonders if something is wrong. But she wouldn’t have put a smile emoji at the end of a message if something was wrong, right? Jake frowns and rubs the back of his head. His experience with women does not include the kind that use emojis.

Deciding to call her back in a few minutes, he stands and starts to put his gear away. He has two more nights in the little hotel room before he needs to move on, the latest mission now complete. Jake sits at the little table and takes apart his guns, cleaning them thoroughly and trying not to think about his cell phone sitting on his bed. Every once in a while he glances over, wondering if Sherry is waiting for him. No way she is, but she wants to talk to him. What if it’s urgent?

He sets the last gun aside and walks over to the bed, looking down at the screen. It stares back blankly, stubbornly refusing to reveal the real reason Sherry called. Maybe she just wanted to check on him, although something in him doubts it. Sherry knows he can take care of himself, and he hadn’t given her the details of the pack of zombie wolves that were spotted around the mountain towns. If she had known, she probably would have insisted on sending him backup, which Jake didn’t need. What he needed was the commission from getting rid of the shitstains. 

Jake curses under his breath and goes back to his pack, finishing putting away the guns and ammo and taking stock of the rest. One of his blades was snapped in the hunt, getting stuck in a tree when he was trying to cut some branches. Other than that he is in pretty good shape, so he decides a shower is next on the agenda.

Yet he finds himself racing through his wash. Usually after killing he likes to stand under the water, turned as hot as it will go, and watch the dirt and blood circle the drain and take away whatever shit was clogging up his brain along with the grime from hunting. It was a ritual from his mercenary days, although now that he isn’t targeting humans anymore, there isn’t any guilt to sit like a hot rock in his stomach.

The ritual is put aside for a fast, lukewarm shower, and once he is clean he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and sits on the bed, barely long enough for his tall frame. His skin is damp as he lays back on the pillow and picks up his phone, taking a deep breath before dialing Sherry’s number. They’ve talked loads of times, keeping in touch in these months since China. She helped him get some contacts to start working, and in return he does some side work for the DSO, tracking sightings and sending back information on request. They usually text or email job details and some pleasantries, but he and Sherry don’t usually talk. But they have a few times, so this shouldn’t feel so nerve-wracking.

His stomach flips when she answers. “Jake, is that you?” 

Her cheery voice doesn’t set him at ease like he had hoped. “Yeah. Everything okay?”

“Absolutely. Those specs you sent last week were perfect. The higher ups are pretty pleased.” She takes a breath before asking, “Are you still in Belarus?”

Jake clears his throat. “No, actually. I’m in Romania.”

“Romania? You didn’t tell me you were heading somewhere.” She doesn’t sound hurt, just surprised, and he has an apology rising on his tongue when she continues, “That actually works out better.”

“Better?”

“Yeah. Do you have a few days you can take off? I could use your help with something.”

“Yeah! I mean—yeah.” Trying not to sound too eager, he switches the phone to the other ear. “What, uh… is it a job?”

“No,” she replies. “Well, I’ll be working, sort of. Can you meet me in Greece?”

Jake glances around. One of the things the DSO had helped with was a proper passport, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Once he gets paid he’ll have enough for a ticket. But if it’s not for a job, then what? “Want to clue me in on where we’re going?”

Sherry laughs, and heat flares on his neck. “I’m going to a conference and could use a friend. I hate going to these things by myself. I’ll send you the info, okay? It starts Tuesday.”

“A conference?”

“Most governments will have reps there. The DSO is sending a few teams and I was chosen to go. Are you in?”

He nods. “Okay. I mean, I can meet you. And uh… thanks, I guess. For thinking of me.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun!” Sherry sounds excited, which makes him smile. “I’ll email you right now. See you in a few days!”

True to her word, Sherry sends the information for a hotel in Xanthi, and for the rest of the evening he looks up everything he can about the city. It’s on the seaside, like pretty much everywhere worth going, lots of restaurants and beaches and the usual tourist fare. The conference is at the university in town, some kind of networking thing for international organizations in the bioterrorism game. Makes sense that the DSO would have a presence there, although he doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. 

He hasn’t been to Greece, and he wonders if he’ll stick out. Jake glances over where his boots sit on the floor, his dark cargo pants slung over the chair. He doesn’t exactly have anything to wear to a conference either. With a groan he closes the laptop and sinks down, regretting agreeing to go. Bioweapons he can handle. Making nice with suits is an actual challenge.

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

The flight is cheap and blessedly short. He had to make a stop at one of his storage units to drop a lot of his gear: can’t exactly get on a plane with a grappling hook. He does check a gun just in case, feeling almost naked without it while they are in the air. 

He stands with his backpack on at the baggage claim, watching impatiently for his case. Just as he spots it he hears his name, and Jake turns to see Sherry’s blonde mop in the crowd, heading towards him. He hesitates, not knowing if he should go to her or grab the case, and ends up doing neither, frozen as he watches it roll by and around the other side.

“Jake! You made it!” she calls.

“You didn’t have to meet me.” 

He turns towards her voice when he finds himself in a tight hug. Sherry barely makes it to his chin, so she goes on tiptoe to put her arms around his neck, catching him in surprise. Jake’s eyes go wide when she leans up and plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Alarm bells are blaring in his head. He puts his hand on her waist and pulls back as she sinks down on her heels. “Hey, uh…” Jake shakes his head to clear it, still feeling her soft lips and the sticky bit of her chapstick on his skin. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” Sherry grins up at him. “Is this all you brought?”

“No, my case—shit. Wait here.” He turns and hurries over to the turnstile, jogging a bit around to the other side when he spots his case. “Excuse me,” he mutters as he nudges his way through the other passengers, grabbing it and hauling it from the moving ramp with a thud. 

The noise snaps him out of his daze. Jake looks up to see Sherry wave, and he realizes she just kissed him. Not a real kiss or anything, but… 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Bioweapons are way easier than this. 

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

Jake sits half-slouched in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table as he sneaks glances at Sherry. The conference is hosting a dinner, and he’s there as Sherry’s “plus-one”, whatever that’s supposed to mean. The past two days as she’s attended meetings he’s mostly been exploring the city, unused to the lack of action and the happy crowds of tourists. Part of him itches to get back to the field, but it ended up being worth it to go to this event.

The place is nice, and even though he isn’t wearing anything fancy Sherry had assured him a black shirt and pants would be fine. She is in a dress, the first time he’s ever seen her in one, and he’d be lying if it didn’t take him by surprise. This is only the second time since their first adventure together that they’ve seen each other; the first was not long after they first went their own ways, when she met him in Germany to help get him set up as a special contractor for the DSO. It had been weird to see her again after everything they went through, almost awkward.

This time things seemed different. Sherry was genuinely happy to see him, and it put him at ease despite being around so many people. Jake had learned her original travel partner got sick, so even though he didn’t have a pass to the conference he could use the hotel room. Suited him fine anyway: sitting in a room listening to people talk sounded like torture. In the evening they’d have dinner and hang out as she told him about the people she met and he would give little stories about the residents he met in the city, swapping stories about missions and their backgrounds.

Spending time with Sherry was nice. More than nice, amazing actually. She was just so different from the women he used to know, intelligent and funny and mature despite her youthful looks. Jake was starting to dread the end of this conference and splitting up again—that is, until she showed up for dinner in that damn dress.

He can’t stop glancing over, and luckily Sherry is absorbed in the keynote speech to notice. His eyes keep falling to her neck and tracing her exposed shoulders, the little straps leading to a sweetheart neckline that makes his throat tight. It’s not that he’s never thought of Sherry that way—God knows he’s had plenty of thoughts—but she is so out of his league that having her so close, the memory of her kiss on his mouth, makes it almost impossible to sit still. 

Thank god this conference was almost over. Like dangling a sandwich in front of a starving man.

Her hair is longer now, and she tucks it behind an ear as he watches, the little hoop in her earlobe catching his eye. She is wearing some kind of cherry and jasmine perfume that smells like heaven, and when she shifts and crosses her legs, his eyes dart down to the shapely calf that leads to a pair of nude heels. 

He pushes his chair back and Sherry glances over. “You okay?” she mouths.

Jake nods. “Just need a drink,” he whispers.

She chuckles at that, her smile warm. “This isn’t the most exciting thing, I know. We’ll get something after, okay?”

Her wink makes him feel stupid for saying anything. “Yeah,” he mutters, sitting back in his chair.

The speaker finally wraps up and the emcee once more takes the stage. He announces dinner will be served shortly, but before that, “We have an award to give,” he says. “Our organization wishes to recognize those that have given exemplary service in the field of anti-bioterrorism.” 

They clap politely as he opens an envelope. “This year we recognize Sherry Birkin from the Division of Security Operations. Ms. Birkin, can you please join me up here?”

Jake looks in surprise over at Sherry, who seems just as bewildered. She turns to him with a laugh, standing as the crowd starts to clap. “I had no idea,” she says to Jake.

“Well go up there,” he huffs impatiently.

She nods and quickly stands, weaving through the tables towards the stage. Jake watches as she walks up the steps at the side, and when she arrives at the podium the emcee hands her a small plaque and guides her to the microphone. He smiles as he claps along with the others, feeling a strange sense of pride. None of these people probably have any idea how good Sherry really is but him.

“Um, thank you so much,” Sherry says once the applause dies down. “I had no idea that I would be receiving this recognition. It means a lot…”

Her voice fades as she squints into the audience. Jake frowns and turns, trying to see what she is looking at. There are figures advancing from the back of the room, and the way they move instantly sets off alarm bells just as Sherry yelps, “Everyone, quick! Run!”

Her words are barely heard as gunshots erupt. Panic breaks out as people start to scream and run, the dark figures aiming guns at the escaping attendees and pushing through the crowd. Jake moves, jumping over his chair and sliding around the table to get to the stage. A figure in black fatigues approaches with a handgun and he grabs it and yanks, pulling him off his feet. They struggle for a moment before Jake delivers a series of punches, leaving the figure groaning and unmoving on the ground.

In the corner of his eye he can see people rushing the stage, so he yanks the gun from the assailant’s hands and spins. Two people are dragging Sherry away, both with weapons, as she struggles against their grip. The rest of the room is in mayhem with chairs and tables everywhere, people still shouting as they run for the exits. No one seems to be hurt, however; is it possible this is all just to grab Sherry?

Jake aims the gun and fires at the nearest gunman, hitting him in the chest and sending him to the ground. He takes off in a sprint towards the stage and is met with two more figures, one of which he shoots and the other dispatched with a broken arm and a fist to the jaw. Sherry is gone, but there is commotion behind the curtains, so he leaps up onto the platform and bolts backstage.

There is a long, dark hallway, and he squints in the dim light. Footsteps stomp up ahead, and he hears Sherry’s voice. “Let go of me, asshole!”

“Grab her!”

Jake races ahead and a gunshot goes off. His arm explodes in pain, making him stumble and crash into the wall. He grips his bleeding bicep and looks up to see Sherry struggling with one of the men. The other is on the floor at their feet. Jake grits his teeth against the pain and steps towards them, but Sherry grabs the gun and pulls hard before going down into a crouch to trip him onto the ground. Once he is down she rips the rifle from his hands and hits him between the eyes, the body going still.

She gives him a little kick before swiping her hair out of her eyes. “Jerk,” she mutters.

“Sherry?”

Jake’s voice catches her attention. Incredibly, she smiles, as if she wasn’t nearly just kidnapped and took out two armed men, and slings the rifle over her shoulder before hurrying to him. “Jake!” she cries. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” he growls. He narrows his eyes at the two on the ground. “Who are they?”

“I don’t know yet. We gotta get out of here.” She grabs his arm and he hisses, and Sherry frowns when she pulls back her hand to find it red. “Are you hurt? Jake!”

“It’s fine. Come on, there’s gotta be an exit.”

They make their way down the hall to a room at the end, thankfully empty. They continue through the dark and empty rooms, easily slipping back into their former roles as Jake takes point and Sherry follows. More gunshots are heard on the other side of the building, and within minutes there are sirens outside and the sound of a helicopter overhead. “Guess word got out,” he says.

“Bunch of amateurs,” she mutters, and when Sherry follows her assessment with a snort, Jake can’t help but grin.

They turn a corner and run into three more. Neither waste any time as Jake takes out the first one as Sherry gets the second. The third retreats and they follow, chasing him along the hallway until he crashes through a door with an exit sign overhead.

Moments later they reach the door and once through it they find themselves in a little pathway between buildings. “Come on,” she says, and Jake follows as she jogs back towards the entrance.

There are police squads there already, the attendees mulling around the ambulances and several of the assailants being marched out in handcuffs. Police turn and start shouting orders, and Jake follows Sherry’s lead when she puts her hands up. “Sherry Birkin, DSO,” she calls.

They are briefly taken into custody and questioned, but when it’s clear that they aren’t with the group—and that Sherry might have been the target—they are given medical attention after handing over their weapons. Sherry is fine other than some bruises, but Jake sits on the back of an ambulance as a nurse gives him stitches when she finds him again.

“Had to give like a hundred statements, but they’re letting us go,” she says as she walks up. “How are you holding up?”

“Just a graze. I’ll live. They were terrible shots.”

“They were, weren’t they?” she agrees, then starts to laugh.

Jake joins her but stiffens a bit as the nurse finishes the last stitch. “Watch it,” he growls, and she shoots him a look before packing up her gear. Once she’s gone, Jake stretches his shoulder, testing how sore his arm is. 

“You good?” Sherry asks.

“I’ve had worse.” 

She steps up to take a look, and Jake swallows when her fingers pull back the ruined sleeve of his shirt so she can assess the stitches. “Not too bad,” she murmurs. “Need gauze?”

“Nah, I got it.” But he doesn’t move as her touch slides gently over his arm, the skin tender and raw under her fingertip.

When she leans in and gives a soft blow of air across the cut, he jumps. “What’re you doing?” he exclaims.

Sherry smiles. “I remember when I was growing up, my dad would take me to the park sometimes. Not often, but when he did I would always get hurt somehow.” She leans in and blows again across the wound. “One time I needed stitches, and since he was a scientist he knew how to do it. Afterwards he would blow on my skin and give a kiss to make it feel better.”

Somehow it does feel a bit better, but the closeness starts to make Jake sweat. “Yeah,” he says lamely.

She replaces the sleeve and leans up to kiss his cheek. Jake jerks back in surprise, his mouth falling open as she laughs again. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she says.

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

It’s their final day in Greece, both having flights the next morning back to where they came from. They spend the better part of the day at the police station giving more information, and then Sherry has a video conference with the DSO. Turns out the party crashers were a group for hire after Sherry after all, although what organization was behind it remained to be seen. From what they gathered from the investigation they were paid in cash for a kidnap, and didn’t know who was behind the broker.

Sherry is a bit deflated when she gets off the call. “Looks like I’ll be grounded for a bit when I get back,” she sighs. Jake looks over from where he stands at the window, watching people walking below the hotel. “Until they find out who is after me, anyway. Probably for my stupid blood.”

She rubs her arm and Jake tries to think of something to say. He’s in the same kind of boat, carrying around antibodies he didn't ask for. Somebody at any time could decide they wanted a piece of either of them, and not for the first time he curses how unfair it all is, the two of them victims of their fathers' stupid ambitions.

But as always, Sherry takes a deep breath and puts on a smile. "Do you want a drink?" she asks. "I'm dying for a drink."

"You think that's a good idea?"

He raises his brows but Sherry nods. "Yeah. Did you find a bar during your travels?"

They end up at a little pub not far from the hotel that is thankfully small and free of tourists. They take a table and Jake orders two beers, but Sherry shakes her head. "We're in Greece, we're doing ouzo," she insists.

That makes him laugh. "You ever have it? It's pretty strong."

"I can handle it," she says. "Trust me."

The corner of his mouth goes up as he nods. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you say."

It's a great night, better than the others in Greece. It seems like there’s always a million things to share with her, and Sherry is warm and funny and laughs at his lame jokes. Jake thinks he could spend all night here, talking to her like this, but they are barely a bottle in when Sherry starts getting tipsy. "You better slow down," Jake warns her.

"No way," she huffs, pointing a finger at him before she downs another shot. "I'm totally fine."

She pours some more, sloshing a bit on her fingers. "Right," he says dryly.

"You're the one who's hurt," Sherry points out. "If anyone should be taking it easy, it's you."

Jake shakes his head. "I've had a hell of a lot worse than this. Plus this ouzo stuff is nothing."

"Right," she mimics.

"Do you have any other life or death experiences in the works before we leave tomorrow?" he asks. "Because I gotta say, you're two for three now."

Sherry snorts, nearly choking on her drink. "I swear I'm boring! I don't ever get to see that much action. Unless I'm with you."

The comment is innocent, but Jake laughs. "So I'm the only action you're getting, huh?"

Immediately he regrets the joke, his ears burning as she sits up and looks at him in shock. "Jake Muller!" she exclaims. "Are you flirting with me?"

"No," he quickly says.

"You are!" she exclaims. "You're flirting. Wow, I never would have expected it."

"I'm not flirting," he insists.

"Well why not?"

Sherry pouts and he frowns at her. "Huh?"

"You're just... so damn..." Sherry shakes her head and pours another drink, knocking it back before slamming the glass on the table. "So damn respectful."

Respectful is not a word that Jake would ever have put near his name, and he chuckles. "You're drunk."

"I am not."

"Right. And I'm not flirting. Or respectful."

Sherry gives him a slow smile, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. Jake raises his brows, wondering what she's thinking, her eyes bright and shining and her cheeks slightly pink. This is definitely the first time he's seen her inebriated, and Jake suddenly wonders if he's in over his head. "You are respectful," she murmurs. "You haven't tried to kiss me once. Why not?"

"What?"

"Why haven't you ever kissed me? Don't you want to?"

Jake huffs a laugh, rubbing his neck. "All right, I'm cutting you off."

"Hey!"

"And we should get back. It's not exactly safe out here for you."

Sherry pouts, but when he stands she lets him pull her to her feet. "I'm fine as long as I'm with you," she mumbles.

The walk back to the hotel is slower than it should be, as Sherry holds onto him to stay mostly upright. "Wow, you're not drunk at all?" she exclaims, looking up at him.

"Probably because I'm not so tiny," he replies.

"I'm not tiny. I'm tall." Sherry yawns and leans her head on his arm, wrapping both of hers around his. "I'm glad you're here. Who knows what would have happened if you weren't."

"I don't know about that," Jake replies. "You took care of those two on your own. You can kick ass better than most mercenaries."

She finds that hilarious, pressing her face into his shirt. "I do kick ass. Tell that to the DSO. I can kick anyone's ass."

They reach the hotel and Jake helps her to the elevator, and then into her room. Sherry sighs and kicks off her shoes, but doesn't bother with anything else as she slides against the mattress. "You leaving?" she mumbles into the blanket.

"Can't exactly stay here," he says.

She sits up and looks at him. There is only the light from the street outside streaming in the window, as neither had bothered with a lamp. She looks sweet and innocent like this, sitting with her hands behind her on the bed, but her gaze is anything but as she stares at him. Jake's throat goes dry as she blinks at him. "You could, you know."

"Could what?"

"Stay. Want to?"

His heart beats wildly in his chest. Of course the answer is yes, about a thousand times yes, but she's drunk and he's unprepared and Jake knows this would be a huge, colossal mistake, the best mistake of his life. He walks towards her and Sherry looks up, her hair falling back on her shoulders as her lips part.

He strokes her cheek as he makes his decision. "Next time," he says. "I promise."

Sherry opens her mouth to say something, but then she reaches up and grabs his shirt. She's stronger than he expected, and he follows her tug down until her lips seal over his. Jake freezes, letting her kiss him slowly, their mouths remaining chaste as she tilts slightly to slot against his lower lip.

Just a few seconds and then he is easing away, and Sherry sighs and lays back. "Okay," she says sleepily, rolling over. "Next time. I'm too sleepy now."

Jake swallows thickly, watching her for a minute, and when he hears her breathing even he makes a quick escape to go lay awake and curse himself the rest of the night.

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

A terrible noise wakes Sherry from a sound sleep, and it takes her a minute to realize it’s her phone. Wincing against the sunlight streaming into her room, she runs her hand along the bed until it bumps the case, and she swipes the call button and brings it to her ear without moving. “Hello?” she mumbles.

“Sherry? It’s Hannigan. You all right?”

“Yeah.” She takes a moment to assess and realize that she is all right, for the most part. “Had a bit to drink last night,” she continues. “What’s going on?”

“Your flight is moved up to this afternoon. There’s an FBI agent who is going to accompany you back to New York.”

“Great.” Sherry rolls to her side, half expecting to see Jake on the other end of the bed. Did she really ask him to stay, or was that a dream? “Anything else?”

“Nope. Have a safe flight.”

Sherry hangs up without saying goodbye and turns to lay on her back. As she studies the ceiling she runs the night before through her head, cringing at the way she flirted with Jake and insisted that he do the same. Groaning, she remembers asking him to say, demanding to know why he didn’t flirt. He had taken offense to being called respectful, and then she had kissed him? Sherry winces again as she buries her face in the pillow, her cheeks flaring with heat.

What is wrong with her? There is no way that Jake is interested; if he was, he would have made a move long ago. Plus, she is a DSO agent at a conference, not on a single’s vacation. Not to mention it would break like forty rules at the agency. Not to mention they don’t even live in the same hemisphere. Not to mention she is ninety-nine percent sure she’s not the type of girl an ex-mercenary would go for. Not to mention she invited him to a conference and almost got him killed.

Not exactly girlfriend material. They’re friends, nothing more, as long as she hasn’t ruined things. 

Probably not, knowing him; Sherry wasn’t exaggerating when she called him respectful. She hauls herself from her bed and takes a quick shower before getting dressed and packing her things. Her phone beeps with her new itinerary, and as she makes herself coffee in the room she debates on what to say to Jake.

By the time she’s ready she’s running a bit behind, so Sherry decides not to think as she wheels her suitcase behind her into the hallway. She turns to head to Jake’s room to say goodbye but is surprised to see him in the hallway as well, pulled up short with his pack on his back and carrying his case. 

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

Sherry swallows and nods to his case. “You heading out?”

“Yeah. I got a job and need to catch a train. I was going to come say goodbye…”

She looks down at her own suitcase. “My flight was changed. I’m heading out now too.”

“Should we walk down together then?”

Sherry smiles in surprise and nods. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

It’s quiet on the ride down the elevator. Occasionally she glances over and up, trying to assess his mood, but Jake wears the same stoic expression he always does. He doesn’t seem mad or anything, so maybe things aren’t as weird as she had imagined they would be?

They each check out and head through the lobby to the taxi stand. Her heart is beating wildly, wondering what to say. This could be the last goodbye they have for a while, and up until this morning she had figured she’d try to make some tentative plans. That was before she threw herself at him, though.

The doorman steps out to find her a taxi when Jake turns to her. She notices the sweat on his brow as he says, “Listen, about last night—”

“No! No, that was…” Sherry laughs nervously as she waves her hand. “You were right. I cannot handle my ouzo. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was…” Jake gives a long sigh. “I didn’t want you to be upset.”

“I’m not! As long as you’re not?” He shakes his head and her shoulders slump in relief. “Good. Then let’s just forget about it. And don’t let me near ouzo anymore.”

He opens his mouth as a taxi pulls up, and Sherry looks over as the doorman opens the passenger side door. “This is me,” she says. “Thanks for coming… I know it wasn’t what we expected, but it was good to have company. Your company.”

Jake seems a bit bewildered, so she gives him a quick, awkward hug before turning to the car. But his hand on her arm stops her, and Sherry feels him tug her backwards until his arms fold around her and his mouth covers hers.

It’s nothing like the kiss last night: the respectful Jake who had remained still as she drunkenly tried to kiss him is gone, replaced by this Jake who knows exactly what he’s doing. His lips slide along hers as they fall open, his tongue quickly dipping inside to taste her as she gasps. She feels his palms against her lower back, his fingers spreading along her backside, and she grips his shirt to tug him closer before returning the kiss. It’s hot and passionate and leaves Sherry a bit dizzy when he dives in for round two. 

Her lips feel almost swollen when he pulls away. His expression is the same, just a bit softer, and Sherry bites her lower lip as if to remember the feeling of his on hers. 

The doorman clears his throat and Jake shoots him a look. “Relax,” he snaps before turning back to gaze at Sherry. “I meant it,” he says. “Last night. Next time, okay?”

“Yeah.” He lets her go slowly and she steps back, her throat dry and chest tight. “Next time.”

Jake gives her a smile and turns to walk down the street, and Sherry watches him go before she quickly jumps into the taxi, wracking her brain to try to remember what he promised for next time.

[mariana-oconnor]

The Bruce Partington Plans pt 2

Last time, we had a very full complement of characters with both Mycroft and Lestrade involved. And a man was found dead on the underground with top secret papers in his pocket, some of which were missing.

I really do wonder why only some of them were missing. It takes more time to go through them and choose some than to just grab the lot and go. Or maybe he had the most important ones out and was showing them to his killer. It's weird.

“Have the carriages been examined for any sign of violence?” “There are no such signs, and no ticket has been found.” “No record of a door being found open?” “None.”

Ghost train...?

I mean, no, this is probably the most spurious supernatural possibility I have thus far suggested. But if he got a ghost ticket from a ghost ticket seller and had it checked by a ghost person at the turnstile and then the ghost train he got on evaporated into thin air after leaving the station?

No?

Fine.

“And a curve, too. Points, and a curve. By Jove! if it were only so.”

...Hm. Well the train would have to slow down for the curve, but also if it's unexpected and he had the door open, I guess the points might cause a bit of a jolt, the curve sets him off balance and out the door he goes. Maybe losing a few papers along the way?

Other than that, and my previous idea that there should be maintenance access particularly to spots where there are points, I can't see what Holmes is getting at here.

“I fear not, Mr. Holmes. The train has been broken up before now, and the carriages redistributed.”

Was this standard practice? It seems very inefficient to separate every carriage of every train and mix them around all the time. Why not just keep them going as they are unless you absolutely need to change them?

'Meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await return at Baker Street, a complete list of all foreign spies or international agents known to be in England, with full address.'

That doesn't seem very secure. I feel like that information should also probably not be sent out to random residences.

Why does Holmes insist on referring to his brother as 'Brother Mycroft' in this story, as well? Has he taken up holy orders and become a monk since we last saw him? We know he's your brother, Sherlock, you don't need to keep repeating it. I know not everyone is as clever as you, but you don't need to keep beating us around the head. We get it.

“The end is dark to me also, but I have hold of one idea which may lead us far. The man met his death elsewhere, and his body was on the roof of a carriage.”

Ah, yes, the curve and the points dislodged him, just off the roof, not out of the door. So he was accosted on a bridge and thrown over the side? Also there'd be less blood from a postmortem injury from falling onto the tracks, or alternatively the blood from the original injury would be elsewhere.

(Although I have no trust in anyone's pathology skills in these stories anymore because... well...🐇🐇)

“Sir James, sir!” said he with solemn face. “Sir James died this morning.”

Oooh, the plot thickens. If this is not related then it is very coincidental.

“Good heavens!” cried Holmes in amazement. “How did he die?” “Perhaps you would care to step in, sir, and see his brother, Colonel Valentine?”

Look... I've been trying not to say 'it must be the Colonel' because I feel like at this point, the joke is too obvious. But now we have the Colonel's brother dead and Colonel Valentine is right there and...

Guys.

Guys.

If the Colonel turns out to be a dick again...

...an instant later we were joined by a very tall, handsome, light-beared man of fifty, the younger brother of the dead scientist. His wild eyes, stained cheeks, and unkempt hair all spoke of the sudden blow which had fallen upon the household. He was hardly articulate as he spoke of it.

Well, this is not a typical Watsonian description of a bad guy. It's a very flattering description, actually. And he seems upset by his brother's death. But is that just put on? Have all of ACD's previous creepy colonels been a long-con mislead for this one Colonel who is good?

“It was this horrible scandal,” said he. “My brother, Sir James, was a man of very sensitive honour, and he could not survive such an affair. It broke his heart. He was always so proud of the efficiency of his department, and this was a crushing blow.”

I had assumed brain fever, but no... broken heart. Not even brandy could have saved him. Just terrible.

“I know nothing myself save what I have read or heard. I have no desire to be discourteous, but you can understand, Mr. Holmes, that we are much disturbed at present, and I must ask you to hasten this interview to an end.”

I know he's grieving, but trying to end the interview early is a bit suspicious. Not a lot suspicious, but still a bit. I mean, he's a colonel.

"Arthur was the most single-minded, chivalrous, patriotic man upon earth. He would have cut his right hand off before he would sell a State secret confided to his keeping. It is absurd, impossible, preposterous to anyone who knew him.”

Hey... his name's Arthur? I had kind of assumed that he just had the first name Cadogan, but no. Double surname. This has happened before. Arthur is a far more boring name than Cadogan. Pity.

New theory, to explain why he only had some of the papers on him. He knew that the plans were stolen and went to recover them, but was murdered by the real bad guys (maybe a colonel? who can say) and then they slipped the unimportant papers into his pocket and threw him off the bridge onto the top of the train to frame him for the theft and ensure no one was looking for another mole.

“No; his needs were very simple and his salary ample. He had saved a few hundreds, and we were to marry at the New Year.”

Nowhere is inflation more apparent than the line 'he had saved a few hundreds'. Lolol! Although even with inflation this would be a few ten thousands, which won't last you very long today. Especially with a wedding coming up.

“Yes,” she said at last, “I had a feeling that there was something on his mind.” “For long?” “Only for the last week or so. He was thoughtful and worried."

As you would be if you knew there was a spy and you were worried about confronting them and stopping treason. Perfectly reasonable.

“He said that we were slack about such matters—that it would be easy for a traitor to get the plans.”

It's official, the only competent person in the government has been killed trying to cover for everyone else's incompetence. I mean, he still failed to protect the secret, but still. The Colonel's all 'my brother was so proud of his department's efficiency', when his department was as leaky as a sieve.

RIP Arthur. I believe in you.

"We walked, and our way took us close to the office. Suddenly he darted away into the fog.”

Impressed that he managed to witness the crime when the smog was so thick people couldn't even see a body fall off the roof of a train in a tunnel. But sure. This would have been earlier in the day. Although in November the sun would be setting at, what? 4:30/4pm? Unless they were going to the matinee, there wouldn't have been daylight.

“It was black enough before against this young man, but our inquiries make it blacker”

I assume Holmes must be thinking along the same lines as me. Also suddenly dashing off in the middle of the fog and leaving your fiancee as witness would be a terrible heist. If he's been planning this for so long, surely he'd come up with something better than that.

Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk, met us at the office and received us with that respect which my companion's card always commanded.

Ooh, a new suspect. Or has he been mentioned before. I don't remember him, though. But he has the potential means and opportunity.

He isn't a colonel, though, so clearly that's a mark against him in the suspect pool.

“The place is disorganized. The chief dead, Cadogan West dead, our papers stolen. And yet, when we closed our door on Monday evening, we were as efficient an office as any in the government service."

I feel like there might be a disconnect here between 'efficient' and 'secure'. Clearly they're cutting corners on security to get things done more quickly.

“Only Sir James Walter and you had those keys?” “I had no keys of the doors—only of the safe.”

You know who has access to Sir James' keys? His brother the colonel! Well, and Sir James himself. Maybe he did it and then died from the shame and guilt.

Or it was the Colonel

(Is it going to be the Colonel? Seriously?)

"One other point: if a clerk in this office desired to sell the plans, would it not be simply to copy the plans for himself than to take the originals, as was actually done?”

I mean, yeah.

“It would take considerable technical knowledge to copy the plans in an effective way.”

Would it? Would it really? I can copy out a sentence in Korean so that people can read it. I can't read or write Korean, but I can copy it. I feel like copying things doesn't require a lot of technical knowledge. A photocopier can do it, after all. You just have to have a steady hand and an eye for detail.

"The double valves with the automatic self-adjusting slots are drawn in one of the papers which have been returned."

... did you have to be that specific. These are secret plans, right? Maybe don't go talking about the details of them with people?

Finally he asked the chief clerk to close the iron shutters, and he pointed out to me that they hardly met in the centre, and that it would be possible for anyone outside to see what was going on within the room.

In the smog? In the dark? I guess the dark would help, because whoever was in there would have to light a lamp, but still. Arthur and Violet must have walked really close to the building. Super secure building.

"Why did he not do so? Could it have been an official superior who took the papers?"

Or a Colonel?

Or Sir James, I guess... or Mr Johnson. We shouldn't stereotype colonels just because almost all the ones we've met so far have been dicks. They weren't all the bad guy. Some of them were just dicks.

It's possible there's one good colonel left in London.

'There are numerous small fry, but few who would handle so big an affair.'

It's so amusing to me that Mycroft just knows this about the spies. He's just like 'these are the important spies' and Mycroft just has a list of their addresses ready to go. They have a real 'I know that you know that I know that you know, but no one is saying anything because that would cause an international incident and we have no proof we can actually use' vibe going on here. Espionage is so weird, guys.

'Am dining at Goldini's Restaurant, Gloucester Road, Kensington. Please come at once and join me there. Bring with you a jemmy, a dark lantern, a chisel, and a revolver.'

Well that's certainly a place to end the section.

Sounds like next time will be a lot of fun.

But is the Colonel the culprit? He doesn't seem to have any sort of implication towards him at this point. It's far more heavily weighted towards his brother being overcome by remorse.

But... he is a colonel.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Price can be a little mean as a treat.

I cant’t see him snapping at a team member so it would mostly likely be a rival squad OR someone in another department. If they’re a medic they’re getting fucked on their desk and the cots in the medbay, if they’re a hacker they’re getting fucked over the desk in their room. If they’re a CIA agent that works closely with Laswell and therefore the team? They’re getting fucked over their desk and ruining all that paperwork they had to do because of Price and his team. He makes you call him Captain even if you’re not on his squad.

So there's a few asks about mean Price that I'm struggling with cause I can't deal with him being mean 😫 if he was mean to me it would be so cutting and also he'd not hold back, hello scene from mw1 where he talks about hanging the colonel from a short string ☠️ but this made me think...what if you weren't in the army at all? What if Price wasn't being mean and was snapping at you because you genuinely did something stupid and deserved a telling off?

what if he's the older guy that comes to the diner where you work and suffers from your awful service 👀

You really try to be a good server, you do, you swear! It's just you're so tired all the time because you're always working late and trying to study for your college classes on the side too. Plus...you maybe like to use your phone a little too much. Plus...your friends like to come in and talk to you and distract you from your job. Then there's the fact you keep spilling stuff and have even managed to get hot coffee on him twice... while answering your friend's messages.

Maybe its not just the lack of sleep that makes you a bad server? 💁‍♀️

Well one night, its just you and him and after you pour hot coffee on him again he finally snaps and stands up over you, coming to his full height.

"For god's sake. You're beginning to make me wonder if you're not an incredibly slow acting assassin with the way you're carryin' on!"

"Um...Sorry?" you try, looking up at him nervously while your neck retreats into your shoulders.

"Sorry? Bloody right you should be sorry! Do i look like a fucking table cloth to you?"

"Uh...no?" you answer, nervously trying to smile your way out of trouble. "I can clear your bill again if you want?"

"Jesus, its a wonder they make any money with you running the place," he mutters. "Let me show you something."

You frown then, waiting to see what he's going to do, though you don't wait long. With lightening speed you'd never have guessed him capable of he snatches your phone out of your hand and gives you a stern look, holding it out of your reach.

"See how your phone isn't in your hand anymore and you can suddenly pay attention to everything that's going on? That's how it should be all the time...try putting it away and see if you can't do your job a little better, hm?"

You'd feel your blood run dry then and suddenly be all too aware of the man in front of you being the only other person in the building. You would nod meekly and take your phone back when he offered it, putting it away hastily and clearing up the mess you'd made.

You'd make sure it was kept out of sight until he left that night.

The next time he came in, he'd notice you keeping it in your pocket and would smile to himself. He'd go the whole visit with that smile and right at the end, when you'd get his bill and he'd gone the whole visit unscathed, he'd smile and offer you an easy wink.

Were his eyes always that blue?

"Good service. Keep it up, sweetheart."

Your heart woud skip a beat. Your whole mindset would rewire. Suddenly all you wanted to do in the whole world is have him tell you that you were good and for him to call you sweetheart again 😫🥰

[purplecatghostposts]

Pls pls pls more of the lil one off u just wrote. I'm just really curious to see Tim's (and Jay's) full reaction once Brian actually wakes up, all the questions- the feels that could be had.....oh man

Hell fucking yes, let’s continue this bad boy! (Previous Part Here!)

This ended up being a lot more of Tim and Jay talking but Brian is still very important I swear

Tags: Hospitals, Mentions of Blood and Violence, Arguments, Hurt/Comfort, Smoking, Self Deprecation, Very Minor Self Harm Via Pulling On Hair

Word Count: 2k Words.

— —

Tim made his peace with the fact that Brian was probably dead years ago.

No, that wasn’t right…

Tim accepted the fact that Brian, along with Seth and Sarah, were probably dead years ago. There was no peace to knowing this however. It haunted him— looming over him like the very same childhood monster come to life that now was tearing his life as he knew it apart. His first and best friend was probably dead and it might’ve be his fault and there was nothing he could do about it.

Now that Brian very much wasn’t dead (yet, he was losing a lot of blood still) and instead, lying in the backseat of his car unconscious, Tim was… Processing some things. A lot of things. Then when he realized how hard it was to take all of this in and drive at the same time, Tim focused on getting them to a hospital first and figuring out the rest later.

It’s a blur, really. Tim and Jay administer Brian under the claim that he was injured during a hunting accident and they accept it. More common here than most places— it’s a good lie. Tim watches them wheel Brian away with the promise that they’ll be updated as soon as they have new information. Tim and Jay find a place to sit down in the waiting room, in the corner and away from everyone else.

Then Tim can think. He can think about Jay shifting restlessly next to him and about how they fought the last time he saw him. He can think about Brian, being alive and how he’s the Hooded Guy and how that maybe means he hates him. He can think about how Brian isn’t dead but might die anyways and there’s nothing he can do but wait. He can think about trying to say something to Jay but being unable to voice any of it.

There’s a lot to consider. Tim thinks he would have a breakdown if he didn’t feel so numb.

He tries to look around and focus on something else but this time, he feels anxiety creep under his skin. Because the walls are sickeningly white and they’re closing in on him and fucking hell he hates hospitals so much.

Jay startles when he stands up, tensing immediately. Tim hates that Jay doesn’t trust him like he used to and maybe some of that is deserved. Not all of it though. Nonetheless, Tim meets his gaze steadily and says, “I need a smoke, you want to come?”

“Shouldn’t we wait?”

“We don't have to go far.” Tim points out. “And I can’t stand being in here another minute so I’m going with or without you.”

Jay hesitates, then stands with him and follows him out when Tim heads for the nearest exit. They settle by the side of the hospital, away from prying eyes. Tim fumbles for the last remaining cigarette in his pocket and feels a little tension bleed out when he takes a drag from it. It’s not much, but it’s what he has, so Tim clings to the thing that makes sense in front of him and breathes out slowly, pressing his back against the wall.

Jay’s eyes dart around but they keep coming back to him. His lip is tight, shoulders hunched, and after a couple minutes of nothing, Tim sighs. Now or never apparently.

“So,” Tim says, and Jay snaps to attention, “Where do you want to start?”

Jay doesn’t say anything for a while, but Tim can see the gears spinning in his head. He doesn’t need to clarify, Jay has been wound up like a spring the entire time. Full of questions but angry and processing, the same as Tim.

“You lied.” Jay spits out at last, and somehow, Tim knew that this would be where they would always end up. “You said no more secrets but you— you knew. You knew I was still looking for Jessica and you still didn’t say a thing! Is she even still alive?”

“She’s alive. And I didn’t tell you because I was trying to protect her.” Tim tells him, calmer than he feels. Inside it feels like a storm. Crackling full of emotions that make his throat burn but he shuts it down. Not now. If he lets this fight blow out of proportion, it’ll get physical, and that’s the last thing either of them need. He can be angry too but one of them needs to be in control and looking at him now, Tim knows it’s not gonna be Jay.

“Protect her?” Jay repeats, fury flashing in his eyes. “I’m not Alex! I’m not going to try and shoot her!”

“But Alex will and that’s why.” Tim pushes back. “All you did was ask some questions and it almost got her killed.”

“What, so it’s my fault?”

“That’s not what I said.” Tim doesn’t rise to the bait. “But this whole thing we’re doing? It gets people killed. Alex thinks she’s dead and it’s safer for her if it stays that way. Like it or not, if you set foot near her, Alex has a chance of tracking her down.”

“You could’ve told me all this! If you explained then— then I wouldn’t go near her! But you didn’t— you didn’t fucking trust me!”

Jay bares his teeth, hackles raised and waiting to strike. Ironically enough, some of the fight drains out of Tim upon seeing it. When did it become like this? When did all those months of having no one but each other wash away and bleed into bitterness?

They were close. So very close. And now Jay is ready for a fight that he expects to start and Tim still feels angry. For Jay attacking him over a tape— twice— and for the fact that Tim almost wants to punch him. Almost.

But he breathes in deeply, shoving the urge back where it won’t bother him, and he puts out the cigarette. It can’t help him like he needs now. It’s barely ever been able to help him really, but that’s another matter entirely.

Tim stands up straight and Jay shifts, a spring locked and loaded.

Tim says, “I’m sorry.” and watches as Jay visibly falters.

“I’m sorry,” Tim repeats again, just to drill it into his head, “But you’ve made some rash decisions in the past and I made the choice before I began to trust you. By the time I did, I had forgotten about it until I saw it again. I panicked— I knew what it would do to us if you found out so I tried to hide it and… You know the rest.”

Jay’s eyes search his own, squinting hard like he’s trying to find a lie or a trick. When he finds none, his shoulders go slack and Jay lets out a long breath. “Oh.” He says, no longer looking at him. His eyebrows scrunch together, deep in thought.

Tim doesn’t say anything, letting Jay figure out how he feels about that. After a long while, Jay says, “Thanks. For— apologizing.”

Tim nods. Another beat passes before Jay says, “I’m sorry I proved you right.”

Tim lets out a long huff. “I didn’t exactly put you in a good situation.”

“I pulled a knife on you.” Jay points out.

“You did.” Tim agrees. “That part was fucked up.”

“I don’t know why I did it.” Jay confesses, approaching at last and sitting up against the wall. Tim sits down beside him, watching as he rubs his eyes. “I mean— I know why. I was pissed and— I didn’t want to stab you but I wanted you to listen to me and answer all my questions and that just… Seemed like the only way to do it?

“I was just so fucking mad. It felt like you betrayed me and I couldn’t believe I fell for it again. Couldn’t believe that I always fucking fall for it.” Jay’s hands travel up to his hair, gripping onto it in a way that has to hurt. “Something is wrong with me.” He says, muffled, and his eyes squeeze shut.

Tim frowns. He knows that tone all too well. He knows exactly what’s running through Jay’s head.

Gently, he loosens Jay’s grip until it falls away from his hair and no longer hurting him. “You’re a person who needs help,” Tim murmurs to him, “Not a monster.”

Neither of them say anything for a long while. It’s fine for the most part. Peaceful. Nobody pays them any mind.

But eventually, Jay clears his throat and starts with, “So. Brian.”

Tim swallows thickly. “Brian.” He echoes.

“He’s alive.” Jay says. “And the Hooded Guy. And he saved my life and when I asked him why he said— he said that he did it because he didn’t know what else to do.”

Tim doesn’t know what to say. He rubs his eyes, trying to think. “You almost died.” Is all he can manage in the end. Then, bleakly adds, “Brian might still die.”

“He… Might.” Jay agrees weakly. “But he might not.”

Tim almost laughs. “I’ve never been that lucky.” He finds himself saying. “I just got him back and now I’m going to lose him.”

“You won’t.”

“And how do you know?”

“Because— because he’s the Hooded Guy. And he’s never gone down before so something tells me he’s not going down now.”

Jay says it with such an air of finality that Tim finds it hard to dispute it. This time, he does laugh, a breathy sort of laugh but it’s a little easier to breathe once he does. “Good point.” Tim smiles, and Jay smiles back.

The tension is gone, or at least, enough of it is that it feels like they can relax with each other. Tim rests his head on the wall behind him, shuts his eyes, and lets himself believe that everything will work itself out, one way or another.

—

Brian is stabilized. The nurses tell them that he’ll probably be out for a while since he lost a lot of blood and needs time to rest and heal.

Jay and Tim spend as much time as they can stand by his bed and the rest just around the back of the hospital, close enough to be warned but not trapped within. Though, that’s more an issue for Tim than it is for Jay, but Jay tells him that he’s not that big of a fan either.

Two days after administering Brian to the hospital, Jay and Tim are softly talking to themselves when the back door to the hospital opening causes them to look over. Immediately, both of them scramble to their feet.

Brian stands in front of them, a few feet away from the back door, and stares at them. His hospital robe has been discarded, blood-stained hoodie and jeans back on, with the only things missing being his gloves and his mask. His gaze is intense but Jay hasn’t the slightest idea what he’s thinking, as his face betrays none of it.

Then, after a long and silent standoff, Brian turns and begins to walk away from the hospital. Fortunately, with how weak he is, it’s easy enough to catch up, but Jay struggles with what to say.

“Brian?” He asks, and Brian’s face twitches in a way that feels uncomfortable. “Brian, you can’t just— you were hospitalized for a reason! You have to go back!”

Brian finally stops, spinning around to face Jay. Jay almost steps back from the weight of his gaze but stands his ground the best that he can.

“A hospital,” Brian says, voice rough, “Is the first place Alex will look. You’re lucky he didn’t find any of us here.”

“He can’t— he won’t shoot any of us in public!” Jay protests.

“No.” Brian agrees. “But he can wait until we leave, tail us wherever we go, and kill us there.”

Jay’s mouth snaps shut. Brian turns away again but Tim catches his wrist before he can move and causes his whole body to still. Brian looks back and Tim doesn’t so much as blink twice. He’s focused, unrelenting, and doesn’t leave any room for an argument.

“We,” Tim says, “are going to book a hotel room, sit down, and talk.” His gaze hardens. “You owe us answers.”

Brian says nothing, not even to defend himself. Slowly, he nods, but Tim doesn’t let go as he leads the rest of them towards his car.

“Won’t the hospital staff look for us?” Jay asks the other two as they walk, feeling eyes on him but unable to pinpoint from where.

“They won’t remember us.” Brian tells him without looking back, a certainty tone in his voice that tells Jay that he has experience in this matter. Jay can’t find it in him to dispute it.

— —

Anddd I’m gonna stop it there because it’ll take me a lot longer to write them actually having a Serious Talk with Brian bc I gotta think about what he’d tell them and what they’d ask a lot more BUT I hope this was still good!! Damn this might as well be it’s own mini series at this point.

Requests are still open so feel free to send another for a continuation or otherwise! Thank you for the ask, glad you enjoyed the first part :)