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dwtdog · 5 months ago

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fem dnf week dayyyyy 6 :D

“Hey, wake up.”

Someone is shaking George’s shoulder. She should kill them. She tries- reaching for the bow that lies beside her, dismayed when her fingers only grasp empty air. Plan B, then.

She opens her eyes, and all the fight drains from her when she sees a mask hovering above her, bone white, carved with the visage of a smile. “Dream,” she groans, rolling over and away from the other girl. “Fuck off.”

“But you said we could start early today,” Dream whines.

“And whose quest is this?” she shoots back, pulling her knees to her chest and screwing her eyes shut, begging sleep to come back for her.

“Yours,” Dream answers dutifully, tugging at George’s blanket. “But you said-”

“Don’t care. Sleeping now.”

“Fine,” Dream huffs, and there’s a crunch of dirt beneath her boots when she stands. “I’ll go hunting then.” And she stomps off, footsteps heavy as always.

George relaxes, doing her best to ignore how little her meager traveling sleep pad does to protect her from the hard ground, how the sun is already glowering through the dense trees and into her eyes. She’s mostly unsuccessful- her body seems to have decided, without her permission, that it’s time to be awake- and her limbs seem to itch with the need to move.

And she is on a quest, after all.

So she sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and stretching her legs out in front of her, socked feet emerging from the end of her blanket. Their camp is a bit of a mess- last night's fire reduced to a blackened pile of ash, Dream’s bedding left messy and uneven a few feet from George’s.

George should hate her. Dream wakes her up early, leaves camp to chase small mammals and comes back with nothing because she doesn’t want to hurt them, and is, overall, a pain in George’s ass. But there’s a strange kindling of fondness that curls in her stomach when she thinks of the other girl and her charming voice, her strange enthusiasm for anything and everything.

So they travel together. George’s grand solo quest, featuring Dream, the girl she’d met in a village one over from hers and who she hadn’t been able to shake since.

In the spirit of getting a move on, George begins the process of cleaning their camp up. It’s easy enough to pack hers and Dream’s things up, distributed evenly- okay, evenly-ish- between the two of their large packs. She kicks dirt over the fire, and picks up a few errant pieces of trash, all before Dream returns from wherever she’d wandered off to- in fact, George manages to count their rations out twice over and split out the mornings before Dream returns.

When she does, George fights back the bubbly feeling that spawns in her chest. It’s stupid. She really, really doesn’t have time for it. So she just nods to Dream, handing her rations over and munching on her own. The tough meat never gets any better.

“I saw something,” Dream says after a beat, her mouth half full of bread, her mask raised half way so she can eat. George glares at her, and she dutifully shuts her mouth. She makes a big show of chewing and swallowing, sticking her tongue out at George before continuing. “There’s a mountain to the east.”

George groans. “Seriously? Are we lost, then?” They aren’t supposed to come to a mountain for another few days yet, and George isn’t exactly eager, or ready, to climb one.

“I don’t think so,” Dream says, shaking her head and staring off in what George assumes is the direction of the mountain. “I think it’s new.”

“New?” George asks, eyebrows drawing together.

“I can’t explain but just- I’ll show you. When we’re done eating,” Dream shoves the rest of her bread in her mouth and George makes a point to not watch. It doesn’t matter that she likes the way the muscles in Dream’s neck move when she chews, or that she finds the way her emotions play out so clearly across the lower half of her face terribly endearing. She’s on a quest, damn it. To kill a dragon.

She mulls over what Dream had said- a new mountain? It doesn’t make any sense- but George trusts her. There’s been more than one instance through the course of their journey where Dream’s intuition has saved their skin, and George isn’t about to stop trusting it now.

But if she’s right- is it a good sign? A mountain popping up out of nowhere certainly seems like dragon magic, something deep and ancient and tied intrinsically to the land. But George has never heard of something like this, even with all the research she’s done on dragons. Documented dragon magic is usually comprised of cities water becoming poisonous, or animals behaving strangely. A whole mountain- that would be a damn powerful dragon.

“Ready?” George asks when she’s done with her own food, smiling slightly when Dream nods enthusiastically, jumping up from the stump she’d been using as a chair. “Then let’s go.”

The walk through the woods is nice, in a way. The early days of summer ensure that the air in the woods is just warm enough that both of the girls can shed their coats, storing them in their packs, but not so hot that they sweat, even as they walk and walk.

“You got this far?” George asks after a few hours, when the sun has fully risen in the sky. Dream stumbles next to her, even though their path is clear of any roots or rocks.

“Uh- Not quite,” she says, clearing her throat. “I- I climbed a tree. To see.”

“Oh,” George shrugs, filing the information away in her Dream memories- which there are a normal amount of. Obviously. “Do you think we’re close, then?”

“I’m not sure,” Dream admits, running her hand along the bark of a tree as she passes it. A bird sings overhead, its song trilling and bright. Dream whistles back, a surprisingly good recreation.

George just watches, eyes tracing Dream’s broad shoulders as she goes back and forth with the bird. She looks beautiful, George admits to herself, with the dappled patches of light bouncing off her golden hair, echoes of a smile in the way she practically skips along the path, although the damn mask blocks any actual sighting of it.

She’s not sure how long they spend like that, but she does know the moment they reach the clearing, because Dream gasps, loud and dramatic. “George, look.”

And George gasps too, when she sees it.

The gap in the trees that the path follows opens into a large clearing, the beginning of an entirely new biome, devoid of the tall trees they’ve traveled under for the past week. This one is far more rugged, the trees scraggly and clinging to rock faces, looking to be one bad day away from wilting away. And the landscape itself- a rocky mess, of canyons and hills, all accentuated by the enormous mountain jutting from the earth.

And George knows what Dream had meant when she said the mountain was new. It looks unnatural, as if it had been pulled from the ground rather than built over time by the movement of the earth. It makes George uneasy, and she runs a hand down the wood of her bow to ground herself.

“Shit,” she says, holding a hand up to shield her eyes and look further across the landscape, for a way around the mountain.

“Shit,” Dream echoes, shifting on her feet next to George. Out of the corner of her eye, George can see Dream’s hand resting on her axe, fingers tense around the handle. “It’s even worse from up close.”

“You feel it too?” George asks, unsurprised. She’s always been shit at recognizing magic, but if this place is making her feel uneasy- Dream’s sixth sense, or whatever the hell it is, must be going nuts.

Dream steps closer to George, and their shoulders brush as Dream steps in front of her, as if to protect her from whatever it is that’s got both of them on edge. It should piss George off- she doesn’t need anyone's protection, thank you very much- but her traitorous body reignites that curl of affection, and George is terrified that she might be blushing.

“I do,” Dream answers, a beat too late. “It’s- bad. We should turn around.”

“What?” George yelps, stepping away from Dream in an instant, all vestiges of affection vanishing in an instant. “Fuck no- It took us a week to get through that forest, no way in hell-”

“George,” Dream says, turning so they’re face to face. Dream is quite a bit taller than George, and she uses it to her advantage now. “This place isn’t safe. There’s- There’s bad magic at play here.”

“I don’t care, Dream,” George grits out, attempting to step around her. Dream mimics her movement, staying firmly in front. “Do I need to remind you again that this is my quest?” Dream flinches, shoulders shaking with it, and George presses. “So let me through. Turn back, if you’re so scared.”

“I’m not scared for me, idiot,” Dream says back.

And George shuts her out. It had been one thing, to drop the walls she’d built bit by bit, for a strange girl in a small village, who she spent every hour of every day with, learning to trust, learning to love- but she was just like everyone else.

“Fuck you,” George shoves past Dream, uncaring of her footing as she breaks into a run, away, away, away. Dream is shouting after her, following, but George refuses to look back. She can’t- she thinks she might break, if she does.

There’s a moment, before the world goes dark, where Dream’s shouting turns panicked, where the gait of her footsteps changes from a run to a sprint. And there’s a moment, barely there, where George feels something grow behind her, power hitting her like a roaring river. And then her vision goes black.

She wakes in a dark room, windowless. For a moment, she thinks that she and Dream must have stopped in a village for a night, begged for a room. But then reality comes crashing down- she remembers their fight, and running, and- nothing.

When she tries to move, she’s surprised to find herself unrestricted, and she quickly stands from the chair, ignoring the ache of sore muscles. There’s a door across from her, wooden and strong looking, and the handle is locked when she tries it. It fits the frame near perfectly, and lets in no light.

That realization is what makes her look up, toward the ceiling, for the source of the light in the room- and she finds something. A floating ball, near the top of the pointed ceiling, bobbing slightly in place. It’s unsettling to look at, the wrongness of it churning George’s stomach.

She starts to examine the room in earnest, running her hands over every inch of the wall she can reach, kicking at the corners where the walls meet each other and the floor. She finds nothing. No cracks, no seams, not even a damn crumb.

She’s trapped. With a deep breath to steady her shaking hands, she sits on the floor in the middle of the room, facing the door. And she waits.

There’s no concept of time in a windowless room. The floating light is unchanging, set in its bobbing. The room is soundless, free of the creak of an old building or the bustle of a strong wind. It’s only her, and her thoughts, crowding the room until she can hardly breathe with how thick the air feels.

And only then, when she’s on the edge of succumbing to panic, her stomach aching with hunger, does the door creep open.

It’s as silent as everything else, and she thinks, for a moment, that she must be hallucinating.

But the creature that steps through the door is like nothing George’s mind could conjure- a beast of a man, his shoulders scraping the sides of the doorframe as he steps through it, his face just close enough to human that it’s unsettling- the eyes, George realizes, peering out of a reptilian face, are human.

A hybrid, then. George has met a few, when they’d come through town. Her parents had always warned her to be careful around them, that their animal instincts made them dangerous. And she’d always done her best to ignore them- going out of her way to greet every one she’d met with genuine kindness, and a healthy dose of curiosity.

But none of them had been like this- hulking and winged, George realizes with a start as she scrambles backward until her back is pressed to the wall, breaths coming short and shallow in fear.

His wings unfurl further as he steps into the room, dwarfing him in size, cramped in the small room. They’re dark, tinted green under the mysterious light, and scaly. Nothing like the avians she’d met, their wings vast but feathered, dainty.

“You’re a brave thing, coming through these lands,” he rumbles, voice low and raspy. It echoes under the vaulted ceiling, and George’s nails dig into her palms. “Most would have turned back.”

“Who are you,” George demands, summoning all her bravado. “Why am I here?” He laughs, and the sound grates on George’s ears. She thinks, foolishly, of Dream’s wheezing laugh, her soft giggles. And she stands.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” he says, shifting his hand to rest it on the handle of an absurdly large sword attached to his hip. “Why don’t you sit down, be a nice little human.”

George, shaking with fear, squares her shoulders. “No.”

“Well, alright then,” he answers with a shrug. “I suppose you won’t be getting any answers then.”

“I-” she starts, ready to throw every insult under the sun at the beast. But he cuts her off.

“Oh, shush. I thought you’d recognize me, at least. I am the subject of your quest, after all,” he says it with a smile that crawls across his face like a thing with too many legs, jerky and unsettling.

“A dragon,” George breathes, fear stealing further into her heart. “So the mountain was dragon magic.”

“Indeed,” the dragon lifts a hand, sharp, dark nails terribly visible. “But I’m only half a dragon. It’s why I can only get this far,” he gestures to his body, twitches his wings. “A full dragon could look just like you- they’ve perfected the art of mimicking humans.”

A chill runs down George’s spine, terribly sobering. The rumors were true, then.

“What do you want from me?” she demands, leaving no room for the man to argue. It’s an art she’s perfected, too used to being shut down in meetings, in hunting groups. “Why am I here? And why are you telling me this?”

“I was curious,” he says with a shrug. “A small thing like you, setting out to kill a dragon? Surely, she must be crazy is what I thought. And now I’ve met you, I don’t think I was wrong.”

“Curious,” George spits. “You can’t just kidnap people because you’re curious.”

“Oh, but it does get so lonely out here. Excuse my bad manners,” he waves a hand, and George jumps. “I wasn’t going to keep you for long. I do so terribly need to see if you are able to kill a dragon.”

“And why shouldn’t I kill you?”

He laughs, again, and George really wishes he would stop doing it. “With what weapon, human? Your bow and those clever little arrows are safely outside of this room.”

“I’ll find a way,” George’s eyes dart to the open door, hidden behind the half-dragon and his daunting wings. He watches her with amusement.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he says. “I could just keep you here, you know. As fun as it would be to watch you fail to slay a dragon.”

“You don’t know anything-” George starts, tensing the muscles in her legs as she prepares to make a move, to duck under those wings and out the door. But before she can even finish speaking, the walls crumble around them.

George throws her hands up, pushing her back against the last standing wall at her side. The room is filled with dust and light that burns George’s eyes, adjusted as she is to a low quantity of it.

Her captor is just as startled as she is, his wings fully splayed out and teeth bared with the great sword in his hands. But his gaze is errant, darting around the remains of the room, looking for what- or who- had caused the chaos, just as George is.

She finds it first, when her eyes lift to the sky, now dotted with stars and the creeping light of dawn. There’s a shadow circling over them, purple mist clinging to great beating wings, far dwarfing those of the man on the ground. He looks up as well when the beast above them roars, and the giant of a man whimpers, sword clattering as it drops to the ground.

A dragon.

And not the half-formed kind she’s just met- this one is all harsh lines and power, radiating off it like sea mist splashing against cliffs. It’s terrifying, in a way that sets George’s heart to a quickened beat, loud as the sound of beating wings.

The dragon is coming toward them, she realizes a second to late, throwing her arms up again as it lands with a thud that shakes the very foundation of the earth, eyes glowing a brilliant purple. And its gaze is on the half-dragon, teeth bared stark white against the black of its scales.

And the other dragon flees. His wings beat erratically as he takes off, sword left in the rubble. The black dragon watches him go, before turning its gaze to George.

George dives for the sword the same moment the dragon opens its mouth, wanting, if anything, to die with a weapon in her hand.

But what comes out of the dragon's mouth isn’t fiery breath, or purple poison, but a strangely familiar voice. “George!”

George, oversized sword clutched in both hands as she stares down the terrible nightmare of a beast using the voice of her companion, thinks she must be dreaming. She’ll wake back in camp, with Dream muttering in her sleep just a bit away from her. George will sigh, and brush the hair from her face with a soft hand, will watch with a fond smile as Dream chases the warmth of her hand even in sleep. Will think longingly of kissing lips she rarely sees, hidden as they are by a carved mask.

“I’m going to kill you,” George declares, using all the strength in her arms and back to lift the sword. She stares the dragon down, feet planted firmly beneath her.

And the dragon tilts its head like a lost puppy, tucking its wings to its body and shuffling its feet. “Ah- Please don’t.”

It’s that voice again. Dream’s. “Stop that,” George demands. “That voice isn’t yours.”

“But- Oh. Oh fuck,” the dragon swears, and that’s- a first, honestly. The first dragon had acted more dragon-like, until the whole cowering in fear thing. This one is just weird.

“Well, if you want to just sit there and let me kill you-” George says, stepping forward. Her arms burn, but adrenaline keeps them steady. “Then I’m not one to protest. I’ll have plenty of time to make up a better story on the way home.”

“You really shouldn’t,” it says, taking a few steps back. George fills the distance with a confident stride, eyes scanning dark scales for a weak point. “Like, you really, really shouldn’t.”

“And why is that, beast,” George asks, calm as day. The sun is rising behind the dragon, and George can admit that its a beautiful creature. “Make your last words good ones.”

“Okay. Okay, first of all,” the dragon says, and it sounds so much like Dream. From tone to delivery, every word is just- Dream. And it’s really throwing George off. “You would not be able to kill me,” George huffs at this, advancing a step further. “And second of all. You’re an idiot.”

And George freezes. Because she can understand everything else- a dragon who speaks like Dream, sure. But the way it had said that word- “Dream?” George whispers, the tip of her stolen sword dropping to the ground.

The dragon’s- Dream’s?- body relaxes, a familiar roiling laugh coming from it- her. “I thought you’d never- George, you wouldn’t really kill me. Right?”

And George really wishes she hadn’t asked that question. Because she can accept, in the moment, that her traveling companion was a dragon the whole time, sure. But thinking further- to what that means for her quest, for her life- isn’t something she’s prepared to do.

“I don’t- Know?” She offers, fully setting the sword down despite her words. Dream sits back on her haunches, exhaling a bit of purple breath.

“Well, that’s a start,” Dream says with a bit of a laugh. “Just warn me if you do decide, okay? It’s only fair.”

“Uh- Sure,” George sits heavily, head spinning. The words Dream and dragon seem to be chasing around her mind in a game of cat and mouse, scrambling all other thoughts. “Why didn’t you just- turn? When I was threatening to kill you?”

“Oh,” Dream ducks her head, and George thinks she would be blushing, if she weren’t a dragon. “I’d be naked.”

And that breaks George. The stress of the day- night- comes out in a choking laugh that makes it hurt to breathe, her chest shaking with it. She can feel Dream watching her, gaze hot on her skin, and George lets everything sink in as she falls apart.

“I’m sorry,” she says when her laughter trails off into the early morning air. “For not listening to you.”

“Oh- Well, I’m sorry for not telling you how I knew it was bad. And for keeping such a big secret from you.”

“We’re even then?” George offers.

“I mean- I feel like I’m getting the better end of the deal here-”

“Yeah, well, you did kind of save me,” she says with a shrug. “That gets you a few points, I guess.”

Dream’s scaly face twists, and George thinks she must be smiling. She shouldn’t be endeared by a fucking dragon, but here she it. It’s easier to admit that sort of thing when she’s as tired as she is.

“Can you just- tune back,” George asks, tentative. “You can have my cloak.”

“I- I guess. But you have to promise to close you’re eyes.”

George rolls her eyes, but obeys, taking her cloak off and placing it between them before turning away and screwing her eyes shut. While she waits, she thinks of her pack, and hopes they’ll be able to find it somewhere- surely the dumbass of a hybrid couldn’t have hidden it too far.

“Wait,” George says suddenly, voice rising. “Was I trapped in a fucking castle?” she opens her eyes, looking around for the first time since the room had been destroyed.

And it’s true. A shitty castle, made shittier by Dream destroying it with her awesome dragon powers, but a castle nonetheless. George groans.

“What?” Dream asks, voice much closer than before. George turns to see her standing, now human again, and several things hit George at once. One- Dream doesn’t have the mask on. She’s- She’s gorgeous, unfortunately for George’s heart, and she’s looking at George with a teasing light in her eyes that George has heard a million times in her voice, but never gotten to see.

And two, Dream is wearing George’s cloak.

It fits her tightly, and she has to hold it closed, but the sight makes George’s head spin. It’s way more skin than she’s ever seen from the other girl, tanned arms on full display and ankles sticking out where the cloak falls too short- and George physically can’t look away.

But Dream seems totally casual as she continues- “You didn’t want to be the damsel in distress? The princess in the tower?”

“I could still kill you,” George grunts, meeting Dream’s eyes with a grin. Unlike her dragon form, Dream’s human eyes are gold, shining like coins in the morning light. “Would be too easy, probably.”

“Sure you could,” Dream teases. “But you’ll never be able to forget who saved who.”

“Oh, shut up,” George groans, dragging her eyes away from Dream and looking again at the mess around them. The ruins of the castle look decrepit, as if it had been destroyed decades ago rather than in the same hour.

“Dragon magic,” Dream says, as if noticing George’s attention. “The castle was tied to his- it’ll fade away now that he’s fled.”

“Huh,” George hums, kicking a stone and watching as it rolls down the mountain, eroding to nothing before it reaches half way. “And I suppose that’s why we couldn’t se it before? Dragon magic?”

“No, that was just a normal cloaking spell,” Dream says it bitterly. “Strong one, though. Took me a while to find you, sorry about that.”

“I had it under control.”

“I believe you,” Dream says, stepping closer and nudging George with her shoulder. “You totally could have killed that guy. I just came in and ruined your moment.”

George shoves her back. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not! I swear, on my life, I wasn’t. I really think you could have killed him.”

“Fine. Say I believe you. What’s with the whole damsel in distress thing? That a fantasy for you?” She means it as a tease, but she knows there’s some truth to the words- having traveled with Dream long enough, it would be hard not to notice the little things. Like her eagerness to save George from even the smallest of worries.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re not getting something out of this too. I saw your face when you saw me with your cloak on,” Dream grins wolfishly, which is ironic for a dragon. George hates her. “Me, all cozy in your clothes.”

“I wouldn’t say cozy,” George deadpans. “Looks like your one strong wind away from losing it.”

“And I’m sure you’d hate that,” Dream says, stepping closer. She’s fully in George’s space now, and George has to tilt her chin back to look up at her.

Even with her heart racing in her chest, George keeps her voice flat. “I only just saw your face, idiot. I don’t need to see the rest of you.”

“Bet you’d like to, though.”

“Sounds like projection to me,” George’s eyes drop to Dream’s lips. She thinks of her as a dragon, her teeth so white and sharp, and something in her chest aches with want.

Dream’s face is closer, suddenly, her eyes big and gold, her lips pink and so near to George’s that a phantom feeling crawls across her skin, and she can feel the ghost of the kiss before the real thing steals her breath away.

Dream kisses like she fights- too defensive, too giving to the motion of her opponent. George it, hooking her arms around Dream’s neck and pulling her closer, moving her lips against Dream’s like an arrow set free, unrestrained and searching.

It’s George who pulls away first, gasping for air. Dream just stares, eyes impossibly wide, lips parted still.

“Never kissed a dragon before,” George grins. “Maybe it’s better than killing one. Can never be sure now, I guess.”

And Dream kisses her again.

#cq.writing #fem dnf week 2024 #this is almsot 5k how the hell did that happen

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lovebugism · 1 year ago

Note

watchching scary movies with steve with "I don't like scary movies" "ill keep you safe" dialogue?

ty for requesting!! this can be read as a part of the punchy x steve universe — steve attends punchy and eddie's horror movie night and tries very hard to be metal about it (established relationship, fluff, 1.3k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

You and Eddie were a package deal. Steve knew this before he started dating you. Hell, before he even knew he liked you. As far as he’s concerned, it’s been Punchy and Eddie since the beginning of time.

So it isn’t all that surprising when he started going out with you that he was essentially going out with Eddie as well. And strictly by association, he was basically Eddie’s best friend just the same. It was like having shared custody — which you’ve always joked that the two of them seemed to have of Dustin.

Except shared custody with you looks more like toned-down PDA and crashed movie nights. Sorta like this one.

Steve enters Eddie’s trailer like it’s his own and doesn’t bother to knock.

“You’re late, Harrington,” the wild-haired boy monotones from the couch, arms crossed and pouting. He’s not even mad that the douchebag barged in, but that he barged in forty minutes late. “Movie nights start at seven o’clock, alright? Sharp. You should learn that if you’re gonna keep crashing them.”

“Good to know,” Steve snorts as he kicks the door shut behind him. “I had to make a pitstop on the way over. Sorry for getting everyone beer.”

The brunette holds up a six-pack, and Eddie lights up like a Christmas tree in the middle of October. He rises from the cushions with a beaming grin. “And just like that, you are forgiven, Stevie,” he singsongs with a whimsical sort of accent.

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t scold him for the nickname. He complained about it once, and Eddie called him that and nothing else for days. He figures it’s just better to count his losses.

His face loses every hint of annoyance when his eyes find you — standing in the kitchen wearing one of his sweatshirts, Eddie’s baggy pajama pants, and yesterday’s makeup. You shake a pan of jiffy pop over the stove and beam at the sight of your boy.

“Hi, babe!” you greet, a little louder than you mean to. It’s hard to gauge how quiet you should be over the sounds of popping popcorn, bickering boys, and a television slowly losing signal.

“Hey,” Steve grins in response. His voice and his smile are much quieter than yours had been. It’s lopsided and rosy and totally unkissed. You figure you’ll have to steal a peck or two when Eddie's not looking.

“You’re late,” you tell him — not scolding, just observant and worried with it. “You had me nervous for a minute there… Forty of ‘em, actually.”

“Sorry. Work got busy outta nowhere, and I didn’t wanna leave Rob by herself.”

You flash a smile at the boy leaning against the counter beside you. “You’re so sweet, Stevie. Did you know that?”

The nickname sounds much sweeter spilling from your mouth than from Eddie’s. It has him smiling all shy at his sneakers while his stomach flutters like a kid with a crush. He busies his fidgeting fingers with the glass bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels you and Eddie have already made a sizeable dent in.

“Thanks, but she probably would’ve killed me if I tried to leave, so… I think I might’ve just been sweet by force.”

He bites into the snack between his fingers with an audible crunch.

You’re grinning at him just the same, even after his confession — so full of love your cheeks threaten to burst with it. “That’s fair, I guess,” you concede with a small shrug and a crooked smile.

“What movies do you nerds have me watching tonight, then, huh?” he asks with his mouth full.

“Eds! What movies are we watching tonight?” you shout into the living room.

Steve plugs his ringing ears with his pointer finger in time for Eddie to yell back, “The Shining for the appetizer and The Exorcist for the main course!”

Steve’s brows pinch as his chiseled features twist in confusion. His honey eyes dance between you and where Eddie bangs on the side of the staticky television in the living room. “Wait— Aren’t those, like, crazy terrifying?”

“Yep,” you answer with an enthusiastic nod and a sparkling gaze. Your grin somehow widens at the promise of something menacing. “It’s gonna be metal— can you hand me a bowl?”

Steve huffs with a pouted face but complies anyway. He grabs a plastic container from the drying rack beside the sink and hands it to you. You pour the freshly popped popcorn into it, and he whines like a child.

“We’re watching scary movies?”

“Well, yeah, Harrington,” Eddie scoffs over the sound of an old black-and-white show when he finally gets the TV to work again. He walks to the kitchen with an amused gaze and leans his elbows over the countertop. “It’s Halloween. What’d you expect?”

“It’s the middle of October,” Steve deadpans.

“Yeah. Halloween. What’d you think we were gonna watch— Pretty in Pink?”

“I love that movie…” the brunette mumbles beneath Eddie’s cackling.

You flash him a sweet smile and wide, attentive eyes. “Do you wanna watch something else?”

Feeling like he’s been caught, Steve tries his best to play it cool. He’s past the point of feeling the need to impress you, but he still wants to enjoy all the things you do. Even if they are scary and bloody and downright horrifying at times.

“No. I mean, I don’t really care, honestly,” the boy stammers with a nonchalant shrug. “I just… I don’t know— I’ve never really been into horror movies, you know?”

Eddie chuckles knowingly. “Why? Are you scared?”

“No,” Steve scoffs with narrowed eyes, then waves his hand in a wild gesture. “They’re just gory… And gross.”

“Yeah. That’s the fun part.”

Steve’s face screws up at the boy’s sadistic grin.

The wild-haired boy giggles quietly to himself and turns on his heel to head back into the living room. The old couch squeaks under his weight when he plops down onto it.

“Do you really not wanna watch them?” you wonder, more quietly now that your best friend is gone. Your gaze is glittering, stern in its softness. Your chin tilts to your chest as you look at the boy from beneath your lashes. “‘Cause I get it if they’re too graphic, you know? We can always watch something else—”

“No. I lied. I am scared.” Steve blurts in one breath.

A laugh sputters from your mouth before you can stop it.

Steve gapes, feigning offense, though his own rosy smirk begins to tug at his mouth.

“Don’t laugh! You’re supposed to be comforting me!”

“I know,” you hum sweetly, tilting your head to the side and shaking your head. “You’re just cute.”

“Yeah. I’m adorable,” he monotones with a flat, unamused face.

Your hand rises to his chin, ringed fingers cupping his stubbly jaw. His cheeks squish together, and his lips jut softly out — adorable, indeed.

“I’ll keep you safe, ‘kay?” you promise quietly.

Steve nods, all but melting into your touch.

You smile at him for a fleeting moment, then press a kiss to his gently pouted mouth a second later. The quiet smacking sound fills the small kitchen. You part from him too quickly for his liking, gathering bowls of popcorn and miscellaneous snacks and trying to balance them in your arms on your way to the living room.

Steve tries to ignore the butterflies fluttering against his ribcage when you part from him. He couldn’t love you more if he tried.

“Well, what about Eddie?” he calls to you and, very pointedly, to the Munson boy. “I don’t trust him not to do some freaky shit to try and scare the piss out of me.”

You turn back around with wide eyes, attempting to be mindful of everything you hold in your hands. Picking popcorn kernels out of the carpet would be a total bitch.

“Well— I mean— that’s basically his love language, so…”

So at least that would mean he sort of likes you, you want to say

Eddie beats you to the punch. He finishes your sentence for you, as he so often does, with a cynical shout from the living room. “—So you have exactly nothing to worry about, Harrington!”

Steve isn’t so sure.

He’s growing on Munson. Even if neither of them want to admit it.

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sassycheesecake · 1 year ago

Text

A/N: Some people wanted a part 2 of this Atsumu X pregnant!Reader Story where Atsumu doesn’t know he’s gonna be a dad, so here ya go :D. P.S. I recently watched Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 and it destroyed me.

Here’s part one ❤️

The blonde Setter has the jitters while he is sitting on the plane, excited to see you again after being away from you for so long. He watches the outside world from the plane window, your beautiful smile embracing his mind and he can’t help but daydream about being reunited with you again.

Bokuto is sitting next to him, watching 'Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3' with tears in his golden eyes while snacking on NicNac‘s for the last thirty minutes.

With each crunch and sniffle of Bokuto, Sakusa who sits in front of the pair, can feel his patience snapping with each loud crunch.

Turning around, because the ravenette had enough, he frowns at the silver-haired Outside Hitter, quite disturbed by his appearance.

Inunaki, who is sitting next to Sakusa (and the only one that Sakusa tolerates sitting next to), also gets up to lean over his seat, staring with a frown at Bokuto.

"Bo, you good man?" The Libero waves his hand in front of the usual cheerful player.

Stopping the movie, Bokuto almost begins to cry hysterically while staring at his light-haired and the black-haired teammates, trying to explain while also hiccuping with tears.

"R-Rocket h-has s-s-such a sad p-past a-and i-it’s b-b-breaking m-my heart."

Atsumu doesn’t even acknowledge his teammates, still thinking about you with a goofy-lovesick smile on his face, making Sakusa almost gag by the sight of it.

"What’s wrong with him? He looks high." Inunaki asks with his head tilted to the side while looking Atsumu.

"When is there not something wrong with him." Sakusa mumbles before sitting down again properly, Inunaki following his moves.

"I heard that Omi." Atsumu says while still staring out the window.

Bokuto finally calms down, when Hinata, and who sits behind him with Joffe, hands him a few tissues that he had packed in his backpack.

Joffe leans forwards slightly, due to his massive height he doesn’t need to stand up to see his teammates.

"Missing your girlfriend? How’s she doing by the way?" Joffe asks.

Atsumu sighs before he turns a bit to look at the titan behind him.

"Yeah, missin' 'er terribly. An' she is doin' okay, I guess?Last time I called 'er, she was vomitin' lots. Must have been somethin' she ate, accordin' to 'er." Atsumu frowns deep in thought.

All of sudden, Hinata‘s orange hair pops up next to him.

"I hope she is okay. Maybe the flu?"

"Vomiting? You better not bring this illness to practice, we have a game in two weeks." Sakusa says in a threatening voice.

"Oh please, as if missin' yer presence on da court has any effect on our performance, Omi. We have plenty of players ta cover for ya."

Sakusa slowly turns his head, Hinata shrinks in fear behind the seat.

Bokuto does not care, still watching Guardians of the Galaxy in high anticipation, eyes entirely focused on the screen while munching on his snack loudly.

"Are you calling me useless on the court Miya?" The ravenette growls.

"Well if da boot fits-"

"Say that again to my face. I dare you." Sakusa begins to get up from his seat, about to strangle the blonde Setter, when the Captain, Shūgo Meian interrupts before it can escalate.

"Guys, we still have an hour left on the flight, behave. Please." Meian, the team captain calls out tiredly a few rows behind them.

"You heard the chief. No more fighting." Joffe laughs.

Sakusa huffs, putting his AirPods in, trying to calm down when he sits back down in his seat.

Atsumu looks back out the window, being with some people for a long time every single day for hours has really brought him to his limit.

Thank goodness the airport is not far from your shared apartment and the flight is less than an hour now.

Soon, he will be with you again.

Back at home, you just came back with some grocery bags, along with some prenatal vitamins from the local pharmacy.

Honestly you’ve been constantly so tired and grouchy, you’re thanking the heavens that Atsumu is not here with you right now.

He’d be constantly worried for you.

Putting away the groceries, you cut yourself some apple slices with honey as a dip and some rice waffles with strawberry Joghurt as dipping sauce.

Stocking the vitamins in the med cabinet, you begin to munch on your food when your phone rings.

Seeing Atsumu’s silly face on the screen, you put your food down and answer it.

"Hello, my handsome Setter." You greet him happily.

"Heyyy, my sexy girl. How’s it goin'?" Atsumu cheers back.

"Going good, missing you a lot. Just got back from the store to make some Japanese curry later on."

"Sounds delish. Hey, uh can ya open the door? I got some flowers in one hand an' my luggage in the other, kinda hard to open the door like that." Atsumu grins on the phone when he hears you gasp and run towards the door.

Highly confused at his saying, he hangs up all of sudden and you put your snacks down to run to the front door.

When you open the door, a 6'1 tall, athletic guy with messy blonde hair grins excitedly at you, a grin that you missed terribly.

Throwing yourself in his arms, Atsumu drops his luggage to the side, wrapping his strong arms around you while still having the flowers in one hand.

You breathe in his familiar scent, the smell of his expensive Ayurveda body scrub fills your nose and you almost tear up with how much you missed him.

Walking you backwards very carefully, Atsumu pushes his suitcase inside, while still holding you and closes the door, so the privacy between the two of you remains.

Remembering he got you flowers, he parts from you a little bit to hand them to you with a dazzling smile.

"Awww Tsumu, you shouldn’t have. They’re beautiful." You take in the beautiful smell of your favorite flowers but the usual lovely scent makes you nauseous.

The Setter sees your happiness turn into a wince and he immediately is worried again.

"Ya okay? Still feelin' bad from last night?"

"Yeah, uh the paella really did a number on me last night. I promise I’ll be fine." You chuckle, trying to convince him that it’s just the food making you feel bad and not the pregnancy.

"Mhm, okay, if ya say so." The Setter says unsure but doesn’t question you any further.

"I promise, I will be fine." You assure him once more with a long promising kiss and the Olympian practically sighs in bliss to feel your soft lips against his own after being apart from you.

The rest of the evening, you spend the time in each others arms, making up for being away from each other for so long.

Atsumu told you more stories about Argentine and his teammates, his stories make you laugh and appreciate that he is back home.

It’s late at night, due to Atsumu’s body still being used to Argentine’s time, he needs to get adjusted to Japan’s time again.

But not only the time difference is keeping the young Olympian up, your weird food eating habits, your extreme tiredness and your all of sudden sensitive smell to your favorite flowers is making him worried.

So he does what he always does, when he seeks out for advice, even if it physically pains him sometimes.

He texts his brother.

The next morning, you do feel a little bit better but for some reason, Atsumu is not his usual self.

He looks deep in thought, he looks very distracted since last night.

During breakfast, Atsumu pushes his food around a little bit, not really much eating any of it.

So you decide to break the silence.

"You’ve been awfully quiet, you okay?" You ask him in a quiet voice.

"Can I ask ya somethin'? An' promise ta be honest please." The blonde says, playing with his fingers a little bit.

For some reason, you have a feeling what this is about.

"Go ahead." You look at him and push your plate a little bit away.

"Are ya pregnant?" He looks at you with serious eyes, a small hint of fear behind those chocolate brown eyes of his.

You feel your breath hitch in your throat, surprised that he figured it out.

But Atsumu has always been direct, didn’t matter in what terms.

You gulp down nervously and you reply so quiet, that he barely hears it.

"Yes, I am." You confess.

Atsumu looks to the side shortly, shakily breathing before getting up and looking out the window, running his hand through his hair.

"I-I know we’re still young and y-you’re still focusing on your career… I am sorry this happened, I-I know this isn’t what you imagined when you got home, I will leave and I won’t bother you-" You start to panic, tears coming into your eyes, your hormones acting crazy.

Shocked by your sudden panic, he rushes to you in a heartbeat.

"Hey, hey… calm down okay? If anythin' we’re both at fault but we’ll get through this together kay? And honestly, this is the biggest and happiest surprise I have ever gotten home to. And I wouldn’t trade you or junior for anythin' in this world, my love. I love ya two more than anythin'."

"More than volleyball?" You ask teasingly with tears in your eyes.

"Maybe that’s pushin' it but yer high up there." Atsumu sticks his tongue at you cheekily.

You laugh with him, calming down that he looks happy about this pregnancy.

"How far along are ya?" He looks at you, intrigued as he caresses the lower part of your stomach.

"About 4-5 weeks I think? Still pretty early."

Atsumu takes your hand in his, still having his other hand on your stomach, indirectly asking you to stand up.

Following his lead, you get up and he rests his forehead against yours.

"I won’t leave ya side okay? I will stay by yer side and protect ya from any harm."

Sharing a deep, passionate kiss, you can’t believe that you and Atsumu made a life together and like Atsumu promised, he will share every moment of it with you.

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kickingitwithkirk · 1 day ago

Text

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sam

WC: 1650

Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, canon elements, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding, panic attacks, bondage, forced mating, dated derogatory terms

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnmixedbingo -Hiding an Injury @anyfandomgoesbingo -Childhood Best Friends

A/N I: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N III: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

Series Masterlist

PART X

Bobby fiddled around with the unfinished box when, bingo, it popped open, revealing a bunch of rolled papers inside. He crossed to the garage and fired up a printer, making copies of the documents then returned everything to its original position because John would notice if anything were misplaced. Heading back to his room, Bobby noticed light still coming from underneath the boy's door and lightly rapped it before opening it.

The elder brother was spooning his mate from behind, which made sense since Bobby knew from personal experience that lying on bruised ribs dulled the pain. However, it was difficult for the man to process why his brother was sleeping snugly against her front, his fingers twined with Dean's, resting on her hip.

****

Bobby is jerked out of his troubled sleep by a truck engine rumbling to life. Moving the window, he sees the taillights as John's GMC crunches over the gravel driveway toward the gate. Cursing obscenities in multiple languages, he rushes downstairs and pivots toward the front door when a voice calls out, "Denver Pyle aware you stole his underwear?"

Doubling back, he finds Dean sitting at the kitchen table with a smirk, drinking coffee. "Don't think you're too big to be taken to the woodshed, boy." Bobby chastised with as much dignity as he could muster in his red flannel long johns, walking to the stove to pour himself a cup from the old blue enamel pot. Ignoring the other man's continued smirk sat down across from him. "Good to see your eyes back to normal. Ready to tell me what that was about last night?"

That sobered Dean up.

He inquired how much Bobby knew about everything, and the Beta was honest about what he'd been told and felt that familiar pang of resentment toward John, watching Dean retreat into himself, knowing self-recrimination was nothing new for him.

"Seeing it's too early to get breakfast from Micky D's, I'm guessing John's found somewhere else to be." The young Alpha shrugged, saying it is what it is, and fiddled with his mug. "Anyway, I gotta keep my nose clean so Sammy doesn't end up in CYF custody. And seeing how you're my warden, that's the parole officer we're supposed to meet today." Dean slid a piece of paper over with his parole officer's info. "Is there anything else I should know before seeing them?" Dean shook his head negatively. Bobby braced himself, knowing the next thing coming out of his mouth would raise the Alpha's hackles.

"Couldn't help noticing number girl shivering in those hand-me-downs last night, and Sam needs some warmer clothes for school; going to get damn cold before too much longer." Deans features shifted, "Bobby, it's my responsibility to provide. I'll get what they need after I find a job."

"Looks like John forgot a few details. Part of the agreement is you'll work for me, too. But if that's how you want to do things, I've got no problem docking your paycheck in reimbursement." After rinsing his mug, the older hunter crossed his arms, leaning against the counter, and decided to bring up what he saw last night.

"Considering we have an Omega in the house, I want to get a few things straight,. You boys have always been close, and don’t care if you still share a room, but don't take me for stupid." A flash of oh crap crosses Dean's features. "And I want to be clear: she's your property. It'll be your decision how to handle situations when they arise. Where Sam is concerned, there'd better not be any fighting over her 'cause I'm not getting in the middle of you two. And give me a heads up before you go into a rut 'cause that's another thing I'm not going to deal with either."

After getting a yes sir, Bobby heads back upstairs to get dressed when he runs into Sam, who asks why he is dressed like Uncle Jessie makes the Beta grumble; this is gonna be a long six months.

Bobby once again wonders where god got their twisted sense of humor.

The building Dean's parole officer directed them to look like a country feed store from the outside. Inside, that was a different story.

Bobby had learned a few things about people's kinks over the years, but this place shocked the seasoned hunter when a bubbly voice that didn't match the decor called out, "Good afternoon, gentlemen. What can I help you with today?"

Bobby watches Dean lean against the glass counter, showcasing a variety of erotic toys, turns on the charm he's mastered at a young age, turning the female Beta into goo while explaining he needs the necessities for his recently acquired Omega.

The shop assistant leaned towards him, putting her ample bosom on display. "We carry all the approved items from the O divisions. But if you're interested in something more adventurous, we have a certified craftsman who does custom designs." Bobby slaps the list they'd compiled on the counter, "We just need this stuff."

The assistant does a quick read and, within minutes, has almost everything sitting on the counter. "Most of our customers prefer to custom order outfits for their O. Let me show you what we have in store; see if any strikes your fancy."

Exaggeratedly swaying her hips, she heads toward the clothes section, where Bobby picks up a shirt and says, "This stuff makes the lingerie I gave my wife look conservative." Dean nodded toward him and inquired. "Do you have anything not so revealing for an O about his height?" The assistant looked confused. "Are you kidding?" Dean shook his head, and her attitude changed. "If this is some prank, you can leave, or I'm calling the cops."

Bobby intervenes, and Dean can hear the testy assistant's insolent remark and Bobby's very Bobby response as he walks out of the store. Unlocking the Impala, Dean opens the rear door and helps the Omega out. As they enter the store, the manager is now arguing with Bobby. "O's are not that big; it's a biological impossibility!" Bobby replies, "Oh yeah," and peers around them, "Tell that to her!"

Dean sat a bowl of spaghetti covered in meat sauce and salad he'd made to appease Sam in the middle of the table, then went to pull the cheesy garlic bread from the broiler. "Damn, that smells good," Bobby said coming from the library with Sam in tow, and sat in their usual spots at the kitchen table.

Reaching for a piece of bread, Bobby asked, "Isn't your girl hungry?" Sam's eyes cut to his brother, waiting to see how he'd answer, and watched Bobby's narrow at Dean's casual response, knowing he was concealing something.

"She won't touch the stuff Dad bought, so Dean's been sneaking her food, but the only thing she'll take is broth." Sam yelped and kicked his brother back. "This true, boy?" Dean affirmed that he had, and Bobby wiped his mouth. "Show me the stuff John got."

Retrieving a bag resembling dry dog food Bobby opened it frowning, "This isn't fit to feed a hog, let alone a person! Why'd he get this crap?"

"It's on the list of approved nourishment."

Bobby sighed, "As long as you're in my house, we all will eat like other families."

Completing more paperwork made Dean gnaw on the end of the pen because the bureaucracy involved in owning an Omega annoyed the Alpha after spending most of his life trying to stay off the government radar. A cough drew his attention, and he saw the Omega shivering where she knelt on the tiled floor.

"Fuck this," Dean growled, tossing the clipboard aside, got up, and getting her up off the floor, removed his jacket and wrapped it around her before helping her sit in the chair next to his.

Returning the clipboard, Dean drew the receptionist's ire and let them know he doesn't give a shit about their rules before sitting down, glaring. He continued until they were called and slowly made their way to an examination room at the far end of the clinic, where the doctor Bobby knew was already waiting.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Stevenson. Could you please have her remove the coat and sit on the table? I've looked over the other clinic's paperwork. Are there any other issues you're concerned about?" Dean tells them about her not eating and the constant pain she seems to be in, even with the substantial pain reliever being given. "Let me do another examination, see if something got missed."

The doctor asks the O to indicate pain on a scale of one to ten, starting at her feet and working up her body. They are pleased that most reactions are under five until they touch her neck, and she throws herself off the table. "Believe we found the source," the doctor comments. They ask Dean to remove the collar, and he admits not knowing how it made them frown.

Dean helps the trembling O back up as the doctor pulls out a penlight and shines it over the collar, finding hidden stitching and their expression changes.

"What's wrong?"

"I haven't seen one of these since my residency. I'll find something to cut the leather while you hold her." Dean drew the O flush against him and gently guided her face into his neck, releasing calming pheromones to relax her.

Dr. Stevenson slid surgical scissors under the ties, quickly sniping, explaining the original high collars were redesigned for autoerotic asphyxiation. Their voice fades out as Dean feels like he's having needles pulling out from under the skin of his neck when she drops. "I was expecting that. Let's get the O back on the table."

The doctor continues talking as they slowly remove it, "And this is why they're outlawed," stepping back allows Dean to see deep purple bruises with black depressions stripping the unconscious O's neck.

Part XI

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70 @b3autyfuld1sast3r

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @kazsrm67

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

#winchester's folly #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #bobby singer #dean x reader x sam #dystopia #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #alpha dean winchester #alpha sam winchester #alpha dean x reader x sam #alpha john winchester #supernatural #spn au #supernatural reader insert #spnmixedbingo #anyfandomgoesbingo

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years ago

Text

dark and dangerous, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

you were the love of my life the darkness, the light this is a portrait of a tortured you and I is this the end? – up in the air by thirty seconds to mars

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; blind reader; hitman!au (basically John Wick universe; I was inspired by Donnie Yen's character Caine); violence + body disfiguration from violence; reader being forced + blackmailed back to service; tbh, many feels; smut (fem reader, choking / erotic asphyxiation, ink appreciation, a lot of sensual touching, slight D/s due to the situation, mild restraint, cowgirl); non-idol!BTS - retired hitwoman!reader x current hitman!JK; sub!JK; JK’s POV

He hadn’t seen her in a long time.

Time was a bitch.

She had defied it in some ways, as he knew she would. Pristine, glossy waves of hair cascading down her left shoulder. Longer than he had ever seen it. Gleaming skin, with that little mole under the right side of her lower lip. A little prefect imperfection under a perpetual faint smile. Blouse with a ruffled collar. Clean black longline trench. That was all he could see from this angle, above the bobbing heads of the packed train car. They were both forced to stand, along with many others. No free seats available. Her shoulders were forward, as if her hands were resting in front of her body. Not holding on to any railing, her back only vaguely leaning against the steel pole.

She wore dark-tinted glasses now.

Cat-eye-shaped, with silver accents. Actually, probably palladium. She had expensive taste.

The train approached a tunnel.

There was chattering, but mostly it was the low buzz of the general public. A mass gathered but not interacting. Passengers politely in their own worlds with the collective backdrop of a thundering train speeding through carved darkness.

The gunshot tore through the murmur.

Everyone began screaming.

He was standing in the corner of the train car, towards the door. Looking very much like a businessman ready to punctually take his leave, and suddenly he was one of the many flattened against the metal walls, crushed past the doors and into the train map. The mass became one. Earsplitting panic ricocheting. The awareness of being contained, confined, trapped, heightening and getting louder. He paid attention to none of it, instead narrowing his eyes and focusing on the way the crowd parted, right at the center.

Right where the woman in dark-tinted glasses was standing.

Her body was ever-so-slightly turned.

It must have been less than a second.

It was so fast that he barely had a chance to see the crouching man with arm extended, and then there was another blast of sound. The fear pitched, piercingly sharp. Instant, whirling black as she closed the distance. Long, thin, rod-like, rising. He finally found out what she kept in her hands in front of her body.

Thwack!

The sound cracked through the air as startlingly as the gunshots. Even faster, perhaps, because there was no hesitation. The untrained eye would be unable to keep up, but he was no untrained eye – one strike, onto the hand, where the delicate bone of the thumb was immediately snapped. The gun flew out of his hand and into the crowd, causing more alarmed screeching as people stampeded away from it, throwing themselves against the sealed doors. The disarmed gunman had no time to shriek. Two strikes to the arm and he was crumpling. Two more. Shoulder, head bowing as the body involuntarily cowered to protect itself and the last, side of the head behind the ear.

The gunman hit the floor with a crunch, groaning wetly.

The hysteria was racing towards critical level, but the train slowed and the doors burst open despite the mechanical reminder to stand back. No one noticed. No one cared. Flinging themselves out, scrambling over each other, clawing to be the first ones to escape. Crying, tripping, running, and then.

Silence.

“The doors are closing. Please stand back.”

The whirr reinstated after the doors closed and the train began moving again. A metal shell was oblivious to human terror.

The woman in dark glasses remained.

There was a gleam of silver towards the top of her cane. Something wicked hiding within.

Her hand shifted and snapped it shut.

She flipped the cane in her hand, the bulbous handle pointing downward.

The man on the ground grunted, shifting.

Crack!

Completely still now.

The gun was still on the floor, all the way to the other side of the car.

The woman stood in the middle. The cane in her hand flipped back to its correct alignment, the tip rapping the floor. It moved forward, to the body, poking it several times. Gingerly. Her lips twisted into a pout of discomfort, muttering something under her breath that sounded like, just one, the disrespect, and she crouched down, sweeping her coat aside.

Ping. Ping.

A familiar sound.

She stuck her hand out and calmly patted down the fallen man. There was a distinct tapping motion rather than a grazing along the body. Manicured nails, and then those nimble fingers flitted under the collar of the jacket her assailant was wearing. An exhale and she pulled, hard, plucking something from the body. A small metal disc, no more than a couple centimeters, with an engraving on it. It looked like a stylized ’S’ with flowers made of blade-like petals.

Her thumb ran across the surface.

“Fuck,” she spat.

Then she tucked the pin into the inside of her coat.

The woman in dark glasses stood back up and tapped the floor with the black cane again. This process had taken about a minute. The train was still moving, onto the next stop. The cane struck the linoleum, repeatedly, against the seats and the metal poles, the tinkering echoing in the cabin.

Stopped.

Shit.

The woman tilted her head slowly, then faced his direction.

“And here I thought you were stupid,” she said, her voice loud and clear, directed to the corner he was standing in. “But actually you were just being courteous to the disabled, hm?”

The black cane turned, silent, the stance of the hand holding it altering from exploratory to predatory.

He had two choices.

Talk or get his ass kicked by an expert of ass-kicking.

He settled on saying, “Not a warning shot.”

She froze.

Still wary and on high alert, but no longer an arrow pulled to the brink against the string of the bow. He saw the twitch of one of her eyebrows.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she hissed in icy annoyance. Her shoulders lowered and her head ticked back. The body language equivalent of rolling one’s eyes. The dark glasses remained though. “Why the fuck are you here? I’m retired.”

He didn’t move from his corner. The tip of that cane was blunt but he just watched her take out a man in five hits. That thing wasn’t made out of plastic – and he was pretty sure it was sheathing a blade. No thanks. “And still getting shot at.”

“I said I was retired, not uninteresting,” she retorted, stance relaxing. He let out the breath he had been holding. “Answer my question.” She rapped the floor sharply and his body immediately snapped to attention.

He should have listened to his superiors.

“Why are you here, Jeon Jungkook?”

Leave the information to be found. Do not engage with the target.

The last time Jungkook saw her, she still had sight.

He let out a soft sigh.

“The Elders are giving you a name.”

The dark tint of those sunglasses did nothing to hide the vicious distaste behind them.

“Tell the Elders to shove the name up their collective assholes,” she growled, but he was already walking forward and the cane was pulling back, poised at an angle at her side.

“I didn’t want to come,” Jungkook said, and it came out quieter and more helpless than he thought it would.

The anger in her expression wiped clean.

The Elders, his superiors, were not to be trifled with.

She tucked her tongue in her cheek as he reached into his suit jacket. It was made an unpatented combination of fibers, the latest in cutting-edge bulletproof fabric. Couldn’t really patent shit made for the general public to not know. He suspected her coat and slacks were made of the same material, which explained the pinging noise earlier.

Old habits die hard.

“I’m blind. Not stupid,” she muttered.

She held her hand out, but her face wasn’t quite in his direction.

He placed the black card with a series of raised dots.

She swiftly pulled it back, not allowing his hand to linger. Mashed it against the top of the cane. He noticed the orb-shaped handle was an intricately carved piece of silver metal. Vines? No, more like stylized lines of water. Or fire. There was a creature within those lines, inset, making it look like it was huddled within.

A bunny.

Her fingertip pressed into the black cardstock. Stopped in between, only halfway. Then pressed on even though they both knew the name on there. He couldn’t read braille but he could read her pissed-off expression pretty well.

She let out a huff.

“Really.”

It wasn’t a question.

“He betrayed us.”

“Like I couldn’t have told you that sooner,” she breathed out in a vengeful exhale. “I warned them. I warned them against taking that American snake’s money. They didn’t listen to me. Took my eyes instead. And now they gave me a name? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

He really did not want to see her angry but there was no other reaction she could have.

The train was calling, indicating the next stop was coming.

Jungkook opened his mouth, a single syllable of her name escaping his throat.

The cane shot up and jammed into his chin. Bruising pain. Shut him up and made him jerk back, but she pressed forward, lowering her head, still not quite looking at him, and that was the worst, her not being able to look at him even though she was doing the equivalent of that.

Just…

Differently.

“Young gun,” she sighed, and the hole in his chest tore open a little more upon hearing the nickname she had for him long ago. Back when they were not quite friends on the surface, because this life that they chose didn’t allow for that, but friends nonetheless in the moments that counted. “If they sent you, that means you should stay away from me.”

“They didn’t send me,” Jungkook admitted and he could smell her perfume.

Sweet.

Familiar.

In the past, it had clung to his skin sometimes.

Her head tilted.

The train was slowing, announcement crackling up above. They would have to get off. Can’t be near a body with brain damage and a gun. He spoke softly to the thin air between them.

"I picked up the task with the last messenger was… interrupted. I happened to be closest.”

Silence.

There was the faintest tick at the corner of her lips. She removed her cane from his chin.

“Happened to be closest,” she echoed.

Her voice like smoke curling in the darkness.

“Hm.”

The train stopped.

The doors slid open.

She backed up and turned away. The cane tapped from side to side. Side to side, a rhythm and routine of finding the opened doors. The mechanical announcement called above their heads. He watched her stride away confidently, a stricken feeling in his chest, remembering something she used to whisper to him in the dark, I love looking at you, curling smoke all around them as scarred fingertips slid up his naked forearm.

She stopped at the exit.

“Don’t follow me.”

Walked out.

Jungkook followed.

“How’s your father?”

“I told you not to follow me.”

They were standing at a crosswalk and he was behind her. Not that close but close enough. She stayed close to the pole where repeated beeps indicated it was not safe to cross yet. Cars zipped by. For some reason, Jungkook found them unnaturally loud and violent even though he had never thought that about cars before.

“He’s fine.”

He glanced at her face but there was no expression.

“Still has dementia, still gambles and milks every cent out of the old folks in the retirement complex. You would think he would ease up once he’s struggling to remember the people in his life but, nope, he’s completely content with only knowing how to kick your ass in poker.”

There was a resonance of bitterness in those words but, also, a feeling long gone.

She ticked her head. “They keep him alive to remind me he doesn’t remember I exist. Least he pays his own bills with his habits.”

It was safe to cross now.

He watched the cane sway and tap. She walked calmly and with ease. Maybe even a swagger. It relaxed him as he fell in step.

“You do what you know,” he commented, his eyes darting, taking in his surroundings.

“I really try not to, young gun.”

They walked briskly along the streets. She turned this way and that, stopping once at a fruit stand to buy some apples. The merchant accepted the bills handed to him. She asked if it was enough. Jungkook saw it was more than enough. The merchant replied it was the exact amount. She hummed and stepped away before Jungkook could say anything. He hurried after, and she immediately turned and walked right into a laundromat.

The repeated thump-thump-thump of whirring washing machines and dryers radiated all around them as people fought with their duvets and swore under their breath.

“You overpaid,” Jungkook hissed, stepping closer.

“Such is life,” was her reply. She chuckled, tap, tap tapping away, hitting the edges of the machines but not a single person seemed to notice or care, too busy hurling themselves into the large cavities to yank out their sopping garments. “I do it sometimes just to see if they’ll correct me. They don’t.”

He frowned and made a mental note of the man’s face.

Just in case.

She held delicately to the bag of apples and shouldered her way into the back double doors.

Kept walking, through the back of the laundromat, into the alleys, and now the faces here were different. Keen, sharp gazes that ignored her presence but immediately narrowed upon seeing Jungkook, looking him up and down. Men and women, in musty coats and worn-out gloves with holes in them, backpacks and carts. A complete turnaround from his sharp three-piece suit and neatly parted hair. She breezed past, the apples rustling in the plastic bag, skimming her cane along the concrete, not quite looking exactly forward. Her head was slightly tilted; one ear closer to him.

“I told you not to follow me,” she chuckled.

“I see that,” Jungkook let himself say, calmly and without emotion.

“I don’t,” she quipped back.

There was a lightness to her tone that indicated there was no danger as long as he kept his hands to himself. He continued to follow.

Someone on his right reached out and shoved him.

The cane whipped through the air, swatting Jungkook’s left arm and pinning it to his body. He grimaced, feeling the solid stripe of pain, noticing her movement had stopped his body from colliding with another in this narrow alley. The woman to his left glared at him, grinding her teeth. The shove hadn’t hurt.

It was just disrespectful as hell.

What had been previous tense silence erupted into malicious sniggers.

Droning all around.

Jungkook gritted his teeth and pushed his anger down.

Her head jerked like a hawk.

“You know the rules,” she warned to the air. “You upset me and I will take your offering from the shrine and then there will be nothing to protect you.”

The sniggering immediately died.

Now the silence wasn’t tense.

It was fear.

She removed her cane from Jungkook’s arm and swung it in an arc. Slowly.

Stopping.

Jungkook didn’t have to turn his head. He heard the sharp intake of breath. Hard not to in the terrified hush. He didn’t say anything. He let her handle it. If he reacted, there would be cracked skulls. He had a feeling that the woman in dark glasses would be a lot more pissed at him if that was the case. He did not want to make her angry. It seemed like a bad idea.

She whacked the tip of the cane against the brick wall.

Everyone flinched.

Even Jungkook felt a muscle in his shoulder twitch, reacting to the loud, piercing sound.

She turned back around and continued walking.

No one bothered them after that.

They finally turned and stopped at a makeshift shrine in the middle of the maze of alleys. It seemed to be a clearing point. An intersection of sorts, where a group of buildings were sequestered awkwardly due to poor planning. Someone had created a structure in the middle of this chaos with a shingled roof and a statue in the center surrounded by a sandy pit of burnt incense sticks. There was a wall behind it, with strips of paper tacked on, fronted by tables overflowing with fruit and cellophane-packaged boxes.

She placed the bag down and it tumbled against a stack of oranges, one red apple spilling out of the plastic and hitting some pears.

Jungkook stepped up and corrected it.

She faced the papers. They flapped about like ducks crowding a lake, not in the wind but in the hot air blasting out a vent from of one of the buildings. She made a noise that sounded like disapproval and irritation mixed together. Turned and walked purposefully away, running her cane along the cracks of the concrete.

Jungkook followed once more as she stepped out, following a walkway between two buildings.

Stopped.

There was a door to their right, inset within the walls. Or, not a door. He frowned. Instead of a handle, there was an odd dent in this part of the wall that seemed to cave inward. She paused, tapping the cane along the ground. There was a hollow sound, and Jungkook looked down to see some metal tiles littered against the door. She stepped forward, treading along the otherwise meaningless metal sealed into the concrete. She slid the cane up in her hand, gripping below the rounded handle.

The orb made of swirls around a bunny.

She raised it and with surprising accuracy, within two taps against the door, slid the orb into the dent.

There was a whirr and a click.

The door slid open, a strip of light appearing on the ground.

She stepped inside.

Jungkook followed.

“What if you lose your cane?” he wondered out loud.

The door slid closed after they entered.

“There’s another way to get in, obviously,” she tutted. “All I have to do is bleed on it.”

A hollow silence.

They were in darkness except for the thin line of light at the bottom of the door.

“I…”

“Don’t need to talk,” she interrupted. “I need to shower and then pack some things. Wait.”

She stepped out of her shoes and placed the cane against the wall beside them. Felt along shoulder height, pressing switches. Stripes of light gleamed from above and below the walls, along the edges and sides. He had to pause to take it in. Black ceilings with brocade-patterned obsidian wallpaper where the designs were glossy compared to the matte background. A squishy-looking coffee-colored leather couch, a huge sound system bolted to the wall above an electric fireplace, bobbly blankets stuffed in a basket. No television, no coffee table. A large, empty space behind this area with a large set of dark wood armories along the wall. To his right, a kitchen with dark granite countertops that had similar notable differences than what he was used to. When she walked, she followed the lines of light along the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he called after her.

She stopped.

“I should have…”

“Shut up, young gun.”

She didn’t sound angry or pissed off.

She just sounded tired and that was worse.

“You couldn’t have done anything. This is the life we have.”

“I should have tried to find you,” Jungkook pleaded to that back, to that longline black coat and graceful legs. Dancer’s legs, he used to think, so nimble and quick that he could never keep up. He had been a little envious of how lithe she was back then. Aroused at how she always struck with such poise, something he wasn’t good at. He preferred brute force. Learned outmaneuvering from watching her move, often. It was addicting, watching her move, and he had found himself wanting more.

He hadn’t expected this would be the result.

She reached up in one smooth motion and removed her sunglasses. Placed them on the kitchen island.

The palladium on the edges of the dark lenses glammed.

“You wouldn’t have found me.”

She turned.

Starburst eyelashes surrounding white, mottled irises framed by twisted scar tissue.

A faint, emotionless smile.

“Can’t find a shadow when they’re all around you, Jungkook.”

He breathed in.

The bed smelled just like her. Her perfume, mixed with fabric softener, and there was that indescribable scent that could only be described as his perception of her. The smell that didn’t change despite the perfume, the smell he breathed in now with his back flat on the mattress, the smell that only he knew because its effect on him was different from everyone else. It was an experience. It was memories. It was…

Jeon Jungkook breathed in, laying on her bed as she showered.

He hadn’t asked. Probably should have. His arms were spread out with the backs of his hands touching the duvet. His black jacket and vest were draped on the pale chestnut-colored velvet armchair next the bed. At least he had kept his dress shirt and necktie on. He had thought about removing them. Letting his bare skin touch the folded duvet, even slip under to be against the sheets, but even he had a limit to his insanity.

He had thought about it though.

Maybe would have done it if she meant a little less.

He had missed her smell. He inhaled again. The last time he memorized it, she still had sight. It had been so long. Time was a bitch. His hands turned. The duvet was made of a cool, creamy linen. He closed his eyes, fingertips grazing the soft fabric, something satisfying about the wrinkled texture, organic, imagining their body lines pressed against it.

He bunched the fabric in his fists.

Let go, sighing.

For not the first time, Jungkook wondered how it could have been different.

He hadn’t missed the details. All of the furniture in this home had rounded corners. Lines of light streamed throughout every room, clearly indicating all the corners and edges of the walls. There were little speakers positioned discreetly, waiting for her command. No mirrors anywhere. No windows. Hole in the wall that no one was supposed to know was here, although Jungkook was sure the Elders somehow knew. Or guessed. Sometimes one didn’t need to have full information to cause enough disruption. He gritted his teeth even though he understood why she hadn’t been in touch.

The rage within him, from witnessing how she now lived, was beyond violent.

Careful there, young gun.

This was Korea but Jungkook was eager to introduce the Elders to the language of Columbian neckties.

You’re so reckless. I like that about you.

He was of the belief that he could handle the details later. The reality was that he was just very lucky to meet certain people in this business of killing for hire. People who saw something in him, whatever it was. Youth. Energy. Power. He was coasting a little because of his looks.

That was part of playing the game, too.

He liked playing the game. It had been a necessity once, and now he liked it. Because of ego. Because he had a natural talent for it. Because there was a time where he believed there were no rules – but the rules were always there, a silken web underneath his feet. In this business, one didn’t get to decide to work for the Elders.

The Elders decided when you worked for them.

Crossing paths was inevitable.

He had almost hated it. And then he met her. Same business. Different approach when it came to dealing with the cards that had been dealt. A moment that meant everything. Pivotal. Fate. Guns crossed and he knew. He knew the moment he looked into her eyes.

Jungkook turned his head and inhaled again, drenching his lungs with her scent.

Opened his eyes.

She was gliding into the bedroom, a long, dark maroon silk robe flaring out against her legs. Her hand was following the wall, three fingertips grazing against the black wallpaper. Skin gleaming, hair pinned in large, soft curlers, head tilted to one side. The silk clung to her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, and then she turned, facing the dresser.

Her hands lifted, finding the glided edges of the dark wood, stroking the intricate profile of inlaid silver.

“If I didn’t know better, I would be creeped out right now,” she chuckled.

He sat up.

“Do you know better?”

He didn’t know how he wanted that to sound, but those words escaped with an edge of uncertainty.

On the dresser was a plate with a perfume and a collection of faceted crystals. Her hand was dancing upward, following the surface, finding the dark glass bottle. He didn’t understand the meaning of the various stones, but for some reason he didn’t think they were there for a spiritual reason.

Those thoughts were confirmed as her other hand drifted over them, following the edges.

“You’re simple, young gun.”

She doused herself with sprays of spicy gourmand.

Exhaled, satisfied.

He could smell it from here and it made him ravenous.

“And not that subtle,” she added, smooth and biting.

Silence.

Neither of them moved.

Jungkook found that despite the carnal instincts eating up in the cavity of his ribcage, he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to turn around. Knotted lines and white orbs. He grimaced and hoped it was silent. Still, he didn’t look away from her back, his skin burning all over with festering shame and guilt.

She shifted her weight, accenting the delicious curve of her hip.

Dark silk molded to those body lines.

Yeah, Jungkook was sure that he didn’t want to stop looking.

“Are you supposed to be accompanying me?” she asked.

He could lie. “I’ve been assigned to be your eyes.”

She snorted.

He would have followed anyway, orders or not. The orders were there to both torment and annoy him. Well, the level of pain depended on how he felt about the situation, he knew. And that depended on how he could navigate this moment, right now. Currently the status was, not well. Her back still facing him after all.

“Stupid motherfuckers.”

“Yeah.”

He smiled despite himself. It was funny and familiar, her swearing. He noticed the pin with the lotus and the stylized ‘S’ in her hand now. She ran her thumb over it. There was a tension in her shoulders. He didn’t recognize that symbol and that bothered him.

“I thought you were retired?”

She hummed, tapping the metal against the wood. “I am. I got bored. Gotta pick up hobbies, you know.”

“I could pick up your hobby,” he offered.

She chuckled again, placing the pin down and sliding it to between white crystals. “Sadly, I think that fun will have to wait. I’m being called to service and all that shit.”

Silence again.

It was hard to know how much time passed though. Time almost didn’t seem real in within these walls.

She broke it.

“Don’t you want to get out?”

He took a moment.

“The Elders would have called you back eventually.”

He let that statement hang in the air.

“Tracking was never your strong suit.”

Yeah, it wasn’t.

“Now it’s not mine either.”

Jungkook winced and hoped she couldn’t hear it. Her head ticked. Sigh.

“My fucked-up eyes bother you?”

“No.” Shit. He said that way too fast. “I don’t think you’re ugly.”

“That wasn’t what I asked, Jungkook.”

Her words cut through him, razor-sharp and accurate. He withered despite not being viewed.

“You know the Elders suspected you might intercept. They’re old, not dumb.” He did know. He still didn’t say anything. He struggled to say it out loud, but she had no trouble. “They are testing you. They will manipulate you no matter how you feel about it. The best way to avoid those puppet strings is to feel nothing at all. You are putting yourself in danger.”

It was unbearable, saying nothing.

“What about you?” he asked softly.

A pause.

He saw he index finger bounce silently on the edge of the dresser.

Her head turned a little more, the curlers holding her hair blocking the side of her face. She reached one and, one by one, removed them. Pulling out pins. Setting them on the dresser. Pulling out the soft curlers, setting the cylinders on the flat side so they didn’t roll away. Locks of hair cascading down, falling, falling, framing shoulders and back.

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing, separating the waves with her fingers.

Messy.

“I told you. I’m retired.”

His lips parted.

“Not uninteresting.”

The side of her mouth curved upward.

“You shouldn’t have intercepted the messenger.”

There was something about the way she said it. Teasing rather than chiding. And yet there was still that hesitation. He let his eyes roam over her partial side profile.

“I’ve been in danger from the day I met you,” Jungkook finally admitted and he didn’t mean his physical self.

From what he could see of her expression behind her hair was an amused one. “Shit. You’re gonna make me blush, young gun,” she snickered.

Her words had the opposite effect. He felt his neck heat and instantly reached back to rub it, trying not to let it show. Well, she couldn’t see anyway. After a split second of consideration, he let out the low noise of embarrassment. Her head lifted, hair shifting. He saw the side of her mouth soften to a faint smile.

“I wonder how you’ve changed,” she breathed out. “Can’t appreciate you like I used to.”

He still couldn’t quite see her eyes. They were covered by curls of hair shadowing her temples.

Jungkook let himself say her name the way he wanted to.

She didn’t move, still life wrapped in deep scarlet silk.

“I don’t believe you.”

He could see it now, the subtle change in her demeanor. Sharpened. He had said the words with a smile and she could tell. Tone or volume or both. If possible, more frightening now. More deadly. More of a weapon, which was why, he assumed, the mutilation was done rather than an execution.

“You’re blind. Not stupid,” he reminded her.

Her head and body turned.

The way her hair framed her face, only half done. The slim openings of the robe securely tied at the waist, exposing thin white scars and the raised marring of worse ones. Retired, sure, but not that long ago, and still honed in muscle and movement. She wasn’t that much older than him. She just called him young gun to get on his nerves a little. Had seniority over him in this business and all that. Pretty easy to have seniority when one was given to the Elders as a child.

Payment.

He wasn’t always a good gambler. We all start somewhere.

Jungkook stood up.

Those clouded orbs found the source of blocked light at the end of the bed. It was a different feeling, being the focal point knowing the other didn’t have sight. Unnerving was the wrong word. He was just very aware that he was the target of her senses. With sight, he realized, he had an inherent level of complacency. There were a lot of intricacies in a single glance. The concrete details mattered less than the contrast between what he expected versus what he didn’t expect.

Ah.

Her lips curved into a dangerous smirk.

He admired it.

She moved forward, silent.

“You do seem to have put on more muscle,” she hummed. “Heavy.”

“You always reminded me to remember to eat while on the job.” The direction of his voice. His breathing. “You’ve learned more skills. Scary.”

She grinned. “I’ve had some free time. Wait till you see me dual wield.”

She stopped in front of him.

Raised her head.

Jungkook found he saw a lot more when he looked into her scarred eyes than he ever expected.

“You have changed,” she murmured.

A faint smile.

“Y… Yeah,” he breathed back, the ache in his ribs rattling.

It was different.

She reached up and forward. Fingertips grazing his shirt, then finding the tie. Following it with two hands, carefully. Seeing. He tried to stay still. Focused on her face, the little smile when she found the tie clip, muttering under her breath, oh, you’ve become a little more of a man, huh, and her body language, relaxed. Comfortable. Details he would have ignored given different circumstances.

What else had he missed all this time?

He was still lacking in some areas, he realized.

She was unraveling his tie.

“I hope you have learned how to tie a tie by now.”

He hadn’t. “Nope.”

A laugh. “You hate them anyway.” She folded it in her hands and held it to the side. “Hold onto it for me. I might need it.”

His skin tingled, the sensation traveling up his back. Lifted his hand and let it linger, brushing past her callused knuckles, taking the necktie from her. A contrast from their past. This was a measured ferocity compared to a fast-paced chase. He ran his fingertips along her wrist, trailing off her forearm. She smiled and he felt it everywhere, in his blood and in his nerves, his world alight once more.

Skin-to-skin.

She raised her hands again and followed his shirt placket, starting from the top.

“I like this cologne.”

“You said it was your favorite.”

“You really can’t be subtle to save your life, can you, Jungkook?”

She teased him as easily as she teased the buttons from their restraints. He bit his lower lip, sucking in a breath.

“I’m really trying to be patient right now,” he gritted out.

She smiled again.

This was her smile she only showed him.

He was sure of it.

His shirt was halfway unbuttoned now. She leaned in, locks of hair curling over her shoulders, spreading the placket open with two fingers. Breathed out. The heated air washed over his chest, and he closed his eyes, shuddering, ignited desire shimmering in his raging blood. She did it again, but this time with his name.

“Jungkook…”

His head tipped back, lips parting, the low sound of clawing lust bubbling in his throat. His hands came up, tensely resting on her silken shoulders.

The rest of the buttons came undone as he himself unraveled.

Her hands slid in, fingers spreading over his flexed abdomen. Cool, careful, seeing him. He gasped, struggling to keep still. Exploring his scars, known and new. His shirt peeled back, tugging out of his slacks as she touched him. Along his sides, his chest. His nipples, and she flicked one, making him hiss and flinch. They hardened as she rubbed them.

“Still like that, hm.”

“S… Shut up.”

Her palms over his pectoral muscles, fingers fanning out.

“Been working out, haven’t you?”

His breathing was shallow. “Gotta pick up hobbies, you know.”

A soft laugh. She gently knocked back his arms, pushing the dress shirt off his shoulders. Confines, he concluded. Her fingertips paused on his right shoulder. He looked down, body on fire. Her lips were parted, pink tongue dancing on the edge of for lips.

“You have tattoos.”

Oh.

That was right. She hadn’t seen yet.

“Hobbies,” he snickered.

She turned her head, fingertips hesitating.

Jungkook reached up and pressed her hand to his arm.

“Please. Look.”

It was a strange, intoxicating sensation. Being touched like this, guiding her along. He murmured under his breath, describing them one by one. She could follow, especially the newer ones or the ones that were done over his scars. She lingered by the tiger lilies on the inside of his forearm. There was a patch of black there. Amusement flitting across her features. Continued down, following the outline another tattoo, tracing the eyelashes.

She cocked an eyebrow.

“I think I might change that one. In light of… events.”

Her cheek tightened in mirth. Just more confirmation that she was alarmingly acute in sensing tone and meaning beyond words.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He froze, feeling her other hand sliding up his back as the one he was holding slid down to his knuckles, caressing them as her lids lowered. Lines of scars, across starburst lashes and across his spine, closer, her fingers lacing with his, her chin lifting.

That small mole under the right side of her plush lower lip.

“You have goosebumps, Jungkook,” she purred, dragging her nails down his back.

He closed the distance.

Her scent all around him.

Her taste.

The fervor seeped into him when their lips connected, ravaging his senses and his thoughts, body to body. Nights and days, culminated memories bleeding into now, into the ferocity of their kiss, her fingers claiming his back and his in her hair, tangled in the mess, clasped hands below them, squeezing tight.

He thought he would never see her again.

Never hold, never touch, never breathe in her breath.

He was afraid too. Afraid it wouldn’t feel the same. Afraid their euphoria was broken by interference and ego. Afraid he was wrong, abut himself, about her, about them.

But he wasn’t.

Jungkook could tell.

She let go of his hand and wrapped it around his throat.

“I missed your taste,” she whispered into his moan, in between nicks of teeth and feathery kisses. “You know what makes someone dangerous?” Her grip tightened, pulling him down to her, red silk slipping off her shoulders. “When they have someone to die for.” Her lips traveling over his jaw, to his gasping mouth, his blood flow slowing as her fingers pressed into the sides of his neck. “When they have someone to live for.” Ravenous kiss, making his eyes roll back and his air disappear, lightheaded as he touched the exposed skin of her upper arm, knotted lines of scar tissue from a previous gunshot wound under his fingertips.

She murmured to his open mouth, husky voice a caress.

“When they have someone to kill for.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, his erection straining against his slacks, pressing it into her naked thigh.

“You…”

Jungkook stared into her white eyes and she reveled in the darkness, basking in his shadows, seeing all of him with all her other senses.

“You made me all three,” he gasped.

Her grip loosened and the blood rushed back, making his eyelids flutter and fire crawl up his scalp.

A resolved sigh.

“We are one and the same, you and I.”

His hands following the memorized lines across her back. The dark red silk pooling onto the floor. Her hand between them, stroking him through his clothes, choking him again. Pleasure seeping down his tense thighs, up his clenched abs. The pressure winding within his core, his lips trembling against her calm, so close to the perfect imperfection of that mole under a silver tongue.

“Guns just waiting to be aimed.”

She held down his wrists bound by his necktie.

Rammed her hips into his and he hissed, back arching, bouncing on the mattress. Torn condom wrapper on the floor by their discarded clothes. Saliva drying on the inside of his hard thighs still tingling from bites. Her other hand pressed down on his chest, pushing him back into place. Fuck, so tight. So wet, constricting around his cock, the swollen head throbbing against her pulsing walls.

Her face was directed to the side.

Seeing with her ears.

He groaned, feeling her hips rock, building the pace deliberately, squeezing every centimeter. Fuck. He pressed his head into the pillows, black strands invading his vision. His own hair a mess. Whimpers threatening to break free. She raked her fingernails over his chest, teasing his hardened nipples. Toying with him. Rolling her hips as he thrust up, a vain attempt to fight back.

Her fingers fanned over his wrists, palm pressing down on the knot.

“I’ve missed your sound,” she shuddered, her hand on his chest sliding to his collarbones.

Her nail scraped against his Adam’s apple, sparking electricity through his veins.

“Just… fuck… choke me, please.”

The side of her lips twisted into a smirk.

“I’ll wrap my hand around your neck.”

So tight, with love.

Her grip closed in, causing the fire to prickle over his skin, up his cheeks and down his spine. Limited oxygen, heightened awareness, pleasure flowing to every core, bound at the wrists but finally free, losing himself to the sound of connected bodies and swirling moans, to the shock of firm, wet slaps between hips, to the scent of sex weighing down the air, soaking it, to the taste of iron as he chewed on his lower lip, whines leaking out between his teeth, deeper, harder, faster.

His vision hazed, edges smoking with black.

Her chin tipped down.

Clouded white.

He was exposed, torn open and ripped apart by that gaze that was no more.

He could barely force the words out, the ache in his ribs pooling down, down.

“Take… me…”

She breathed in, seeing all of him.

“Fuck, you feel good.”

She let go of his wrists and layered both her hands over his throat, choking him harder and fucking him into the mattress. Air gone, his eyes rolling back, vision black, power radiating in every thrust, and he felt her body weight shift downward, fingertips digging into the sides of his neck, hopefully leaving bruises, his resolve cracking, slick walls around him throbbing in their shared pulse, there.

“F-Fuck!”

He rammed his hips up and the orgasm shot through him in shattering bolts, through his burning muscle and his empty lungs, his cock jerking, and then – release – his voice returning in a hoarse moan, another wave slamming into him, another level, creating a ripple effect throughout his nerves that electrified him, burning, gasping, his spine locked in an arc, hearing her exhale his name in a wanton hiss, clenching, spasms, sweet and sticky between their thighs.

His tongue extended, tasting the air, their passion palpable and pungent.

His body was trembling so much he was sure she could feel it even through her hands flat on the bed next to his head. She raised one, tracing his trembling jaw. Ran the pad of her fingertip over his quivering lips. Her name came out in a weak rasp, hot and shaking against her touch.

And yet he wanted her hands around his throat again.

How he missed that feeling.

“Jungkook…”

She saw with her hands. In scent and sound. In previous knowledge, and she knew his body so well, his heat and his hunger. Bondage was temporary. Trust was forever. She could mark him in bites and in scratches, but her scars were in the cavity of his ribs, in his heart that still yearned and in hers that she kept from him to protect them from becoming tools against the other.

Jungkook was afraid.

But he had someone to die for, to live for, to kill for.

And that made him dangerous.

So the Elders could try to rip them apart, but he was sure now that they would go down causing irreversible damage.

She ran her hands over his heaving chest.

“I’m not doing this stupid assignment until I’ve made up for lost time,” she panted, warning sharpness to her tone.

He smirked.

“I was hoping you would say that.”

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #hitman au

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sweetlikesunflowersandhoney · 3 months ago

Text

Maps

Read on ao3

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The woman scurried down the dark alleyways, her harried steps echoed by the stone walls and the heavier footsteps chasing after her. Her long skirt weaved between her legs until it got caught in a wooden barricade she had to jump, so she tugged on it harshly until it ripped and she was free. She made quick turns, hoping to lose her would-be-captors, and when she found a pile of crates and waste behind the butcherman’s shop, she hunkered down under it and made herself small.

With her knife in her hand and her heart in her throat, Sasha waited.

Loud yelling from the leader, someone else’s mumbling, then the dull crunch of a fist on a bony torso. Sasha took slow, measured breaths that dragged the smell of old blood and rot into her lungs.

She waited, and prayed, until the three sets of steps left her behind.

When she felt safe, Sasha unfurled herself from under the garbage, feeling her heartbeat in every vessel. She untraced her steps and headed back to the tavern where she had been spotted, and where her crew hopefully still waited for her.

Unfriendly, unfamiliar faces stared at her as she walked. She longed for the wide brim of the hat she’d lost in the chase, to hide from the scrutiny and the scorching sun. Under the cover of her hand, she looked up to find the wooden hanging sign of the tavern.

As she passed an alleyway, however, a familiar whistle called her from the darkness, and Sasha followed.

From the shadows emerged a tall figure, a sword glinting on their hip and Sasha’s hat in their hands.

“Welcome back, captain,” Anetra said, handing Sasha her hat.

“Miss Reyes,” Sasha greeted her second-hand, trying to keep her tone steady as she took in the new red stains on Anetra’s white blouse. “Good to see you’re still in one piece.”

“Nothing but a few nicks and flesh wounds for the lot of us, captain. Once you left, they lost all interest in us.” Anetra sighed melodramatically. “A bit disheartening, to tell the truth. What’s a woman have to do to get some enemies of her own?”

“Here’s hoping that the next pack of criminals we find are after you instead of me.”

“Hear, hear,” Anetra said, toasting her imaginary cup in the air.

“Did everyone make it out alright?”

Anetra nodded and started the way to the docks, guiding her captain down the narrow, empty alleys.

“Everyone should be back on the ship and ready to sail. We were just waiting for you, captain.”

“How noble of you not to ditch me and steal my ship.”

“It did cross my mind. But what good is a ship without a treasure map?”

“There are other treasures to pursue in this world, Miss Reyes. Certainly easier ones. You have tied your cart to a particularly unreliable horse. Wouldn’t you rather go back to plundering English ships?”

“Hm,” Anetra hummed, scratching her chin in thought. “Nah. Where is the fun in that?”

Anetra turned her face to Sasha and gave her that shark-like smile of hers, the one that made Sasha feel reckless enough to chase any mythical treasure to the edge of the world.

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The seashells, the feather, the candle, the dirt. Sasha gathered her skirts to kneel down on the floor of her room, chanting the old songs under her breath.

Her ship creaked and groaned around her, the strong wood engaged in its intricate dance with the sea.

“We thank the wind in our sails, for its power when it lets us sail through the ocean, for its wisdom when it makes us be still and wait.”

She let the feather fall into a porcelain plate, chanting as she watched it fall on the sea water in it.

“We thank Mother Sea for holding us in her embrace, for feeding us.”

With a handful of crushed seashells and fish bones, she drew a circle around the plate, letting them slip through her fist like salt. She opened the jar of dirt and inhaled its scent, closing her eyes and letting herself be ten years old again, running barefoot on the soft soil through the wilderness that sprawled behind her home. Sasha dipped her fingers in the dirt and painted a dark line over each of her wrists.

“May we always come back to shore. May we remember the way.”

Sasha closed the jar and lit up the candle. She bent down her head and prayed for safety, for strength, for every person in her crew.

Let us return. Let us return.

Her chants had reached their natural conclusion and left her in a meditative state by the time she heard a knock on the door. She knew who it was from the cadence alone, so she said come in without clearing up the things for the ritual.

“Hey,” Anetra said quietly, going down the few steps into Sasha’s quarters. “Were you praying?”

“Just finished,” Sasha said, blinking owlishly at the light that broke through the dim room before Anetra closed the door behind her. “I was praying that we survive this voyage.” She snuffed out the candle and fished the feather out of the water so it could get dry.

“Please,” Anetra huffed, “you should’ve asked that we find the treasure.”

“I believe that is your task, Miss Reyes,” Sasha smiled, “or are you telling me you lost your touch? Do I need to find another navigator?”

“You offend me,” Anetra said with faux outrage, clenching her shirt over her heart like she’d been wounded. “I am merely suggesting that, since the sea favors you so much, you could ask it to make things a tad easier for us.”

“The Sea already gives us everything we need. The rest is up to us.”

Sasha put the shells and the dirt back in their drawer and left the plate under her dresser to be dealt with later. When she turned around, Anetra was right in front of her. Even in her boots, Sasha had to look up at her.

Anetra was still young, though life at sea had given her coarser skin. She was young in her airs, in her wild, windswept hair, and in the imprudent way she eyed her captain up and down.

“Still,” Anetra said, dragging her eyes up to Sasha’s. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of mystical guidance. Especially since we don’t actually know where we’re going, and you seem to be collecting enemies at every port.”

It was rare that Anetra let any doubts show. For her sake, Sasha put on a playful smile.

“Is your tireless spirit of adventure already waning, Miss Reyes? For shame. You are not yet one-and-twenty.”

“Tsk, worry about your own spirit, captain,” Anetra said, back to her usual cockiness. “I am in my prime.” She took a half step forward and rested her hand on the dresser behind Sasha. With her free hand, she lifted Sasha’s wrist to her eyes and examined the streak of soil staining her skin. She lifted an eyebrow. “Dirty business, these prayers of yours.”

“I know you don’t believe in this, Miss Reyes,” Sasha said with a level voice, even as she felt her own heartbeat held in Anetra’s hand, “but I have done this same ritual for every voyage since I could talk, like my mother before me, and we have always returned to shore.”

“So have I, and I couldn’t pray a Hail Mary if Satan was stabbing my ass with his pitchfork.”

Laughter bubbled up in Sasha’s stomach, and it died in her throat when Anetra leaned in so close that Sasha could see the precious gold in her eyes.

“Do you know why we’ve come back every time?” Anetra said, every word felt on Sasha’s skin. “Sheer. Dumb. Luck.” She shrugged. “The sea doesn’t care if it chews us up and spits us back out as chum for the sharks.”

Sasha sighed with fond exasperation. Years and years of debate, all in vain. She knew that Anetra could not understand. She hadn’t been marked by the Sea.

In the beginning, Sasha’s hackles would rise at Anetra’s blatant disrespect for the Deities. She even worried they would get offended, and make Sasha’s ship pay for it. But time went by with nothing more severe than a storm to get through, and since Anetra’s skills far outweighed her blasphemous ways, she quickly became Sasha’s second. Sasha even learned to find the humor in her tirades against faith, and by now the debate was nothing more than a mental exercise for them both.

Sometimes, when she felt particularly melancholic and missed her mother, Sasha would have liked to have someone who understood. Someone who could look out to the Sea, infinite in its power and in its generosity, and see the benevolent Deity she saw. Someone who would kneel by her side in the middle of a storm, and pray.

Anetra did not pray to any gods. But she could read and draw maps like no one else, and make Sasha laugh like no one else, and that was more than enough.

“Have you come here to question my faith, or to do your job?”

“I can do both, ma’am. It’s why I am an exceptional quartermaster,” Anetra replied with that damn smile of hers. She gestured towards the desk in the corner. “After you.”

Sasha moved the thick captain’s log to the side and put out a pen and an ink well for Anetra, who sat at the desk. Anetra then got a square of paper out of a drawer, and carefully unfolded it to reveal an unfinished map.

Clearing her throat, Sasha turned her back to Anetra. It had been happening for weeks, but this part still made her stomach tighten.

Sasha unbuttoned her shirt, willing her hands to be firm and not tremble. She dropped the shirt on a corner of the desk, then crossed her arms over her chest. The room was cold, but beyond that, it felt wrong to be uncovered like that. She knew that, in reality, it did not matter. Even the women in her crew left their chests bare on hot days, and nobody looked at them twice. But Sasha could not join them.

“I’ll be quick, ma’am,” Anetra said with the gentle tone that her voice rarely donned, followed by the scratch of pen on paper.

Sasha simply nodded and tried to distract herself from Anetra’s eyes burning her skin. She focused on the sounds of the crew that floated down to her chambers. The first day back at sea was always hectic. Everyone was busy and happy to be so; soon they would have a spell of windless days, and that would make things impossibly dull. She wished they could have spent another day on shore, but the news about her seemed to be traveling quite fast. The people that had chased her earlier were not the same ones who had been asking about her back in Tortuga.

“All done.”

Sasha reached for her shirt blindly and cleared her throat. She dressed quickly, speeding through the buttons until she was covered again.

She turned around, and caught Anetra trying to hide her obvious stare. The knot in Sasha’s stomach got tighter.

“Anything new today?”

Instead of replying, Anetra showed her the new tracings of ink she had copied from the mark on Sasha’s back.

“Not much, ma’am. Likely because you stayed on land for some days, and we haven’t traveled far since the last time. But these,” she pointed at the irregular beginnings of some small scattered shapes, careful not to smudge the ink. “look like islands. We should reach them within the next three days.”

Sasha nodded and frowned at the ever growing map. These were unfamiliar waters. It made her uneasy, even if she trusted her Deities to guide them. She couldn’t imagine embarking on this journey like Anetra did, with nothing to put her faith into.

“I need to compare this with the maps we have. Do you mind if I take them to my quarters?”

“Stay here. You don’t have a desk, you should use mine.”

“My, the quartermaster shut up with the captain in her very own bedchamber?” Anetra said teasingly, raising her eyebrow. “What will the crew think?”

“That you are doing the job you get paid for, Miss Reyes,” Sasha retorted, trying to regain some semblance of authority. “I need to go up anyway, and you can work in peace down here. I’ll be gone in a moment.”

Anetra nodded, but then she looked at the map and she was gone from the world. She searched with familiarity through the drawers of the desk and pulled out papers and tools. The map she was making got laid out next to a complete one for comparison, so she could add to it the names of cities and some details of the land that were not visible in Sasha’s mark.

Sasha watched the ink trace new lines for a moment before her eyes moved up the blue lines of Anetra’s veins, tensed up as she worked. The woman always got a small frown when she focused, and when she wasn’t muttering to herself, her lips formed a pout. Sasha tore her eyes from them, and picked up the plate under her dresser to throw the water out the window.

“I’m going up. Breakfast will be ready in under an hour. Should I tell the cook to send you some?”

“Huh? No, that won’t be necessary,” Anetra said, her eyes glancing up momentarily from the map. “I will join you as soon as I’m done.”

Sasha nodded, but Anetra was engrossed in her drawings again. Sasha left the room, closing the door quietly, and made a note to herself to send someone down with breakfast for her.

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Predictably, Anetra did not resurface until well after breakfast was over. She squinted her eyes at the sun, too bright after hours spent in the dim light of the bedchamber.

Sasha watched her roam the deck from her vantage point, up in the rafters. It wasn’t so high up that she would crack her skull if the wind changed suddenly and she fell, but it was high enough that no one would need anything from her for a minute.

As always, she could make an exception for Anetra.

Sasha whistled and Anetra looked up, finding her quickly and grinning before taking to the web of ropes and masts like a jungle cat. In a moment, she let herself plop down by Sasha’s side, her hair blowing gently in the sea breeze.

They shared in the relative silence of wind and waves. The relentless demands of the ship under their charge could not reach them up there. They had only themselves and the wide blue sea, stretching endlessly beyond them with infinite promise. It made Sasha feel young again. There wasn’t a place on earth where she felt more at home than right there.

“I did not mean to mock you, earlier,” Anetra broke the silence after some moments. Sasha looked at her, curious. “I know the ritual is important to you. I do not…” she paused, seeming to search for the words. She shook her head, making the string of coins that adorned her hair clink together. “At any rate, if the sea or… something, has marked you from birth, if there is something drawing a God-honest treasure map on your skin every day, then something or someone wants you to live.” Anetra finally met her eye. She shrugged. “I am just not used to any Gods watching over me.”

Sasha took in the words, the sad resignation.

“They do.”

Instead of the usual eye roll, Anetra kept her eyes firmly on the skyline.

“They do, Anetra,” Sasha pushed a little more, her hand inching closer to Anetra’s on the mast that held them. “I know they care for you.”

That seemed to shake Anetra out of her uncharacteristic abstraction, and a forced smile broke through her stoic expression.

“As long as they care for my captain, I should be fine, right?”

But her voice lacked the usual mirth. Filling her lungs with sea air, Sasha dared to take Anetra’s hand.

“I don’t know how you do it.”

Anetra raised her eyebrow.

“How you can put yourself in the hands of something so powerful, and believe it uncaring.” The hand under Sasha’s stiffened up, but she kept going. “We risk so much out here. Our lives depend on this crew of mostly strangers, we barely have enough to eat and drink. We bear disease and pirate attacks and our shelter can be snapped into splinters by a single storm. Don’t you want something to believe in? To put your faith in?”

The wind whistled around them, tangling their tendrils of hair together. Anetra turned her hand around to hold Sasha’s.

“I put my faith in you.”

It stole the air from Sasha’s lungs. She stared into the gold flecked eyes and sank to the bottom of their depths.

The yelling of the crew below reminded them that they were on borrowed time, and there would be much to do before they could sneak away together again.

“We should get down,” Anetra said, taking back her hand.

“After you.”

Anetra stood up and wrapped her hands in rope to swing down, reckless in her youth. Before she could jump off the mast, her captain called her:

“Miss Reyes?”

Anetra turned her head.

“Thank you. I do not take what you said lightly.”

Anetra gave her a nod.

“Of course, captain.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Sasha in her nest of wood and wind. She took one last moment to breathe, and then she climbed down the ropes.

#sashnetra #my beloveds <3 #captain sasha means everything to me #my fics #d #m #tattoo au

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stupd000 · 11 months ago

Text

‘Rough’

Short Angel/David drabble bc i was bored and yk it’s Angel/David

CW//Pretty nsfw at one point, cursing, blueballed?😭 but make it cute

ENJOY!!

Today was a rough day at work for Angel. Their laptop stopped working halfway through the day, and they had to work on a chunky old monitor for the rest of it, which threw off their entire system. None of their stuff was where it was, none of their aesthetically pleasing backgrounds were there,

it just sucked

and then someone ate their lunch so they didn’t even get to enjoy their chicken crunch wrap after having to deal with a clunky, old, monitor.

Anyway, they got home from work, exhausted by just everything. Everything was just too much.

David, had a very different day.

David’s day was better than it usually was. No spats with Christian and Amanda, no jokes about Milo that he had to handle, none of the parents of the pack brought the babies to the meeting, so he didn’t have to deal with endless screaming, he forgot his lunch(that he wasn’t really excited to eat, it was cold meatloaf) so he ordered himself some Taco Bell and he ate that shit up.

So clearly, their moods were very different by the time they got home.

Angel gets home about 45 minutes before David, so once they got home they immediately got into pajamas and lied down.

They scrolled on their phone for most of the time that it took for David to get home, and once he did- their mood pretty much stayed the same.

Don’t get them wrong, they loved David more than anything, but seeing someone happy, and having a good day when yours was sucky..doesn’t feel too great.

Once David gave Angel a kiss and a hello, he went to their room to get unready.

The more David got unready, the more his thoughts turned to his Angel,

then the thoughts turned to..different ones

Anyway, now he’s walking out of their bedroom, half hard and craving his mate.

He walks up to the couch and plops down next to Angel, leaning on their shoulder as they scroll on their phone.

A-“Hi babe.”

David starts kissing their neck as he hums a quiet hello, his hand quickly travels to their inner thigh as Angel breaths in sharply,

A-“Babe?”

D-“mhm..?”

A-“Babe.”

David’s almost snaps up, looking at them worriedly, usually they’re not as hesitant, unless something wrong.

A-“‘M sorry, but I had a long day at work, a-and i don’t wanna throw a wrench in everyth-“

David stopped as soon as he heard the first sentence, moving his hand from between their thighs to around their shoulder, pulling them close to him.

A-“-and I know you had a good day and i’m fucking it all up an-“

D-“Angel.”

Angel stopped and looked at him, now realizing that the both of them are curled into the corner of the couch, and their heads on his shoulder.

D-“It’s okay.”

A-“Are you sure..?”

D-“I swear.”

David kisses their forehead before resting his head atop theirs,

A-“were you already..y’know..?”

D-“No Angel, it’s okay I swear.”

A-“I just-..”

Angel cuts themselves off, and lets out a long, guttural sigh.

A-“I’m sorry.”

D-“Angel look at me,”

Angel looks at him without hesitation, before letting out another sigh.

D-“I don’t ever, want you to feel bad, or guilty about not being able to..’perform’ or whatever, for me. I want you to feel safe to express that with me, you know you can right?”

A-“I know, I know I can. It’s just that you were in such a good mood, and I..wasn’t. I just didn’t want to make you feel bad in anyway, and it just feels shitty when you’re in a bad mood and the others not and it’s just-“

Angel makes some sort of expression with their hands before leaning their head into david’s chest.

A-“I dunno.”

D-“I get that, let’s just..relax, alright?”

Angel nods before leaning burying their face into the crook of David’s neck, inhaling.

A-“You smell good, like baby powder.”

D-“huh.”

A-“Not in a bad way, like the scented baby powder, like vanilla baby powder, Oh my gosh so my friend who had a daughter, you remember Tiffany, right? well I told her she smelled good and she was like ‘omg really? i have vanilla baby powder all over me’ and I was like what? I love the smell of baby powder and now this? And so I was like-“

David smiled as he listened to them ramble on about baby powder, and their friends, and anything they wanted.

All he wanted was for them to feel loved

To feel safe.

Hey guys, Sooo i haven’t written anything in a while. I don’t gotta excuse bc i was being lazy but here ya go.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted audios #redacted darlin #redacted sam #redacted vampires #redacted summit #redacted werewolves

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wingedhallows · 5 months ago

Text

i got my eye on you - five; marauders

pairing: marauders (sirius black x reader) | 5k words plot: albus reaches out to you to keep the marauders save, to not have them die, so you join them in their seventh year. authors note: i don't really know what this is but i hope you like it, love u <3 If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!

navigation | part one ; part two ; part three ; part four ; part five

“Speak the truth now, child.” Your father, several heads towering over you, spoke. His belt in hand, his mouth drawn in a cruel scowl.

“Don’t make this harder than it is, Y/N.”

Your mother, a thin dark haired woman, sat on the dark sofa, hands crossed. “Do it.” He spoke, your mother hesitated.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Xanthe, the woman who birthed you, raised her wand and whispered the words. Your body twisted and crunched under the unforgivable curse.

A scream left your lips, nails scratching the wooden floor beneath you. After the curse wore off, you laid with panting breaths. Tears coated your cheeks, head pounding.

“All this over a stolen piece of cake.”

Your father spoke, with a shake of his head he retreated. Your mother lowered her wand and bit her lip, her face void of emotions.

“No one likes naughty girls, Y/N.”

Your eyes flew open, your chest damp with sweat. You blew a sigh before you sat up. With a small shift, your legs hung over the edge of the bed. Your hands found your eyes, yet another nightmare. Why does your childhood still haunt you?

“Fuckin’ hell.” You muttered before you lifted yourself off the bed, desperate to get out of these clothes and wash up. The sun wouldn’t be up for at least a few hours.

Blindly, you found your way to the washroom and quickly disposed of the soiled clothes. After a well deserved shower, you got dressed. You pushed your pack of cigarettes and your wand in your pockets.

Before you left you could step out of the room, you took a look out of the window. The moon stood up high, yet another full moon which woke you with mad memories.

With another sigh you left your room. The castle was quiet, dimly lit. With fast steps you made your way outside, to not disturb any paintings which would complain rather loudly.

The night air was cold as you pushed a stick between your lips and lit it. With slow steps you decided to take a stroll, to clear your head maybe. Would Millicent really like you?

Would you be able to keep her safe? Keep Sirius, Lily, James, Remus and Peter safe? Marlene, Alice and Frank? So many people to care about, too little time and just you to worry. At this rate your head would simply explode.

Suddenly a loud howl caught your attention, you whipped around to stare at the direction which it came from. The forbidden forest wasn’t far from here, would a creature dare to leave it?

You knew you shouldn’t care, let alone check it out. Sirius would worry, he would be furious. Scratch that, he would be fiery with anger. But it was your job to keep them safe and the last thing you needed was them to be mauled by a wild creature which wentured from the forbidden forest just because Sirius Black would give you the silent treatment.

You held the cigarette with one hand and grasped your wand in the other. You blew some smoke as you made your way across the yard past the green houses.

Another growl and a howl tore through the night, how did no one else hear this?

Your steps slowed as you caught sight of not one but four creatures. A dog, a stag, a rat and what seemed to be a werewolf. You’ve never seen a werewolf in person, only in textbooks and photographs.

They hadn’t noticed you yet and you liked it to stay this way for at least another few minutes. The dog nudged up to the wolf's side, only earning a crumble from the huge creature.

The rat sat on top of the stag's head, which kept its distance but still stumped its legs every other moment.

You were hidden behind a rock, your wand still tight in your hand, the cigarette long forgotten on the ground. You decided to leave them alone, they were somehow minding their business.

Just as your heartbeat calmed the slightest bit you turned to leave, your hands in your pockets as you misplaced your step and quite quickly fell to the ground.

“Shit.” You cursed as your knee connected with the ground beneath you. That was most certainly too loud, you were busted. Your head whipped around as a deafening howl filled the quiet night and loud steps neared you.

Within seconds the werewolf was standing on top of the rock which had kept you hidden a few moments ago. Its snout was torn in a snarl, licking its teeth as it eyed you.

You quickly scrambled to your feet, your wand once again in your hand as you watched the other animals gather. The dog yelped as he caught sight of you, barking with all its might.

Your wand was lowered, you felt paralyzed as the wolf crouched down, its head leveled with yours.

“Fuck, not the way I imagined to go out.”

You mumbled more to yourself.

The wolf sniffed you, his breath hitting you like a hot summer breeze. You couldn’t close your eyes, you couldn’t look away.

Sirius filled your mind, funnily enough.

He would never get the chance to ask you to date him, you would never get the chance to save him from his creature which would maul you right here.

The stag whipped his head several times, probably signaling you to take off but how would a stag know how to do that, it’s just an animal.

The rat jumped off the stag’s head and rushed to you.

With fast feet it made its way to your shoulder, furiously squeaking in your ear. These animals were strange, too human.

But that was probably your brain imagining things in an attempt to make sense of this god awful situation.

Finally the wolf slowly made its way down the stone and towered over you, a sight you knew too well. It reminded you of similar moments, moments which you imagined would be your last.

You weren’t one to cry in desperate times but a tear escaped your right eye nonetheless. You were hardly an adult, not many years yet lived, though you yearn to live more.

What a waste to die in your twenties.

It once again sniffed you, its big sharp claws on your shoulders as the dog whined and grumbled in despair. You were sure it would be over soon, it would lunge, bite a good chunk of your shoulder and you’ll bleed out in no time.

But none of that came as it pushed to the ground, as his humongous paws held you down. Its tongue lapped over your face as it nestled its furry face to yours.

It wasn’t mauling no, not at all, it was cozying up to you. You felt like you could finally take another breath, oxygen filling your lungs as you stared at the starry night. With a chuckle you closed your eyes.

The wolf lifted itself off you and left you behind as it jumped over the rock and vanished from your sight. The sun was slowly coming up, the night leaving you lot gradually.

The dog nudged you as you lifted yourself off the ground, ready to leave this situation behind you, Sirius would never hear a word of this.

The dog tugged you alone, the tip of your jacket clasped in its mouth. “What?”

You asked, not expecting an answer from a dog. It tugged and tugged as you figured it wanted you to follow it. The stag and the rat followed along. In front of you spread out the whomping willow.

You held your head low, desperate to not alert the tree.

The dog disappeared down a hole, an entrance of sorts. The stag followed behind you. What in the actual fuck was going on? The corridor was dark, stuffy for the most part.

Before you spread out a room you’ve never seen before, a rundown house of some sorts. A bed was placed on your left and a rather nasty couch set to your right.

A rotting piano filled the middle of the room. The dog placed itself next to you, the stag as well. Around the abandoned place lay several pieces of clothing, some of which seemed too similar to miss.

The wolf whimpered and howled as it laid down. With knitted eyebrows you watched the wolf as he barked and growled in pain, its limbs twisting as he transformed into something.

No, not something, but someone. Within seconds the wolf had transformed into someone you know, not just someone you knew but someone you vowed to protect.

It had transformed into Remus Lupin.

He laid there, naked and shivering. He was crouched on the dirty floor, with a twisted face. You couldn’t move, nor could you say anything. Without much thinking he reached for his underwear and you turned around.

The dog, the stag and the rat made their way behind you.

You weren’t as surprised as you turned around, it was them. James, Peter and Sirius. They were hardly dressed as you had turned around. Their faces were sorry, twisted with shame.

You didn’t mind Remus being a werewolf, not at all. Nor did you care much that the other three were animagus but what you did care about was that they didn’t tell you.

This job was more than a job by now, you were too entangled to step out because of withheld information but you were raging with anger.

Maybe you’ve gone ahead of yourself, you’re here to do a job, to fulfill a task which was given to you by the ministry nothing else.

“Y/N.” Remus tried, voice weak. You lifted your eyes off the ground, face emotionless.

“Say something, please.” Sirius spoke now, his shirt in his hand.

“I’m happy you’re fine, Remus.” he didn’t answer, gaze locked on you. “I’ll leave you to it then.” Just as you turned around Sirius grabbed your hand.

“Don’t leave.” You tore your hand from Sirius’ grasp and turned to look at him.

“I’ve seen enough and you’re alright, so, my job is done here.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you. “What?” Remus cocked his head to the side and looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“You’ve seen enough? Enough of what a horrible beast I am?” You tried hard not to roll your eyes, but looked away for a moment.

“I was nearly mauled by a werewolf tonight which I knew nothing about, I’m exhausted to say the least. You lot are alright which is what I’m being paid for so, I don’t see any point in staying here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You turned around and made your way to the door, just to turn around once more.

“You’re not at all horrible, Remus.”

He didn’t move a limb as he watched you leave.

You needed your distance, you figured. After what happened a week ago you realized that the relationship between the kids and you’ve been getting out of hand.

You had avoided them, childish, you knew. Though you kept an eye on them from a distance, not to give the old wizard anything to worry about. Albus had cleared a place upon the teachers table for you, the conversation with the old wizards still swimming in your head.

“Mr. Lupin is indeed a werewolf, Miss Fox.” He watched you with trained eyes. You had lit yourself a cigarette, your soiled jacket stank of dog.

“I figured as much.”

You answered, your head was pounding.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The headmaster shook his head and clasped his hands behind his back.

“It’s not my secret to tell.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Don’t be too hard on them.”

You wanted nothing more than to deck the old bastard in the nose right now.

“I’m sure they would’ve told you eventually, Mr. Lupin is hardly one to keep secrets from people he keeps close.” You didn’t answer.

“I’d like to join the teachers table for breakfast, if that’s possible.” He nodded and stood next to you, facing the window.

“Of course, Miss Fox. Distance may clear things up for you.” You nodded and flicked the cigarette out the open window.

“I won’t forget my mission.” He nodded with a small smile on his lips.

“I never doubted that.”

It felt weird, so many mornings had you spent chatting with the Gryffindors about god knows what, Sirius had urged you to eat and James would discuss another way to prank the Slytherin house. You would lie if you said you didn’t miss it.

The coffee in front of you was slowly but surely growing cold as you let your cigarette drown in it.

With a pounding headache you looked up, catching the eyes of none other than Sirius. His eyes were pleading, begging for you to pay him any attention. You couldn’t take it.

You rubbed your temples and without another thought you aperated away.

The lake was quiet, birds chirping was the only disruptive sound. You crossed your arms over your legs and looked upon the calm body of water.

The new year would start in a few months, summer break was coming sooner than you liked. That meant you would join the kids at James’ place. You would be stuck with them for two months.

Millicent would join this chaotic place in a few months, she would be by your side right here and you didn’t know what to do with that realization.

With nothing else to do, you lit yourself another cigarette.

A hand grabbed your arm harshly, pulling you away from Esmy. The elf stared at her Mistress with wide eyes.

“Stop engaging with the house personal, Y/N.”

Your mother spat, her nails boring into your flesh.

The woman lifted her wand and tortured the elf with a curse, the little creature writhed on the wooden floor in pain as tears escaped your eyes, tiny hands trying to make them disappear.

“What did I tell you about needlessly talking to my daughter, Elf?”

The elf pleaded with broken sobs before Xanthe retreated with curses falling from her lips.

“Esmy.” You whispered through broken sobs. The elf clasped your hand, tears streaked face.

“Esmy is fine, Miss.” She pushed you away, a kind smile on her lips.

“Leave now, before Mistress decides to punish poor Miss as well.”

Esmy got hurt all because of you, because of you…

“Miss, Suki is worried.” You massaged the bridge of your nose. The headache had subsided a bit, the painkillers your house elf had brought did their job. You were sat outside, night had fallen a few hours ago.

“I know, the Death Eaters are at large-No, Miss. Suki is worried about her Mistress.”

Your eyes opened, a sigh leaving your lips. The night was cold, your coat hung on your shoulders loosely, the slight breeze working its way through your shirt.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, Suki. I’m fine.” The elf shook its head and stared at you, hands clasped in her lab.

“Mistress isn’t fine.” She simply stated and she couldn’t be more right. You got another cigarette from your pocket and Suki was quick to light it for you. With a small you thanked her.

“Suki doesn’t see the nice students around anymore, has Mistress dismissed her mission?” You shook your head as you blew some smoke.

“No, Suki.” You couldn’t speak much, you were so incredibly tired, though sleep didn’t want to grace your nights.

How incredibly cruel.

“Y/N!” Your head whipped around as Suki vanished from next to you. She must’ve sensed it moments before you.

Sirius stood not many feet away from you, leather jacket forming his shoulder broader than they were. His hair sat disheveled on top of his head, eyes darker than usual. Maybe he couldn’t sleep either.

“Are you hurt?” You stood from the bench and faced him, he had stopped walking a few feet in front of him. Enough not to have to yell.

“No, what?” He pushed his hands in his pocket. You took another drag from your cigarette and stared him down, this was getting awkward.

“Then what is it?” You asked, fingertips on fire. You were always on fire when you were with him.

“I wanted to talk to you.” You took another drag from your cigarette and pushed the other hand into your pocket, hair lifting slightly in the breeze.

“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.” His eyebrows furrowed and he took a step towards you. You didn’t falter though, eyes stern.

“Stop.” His voice was clear, hurt. You lifted an eyebrow and blew some smoke.

“Stop what?” His lips grimaced into a hurt grin, his head hanging low for a moment.

“Stop pushing me away.”

You had to chuckle, this was childish. All you needed was space, too many things were penetrating your head. You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not pushing you away, I just need space, Sirius.” He shook his head, hands out of his pocket in seconds.

“I know you’re angry with me, with the others but, but I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You shook your head as well as you shifted your weight on your other leg.

“Stop apologizing, it won’t change anything.” You paused to think.

“We’re too close, all of this is too close. I have a mission to accomplish, Sirius.”

His face twisted into something you couldn’t put a name on. Maybe disappointed, betrayed?

“So that’s what we are, what I am to you? A fucking mission, nothing else?” He throws at you, his tone angry.

You closed your eyes for a moment.

“Well, fuck you then.”

He turned around and stormed off, leaving you by the bench in the cold. You couldn’t blame him, you would’ve said it too.

How could you say that? Cramp them into nothing but a mission when they were so much more? You had to, it was for the best, for the greater good.

The next morning you were sat between Minnie and Horace Slughorn. Minnie ate her breakfast silently and Horace preferred to chat with Albus so you decided to drink your coffee in peace, a pumpkin pastie on your plate which reminded you too much of Sirius sat once bitten.

You were sure that Sirius had told his friends of what you had said yesterday, they would despise you now. Why did you hate that thought so much?

After what felt like an eternity you lifted yourself off your chair and left your half drunken coffee behind.

With slow steps you walked down the hall, heads turning your way every other minute. The headache had not returned, thankfully. You were just so exhausted, maybe you would take a walk.

Suddenly you butted shoulders with a student. Your body connected with the floor in seconds and your arm gave out.

“Ah, look at that. The ministry’s lab dog finally found its place, by my feet.”

A voice which you could only put to a certain Slytherin filled your ears. His voice inflamed something, so angry and furious that you didn’t know what else to do than get to your feet and point your wand to his chin.

“Repeat that, Malfoy.”

In the corner of your eye you could see Sirius and James standing, ready to bolt to your rescue. His eyes widened and he raised his arm in defense.

“I dare you, speak those words to my face, you filthy snake.” The hall had stilled, silent.

“Enough, Miss Fox.”

Albus spoke, loud enough.

You sighed and raised your hands in defeat. Without a word you spun around and walked off. Your chest rose with the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you fumbled for a cigarette.

Desperately hoping it would calm your nerves. Outside you pushed your hands through your hair and took a deep breath.

This mission would claim your life one way or another and this time around it seemed like it would simply drive you insane.

“Y/N.” Lily, please leave. You thought, your eyes closed to collect yourself.

“Y/N.” Remus’ voice sounded small but clear to you. You turned around, hands hanging by your side. You felt defeated, broken even.

“What? What the fuck do you want?” You asked, your voice would give out on you any minute.

All of them stood there, staring at you. You threw the cigarette to the ground and started walking away from them.

“Stop, Y/N. Please.” Lily tried again but you didn’t stop, you couldn’t. Your steps grew faster, almost on the verge of running.

“Dammit.” You were running now, as fast as your legs would take you. Your lungs were burning and your eyes watery. That’s all you wanted, to get away.

To leave all of this behind, to not be reminded of your parents, of how much you missed spending time with them, spending time with him.

Suddenly you were tackled, pushed to the ground by no one else but Sirius Black.

You didn’t fight him, you didn’t fight when he turned you around, when he towered over you or when the other had caught up to you and were now watching you being held to the ground like a toddler.

It reminded you of countless times at your parents house, how brutal they could be.

You stared at the sky, how blue it looked today, how unnecessary the jacket you put on this morning seemed now.

“Stop running away, for godricks sake.” Sirius spoke. You didn’t answer, not when you were panting like this. Fuck you were unfit.

“Y/N, look at me.” Sirius spoke, his hands had retreated by now as he sat beside you on the ground. You didn’t look at him, you couldn’t.

“I’m a mess, you’ll all die sooner or later.”

James placed himself next to Marlene and chuckled. “That’s what you’re worried about?” You slowly sat up, limbs aching.

“When am I not worried about that?”

Lily shook her head, picking at her fingers.

“You can’t protect us if you’re running away.”

You looked at her, hating how right she was. You took a few breaths, desperate to calm your breathing.

“You aparete when you see us. You turn corners when you catch a glimpse of us, fuck, you’ve been sitting at the teachers table for weeks now, Y/N.” Sirius spoke.

“You’ve been avoiding us like the plague.”

You didn’t know what to say, of course he was right. You’ve been acting childish, stupid to be accurate.

You could’ve spoken with them, resolved this with a simple conversation. But when did you ever do anything that was remotely rational?

“I needed to clear my head.” Marlene chuckled. “That’s a long time to clear your head.” No answer from you, of course she was right.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Lily tried, her hand now on your leg. Is that how friends are? You looked at her, your throat closing up.

“Don’t dare to say you’re fine.” Sirius spoke, voice venomous.

“What do you want me to say, Sirius?” You looked at him, his hair lifting in the breeze. His eyebrows furrowed at you, lips in a straight line.

“The truth maybe?”

You didn’t answer. He pushed a hand through his locks. “That you can’t look at us since knowing that Remus is a werewolf and we are animagus or how you keep every fucking thing to yourself as well.” Your eyebrows furrowed, not knowing what the fuck he was referring to.

“What the fuck do you mean?” You spat, you leaned yourself back onto your hands.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe that you’re so worried about fucking this whole thing up and that you haven’t been sleeping at all the last weeks, wandering around the castle like a corpse.

Or that you don’t eat a thing, possibly dropping dead in the next hour from malnourishment or that you swallow pills like they’re candy because your head’s about to explode from all that worry.” You stared at him for a good morning. He would only know about some of that because of one individual.

“Fucking Suki.” You whispered with frown.. You rubbed a hand over your face, a sigh escaping you.

“Yeah, right. Your elf visited me weeks ago, worried out of her mind because she didn’t know what to fucking do about you.

She was so distraught that she broke into tears on my bed begging me not to tell you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Suki was always one to worry most about you. You couldn't blame her for seeking help by people you held close.

Oh, how worried she must be.

“I told you before, you can tell me. Fuck you could even tell Marlene when you worry so much.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Marlene threw in, which caused you to smile.

You liked them so very much.

“So please, stop running away. Stop pushing us away, we’re your friends and we’re here for you.” Sirius said, eyes soft. You took his hand in yours, a small smile on your lips.

“Alright.” He tightened his hand with a nod and smiled at you.

Things have worked out with Sirius, as you expected. The only one who was as tense as a week ago was Remus.

He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t stand being by your side without tensing up and breathing like he'd been struck by an unforgivable curse by your hand. He was absolutely frightened.

You were all spread out on several blankets in the sun, a tree throwing well needed shade. Sirius’ head rested on your lap as you read away with a book in hand.

Lily and Alice were chatting, Remus was desperately trying to make James understand something about bird droppings, Peter and Marlene were nowhere in sight.

If you didn’t talk to Remus now you two would never make up, that much was sure. You softly pushed Sirius off your lap, which he loudly protested against.

You stood and made your way to Remus and James.

“Remus, mind taking a walk with me?”

The two of them stared at you. James sighed with a smile on his lips. “Thank Godric, take him away all you want.” Remus rolled his eyes and reluctantly got up.

“Sure.” He answered and put his book down.

You pushed a cigarette between your lips and held the pack for Remus to take one as well. He eyed the pack and took one as well.

“Thanks.” You gave him a small smile.

“Nothing to be nervous about, Remus. It's just me.”

He nodded and quickly fell in step next to you. You two walked along the grass in silence for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry you had to witness me like this that day.” He spoke, after he blew some smoke. You shook your head.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, It’s not like you can help it.”

He nodded. “I just wish you would’ve told me.” He sighed and blew some more smoke.

“I’d be the last person to judge you based on a condition you can’t change, Remus.” He nodded.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve huh?” You gave him a quick smile and blew some smoke yourself.

“I know, it’s hard to tell your deepest darkest secrets to someone you’ve spend so little time with but, I’m here to keep you safe and I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know what’s going on with you.” You paused to take a drag.

“I would never judge you for what you are, Remus. You’re a wonderful young man, a beautiful boy who’s been nothing but kind to me. You’re always, and I mean that with my whole heart, you’re always one of my dearest friends before you’re a werewolf, Remus.”

He stared at you, his eyes growing glassy. He let the cigarette drop to the ground, a hand fast at his face to wipe the tears away. Without much thinking he engulfed you in a hug.

“Thank you, Y/N.” You petted the back of his head. With a smile you pulled away.

“I mean it, you’re not horrible, you’re Remus and Remus is the furthest thing from horrible.” He gave you a small smile and nodded.

“I like that.”

You dropped the cigarette to the ground and started to walk back to the others.

“Good, because I’ll join you for the next full moon.”

He sucked in some air.

“Absolutely not!?” You gave him a shrug.

“As if you could have any say in that.”

He knew that as well so he sighed and accepted it as you threw an arm over his shoulder.

“Yes, mum.” You stared at him, mouth open.

“Oi, I’m not that old.” He had to chuckle as he watched you behind him, where you had stopped walking.

“Actually an old hag.” He said. You bolted, ready to catch him but he started running, so fucking fast.

You chased after him for a few moments before you caught up to him and hit him a few times to which he yelled loudly, like a child.

“You think they talked it out?” James asked with a smile on his lips. Sirius took a swig of your shared canned soda and took another drag from his cigarette.

“Looks like it.” Remus and you were slowly making your way back to them with smiles on your faces. Sirius liked it, how content you seemed, how you were smiling without a care in the world.

Oddly enough it seemed like the calm before a storm.

( taglist: @navs-bhat ; @amethyistheart ; @hermionelove; @madsireds ; @urbansaint ; @jennifer0305 )

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lovelylotusf1 · 7 months ago

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Oscar's Pokemon

Oscar Piastri seeks his luck as a Coordinator, rather than pursuing the Gym Challenge. That means he's competing in Pokemon Contests, where the appearance of his Pokemon and their ability to captivate the audience will be tested, as well as their battling capabilities.

Dawn the Umbreon, ability: Synchronize

Dark Pulse

Shadow Ball

Thunder Wave

Moonlight

Oscar's first Pokemon he evolved from an Eevee. Dawn is strictly for the Performance Stage of Contests, meaning she is not trained for traditional battling at all. Oscar is very protective of her and often had to tell people off who wanted to battle her even after Oscar said no.

Rowlet, ability: Overgrow

Razor Leaf

Shadow Sneak

Aerial Ace

Synthesis

A new addition to the team, Rowlet is doing his best to improve his performance during the Performance Stage. Does not like battling and would rather nap all day.

Lapras, ability: Water Absorb

Icy Wind

Water Pulse

Hyper Voice

Sing

Lapras is a gentle soul and is at her peak during the Performance Stage. However, Oscar specifically trained her to de-escalate conflicts, using a combination of Sing and Icy Wind to calm down opponents.

Mawile, ability: Intimidate

Iron Head

Play Rough

Crunch

Psychic Fangs

Just like Oscar, she looks cute and unassuming but isn't to be underestimated! She packs a mean punch, which is why she's the designated battler of the team. She shines best during the Battle Stage of Contests.

Pancham, ability: Iron Fist

Drain Punch

Ice Punch

Fire Punch

Thunder Punch

Battler in training. He tries to be intimidating but fails miserably. The audience love him for exactly this quality.

Komala, ability: Comatose

Yawn

Wish

Protect

Return

He's moral support. Likes to sleep on the sidelines and cheer on the team in his own special way. Can often be found cuddling with Oscar and Rowlet, all of them napping quite peacefully.

Thank you for @nikaf1 for making me remember Rowlet and for the Pancham addition :D

(All images taken from official Pokemon cards)

#look i finally did it #i combined my two fixations :D #also i know that only like 3 people care about this niche crossover but it sparks joy #oscar piastri #f1 x pokemon #f1 rpf #f1 fanfic #lotus imagines aus #pokemon trainer au

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boygiwrites · 7 months ago

Text

Harley D. Dixon 27

Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Wow, you guys. I got carried away with this one. It's a biggun!!

Kick.

The soccer ball rebounds off the tyre.

Kick.

I pretend it's a walker head.

We haven't seen one of the dead in weeks, but I know they're out there.

Kick.

Buried in the snow.

Kick.

Just like everything else.

KICK.

It shoots off into the car yard.

I watch it bounce down the aisle of rotted vehicles, bumping up against the chain-link fence. A sigh escapes my chapped lips and blows away in the wind. For what must be the tenth time today, I pull my scarf up and trudge over to the ball.

Aside from day dreaming, this is about the only thing I can entertain myself with nowadays. I can't play so well without a partner, but the afternoons slog on otherwise. It was a couple weeks ago that people stopped wantin' to talk, or tell a story, or try their hand at makin' a joke, a couple weeks before those ones that Rick stopped talkin' altogether. I just don't think any of us have the energy. The only thing we can waste it on is breathing in and out and lighting the campfire every morning. Some days, like today, I even waste it on the ball.

Besides, we don't got anything interesting to say. There's only so many times you can comment on the weather.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, go my boots in the packed snow.

Thinking back on it, the last time I heard Rick say anything that weren't a barked order was the night we slept in an abandoned house. It was the first time since the farm fell that Dad had come back without any game on his shoulder. Carl had tried eatin' an old can of dog food for dinner. I still remember the way the brown meat exploded against the floor when Rick threw it, and we were scared then, too.

So, we went hungry — And almost every night since then, we've gone hungry.

I wonder if Dad's gonna try go huntin' again today, but I doubt it. Ain't worth it, no more.

It'll be a handful of burnt mushrooms for dinner again, tonight.

I bend and pick up the ball, dusting off the snow.

Some months ago, Rick told me that if he had to hear the word mushroom one more time, he'd go crazy. I almost smile to myself at the memory, the day we shared fruit and worked on the fence. If only he knew he'd be eating them every day; that he'd go crazy, anyway.

It was also the day we lost everything, is the souring thought that comes after, just like it always does.

Movement.

I look up, peering through the hexagonal webbing of the fence, out onto the street.

There it is. A white blob with a black marking.

Well, a dog.

A dog sniffs around one of the cars. I ain't seen a dog since before. I realize that for some reason I'd thought they'd all disappeared, and maybe they have, but not this one. He's a stubby little feller. Barely tall enough to see over the walls of snow, but he manages. His pink nose traces down the tyre, taking him underneath the rusted shell. I watch him cram himself through the gap with little effort.

My empty stomach rumbles to me that I should shoot it from here and we can roast it over a fire.

Is it okay to eat the thing that eats the dog food? Is is different from a squirrel?

When he wriggles back out, a dead mouse hangs from his teeth.

Oh. He caught somethin'.

Outta the corner of my eye, Dad approaches me, a sore frown below the brim of his beanie.

He makes a pincer gesture with both hands, shaking them slightly. 'What are you doing?'

I slap my thigh a few times, the sign for, 'Dog.'

When I point, he turns to look.

The dog clumsily gnaws at the skin holding the mouse meat together, letting the head plop onto the ground.

Dad tenses slightly, glancing out at the empty street; the trees beyond it. He thinks the dog might not be alone. Squirrels, possums. They don't got owners. They're too wild and nasty. But dogs do. We wait for a moment for someone to appear, but nobody does.

We're both thinking the same thing, but I'on think Dad will say it before I do.

'We should eat him,' I sign; the smart thing to do. We should eat him. But, 'I don't want to.'

He pauses. He don't want to, neither.

People are predictable like this. The world has up and ended, but we still pray before we eat, we remember our birthdays for no good reason, and we refuse to eat pets. All the bolts in Dad's bow and all the bullets in my pistol are stayin' right where they is.

Dad moves past me, undoing the gate latch and pilling it open, mutely snapping his fingers.

The dog's head snaps up.

Fresh blood paints its lopsided, gaping grin, dripping small jewels into the snow.

It considers the both of us, unsure if it wants to abandon its dinner. His head is droopy and egg shaped, undeniably ugly but in an adorable way, with two black dots for eyes and a chest like a body builder. Bull Terriers, I'm sure they're called. Rodent killers.

Stepping over the little pile of organs, the dog makes up its mind and trots over to us.

Dad kinda flinches when it places its nose in his outstretched hand, relaxing, letting it nuzzle at him.

Luckily, he ain't a human killer.

'It's okay,' He's concluded, guiding the dog inside and latching the gate closed.

I drop to my knees, giggling softly as I cradle the dog's big face, scratching behind his ears. Oh, he loves it. He must'a been lonely.

I mouth up at Dad, Keep him?

Food is scarce, and Lori is sick an' pregnant, but I still hope we can keep him. I'm already preparing a list of reasons we should.

'Everyone's decision,' He signs, before nodding us back the way we came.

Standing up, I follow behind him, and the dog makes sure he don't get left behind.

The garage stands firm in the onslaught of snow. We've made it a sort of home for now, but it's far from paradise. It's old. Small. It don't keep the wind out. Beth, Maggie, T, and Glenn are huddled around the campfire in a patch of melted sleet, the four of 'em the first to notice our return, and our new friend. They perk up at the sight of the dog, before breaking out in smiles.

Kneeling next to Glenn, I help him welcome the dog with pets and cuddles.

Rick's marching over to us before I can even wonder where he is, 'cause ain't nothin' happens without him knowing.

I expect him to be angry. He's always angry when it comes to mouths to feed.

But after exchanging some words with Dad over my head, he surprises me by nodding, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, watching us. I think I must've got it mixed up, but nope, he sends me the slightest, weightiest of smiles and nods again.

A foreign sort of relief flushes through me at the realization that I don't gotta persuade him.

I'm happy, for free.

Grinning up at everyone, I bask in the wonderful sight of their silent chuckles.

Glenn makes finger guns and taps them together.

'Name?'

I glance down at the dog; give it a good think. If I were a weird little rodent killer, what would I want my name to be?

I know. Dusting off the end of my nose with my finger, I share my decision with the group.

'Mouse.'

I startle as the dog licks my knuckles.

Maggie pouts, mouthing the word, Cute.

'When I found him,' I sign, trying and failing to keep my hands clean of dog-slobber, 'He caught a mouse.'

'He's a hunter,' Dad agrees, approving.

I lead Mouse into the garage to meet the others, ducking under the shutter doors and shivering off the sting of the snow. I wish we could light another campfire in here to keep warm, but Rick says the smoke would kill us faster than the cold will.

Not that it mattered much to my hearing aids.

As it turns out, the cold kills batteries, too.

I've learnt to manage without 'em by now, but I miss it. There were even days where I could hear my own laugh.

At least when the thaw comes back around, I'll be able to use them again.

I step over the piles of blankets scattered across the concrete floor, mindful not to cross paths with any of them. I wouldn't be a very popular person if I trampled somebody's stuff. Any little thing will cause a fight nowadays. We're stacked on top of each other in here. Chickens in a slaughterhouse cage. I learnt that it's easy to lose yer temper here, even if we do love each other, when I woke up durin' the first night. Glenn was apparently muttering in his sleep, sum' about,��No, please, this is all I have, before T-Dog shook him awake with a pair of angry hands, growling at him to, Shut the fuck up. Nobody slept after that, but nobody ever really sleeps.

Mouse sniffs around the many makeshift beds, his tail beating back and forth against his muscly legs.

I already know how to study somebody's face to see which side of them I'm getting that day. I did it with Merle all the time. I knew the exact angle of his brow when he was drunk, about to start plottin' murder and makin' loud phone calls to people that owed him whatever it was he got scammed outta that week, the exact angle when he was gettin' mad, when he was asleep, or high, or both.

It's a talent to read closed books. Living like this for so long, I ain't the only one good at it, no more.

'Hey,' I wave to Lori. She's sat against the wall, wrapped in blankets. Not angry today. Safe to talk. 'We found a dog.'

Her bleary eyes widen.

Mouse plods up to the table, where Herschel and Carl are sitting. It's like they think he's a baby polar bear at first, but they soon realize it's safe. He soaks up their attention before slipping through their legs and approaching us, expecting some from Lori, too.

Cautious not to lose her fingers, she sneaks a hand out from under her many layers, stroking Mouse's long snout.

A smile graces her pale lips.

'Where did you find him?', Herschel signs to me, his veiny hands moving fast and precise, 'cause he's the best outta all'us. It ain't all that fair, since I'm the deaf one and all, but this old man has known sign language longer than I've even been alive.

'At the fence.' I answer, watching Carl stand from his seat and join his Momma on the floor, reaching out to pet the dog with her. I stare at the top of his head, tryna remember the last time we spoke. When I look back up at Herschel, I add, 'I was playing.'

'Have you named him, yet?'

Nodding, I make the sign. 'Mouse.'

'Mister Mouse.' He chuckles heartily, reminding me of Santa Claus. It's dim in here from the total lack of windows, but I can still see the way his cheeks crinkle around a mellow smile. I can always count on Herschel to make me feel like there's bread baking in the other room and I can smell it and everything is going to be okay. 'I'm sure he would love to play with you sometime.'

I return his smile, suddenly craving warm bread. 'I hope so. Tyres are bad at soccer.'

'Goodness. I'm sure.'

Calling Mouse over with a few kissy sounds, the two of us duck back under the doors in search of the soccer ball.

'Hey. Watch this.'

'We're watching.'

At the thumbs up Glenn sends me, I turn, focusing on holding the soccer ball in front of me. One, two, three. I drop it onto the toe of my boot and give it a small kick. It flies. Mouse pounces on it like a cat with a ball of yarn, slipping and sending it rolling away.

We been practicing that move for ages.

Looking back at everyone, I notice that they're all clapping for us, cowering their faces into their poofy scarves.

'Did you see?', I ask, just to make sure.

Another thumbs up from Glenn. 'Very cool.'

It weren't very cool at all — In fact, it was total garbage — but it was fun putting on a show.

'Thanks.' As Mouse chases after the ball, I leave him be and return to the campfire. 'I'm so tired, now.'

I really shouldn't be. I'm only a kid, and kids are supposed to have a lot of energy. I'm sure of it, since our neighbour Betty used to complain to Dad about her boy havin' too much of it whenever the two of 'em smoked together on our porch after work. His eyes would droop like a slow-blinking frog's whenever he got back from the mechanic shop, sometimes sleeping for a whole day, even at the dining table, while he was halfway through a meal. All the adults I knew were tired, but not like this. We's starving; hollow.

I'm jealous of my past self, who used to be able to play soccer for hours on end.

Maggie sends me a sad smile. 'Me, too, honey.'

'Sorry,' Glenn signs to me, 'cause he always says that. 'Come rest. It's warm here.'

'Can I sit next to you?', I ask T-Dog, pointing to the empty seat between him and Glenn.

Like the others, there's two moon-shaped craters hanging below his eyes, bruised an ugly purple against the brown of his skin. The man sends me a deadpan look, as if the cold's gone to my brain. 'No,' Then, sassily; 'Of course you can.'

Rolling my eyes at his attitude, I sit down and lay my head against the canvas backing.

My bones have been replaced with rope, loose and heavy.

I know we're gonna be leaving soon.

That pensive look on Rick's face is easy to recognise, even if he tries hiding it behind his scarf as he stands watch.

According to the map, there ain't no drug stores or doctor's offices for nearly five miles around us, and we're gonna need one. The medicine, what little we'd scrounged up, has ran out. Lori ain't suffering anything worse than a sniffly nose and a cough, but out here, — In the snow and the wind and the rain, with nothin' but a flimsy bitta metal to shelter us from it all — Well, we all know. I asked Dad if the baby in her belly could get sick, too, and all he told me was that none of this is ideal. I understood. When things ain't ideal, people die.

That place Rick was talkin' about, the one that we can fortify and make a life for ourselves in, it's still out there somewhere. He lectures us about it so often it's as if he can't think about anything else, a dog with a bone dangling just in front of his nose.

I bet there's lots of food and medicine there. And even beds. Proper beds, with mattresses and everything.

Maybe even a little mat for Mouse.

Yeah. That would be ideal.

Nobody would die in a place like that.

I tear my gaze from Rick, turning it onto the one big cloud in the sky.

I still think about Shane, sometimes. It comes and goes. Most of the time, he's alive. We're sitting at the picnic table back on the farm, coloring a meadow of flowers together, and then there's an ebbing swash of time where something inside me hurts real bad like I've been shot, and then he's holding my hand in a forest because I'm scared. I'm showing him the frog I've caught, mirroring his grin.

Suddenly, none of the muscles in his face are working and he's looking at me with milky eyes.

I don't wanna shoot him.

Bringing my hand up to my locket, I squeeze the thousand-pound weight between my fingers.

The spot he's taken up in my brain was supposed to be mine, and so was Momma's, and Merle's, and everyone else's.

Even in death, as Andrea said, He's still a fucking asshole.

I wonder if she's still alive.

A girl went missing from our town, once. My Daddy was in the kitchen washing dishes while I watched her Momma cry on TV.

I didn't know Andrea too well, so all my tears are staying inside my face for now. It's not like it was with Sophia. No, we packed into our cars and we fucked off North to a place called Newnan, leaving everything, including her and any chance of finding her, behind.

A bit stupidly, I hope the cows made it out alright.

Then, a hand is waving over the sun.

Lifting my head, I realize it's Dad trying to get my attention.

'How are you?', he signs as I stuff the locket under my sweatshirt.

'Hungry. Tired.' The usual answer; then, 'Everything okay?'

'Yeah. Taking a break.'

'I think Rick wants to leave.'

As Dad eases himself onto the crate beside me, he sneaks a glance at him. 'He does. We were talking.'

The others must be reading our signs, 'cause Maggie butts in, talking with Dad for a minute. I wait 'til they're done.

'We need medicine,' I comment quite uselessly when his attention is back on me.

'That's right. And better shelter. This place is shitty.'

'Do you want to leave?'

'I want you to be safe and happy. So, yes.'

'Are we walking again?'

He makes a face. 'No. We're riding bicycles.'

'Funny, Dad.'

'He wants to head East. The next town is close. Nine miles. There's a hospital there. Might have medicine.' His hands slow down. They hover, unsure. When he picks one back up, he finger-spells the word, 'S-h-a-r-p-s-b-u-r-g.'

The blood in my neck rushes up into my cheeks, and for just a moment, I'm warm.

I wonder if her house still looks the same. With the gravel path leadin' up to the porch, lined with weeds before any of this even began. My bike chained to the wire fence, asking itself where the little girl that loves it has gone as it grows rustier every weekend that passes. The grass was always scratching my knees, wild and forgotten, a bit like me. We made the most of what we had.

I hope the mirror in her bedroom is broke. I hope the kitchen is rotted; loungeroom filthy.

It don't deserve to be the way it was before, 'cause ain't nothin' the way it was before. That was for us.

Dad is waiting for me to say something, but I got nothin'.

Being that close to that house again might just make me start believing' in ghosts, but we need to do it. For Lori.

'No choice.' I sign, plain and simple. 'We need to go.'

He studies me for a moment, torn on something, before nodding and rubbing his fist over his heart. 'Sorry.'

I shrug, playing with the pebbles of lint on my mittens.

I think about Momma, too. She weren't all that different from Shane, especially not in the end. Both were sick, but not in the way that Lori is sick, not with germs. Even now, I don't quite know if it'd be worse knowin' whether or not she turned and lost her mind one last time. At least in the picture in my locket, she ain't ever gonna turn. I'll keep her safe from everythin' outside her little bronze door.

'Forget about that.' Dad waves off the imaginary town, sneering. 'I'm going hunting. You coming?'

I hear that right? Hunting?

All the rabbits are hiding at the bottom of their burrows at this time of year, the squirrels either dead or holed away. Even my Dad, the best hunter and tracker I know, who can shoot a field mouse out a tree, ain't been able to catch nothin' in this weather.

'You tried,' I remind him. 'Many, many times.'

'I know. But,' He nods over his shoulder, where Mouse is rolling around in the snow. 'Now we have help.'

Mouse. Of course.

Our last chance at catchin' a proper meal.

He reminds me of Tank a lil' bit, but smaller, whiter; with all four legs.

I'm willing to give it a chance. 'Okay. I'll come.'

Since we started to catch onto the fact that the cold slows the walkers down, we all been allowed out more.

A pat on my knee. 'Good girl. Let's go.'

He asks Glenn if he wants to come as well, and 'cause he got nothin' better to do and we make a good team, he agrees.

I'm inside a giant snow globe, waiting for the glass to break.

It was about a month ago now that I woke up one morning with my head in my hands, holed up in a gas station, crying snot and tears and dribble 'cause the ringing in my ear had turned unbearable. I didn't believe Herschel at first. My hearing couldn't deteriorate. I didn't even know what that word meant. But no matter what words I did or didn't know, their voices kept getting foggier and the ringing kept getting louder, until one day there was a pop beside my brain, a burst of pain, and then the world went silent. And then I believed him.

I was scared, at first. How could I hear a walker comin', now? Would I never hear my Dad say, I love you, again?

But it didn't take long for us to learn enough sign language to talk to each other, I love you, included. Nothin' would've stopped us. Maggie found a little ASL guidebook with pictures in it while we were passin' through a library. Go, Be quiet, Hide, Run, were the first words Dad made sure I knew. Good morning, Goodnight, and all the other things I'd wanna say. Thank you. Have mine. Fuck off.

Even now, whenever I wake up during the night, I always find one person studying the book, pages cradled by a flashlight.

As the three of us follow after Mouse, snow drifts through the thicket of naked branches like ash, catching winks of sunlight before they kiss the ground. It's hard to feel like I've lost anything when it snows. It's one thing that's always been silent. So have ripples in water, or a smile on a loved one's lips. I've made a place for myself in the silence, and I fit well here. Nobody else is allowed in my snow globe.

Glenn squeezes my mittened hand as I'm watching the falling snow, pulling my gaze up to his face.

With his free hand, he signs, 'Ringing?'

I shrug one shoulder, pinching my fingers. 'A little.'

It never really goes away. It's the one last thing I can hear, but I tune it out.

He attempts a smile, the curve of his cheekbones a raw shade of pink. 'Sorry.'

I always feel guilty when I have to answer that question. I'on know why. It ain't my fault.

'You always say sorry.'

'Sorry.'

Holding back a smile of my own, a real one, I ignore him in favor of watching the snow again.

The memory of that morning we had on the roof of the RV swells in front of me now, pretty and sun-colored, a cherry on my tongue. It was the mornin' after we found out I wasn't dying. I had a life. I had a chance to live it just like everybody else. Equals. Whenever I look at Glenn, I remember that morning. Happy and alive, with a group of our own. A friend. The first one in a long, long time.

When it's just the three of us like this, I always feel like I'm betraying Merle. It's a slimy feeling, one I force myself to swallow it down each time, but I ain't done nothin' wrong. I ain't replaced him on purpose. If I lie, I can say I ain't replaced him at all.

The worst part about it is that Glenn fits better into the void Merle left behind than Merle himself ever did.

My thoughts are interrupted when Dad puts an arm out in front of us.

I jolt, following his gaze.

Ahead of us, Mouse furiously investigates along an invisible trail at the end of his nose. He, too, goes still all at once. He's found something. We watch him square up with a lump in the snow, his tail an exclamation mark. Then there's a rabbit, a bite, a struggle. I squeeze Glenn as snow goes flying. Dad lifts his crossbow. A single bolt is released, and the rabbit is pinned to the ground by its heart.

It twitches around the bolt once, twice, tryna run away like all rabbits do, and then it goes limp.

That's our first kill in weeks.

'Dinner!', I exclaim to Glenn with both my hands, as Dad moves to pluck the bolt out, shaking off the snow.

A long, fat rabbit.

Dad was right. Mouse done spoiled us. Him bein' such a great hunter must be how he's survived this long. Everybody's got a reason. Mine is that I have people who love me, both dead and alive, who have fought tooth and nail to protect me every day.

Dad slings the rabbit over his shoulder, gesturing onwards. 'Let's keep going.'

Taking Glenn's hand again, I have a thought. 'Is his name Rabbit, now?'

He shakes his head, no, both of us falling into step with Dad and Mouse. 'It's Mini Daryl.'

Pssh. Whatever. 'Bad name.'

'Great name.'

I point side-long at Dad, as if saying, Go on, then. Tell him.

He cringes. 'No, thanks.'

'See? Bad name.'

'Are you bullying me?'

'Yep.'

Unamused, Dad gives us a look. 'I'm not blind. I can see your hands.' A pause; glance. 'She's right. Bad name.'

Like I always do when I'm giggling around Dad and Glenn, I say a silent, Sorry, Merle, because he's always been inside my head.

By the time we're walking back through the car yard gate, Mouse has caught us three more rabbits.

Beth's jaw drops.

'Dinner!', I sign to her, grinning, turning to sign the same thing to T and Rick who are stood on watch, their eyes going wide when they notice the bounty. I duck under the shutters and sign it to everyone else huddled in the garage, too. 'Dinner! Come on!'

They follow me out to the campfire, not wasting any time skewerin' and roasting the rabbits as the sun begins setting.

'Well done,' Maggie signs to the three of us, thoroughly impressed.

Dad nods to Mouse, as if to say, Thank him.

Thanks, Mouse, Everyone obliges, and even though he don't understand Human, he still grins his silly, gummy grin. I take a seat next to Dad on the wooden pallet, basking in the delicious smell of bubbling fat and the sight of my smiling family.

The moon is waning over our heads like a pretty marble, passin' through the stars, as we slurp up our greasy, mouth-watering rabbit meat. Even Lori has come out of hiding to enjoy the meal, her thin body curled up next to Rick in the broken car seats, shivering as she nibbles a meaty thigh. There's a bump under her blankets, right on top of her belly, that makes it look a bit like she's hiding my soccer ball under there. Really, it's the baby. Some nights, she lets me put my cheek to it so I can feel the heartbeat from the outside. It freaked me out at first. It's like she swallowed an alien. There's a tiny human in there, separated by only a few layers of skin. I hope it likes rabbit.

I know she needed this. I think we're all relieved to see her eating a good meal after all this time, something fatty and heavy, something to fill out her caved-in cheeks. If we're gonna leave for Sharpsburg at some stage, she'll need the energy. We all will.

Carol says that if it don't come out early, the baby's gonna be born in Spring. I've always thought of the seasons as a clock for huntin', just like my Daddy does. Summer's when all the coyotes come out, and you can stay out late 'cause the sun don't go down 'til after dinnertime. In Fall, the migratory birds start to fly over Georgia to reach warmer places further South. I've always liked watching the V shapes glide across the sky, wishing I could grow a pair of wings and join 'em up there. Spring is baby season. When everything gets born again, from the grass under the mud to the leaves inside the trees to the baby deer, called calves, inside they Momma's bellies.

Babies are good at bein' born in Spring, I told Carol when I could see a tick of worry in her brow, especially after Carl brought up naming the baby Sophia again, You'd think they's dumb, since they's babies an' all, but they know.

I's talkin' outta my ass a lil' bit, 'cause I was a baby once and I was born in Summer, but it made her feel better.

And then there's Winter. Everything's dead in Winter, except for the things that know how to hide.

Swallowing a juicy bite of rabbit, I glance at Mouse.

He lays at my Dad's boots in the snow, both of 'em gnawing away at their scraps of meat like long-time buddies.

Sucking the meat off the warm bone in my hand, I click my fingers to get the dog's attention. He perks up, craning his neck to look at me, his eyes bulging as I toss the bone in his direction as thanks. He catches it midair, crushing it between his teeth.

When my gaze meets Dad's, he gives me a thumbs up and a questioning look. 'Tasty?'

I nod, my own greasy thumb glistening in the light of the fire as I give him one back.

His lip twitches upward, as if he's about to smile, but then he remembers something. 'We're talking about leaving.'

Looking around, I see the whole group deep in conversation as they eat.

'What they saying?'

'Glenn thinks we should stay. He goes to Sharpsburg with T-Dog and they come back with medicine.' He tells me. 'But we can't split up. Dangerous. Could get lost. And we can't stay here. Cold. Not secure. Both; too risky.'

'So we all go.'

He nods, with not much else to say. We all go. 'We leave tomorrow.'

I don't remember voting for that decision, but things ain't worked like that in a long time.

Nine miles. That would be nothin' if we were a flock of birds. Birds can fly twenty-five miles an hour, don'cha know. I know lots of animal facts like that one. Whenever I can't sleep, I try and see how many I can remember until I'm blinking myself awake and the sun is rising. But we ain't birds, and we ain't even got the cars no more. I'on know how fast humans walk, but I guess I'll find out.

Pushing away my thoughts, I sign, 'It's kinda funny. We're surrounded by cars and none of them work.'

'This place is shitty,' He says for a second time, agreeing.

As we make our way through the meal, Dad, Glenn, and T-Dog keep forcin' their food into my hands. They act as if they can't see my signs telling them to save it for themselves, 'cause they're a bunch of assholes. I give up on changing their minds after a while, 'cause I've learnt it never works. Rick and Maggie do the same to Carl, Lori, and Herschel. We're all just a bunch of assholes who love each other.

That night, it's the same routine. Pull down the shutter doors. Tie a shirt through the padlock loop. Switch on the lamps.

I get comfortable in my pile of blankets that I share with Dad, digging through our bag. Wind rattles the garage walls, bullets of rain and hail battering the thin metal. For once, the rumbling of my stomach ain't here to join 'em. I pull out my journal and pencil, starting my ritual of shaving the wood away from the lead using Merle's knife, dwindling it down to the size of a used cigarette. Blowing the dust off, I sheathe my blade and flip to a page I can write on. Ain't no blank ones left, but I can squeeze what I wanna say into the gaps.

As everyone lays down, they keep clutching at their bellies like Lori does all the time, stuffed full of dinner.

Hello, diry, I write, 'cause Lori taught me how, Today was a grat day.

Mouse comes and inspects our blankets before plopping himself down next to me, resting his chin on his paws.

We faund a dog. I named him Mows becoz he kils mise and he is cyut. He caut for rabbits for us. He is my frend.

Dad lays down on my other side, giving my arm a squeeze and closing his eyes.

We are leeving again tomoro. Dad spelt it, Sharpsburg. My Muma uset to live ther but she is ded now. I wont to leev but also I dont. Im a bit scered. Dont tell nobode. At leest we are leeving the car yard befor it gets the chans to kil one of us.

As olways, Rest in peece, M, T, A, M, O, S, S, J, J, P.

I snap the book shut and place it back into the bag, zipping it up and rolling onto my back.

Dad throws a blanket over me as the wind blows in through the slash in the wall, pulling me into him with a strong arm.

Somebody clicks off the last lamp.

Squirrels can jump ten times their body length, I think to myself, focusing on the beat of Dad's heart and the warm weight of Mouse slumped against my legs, before I'm opening my eyes again and there's a band of cool sunlight on my face.

I watch a bird fly past the gap.

We never stay in one place for long.

I hover near the gate along with the rest of the group, clutching the straps of my backpack.

Lori got worse overnight.

I'm looking at her right now, as Rick peels off his coat and wraps it around her. Her face; it's paler than the snow, her nostrils two rings of puffy, red skin, leaking snot onto her lip. She wipes it away, fingers shaking. I almost want to tell Rick to call this whole thing off, but that would be stupid. The sky's cleared up some, making way for the sun. If we don't go now, we'll be stuck here forever.

Threading the last button through the loop, Rick turns and rallies all of us to follow him outta the car yard.

We file out into the open, a trail of footsteps carving a line through the snow.

Rick takes up the front of the line. Dad, the back. When wolves travel in packs, the two strongest of the group do this, too. This way, one can flatten the terrain for everyone else, while the other can keep an eye out, make sure nobody falls behind. That's why I'm in the middle, trailing behind Lori, Carl, and Herschel. We're the smallest and the weakest and the sickest, but I can still trace the treeline with my gaze and watch for danger, grabbing for the hilt of my knife every time a shrub shivers in the wind.

Mouse walks alongside us as we journey, 'cause I think he's decided he doesn't wanna be alone, anymore.

With every step I take, I find myself missing Dad's truck more and more. I know it was just a hunk of old, blue metal on two pairs of wheels, but it's still gone, and I still miss it like I'd miss a person. It's true that it'd been through its fair share of bumpy rides through the forest and countless tyre changes, but ain't nothin' short of an army tank would'a made it outta what happened to it in the end. They came out of nowhere, is how T tells it. We were cruising along the streets of a small town when a group of people jumped us. Way I tell it, they came out from behind some cars that were spilled out across the sidewalks. A gunshot. We veered, straight into the window of a store.

Dad and Rick killed those ones, too. Four people; two men, a woman, and a sorta-kid — A teenager.

I remember the boy's face. Caramel-colored with a nose that looked like a bird's beak, maybe a few years older than my cousin, Tobias, but people always said he had a baby's face. I couldn't figure out if they deserved it. They'd tried to rob us, a small group with two kids and a pregnant woman; our medicine, blankets, water. But back in the beginning, Dad and Merle did the same thing to other groups. Lone cars on the highway, pairs of people as they walked, sleeping camps. It was awful, but it was how we stayed alive.

There was this one night that Dad asked Merle if they should stop while he thought I was asleep.

We're doin' it for her, was all my Uncle had to say.

Every bad person I ever met probably had somebody they was doin' it for.

Their blood pooled onto the tarmac as our blue truck smoked, wedged between a scattering of debris and rubble. The men tried pushing it free for over an hour, but it was stuck there, well and truly. Eventually, we accepted we had to leave it behind.

After that, Rick's truck shut off one afternoon and refused to turn back on no matter what Glenn did to it.

We couldn't all fit into the grey car, or onto the back of Dad's motorbike, so that's how we were left with nothing.

Still, Dad swears up and down he's gonna go back for his bike as soon as he can, soon as we're settled someplace proper. He hid it real good and took the cylinder head with him, so there's a very good chance ain't nobody nabbing it before he can get back there. My Dad's a smartass like that. I think he'd sooner pull all his teeth out 'fore he lets somebody else have his precious bike.

On a little street sign just ahead of us that reads, Poplar, a tiny bird perches.

It chirps and flies off when we get close.

Poplar Street. Two miles down.

Herschel looks at me over his shoulder, his brows made even fluffier than usual by the snow that's gathered on them.

'Doing well?', He asks.

I nod, yes. My feet are achin', but I'm sure I ain't the only one. 'You? I have water if you need.'

'That's okay, sweetie. I'm not thirsty.'

I give him a bit of a stern look, one that Rick would be proud of, but he just turns to face forward again.

Hmph. I'm suddenly appreciating how the others must feel when I refuse their food.

Glancing behind me, I extend the offer to Carl and Lori. When they accept — Well. When Carl accepts and forces Lori to do the same, — Dad alerts Rick, and guides us off the road, into a little eating area beside a kiosk station to take a break. I drop my backpack onto the seat of a wooden table and pull out my bottle of water. Lori and Carl sit down as I unscrew the cap and hand it to them, waiting for Carl to take a small sip first, holding it to his Momma's cracked lips after. Her neck gulps twice before he passes it back to me.

Most everyone else settles down at the other tables, catching their breaths.

Dad approaches the three of us. He points at the bottle with a no-nonsense expression. 'Drink that.'

I'm about to stash it, but do as he says. I am a little thirsty.

'How are you?'

'I'm okay.' I zip the empty bottle away. 'My feet hurt.'

'You can handle it.'

I nod. I can. 'You?'

'Feet hurt.'

'You can handle it.'

He huffs a chuckle. 'Don't be smart. I'm going to check the—.'

I follow his gesture over to the kiosk, nodding and taking the seat next to Carl.

The boy glances at me a couple times, as if it's hard to look at me, like how it's hard to look at the sun for too long before you start seein' shapes. He awkwardly points at my bag. Huh? He touches his fingers to his freckled chin, swiping forwards.

'Thank you.'

He knows how to sign?

All this time, I ain't seen him pick up the guidebook even once.

I ain't sure what to say, so I just nod until he looks away again, and then we're both just watching Mouse sniff the ground.

Boy, do the two of us know how to hold a grudge. Ever since our squabble that afternoon before Dale died, we been holdin' so tight onto 'em we ain't even know what to do with 'em anymore. You're a stupid baby, Harley. I hate your guts, Carl. I'm glad you're not my sister. I'm glad you ain't my brother. Stupid. That was months ago, now, and I might still be a stupid baby — I'll give him that — but I don't hate his guts. I just hate sayin' sorry. My teachers used to say bein' able to apologise is a life skill, but I never saw how it keeps ya alive.

Mustering up the courage to give it a go anyway, I sign to him, 'Back on the farm. I was just—.'

Wait. He's looking at me all confused. He don't understand.

I deflate, embarrassed. Never mind.

'Are you okay?', Beth signs to me from the other table.

'Yeah... My feet hurt.'

'Mine, too.' She sighs wistfully, her blonde hair flying around in the wind. 'We need a massage.'

It forces a giggle outta me. She makes me feel like such a girl, sometimes.

When Dad comes back, T-Dog in tow, it doesn't look like they found much in the way of food or water — Just what looks like a crumpled granola bar and a couple newspapers that we could prolly use to make a fire. Mysterious Infection Hits France, is one of their headlines, not even worthy of a bold font. Dad stuffs the little bar into Lori's coat pocket before he helps her stand from the bench, gently passing her off to Rick. He runs a hand up and down his wife's back, murmuring to her as I sling my backpack on and get to my feet.

I'm okay, I think she's assuring him, trying to brush him off.

Maggie shares a worried glance with Carol, then with Dad.

Before I know it, I'm walking over Rick's footprints again.

There's the river.

I saw it on the map, but it's bigger in person. It's not just a white strip of ink bent around laddering terrain lines. It's a flat, blue sheet of ice wedged between two frozen shorelines, snow scuffing over its surface as the wind pushes it around.

Like I said, I saw it on the map. That's why I know the only road that passes over it is miles away.

We're gonna have to cross it on foot.

'We need to be careful,' Rick turns to address us. He makes sure to sign as he speaks, very obviously struggling to match the volume of the wind. 'I'll go first. Make sure it's safe. Then, Harley, Lori, Carl, and Herschel. Then, the rest.'

There's no option for any of us to dispute the plan, so he goes ahead and nods to himself, sighing and turning toward the thick bank of snow. This is what Rick does. He risks his life, risks falling into rivers and freezing to death, 'cause he's got a few screws lose and he's brave, and some months ago, on the side of the road after our home burnt down, he told us, This isn't a democracy, anymore. I grab onto Dad's hand, squeezing it like a stress ball at the doctor's office before they stick the needle in ya arm, as our leader surfs down the hill.

Fringes of snow break off and roll down as he goes, eventually landing at the bottom.

Okay, I think I can see him mouthing to himself, Okay.

He takes his first step. He holds his arms out on either side of himself. Another step. Another; delicate, as if he's testing out whether or not he's gonna burn his feet, learning he won't, and then doing it all over again with the other foot.

When he reaches the other side, he pulls himself up onto the shelf of snow.

He plops onto his ass.

He made it.

When he realizes this, he raises his hand and waves us over.

I take a deep breath.

Harley, Lori, Carl, and Herschel, is what he said. Harley. I'm next.

'Go slow,' Dad signs to me, looking at me in a very serious way. 'Don't walk exactly where Rick walked. It could break.'

I nod, repeating his instructions in my head as I let go of his hand, forcing myself to approach the ledge.

Sitting down and sliding all the way to the bottom, I push myself to my feet, staring out onto the ice.

Oh, shit.

I swear it ain't look this far from up there.

'It's okay,' Rick's signing to me from across the river. 'You're light. You won't fall.'

'You promise?'

'I promise.'

Okay. Okay, I can do this.

I take my first step. Shit, it's slippery. I almost lose my balance, catching it right at the last moment. My gaze snaps back up to Rick. It's okay, He signs again. I look over my shoulder, where up on the hill, Dad signs the same thing. It's okay. It's like a tight rope. Taking care to mind the puddles of sleet sitting on the ice, I walk the rope one step at a time, water rushing underneath my boots.

When I'm close enough, Rick braces himself on one leg and reaches down for me, hooking his hands under my armpits. He lifts me onto the shelf of snow, setting me down beside him. I clutch his arms, my legs shaking. Oh, solid ground. It's never felt better.

Well done, He mouths, giving both my shoulders a firm squeeze before letting go.

Looking back at the other shoreline, I see a small Glenn and Maggie both sending me thumbs' ups.

'Proud of you, baby,' Dad is signing beside them, as Carol cups her own cheeks, relieved.

'I made it,' I reply, heart pounding.

'Yeah, you did. With sore feet, too.'

I wish I could let out a laugh, but I can't. Not yet.

Lori is next.

Lori, sick and frail, with the baby in her belly.

T-Dog slides down first and catches her when she reaches the bottom, holding her hands to steady her. She carefully steps onto the ice, alone. Her fingers leave T-Dog's. She's so skinny these days, I'm worried the wind might just knock her over. I feel Rick tense against me. Slowly, and cradling her belly, she ventures further out. There's a moment or two I think she might trip, but she makes it.

Rick pulls her up, and then it's Carl's turn; then Herschel's.

The four of us help the old man climb up onto the bank. The worst of it is over.

We wait for everybody else to cross. Glenn and Maggie set out next, keeping a good distance between them the whole way, before Beth makes her way down behind them, doing the same. Everyone calls out encouragement and praise, egging them on. One by one, we work together to pull them up. Glenn. Then, Maggie. Beth, who's shaking like a little lamb. And Mouse, who don't even need our help.

As Rick and Maggie pull Beth up, the last ones to begin their crossing are Dad, T-Dog, and Carol.

They're halfway across when Mouse starts barking.

A head appears over the hill behind them. Shoulders. A fleshy ribcage. It's a walker. An actual walker. It don't know where its goin', blindly trudging forward, skirting the ledge. It's gonna fall down. Everyone realizes this at the same time, suddenly pointing and shouting things. The three of them stop in their tracks. They turn to look behind them, just as the thing takes its next and final step. With no more ground to stand on, it falls head-first into the slope, tumbling, once, twice. It smacks into the ice, a cannon ball of limbs.

A line as thin as a hair shoots out from under its body.

A crack. The ice is cracking.

My body lurches as if I'm about to do something, about to climb down there and help, but we can't.

The only way we can help them is by staying off the ice.

The line grows longer and longer. It's under Dad's boot before he can even take a step. His chest heaves, staring down at it. Carol and T-Dog linger nearby, terrified, as if any flinch or gasp from them will send them all under. He pulls his crossbow off his shoulder. I'm not sure if he's about to shoot the walker, or maybe ditch the bow to lessen his bodyweight, but he don't get to do either.

His leg goes straight through the ice.

He falls onto his forearms. His weight splits the line into three; snaps the surface into pieces.

SPLASH.

Both he and Carol are suddenly neck-deep in the water.

I think I squeal a little bit, 'cause I feel it in my throat.

The walker lifts its head.

T-Dog looks back at us, shouting and holding his hand out. He wants something. Rick catches his meanin', unholstering his pistol and rearing it back, hurling it as far as he can over the river. T-Dog told us he used to be the best player on his baseball team in high school, so he catches it with one hand, pulling the slide back to check the chamber. I guess we can stop callin' him a liar, now.

The walker drags itself forward, clawing marks into the ice.

Dad reaches under the water, teeth bared, face scrunched, hauling his crossbow out and slinging it across the ice.

It spins across the slippery surface, coming to an eventual stop someplace that don't matter anybody.

T-Dog raises the gun.

He pulls the trigger.

There's a flash of light, and at the same time, a spurt of black blood.

As soon as the walker is dead, he takes a step toward, but Dad shouts at him and he stops.

Water goes flying as he grabs for purchase, setting his elbow on the ice. He puts his weight on it. The ice crumbles like a cookie. He tries again, this time keeping his body as flat as he can, and manages to pull himself up onto his stomach.

I can only imagine how much it hurts, but he pushes through it, army-crawling over to Carol.

They lock hands.

With what little strength he has left, he drags her out, too, letting her collapse beside him.

They both lay there, the wind blowing over their bodies as they struggle to suck in a full breath, curled up like shrimps.

T-Dog wastes no time. He teeters and slips around on the sleet as he kneels, grabbing a fistful of their coats and pulling them further away from the broken ice. They're not moving. It's like they've turned into the frozen walkers, their joints all locked up from the cold, unable to hinge. T-Dog gets Carol to her feet first. As Rick, Glenn, and Maggie hurry down to the shoreline, I follow after them and grab onto Carol the moment she's within arm's reach. We all help pull her up, as T-Dog spins around, waddling back to Dad.

Carol's legs give out. Her body lands in the snow, her arms wrapping around her stomach.

Over her hip, I watch as T-Dog, strong as an ox, gets all one-hundred-and-ninety pounds of my Dad to his feet.

When they reach the bank, we all grab for him.

Even through the layers of fabric, I can feel the deadly cold seeped all the way through his skin. As we lay him in the snow, he winces, his hair frozen stiff and his cheekbones redder'un cherry popsicles. I cup them with my mittened hands, crouching at his side.

I'm grateful I can't hear any of the panicking around me.

I just hold him, waiting for him to open his eyes.

When he does, they're blue, like the river.

Then, Rick and Glenn are pulling him up. I give them space, letting 'em hook each of his arms around their shoulders. Maggie and Beth follow suit and with Carol, hugging their arms around her waist, frantically looking for direction from our leader. He points. We all follow his finger. There's a couple tiny buildings just up the road, not too far. That's where we're going. We need to get Dad and Carol warm. We start making our way over there without a second thought, bracing ourselves against the snow coming down on us, now.

We reach the yellow security barriers. Carl helps me force them upwards, letting everybody through. It looks like this place was a ticket and security checkpoint. There's two little booths, the windows smeared with old blood, and a bigger building in the middle. Rick kicks that one's door in, making way for us to spill inside the kitchen-sized room, as they set Dad down on a dirty bed in the corner.

The two girls gently lower Carol down next to him, helping her peel off her wet clothes.

Taking Dad's coat zipper in my fingers, I rip it all the way down and pull him out of it, quickly doing the same with his shirt.

Rick casts about. He spots a wastebin in the corner of the room and moves it to the middle, taking the newspapers that T-Dog is offering him from his backpack. Glenn passes him a lighter as he stuffs it down. Flick, flick. He cups it; holds it there.

It catches.

—hould be contained within a week, according to the French Health Ambas—, it reads, before curling around the flame.

As warmth begins to emanate, I move down to Dad's boots, unlacing them, tossing them away with his socks. He's left in just his jeans, with barely enough energy to hold his hands out to the steadily burning pages of the Washington Post.

Taking off my own coat and cuddling up to his side, I hope I can give him some of my body heat. I don't have much of it, but I don't need it all. I'm happy to share it. Already, he looks a little less awful just by being outta the wind. Carol has been stripped down to her bra and cargo pants, shivering as Maggie fits her into a spare sweatshirt. Pulling my beanie off, I fit it onto Dad's head. He looks silly. Shirtless with his edgy tattoos on display, wearing his daughter's pink hat. When Maggie passes me another sweatshirt, I help dress him in that, too.

As I work, T-Dog approaches us, setting the crossbow against the wall.

A pearl of water drips off the end of Dad's nose as the man leaves.

I study him, feeling guilty. 'I wanted to help.'

He frowns at me.

I add nothing more. There was nothing any of us could do, but I still wanted him to know.

Everyone finally settles around the tiny fire, absorbing every last ounce of heat it has to offer.

Rick signs to me, 'We can stay the night.'

'Thank you,' I nod.

As he moves his attention elsewhere, I sneak a glance at Lori.

She's coughing. A yellow glob falls into her hand, before she wipes it on some newspaper. I know that ain't good.

We stay like this for a while. The only way to tell that time is passing at all is every minute or so, when someone adds a fresh wad of newspaper to the fire to keep it alight. Paper burns fast, but it also creates a lotta smoke. We eventually have to open all the windows to let it out, which in turn lets the cold in, but our only other choice is to suffocate to death. Ain't nobody in the mood for that.

Once Dad and Carol have both fallen asleep, I take out the little ASL handbook from my bag, scooting back to sit against the wall. I might as well get some studyin' in, if we ain't leaving for a while. I rest it in the crook of my thighs, flipping to a dog-eared page.

To sign, IMAGINATION, it reads, Start by extending both pinkies.

The little hands in the picture look like they's holdin' invisible teacups, so copy them, and it's easy enough.

To sign, OPINION, the picture directly below it reads, Start by creating a circle shape with one hand.

A kick to the bed frame.

Startled, I look up at the attacker.

It's Carl.

He points to the empty spot next to me. I ain't got any real reason to decline, so I give a nod, making a little extra room for him as he settles down at my side, only to do nothin' but fiddle with his fingers in his lap. I can't ask him what he wants.

Suddenly, he takes the book from me, thumbing through the alphabetical section.

He stops when he reaches S, studying the first picture on the page.

To sign, SORRY, it reads, Start by forming a fist.

My eyes go wide, watching the boy do as it says. Place it over your heart, making a grinding motion. He glances at me, silently asking if he's doing it right. He's not, obviously. You ain't s'posed to leave a bruise. But I get the message loud and clear all the same. He's sorry. Maybe for calling me a stupid baby, or for telling me that even though I know what a chantrelle mushroom is and I can shoot a gun, I still ain't worth nothin' without somebody else around to watch out for me; him around. Or maybe just for what happened at the river.

Before I can decide which one it is, he gets to flippin' again, finding what he wants at E.

He blanches. Got more than he bargained for with this one.

Still, he gives it a go.

It's slightly wrong again, but there's only one sign I know that looks like that.

'Everything.'

He stares at me, boyishly unsure, not looking very much like his Dad anymore like he wishes he did.

You don't need to be sorry, I'd sign to him if he could understand, You were right. I do need help, sometimes.

'Me, too,' I sign instead, reaching over and flipping to the page with the same phrase, and signing it again.

He glances from my hands, to the page, back to my hands again. I'm sorry, too. I think that's all we need to say, but I'll still add this last bit on, anyway. Word by word, I use the book to translate. It's obvious we could use my diary and pencil to write messages to each other. It'd be easier, but easier don't feel right. Anybody can do that. It's only the special ones that will learn your language.

When the sentence is complete, I rest my hands in my lap, watching his face for a reaction.

'You're my brother.'

He's stunned for a moment, and it's a long moment.

But then there's a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Carl is my big brother, and that's just the way things is. It ain't my fault we're in this little family together, that we've seen people die together, been scared and hurt together, that he let me cry on his shoulder one night and never mentioned it again.

He consults the book one last time before lookin' me in the eye, signing back, 'You're my sister.'

Always have been.

When I jokingly flip to the page that reads, To sign, I LOVE YOU, he snaps the book closed. A genuinely disgusted expression plagues his face, looking like he's just eaten rotten broccoli. It makes me forget all about how cold I am as he gets up and walks away.

It's nighttime when I open my eyes.

Lifting my cheek from Dad's shoulder, a yawn parts my lips. The sight of the moon peeking over the windowsill greets me, glass pulsing a faint orange as the fire in the wastebin burns nearby. I can see Rick out there, hugging himself next to a little light.

Scooting off the mattress, the guidebook falls from my lap.

I pull on my socks and boots. I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep, anyway.

I remember in the Winter, when it was time to get dressed for school and work, Dad used to lay our clothes over the electric heater that we always had plugged into our living room wall. We'd make a game of it, pretending we were cooking steaks over a grill while the sky turned from black to grey, to white, to blue. His boss at the mechanic's shop had him startin' his shifts at six in the morning, while Merle and everyone else in our trailer park was still asleep in their beds. It was unfair, but he always found ways to make sure I never found out.

Grabbing a stick of newspaper, I stand and tip-toe my way through everyone sleeping on the floor.

When I open the door, I shoulder myself into the cold and step out.

It closes behind me.

In the middle of the outstretched road, Rick sits with his back to everything, staring up at the stars.

I wonder if he's got a person up there, just like I do.

As I come to sit beside him, he lowers his gaze; regards me with an empty sort of look.

I don't mind it none, instead opting to study the creative setup in front of us. A metal cooking pot filled with damp sticks, a small flame flickering amongst the ash and dirt at the bottom. I take the paper in my lap and ball some up, tucking it into the pot.

'I thought you might be cold,' I explain as the flames grab onto it, growing larger. 'Your fire sucked.'

He doesn't smile; lips heavy, downturned.

I sign something else. 'Why are you out here?'

'Can't sleep.'

Well, I guessed that. 'Are you okay?'

A sigh leaves his body, sucked into the wind. He's not going to answer that. 'You should go inside.'

'I'm not tired.'

'Doesn't matter. Come on.' He moves as if to stand, holding a hand out for me to take, but I cross my arms over my chest and stay right where I am. He tries waiting me out, but it's useless. Settling down again, he hesitates before signing, 'Stubborn.'

Unfolding my arms, I finally get him to crack a smile as I sign, 'I know.'

It's wiped away when he flinches uncomfortably at something.

'Was there a noise?', I guess, confused.

The horizon gapes emptily at us from afar, a black stripe. I can't see anything unusual.

'Lori.' He supplies, defeated. 'She's coughing.'

A soft, oh, slips from my mouth.

'It's why I'm out here.'

The only thing I can think of to say is, 'She'll be okay.'

It's not much, but Rick still reaches out and takes my shoulder, attempting a smile before dropping his hand.

I'm on the side of the road again, the trees looming over me, tucked between old cobble walls as the farm sits some miles away, whatever that's left of it burning to a crisp. The door is there, is what he snarled at us. Let's see how far you get. The world was an open set of jaws in that moment. While I'm almost certain Dad and I would've made it, because like T says, we're cockroaches, I don't know for sure if the rest of the group would have, if Beth, Herschel, and Carol would have. We've been together since... Everything.

But I do know that we chose Rick, and he chose us. I would say it's like this thing called symbiosis, which I learnt about in second grade. But it's not. My teacher told us that without the egrets and the anemone and the sucker fish, the cattle and the clown fish and the sharks would die. They can't make it alone. But we ain't a family because we'd die otherwise.

We're family because Dale had this stupid old watch while he was still alive, and he said that despite everything, our paths aligned at the quarry all the same, and then I got scratched and a whole bunch of awful stuff happened, like explosions and gunshots and broken fences, and we blinked, and now we love each other so deeply we don't care if we could survive apart.

'You're doing a good job, Rick,' I sign.

It might be the fire, but his eyes go shiny afterwards. Yeah. I'll pretend it's the fire.

He got us to the CDC. Got us out. Killed Sophia. Jim. His best friend, just a few days later. Those four people on the road.

He touches his chin. 'Thank you.'

I can tell he doesn't believe me. M, T, A, M, O, S, S, J, J, P. I don't know how else to convince him. Maybe I can't.

Absentmindedly watching the fire dance, I clutch the locket through my sweatshirt.

'What is that?', Rick asks.

Thinking nothing of it, I pull the thing free, letting it sit against my sternum. 'Shane gave it to me.'

Something about Rick twists at the mention of Shane, making its way onto his face like a curling snake, a nasty scowl. He holds his hand out, wanting to hold it. A little unsure, I thread the chain over my head and carefully lay the pendant in his palm.

Bringing it closer to his lap, he glares down at the olive of metal as if it's his best friend reincarnated.

'When we were at the gas station,' I tell him, trying not to remember the blood, 'We argued. He gave it to me after.'

The BANG, the spike of blood, his arms shielding his face as he lay on the floor.

I think... I think I don't like this.

'Can I have it back now?'

His grip turns white.

Feeling a bit like I'm interrupting something that should be private, I don't bother asking again, just reaching ou—

My hand is knocked away. He rears his arm back — Oh, God. My heart, going cold as the snow. — and throws the locket into the fire. It disappears beneath the flames. I exclaim something, a half-word or maybe a shriek, like I've been burned at the same time as the brown thrasher and the photo of my Momma inside. My hands shoot out all on their own to grab for it, but I reel them back in.

I need to— I need to put the fire out. I've gotta smother it with something.

Frantically starting to scoop up handfuls of the snow around us, I think Rick realizes he's made a terrible mistake. He seems to wake up, pushing himself to his feet to try and help me save it, grabbing more, more, and more snow, dumping it onto the fire.

The light goes out all at once, smoke trailing up into the air, a dreadful, blackened smell.

He claws through the pot, wincing as he touches the metal, pulling out the locket.

When he thumbs the door open, the photo is nothing but a stain of soot.

I stand there, too big to fit inside my skin, my everything shaking with a different type of horror.

It's gone.

Rick stares at me, the smoke blowing past him.

My snow globe bulges in all directions like a pulsing heart, silent as ever. The door to the staff room opens over Rick's shoulder, my Dad hugging himself as he steps out. I was supposed to look after her. She was supposed to be safe in there. He's spewing apologies before my Dad even understands what's happened, but he catches on quick. The thing in his hand is my locket. It's ruined.

You did this?, I think he's needling him, or sum' like it. The Hell is wrong wit'chu?

Rick's shaking his head, cradling it like it's a pile of bones he can put back together. I'm sorry. I didn't know.

Just give it back!, I demand.

It's the first time I've tried to speak aloud since losing my hearing, the syllables an awkward tar in my teeth.

I snatch the locket from his grasp, giving the pot a hard kick before storming away.

SLAM.

It wakes everyone up, but I can apologise later, 'cause right now I'm throwing myself onto the mattress and pulling the blanket over my head, sealing myself away from them all. This ain't the farm. I can't just hide away in a tent somewhere, or take a breather in one of the paddocks. I'm stuck in this stuffy room, where I know I'm being stared at even through the blanket. I know how to ignore it.

The locket is a hot coal in my hands, illuminating the dark pocket as the last of the photo smoulders.

A long while passes.

Then, somebody's sittin' down next to me.

They don't move for a long while, just a comforting heat at my side.

Then they lift the blanket up, and it's Dad, pulling it over his head so we're both hiding under it.

'She's gone,' I fill him in before he can ask, just in case he ain't already know. For real, this time.

He saw. 'I know.'

'It was Rick.'

A pause. 'I know.'

'Did you punch him?'

'Did you want me to?'

I think about it for a moment, tracing the smear inside the locket door, before shaking my head. 'No.'

I know it's stupid. It's just a photo, but it was the only one I had. I won't be able to see her face whenever the feeling strikes anymore, or if I find myself missing her more than usual. I'm already committing the photo to memory so I don't forget her face.

'He said Shane gave it to you.' He signs, more of a musing than an accusation. 'I didn't know that.'

I never told him where I got the locket. It could've been from Beth, Maggie, Lori. Anyone but Shane.

No point lying, now. 'Well, now you do.'

'Why did you keep it?'

I don't know. 'I missed him.'

He fails to say anything for a minute or two, but then he picks his hands up again. 'Do you still miss him?'

You're allowed, Carl muttered into my shoulder that night.

'Yeah.'

'You know he was a piece of shit, don't you? '

I scoff through my nose. That ain't even the half of it. 'Yeah. I know.'

He eyes the locket, as if wanting to take it away from me.

My fingers curl around it protectively, holding it to my chest.

It's mine. He's gonna have to fight me for it.

He studies my face for a while, but we both know he's not gonna fight me. No. Instead, he pulls the blanket down, tucking it around my shoulders. I force out a sigh and rest my head on his chest, feeling him stroke his thumb up and down the slope of my cheek.

After the rest of the group see I'm more or less alright, they lay their heads back down.

The window sits there, pulsing orange.

Both the moon and Rick are exactly where they were before. He's back to consulting the stars, this time, without the light.

Author's Note.

So, I've obviously decided to spend a little more time with the group before we reach the prison. I'm anxious to get us to season three, but I just felt like there's some story beats left over from the farm that could use their own space. I hope you enjoyed it! :)

Heads up - You can expect only one more Winter chapter after this one.

Please let me know what you think of the new dialogue format, with everyone using sign language now. It's not permanent, seeing as Harley will have her hearing aids back once the weather gets warmer, but she's still 95% deaf and will rely on ASL most of the time.

It was a bit of a bold move to fully lean into Harley's disability, but in my opinion, it was the only natural progression. I did a bit of googling, and to the best of my knowledge, everything here is anatomically realistic and accurate. Oh, and so is all the ASL! :)

However, there isn't actually a river separating Newnan and Sharpsburg... Shhhh! ;)

One last thing. This story's playlist has gotten quite a lot bigger. Check it out!

I'll be working hard on the next chapter! Thanks for reading 💙

#twd #fanfic #the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #angst #rick grimes #glenn rhee

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