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hotshotsxyz · 11 days ago

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this town is only gonna eat you

(buddie) (s8 spec) (1.1k) already wrote some buck-gets-hit-by-a-car spec, so how about some buck-gets-shot? kept thinking about "take eddie [to the laker's game] and die" and uh... here we are. cw: mass shooting/ gun violence (described vaguely), somewhat graphic description of a bullet wound, blood edit: now featuring a companion piece

Buck is smiling when it happens. Grinning at Eddie like he hung the fucking moon as he points out what must be the hundredth interesting play he’s seen on the court tonight. Buck’s smiling.

Eddie registers the screams before the gunfire. He smells the metallic scent of spent shell casings before he sees the shooter. He tackles Buck to the ground before he realizes he’s already hurt.

Buck was smiling, but now his face is inches from Eddie’s and his eyes are wide with pain and panic.

“Eds,” he says, and it’s barely above a whisper but it’s still too loud.

Eddie shakes his head, a tiny, sharp movement. Buck takes a shaky breath and presses his lips together. He understands. Eddie hates that he understands. Thank God he understands.

There’s something warm and wet slowly spreading between them, and it takes Eddie several wasted seconds to realize it’s blood. He’s almost completely certain it isn’t his, which—

God, that’s so much worse than if it was.

One of Eddie’s hands is still cradling Buck’s head, an instinctive act of protection before they hit the ground. With the other, Eddie slowly begins feeling his way around Buck’s abdomen. His fingers brush against torn fabric and he feels nauseous.

I’m sorry, he mouths before pressing down hard.

Buck gasps in pain. A muscle in his jaw ticks with the effort it must take him to keep from screaming.

“You’re doing so good,” Eddie breathes into Buck’s ear. “I’ve got you; I promise.”

The bullet caught him somewhere along the fifth intercostal space on the right side of his chest. Eddie doesn’t have a way to feel for an exit wound, not without letting up pressure on what he knows is there.

At best, the bullet glanced off a rib and tore through nothing but skin and muscle. At worst…

At worst, Buck is dying beneath him and there’s not a damn thing Eddie can do, not until the shooter is dead or gone. All Eddie can do is pray. Pray and hope like hell that God has forgiven him for his incomplete confession.

Another spray of gunfire echoes through the arena. It’s nearly impossible to identify where it’s coming from, but Eddie’s got a vague idea based on the direction people seem to be running in.

Buck takes a ragged, watery breath.

For the first time in his life, Eddie hopes he’s crying. He draws back, just far enough to look Buck in his eyes. His eyes, which are clouded over in pain but free from tears.

Fuck, fucking goddamn it.

Eddie presses his cheek against Buck’s.

“Slow, steady breaths, okay?” he whispers. “You have to breathe through it, even if it feels like you can’t.”

The tiniest whimper escapes Buck’s chest.

“You have to, Buck, I can’t—” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shuddering breath. “I just need you to hold on,” he begs.

A single shot rings out, and nearby, something falls to the ground with a dull thump.

“Suspect is down!” someone shouts. “We’re clear for EMS.”

Eddie carefully extricates his hand from behind Buck’s head. “Hear that? We’re so close, Buck.” He brushes a thumb across his cheekbone, then sits up and raises his hand in the air. “Over here!” he shouts. “I’ve got a penetrating chest wound that needs to be on the first ambo out of here!”

Buck’s eyelashes flutter as he fights to stay conscious.

“Come on, eyes on me,” Eddie says.

With his free hand and his teeth, he tears a strip of fabric from his shirt to wad up and press into Buck’s wound. The skin there is ragged and torn, almost certainly an exit wound. Eddie curses.

“I need EMS now!” Eddie roars, not tearing his eyes away from Buck for even a second.

“I’m coming to you!” someone calls back.

Buck’s eyes slip shut.

“No!” Eddie commands, rubbing his knuckles across Buck’s sternum. “You’re staying right here with me, you got it?”

Buck groans weakly. His eyes flick back open.

“That’s perfect, you’re perfect,” Eddie babbles. “Just keep—c’mon, Buck, just keep fighting. I need—you have to be okay.”

Buck’s lips part. “Hurt,” he breathes.

“I know,” Eddie says desperately, “I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

A pained sound falls from Buck’s lips. He lifts one of his hands just high enough to ghost his fingers along the ruined hem of Eddie’s shirt.

Behind him, Eddie hears a gurney roll to a stop.

“Here!”

Eddie turns and find a young woman, no more than twenty years old, wearing a polo that declares her part of a private ambulance service. He doubts she’d weigh even a hundred pounds soaking wet.

“Alright,” he says, turning back to Buck. “I’m going to get you onto that gurney. Let me do all the work, okay?”

Buck’s eyes widen. He makes a strangled sound. “Hurt,” he coughs out again, fingers scrambling uselessly against the concrete floor of the arena.

“They’re gonna give you the good stuff at the hospital,” Eddie reassures. He lets go of Buck’s wound and pulls him into a seated position, then rolls him awkwardly onto his back. “I got you,” he says as he stands.

Eddie staggers beneath Buck’s weight but manages to get him down three rows worth of steps and onto the gurney without the young EMT’s help.

“We’re staged just outside the north entrance,” she says as she begins to push Buck toward a set of doors.

Eddie nods sharply. “He’s got a perforating chest wound, probable pulmonary laceration, and a history of pulmonary embolism. Allergic to naproxen,” he rattles off as he pushes the gurney alongside her.

“Um, okay, that’s—are you a doctor or something?” she asks.

“Firefighter,” Eddie corrects. “We both are.”

The closer they get to the exit, the harder Eddie has to work to keep pace with the EMT. He must be coming down hard as the adrenaline fades. A few spots cloud the corners of his visions. He blinks them away.

The doors to the outside fling open, revealing two paramedics from the 136.

“Diaz, is that you?” one of them asks.

The best Eddie can do is nod.

“Shit, and that’s—”

Eddie’s ears start to ring.

“Diaz, were you shot?”

No, he tries to say. One of the paramedics grabs him under the shoulders, and the other pushes his t-shirt up until—

Oh.

Huh.

He has been shot.

The paramedic in front of him is saying something, but Eddie can’t quite understand it. Over his shoulder, the EMT looks blurry and horrified.

The spots in his vision return with a vengeance, and in his last few moments of lucidity, it occurs to Eddie that the bullet in his abdomen is probably the same one that ripped through Buck’s chest.

Then, the world fades to black, and Eddie thinks nothing at all.

#apparently i work through Grief and Despair by writing evil little spec fics so here we are #also by doing the dishes but that feels less relevant #911fic #911 fic #buddiefic #buddie fic #911 #buddie #fic #911 spec #cw gun violence #abbie writes

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cherienymphe · 9 months ago

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Teenage Dirtbag XII

JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: mentions of NON-CON, mentions of DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

⭑

When you woke up, you were alone.

Even if you didn’t remember how drunk you’d gotten the night before, everything about the way your head pounded and the tightness in your throat told you so. Sunlight was bleeding through your curtains, but it wasn’t the kind of brightness associated with the afternoon, so you knew it was still morning. You were slow in sitting up, holding the sheet to you as you glanced around, your gaze briefly landing on the familiar fabric on the floor.

You stared at it for too long, raising your hand to press to your forehead in both disbelief and horror. A strange range of emotions were all fighting for dominance within you, and you forced yourself to close your eyes in order to calm down. Taking a deep breath, you tried to ignore the feeling of dried bodily fluids between your thighs…but it was hard. You could feel a familiar sting behind your eyes.

You’d cheated on Rafe.

Sure, you’d been doing that for some time, now, but last night you’d really cheated on him. You didn’t know why a few kisses and some touching didn’t make it feel as real to you when it most definitely should have, but last night was a point of no return. Last night was a line you weren’t even sure you’d wanted to cross. Your stomach turned, and you swallowed it down.

You and JJ had sex.

Right here…in your bedroom.

There was a part of you that wondered if you could even call it that. You’d been so drunk, and while things were still a little fuzzy, you knew for a fact that you’d been so unsure. JJ hadn’t seemed to care, but JJ wasn’t like Rafe. Surely, if you’d tried harder to stop him, he would’ve stopped…right…? You did want to be with JJ, that was no secret, but maybe the events of the previous night showed you that you weren’t as conflicted as you’d thought. After all…

You could’ve protested more.

…but you didn’t.

Your mind was going a mile a minute, and after briefly dropping your face into your hands, you threw the covers back. You weren’t in the right headspace to analyze anyone’s actions and motives, pushing yourself to your feet to seek out a much-needed shower. You grimaced at the sight of your clothes on the floor, forcing yourself not to think about that, right now.

You were thankful that your perusal in the mirror brought up no unwanted marks, and that allowed you to rest easier. The warm spray of the shower did help with the hangover and fatigue, but it did nothing for the heaviness in your chest. Pressing your wet hands to your face, you allowed yourself to remember the way JJ held you—how gentle he was in doing so. You couldn’t recall the last time you felt like that.

You swallowed down a sob at the memories of his lips pressing kisses all over your face as he laid you down on your bed. By that point, you’d forgotten why it was a bad idea, wrapping your arms around JJ and lifting your hips to meet his. The alcoholic fog made it hard to decipher how long he’d slowly thrust into you against your sheets, but it was long enough to make you shudder just thinking about it.

…but it was wrong.

It was so wrong, and not just because of Rafe, but because you hadn’t even wanted to in the beginning. You wondered if that even mattered at this point. You wanted JJ. You’d wanted to know what it felt like to be with him and be with someone who made you feel safe. Even if you hadn’t been quite ready yet, did it matter? Whether it was last night or two months from now…did it matter?

Telling yourself that you couldn’t stay in the shower forever, you turned the water off.

Rafe was the last person you expected to see when you finally opened the door.

You actually froze at the sight of him, tightening the towel around you just as he sat on the edge of your bed. The sight of him there…sitting where you and JJ were only hours ago…it made your stomach turn. He looked better than you felt, dirty blond strands freshly washed and the short sleeves of his white polo stretching against his skin. You surmised that it was a warmer day outside.

“I’m surprised you even made it upstairs last night,” was his pleasant greeting.

Finally telling yourself to move, you made to pick up your dress…and underwear.

“I managed,” was all you said, moving to put the dirty clothes in the hamper.

There was no way Rafe could know, but part of you felt like he could just sense it. Rafe had this way about him that made him seem larger than life, like he had abilities and senses the rest of you—namely you—didn’t. As you looked at him, you couldn’t stop your eyes from watering, recalling the feel of JJ shuddering against you as he came, his blue eyes staring into yours. The tears spilled over before you could stop them, and you watched the way Rafe’s lips curved.

“I take it you remember last night…and how shitty you were being.”

You wiped your face, looking away from your boyfriend, remembering something else entirely. Yes, you were shitty, but not for the reasons he thought. When you heard him stand, you pressed your hand to your face, and you didn’t protest when Rafe gently pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. Rafe shushed you, slowly rocking you, but there was nothing comforting about it.

“You know I hate it when you drink like that,” he murmured into your hair. “You know I hate how…fussy you get.”

You nodded, your mind preoccupied with the sweet nothings JJ had whispered into your ear instead.

“…and then I have to be the bad guy when you start embarrassing yourself.”

You recalled the sigh you’d let out when JJ pulled out of you, conflicted between wanting him to leave as soon as possible and pulling you against him again. You remembered his hand on your face and his lips on yours after he’d gotten dressed, telling you he wished he didn’t have to go. You could still remember his fingers against your lips as you’d drunkenly kissed them, vision blurring and room tilting. You didn’t remember him leaving…only closing your eyes.

When you pulled back to look at Rafe, the expectant glint in his gaze was evident, and before where it would’ve made you bristle… Now, it only made your heart sink. You looked over his face, telling yourself that Rafe was a thousand times worse to you than you could ever be to him, and yet, that did nothing to ease your guilt. He was still your boyfriend…and you’d had sex with someone else.

You’d made love to someone else.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly told him.

Even though the apology wasn’t for what he thought it was…it was genuine.

You ignored another call from a familiar face, swallowing down the bad taste it left in your mouth. You felt all kinds of horrible for ignoring the blond for literal weeks—especially after having sex with him—but you needed time to think. About Rafe, about JJ, about that night… Your feelings about said night were still so complicated and confusing, and you still didn’t know if you liked the way JJ handled things—and if you did, was it because you were drunk?

You chewed on your fingernails, telling yourself that JJ wasn’t Rafe.

You’d experienced rape many times, and that night with JJ wasn’t quite the same.

So, why did you still feel weird about it?

“We could go to the beach…”

You were pulled from your thoughts by another blonde teenager, Sarah’s budding smile filling your vision when you refocused on her. She sat back down before you on the couch, handing you a glass of lemonade as she gave you a hopeful look. You swallowed a sigh, knowing that if you agreed, her friends would show up somehow…and you weren’t quite ready to face JJ just yet.

You knew that he was still periodically sleeping at the pool house, catching glimpses of him through the window sometimes while everyone else slept. You didn’t need to be a genius to know that he was waiting and hoping you’d come see him, whether to talk or repeat what had been done that night. You had too many things to sort through—your confusion, your guilt, your feelings for him.

You didn’t know how to feel about JJ, right now, and that worried you.

“I better not…”

As your voice trailed off, you watched her face fall. You knew what she was thinking about before she even voiced it.

“I really am sorry about what happened at John B.’s,” she sheepishly told you. “Nothing went as planned.”

“Sarah, it’s fine-.”

“It’s really not though,” she sighed. “I…”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.

“I hate how Rafe treats you,” she forced out, voice cracking. “He behaves like you belong to him.”

Your gaze fell to your lap at that.

“He treats you like you’re his fucking property, and…”

Her expression was a mix of confusion and disgust when you looked up again.

“I just don’t understand why you stay,” she spat, scoffing to herself. “Sure, you love him, but…”

She shifted on the couch, giving you her full attention.

“Does he love you? Do you like being treated like this?”

“Sarah-.”

“I don’t care if I’m overstepping, help me understand,” she cut you off, looking between your eyes. “Why do you stay? Why do you put up with it?”

You were trying not to let her words anger you—after all, how could she know—but it was hard when she looked at you like you were some foolish and dick-struck girl she just didn’t get. Swallowing down all the things you wanted to say, you merely shook your head.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“You’re right,” she fired back. “I don’t get it.”

Your jaw clenched.

“I don’t get why you let him talk to you any kind of way. I don’t get why you blindly follow him around and do what he says! I don’t get why I’m trying so hard to help you have some kind of life outside of my brother when you don’t even seem to want that,” she said, face pinched in confusion. “My friends like you, and…if you asked them, they’d probably consider you their friend too.”

You looked away at that.

“They ask about you and they worry about you— because they see it too! —but you seem so,” she dragged the word out. “…happy to revolve your entire life around Rafe.”

You blinked back tears, struggling to handle the range of emotions her rightful frustration brought on. Sarah didn’t know the truth, so you couldn’t fault her for feeling disturbed by your dynamic with her brother, but that didn’t make it sting any less. Especially so since it seemed like everyone only saw you as the girlfriend that obeyed Rafe like a well-trained dog.

You would love to have friends outside of Rafe and his friends. You would love to be able to go anywhere you wanted without your phone and car being tracked. It would be nice to tell your boyfriend you were going to hang out with Sarah or whoever without it being some big thing that needed approval and a million questions about who else would be there—if any guys would be there. You would kill for a normal relationship with a normal boyfriend that didn’t put the fear of God into you, but that wasn’t the hand you were dealt.

“What do you want me to say, Sarah?” you eventually sighed.

You could see the way her face fell as she studied yours, and you didn’t miss the guilty look to cross her eyes. She touched her forehead, huffing.

“Nothing, I guess,” she quietly answered. “I’m sorry, okay? I just… I just think you could do better.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you only nodded, ignoring her soft sigh as you stood. When she said your name, you didn’t acknowledge it, only throwing her a small smile.

“You should go to the beach, anyway, Sarah,” you told her. “Your friends always look for any excuse to get in the water.”

You forced yourself to go upstairs, hating how right everything Sarah said was and how awful it made you feel.

When Rafe finally returned hours later, you weren’t in the most contagious of moods, wrapped up in his bed and still thinking about things that made your chest sting. Sarah’s words only served as a reminder as to how trapped you truly were, and that in turn made you feel less crappy about what you’d done with JJ.

It wasn’t like you could actually leave Rafe…

JJ was right when he’d called your relationship a hostage situation. With that being said, you couldn’t let go of that part of you that recognized Rafe as your boyfriend and recognized what you were doing with JJ as cheating. As awful as he was…Rafe was still your boyfriend, and while his jealousy got the better of him more often than not, you both knew that deep down, Rafe would never in a million years expect you to cheat on him.

Maybe that had more to do with control than trust though…

Rafe wouldn’t expect it because of his ego…not because he loved you. Besides, many would argue that he’d betrayed you first and a million times over. Crossing boundaries and breaking trust was a betrayal, and Rafe had done that the night you’d turned nineteen, slapping you at your own birthday party, and all he’d done since then was continue to betray you.

When the bed sank underneath his weight, you closed your eyes at the feel of his fingers on your face.

“I ran into Sarah on the way in…”

He continued when you didn’t respond.

“She told me to check on you…said she probably said some things she shouldn’t have.”

You squeezed your eyes tighter, and when you didn’t deny that, you heard him mumble something under his breath. It was about her, no doubt.

“Was it about me?” he wondered, voice dropping.

Licking your lips, you found your voice.

“Rafe, I don’t want to talk about this…”

“Don’t let Sarah get into your head…” he drawled. “She’s a bitch, alright?”

You were pushing yourself to sit up before he could even finish, frowning at him.

“Don’t call her that,” you argued. “She’s your sister.”

“…and she’s a bitch,” Rafe repeated, lowering his head so that his eyes were level with yours. “She hates that you’re with me, so I can only imagine what she was saying.”

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” you whispered.

Rafe didn’t respond to that, but the way he blinked at you told you that maybe you shouldn’t have said it. You couldn’t hold back your tears as you stared at him, and he just watched you wipe your face.

“My life revolves around you, Rafe,” you quietly cried. “Will it ever not?”

By the way he rolled his eyes, you could see that he didn’t want to have this conversation.

“I don’t have any friends-.”

“You have my friends,” he interrupted, and you shook your head.

“Your friends. What about friends of my own?”

More tears spilled over when Rafe stood, and you frowned at him.

“I do everything you ask,” you whispered. “I’ve cut people out of my life, I wait on you, I dedicate just about every minute of every waking moment to you. When will it end? When will you let me have something like a life?”

You were unsurprised when Rafe’s hand found its way to your jaw, fingers firmly pressing into your skin and making you wince. His face was so close to yours, and you reached up to rest your hand on his wrist. At the feel, Rafe only tightened his hold, and more tears spilled over. Your boyfriend’s breathing was even as he looked between your eyes.

“Did you forget that it was only less than two months ago that I was racing down the streets of Kildare County to pick you up from The Cut?” his tone was sharp. “Hmm?”

He continued when you blinked.

“Or what about when you talked to JJ before that behind my back?”

The mention of the other blond had you squeezing your eyes shut.

“You make it sound like…”

“I don’t care why you did it,” Rafe spat. “Point is, you did.”

He shook your face, making you peel your eyes open. Rafe’s face was even save for the clench of his jaw as he stared you down. Suddenly he looked over you, face softening just a tad, and a smirk danced along his pink lips.

“Is it that time of the month?” he chuckled when you jerked your face out of his grip. “Is that where this is coming from?”

“Fuck you,” you breathed, and he paused.

You watched him touch his tongue to his lip.

“…or maybe that’s it,” he whispered. “Maybe you need me to fuck this attitude out of you, and you just don’t know how to say it.”

When you moved to get up, Rafe stopped you, hands tight on your arms.

“No,” he dragged out. “Don’t get up…”

You jerked away when he leaned in to kiss you.

“You’ve been moody for weeks, ever since you got drunk that night and made a fool out of yourself…”

He was rough in pushing you down.

“My dad’s had me so tied up with family business stuff… I’ve been neglecting you, huh?”

“Don’t touch me,” you spat, harshly shoving his chest. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Yeah, okay,” the blond chuckled, and it was genuine. “If I relied on you being in the mood, I’d never get any.”

You struggled with his hands as they pulled at your shirt, and eventually you gave up, striking him clear across the face. The slap was loud, and your hand stung, evidence of just how hard you’d hit him. You could tell it shocked Rafe too, and your lips parted, silence descending over the two of you. You reacted before he did, using his momentary shock to climb off of the bed.

You were already in the hall when you heard his door swing open, banging against the wall.

“What the hell is your problem?”

His voice was loud, and that was all the confirmation you needed that you were alone in the house.

“I told you I’m not in the mood,” your voice shook, and rightfully so.

You winced when Rafe caught your arm, yanking you back and making you face him. There was a deep frown between his brows as he stared you down, and you swallowed at the redness you saw on his cheek.

“Am I supposed to care about that or something?” his tone was clipped as he looked between your eyes. “You think I give a fuck? You think I won’t fuck you right here in this hallway?”

“Rafe, I’m serious,” you bit out, fighting to push at his chest.

“What is your problem?” he repeated his earlier question. “Did Sarah put some ideas into your head or what?”

You winced when his other hand roughly grabbed your neck, and you grabbed that arm too.

“Have I ever cared if you’re in the mood? No? So, why would I now?” he wondered. “…and more importantly, why would you think I would?”

“Rafe, please,” you begged when he leaned in, turning your face away.

When his lips touched the corner of your mouth, you hit him again.

He hit you harder.

Your face was on fire when you landed on the floor, eyes watering. You bit back a sob, covering your face as you heard Rafe sniff above you.

“I’m a guy, baby,” was all he said. “I promise you, I can hit you ten times harder.”

Your breathing was uneven, and when you refused to move, your boyfriend huffed.

“Get up,” he quietly told you. “Get the fuck up.”

His hand was under your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today–fuck, I don’t know if it’s something Sarah said, but cut it out,” he sneered, shaking you. “I’m not in the mood to deal with your bullshit.”

“Oh, when you’re not in the mood to deal with my ‘bullshit’, I have to shut up, but when I’m not in the mood to fuck you, I should lie there and take it anyway, right?”

Rafe reared back a bit, looking down his nose at you, and the way he studied you made your heart skip a beat. You winced as his hand tightened, and you hated the way his lip twitched. There was a glint in his eye that made you nervous, and you watched him slowly smile. Letting you go, both of his hands started to gently drag up and down your arms.

“I think you’ve been hanging around Sarah too much,” he told you, an amused lilt to his tone. “We both know things go so much smoother with us when you know your place.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth, tearfully blinking at him.

“I’m not leaving you, Rafe,” you whispered. “You have made it abundantly clear that I am never leaving you, so why can’t you give me something to work with here?”

Rafe tilted his head at you, a frown on his face as he reached up to gently touch your own face.

“You can leave,” he said to you, making you roll your eyes. “Baby, you can leave me anytime you want…”

You didn’t look at him, refusing to dignify this farce. His fingers were gentle on your skin as he trailed them down your jaw and neck, and you shuddered, tears kissing your eyes at the way he was toying with you.

“So long as you know what’ll happen if you do…”

You didn’t say anything, and the tension in the air shifted when he spoke again, tone venomous.

“You want to leave me, you go right ahead, but don’t think I won’t smile in your daddy’s face after wringing your neck,” he sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re never leaving me like that’s supposed to be some comfort to me or some bargaining chip.”

He took your face into his hands, making you look at him.

“I know you’re never leaving me,” he calmly said. “It’s not something I worry about, so there’s no need to reassure me. I don’t need it.”

“I could,” you choked out.

That bloodthirsty glint in his eye came and went, and Rafe smiled again.

“Okay… Let’s say, for argument’s sake, you do leave me… Who in this town would touch you with a ten-foot pole?” he shrugged. “You’re mine.”

You licked your lips.

“Kildare isn’t the only place in the world,” you whispered.

“You’d have to get off the island first,” Rafe bit out, visage void of all humor, now.

His nostrils flared as he looked between your eyes, his blue gaze cold, and you took a step back when he moved forward. The look on his face was unreadable, and you struggled to figure out what he was thinking.

“Is that what this is about? You’re thinking about leaving me?”

“No.”

You denied that before he’d even finished talking, heart skipping a beat.

It was your boyfriend’s quiet moments that you found unpredictable. When he was irritated and loud and pacing like a bull, you knew what to expect and how to handle him. In the moments where most of that was going on inside of his head, you didn’t always know how to proceed or how to prepare yourself.

“I just feel like if I say I’m not in the mood, it shouldn’t become a big thing,” you tearfully continued.

“…and why should I care if you’re not in the mood?” he wondered, leaning in. “Why should that matter to me…?”

You took a deep breath, voice shaky.

“…because I’m your girlfriend.”

“…and as my girlfriend you don’t think it’s your duty to fulfill your part in this relationship?”

You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I spoil you, I buy you flowers and gifts, I take you out to places some people on this island will never see,” he said. “So many girls want what you have, and you can’t even put a smile on your face and fuck me when I want you to?”

“They wouldn’t want what I have if they knew you were a violent piece of shit,” you spat, tears in your eyes.

Rafe’s expression shifted at that, and although you couldn’t name it, you knew you didn’t like it. You watched him glance away, jaw ticking as he slowly nodded. When his eyes met yours again, you braced yourself. You were prepared for a slap.

Not a punch.

Your scream bounced off of the walls as you covered your face, and if it weren’t for Rafe, you would’ve collapsed right there. His arms were tight around you as you held your nose, blood seeping between your fingers as you squeezed your eyes shut. Your whole face hurt, but your nose especially, and if all the blood didn’t make it obvious, the God-awful pain did.

It was broken.

You couldn’t stop crying, the most gut-wrenching choking noises escaping your throat, your sobs coming out too fast for your body to handle. Rafe was moving—walking you somewhere—but you were too preoccupied with the pain in your face and the blood on your arms to concern yourself with it.

Until there was air beneath your feet.

It was too late for you to grab the railing, the blood on your hands making it impossible to slow your descent down the stairs. Each step was like a hit to your arm or your leg or your side, and even throwing your hands out before you didn’t help much. When you landed at the very bottom—right onto your knee—you didn’t register the pain at first. There was too much pain—mostly in your face—to take note of the one that was prominent alongside your nose.

When you did, you gasped, keeling over and holding your knee to your chest.

Your other hand was still holding your nose, and you were growing lightheaded at both the sight of blood and the feeling of the loss of blood. Your mind was going a mile a minute, and the sharp pain in your knee had you momentarily forgetting about your nose. When you tried to move your leg, you cried out, and you only pulled your gaze away when you heard Rafe walking down the stairs.

Through tearful eyes, you watched him steadily take out his phone. His face was as calm as ever when he finally joined you on the first floor, and you flinched when he reached for you, hand coming to rest on the top of your head as he made you lean your cheek against his leg.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the operator’s voice traveled from the phone.

“Yeah, um…my girlfriend… She just…she just tripped down the stairs,” he breathed. “I think she’ll be fine, but she’s bleeding a lot, and I think she hurt her knee.”

You shook against him as he gave her his address, and when he hung up, you avoided his gaze when he slowly knelt before you. Against your will, he pulled your hand away, and you flinched again when he tried to wipe some of the blood off of your face. Rafe’s voice was soft as he shushed you, but it only made you cry harder.

When he didn’t say anything, you knew that he was waiting for you to look at him, and when you did, he took a deep breath. His blue eyes stared into your own.

“How’s that for a violent piece of shit?”

With a screaming leg, and a face that felt like it was on fire, you had no choice but to let him pull you against him. His arm curled around you as he rested his chin on top of your head, hand playing with your hair while you both waited for the ambulance.

#jj maybank x reader #dark!jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #dark!jj maybank #dark!rafe cameron #jj maybank #rafe cameron

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nsharks · 1 year ago

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part ten —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 2.3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this chapter kicked my butt. thanks for the patience~

An ear-splitting gunshot bites the ground near your boot, close enough to feel the heat simmer through the worn leather. It takes everything in you not to freeze in terror. You grab Blue and run.

Adrenaline kicks into high gear once again, but with her dead weight and your lack of strength, you know you can't get far. You manage to tumble behind a stack of rusted bins just as another round fires.

Blue clings to you. "He's following us!"

Your heart sinks as your fingers reach for your bow— you left it.

"Give me your gun," you sputter quickly.

She shoves the unfamiliar weapon in your hands. A tremble consumes your body as you peek over the barrel to find your target. For a second, you see your attacker as he passes by one of the jeeps. A young man no older than yourself.

Without hesitation, you close an eye and go for his heart, but the bullet grazes the top of his shoulder with a spray of blood. Used to a bow, you aimed too high.

He barks out a swear and then lifts his rifle in retaliation. Before he can shoot, a Grey bursts through the window of the jeep, clamping down on his neck. His throat turns to gore. The gun falls from his grip as screams of pain quickly turn to muffled groans.

Relief and horror pound through your veins. That was close. Too close. You have to get Blue out of here. But how—

There is no chance to decide. Suddenly, she screams again. You whip around to meet the slash of a long knife and the flush of cold air as your coat is torn. Someone has snuck up behind you. You fumble with the gun but the attacker knocks it out of your hand, then fists your hair hard enough to make your scalp burn. It happens so fast. You can't even get a good look at him— only the wild stare of his eyes and the strength of his stature. Whoever these people are, they are certainly better fed than that man in the woods.

You thrash against him, hurling saliva at his face. Apparently, he didn't expect that because he hisses, "Fuck."

You use the distraction to grab your own knife, the only weapon on you, and blindly drive it into the taut muscle of his thigh. He howls, letting go of your hair, and you slip away just enough to dodge the next swipe of his blade.

The fight is short-lived. You've grown stronger, but not enough to fight a man. He is skilled and bulky. Your attempts to hit him are futile. His knife catches you in the forehead, sending a curtain of blood down your face, and he grabs hold of your hair once again.

"Gonna cut your throat first," he murmurs, low and gravelly. "Then your little lamb's."

He will kill you. Then her. You can't let him. You won't. Something animalistic takes hold of you. You do the only thing left you can think of— bite. Hard. The sickening taste of human flesh and hot blood fills your mouth as you rip out a chunk of his nose.

"You bitch!"

He clutches his oozing face. Blue shouts at you, her finger jutting toward something— the Grey. Done with its first meal, it draws toward the scent of fresh blood. Before your attacker can recover, you throw all your weight at him, which isn't much, but it is enough to make him lose his footing and veer into the Grey's path. It grabs hold and sinks another bite into his face.

Suddenly, two more gunshots ring out. One to the Grey's head, and the other through the man's eye. Both bodies flop dead to the ground. Before you can panic, a wild-eyed Ghost returns in long strides.

"Blue!" he bellows.

"Dad!" she yells back.

He heads straight for her, quickly dipping down to check her bandaged leg and search for any other wounds. Fear has forced her eyes to stay open, her body stiff and alert. There is a wet stain at the crotch of her jeans.

"They tried to kill us," she cries.

“I'm here, baby. I won't leave you again.”

You wipe the blood off your face and glance around, panting so hard your lungs hurt. The air reeks of carnage and gunpowder, but the firing has ceased.

"They attacked us," you speak in a raw shout. “Two of them. Did you— Are the rest gone?"

He nods. "Could be more nearby. Let's get out of here before we find out."

He slings the rifle over his shoulder and scoops up Blue without an ounce of the effort it took for you to do so.

He moves fast. Retrieving your bow, you push hard to keep up with him.

Twilight tints the sky purple. You make it past the fence and zig-zag through the medical tents when movement catches your eye again.

"Ghost, to the right!" you scream.

You knock an arrow onto the string, aiming for the distant figure. But the movement multiplies, more shadows lurking towards you with uneven gaits. Not people. Greys. The realization forms a pit in your stomach.

"They can fucking smell us," you choke out.

"Hit the faster ones!"

Arrow after arrow, you aim for the ones that move with the stamina of a more recently infected. To your right. To your left. Ghost carries Blue with one arm and shoots with his handgun. More and more crawl out like cockroaches, no doubt catching a whiff of the blood that stains all three of you.

Two built like linebackers run wildly up to Ghost from either direction. He shoots one, while the other grabs him by the shoulder. You launch an arrow at its skull, your aim more precise now that you're not shooting bullets, and it lets go of him with a squeal.

When the trees grow thicker, it becomes harder to see them. Despair pushes a cry up your throat when you slap a hand back to your quiver and feel two arrows left.

A slippery mix of mud and leaves suddenly takes you down to the ground, your knees landing on a hard tree root. You swear under your breath, fumbling to get back up, when a Grey you hadn't noticed behind you lunges on top, slamming you back down. Pain shoots through your ribs as you frantically roll around, thrusting a forearm against its throat to avoid its opened mouth and kicking your knees into its chest. Then, a fiery bullet lodges into its forehead, the Grey going limp on top of you with a splatter of brains and coagulated fluid.

"Get up, Twix!" Ghost barks.

You shove the body off and scramble to your feet, legs feeling like jelly, but you force them to keep running.

You whip a brief look behind you.

"There's too many— I'm almost out of arrows!"

"The river," Ghost throws over his shoulder. "Those fucks can't swim."

You realize his idea when the roar of water greets your ears. Ghost doesn't hesitate to sprint onto the rusty rebar, slipping his gun away to hold Blue with both arms.

You follow behind, forcing your eyes on the bank ahead as you slow down to keep balance. All you have to do is get across and the river will take care of the rest. Heartbeats pound in your skull, each step requiring an unfathomable amount of focus that you struggle to muster. You're about halfway there when you hear the splash of Greys falling in, and a brief glance below causes your footing to falter.

This time you fail to grab the beam.

Cold water envelops you like a million needles.

A mouthful of water burns down your throat, and for a moment, you can't move. Can't breathe. Everything spins around you. It's not until your feet collide with something hard - the bottom of the riverbed - that your brain registers what's happening and you kick out to propel yourself up.

You break the surface for a gulp of air before the current pulls your head back under. Your arms flail around in search of something to grab. Just when you latch onto what feels like a log, a hand seizes your ankle with a hungered screech. You slam your foot back, over and over, more water filling your mouth as you struggle to kick the Grey and hold on at the same time.

Finally, the rotten skull caves in and the current sucks it away. With your leg freed, you haul yourself up the log toward the edge of the river. You begin climbing up the cliffside, using the twisted roots as footholds, your hands digging into caked soil. You're almost to the top, but you feel numb and weak. So weak. You can't find anything else to grab. The wet sole of your boot begins to slip.

"Grab on!"

A gloved hand stretches down. Ghost is crouched above, Blue now on his back so can he lean over. You grip his hand and he pulls you up, until you collapse on the ground, wet and shivering.

You cough up water and bile.

"Bloody fucking hell.”

It's been a while since you've thought about dying. You've made it this far, instinct always taking the reins and pushing you onward. But now, as the reality of the cold, wet clothes clinging to you sets in, you consider asking Ghost to just shoot you. It would be quicker than freezing to death, and a much better fate than drowning or turning Grey. At least you know Blue will be safe now.

Before you can form the words, you hear the shuffling of fabric. A jacket, a beanie. Set on the ground beside you.

"Take off your clothes. Put these on."

The rest turns into a dream. You don't remember putting the clothes on, or standing up and moving your heavy limbs. You don't remember getting to the hunter's cabin, but the next thing you know, you are curled up on the floorboards beside a small fire, inhaling the musky smell of Ghost's oversized jacket, with the blanket you brought tucked around your bare legs. You don't feel cold anymore. Your head pounds. You can hear the steady rhythm of your heart, slow but present. Behind you somewhere, Ghost tends to Blue. You know this because you hear him whisper to her as her sobs are muffled by biting onto a shirt. Amelia, Amelia, he says to her. A name you've never heard before. He must be cleaning the wound, the pain of it causing her to thrash and kick. Then, the sounds fade, and you know she is asleep.

When your eyes finally tear away from the flames, you spot Ghost hunched over, lifting up his shirt. Dark blood and ink stain pale skin.

"You were shot?"

His eyes snap up. He regards you for a moment, and it is now you notice that most of the white of his mask has been stained with red from his kills.

"Knife," he says.

You don't know why you offer, or why he silently accepts. Somehow you end up knelt beside him, your cracked fingertips cleaning the puncture wound in his torso without a single word exchanged. It's not deep enough to need stitches. You clear the blood and dab on antiseptic. The only sign he feels any pain is the flex of corded muscles beneath your touch and the occasional sharp inhale through the mask. His skin is oddly warm, a temperature that does some to ease the tension in your muscles.

When you're done, you roll the shirt back down. He doesn't say thank you, not that you expected him to.

You break the silence with a voice that barely hovers above a whisper. "You could've let me freeze."

His brows lower. "You could've let them kill her."

"I would never do that." When he doesn't respond, you glance at her sleeping form. "She's okay?"

"Just a graze," he confirms.

"She lost quite a bit of blood. She might need a few days to rest."

Your gaze shifts back to his. You quietly add, "Did you recognize them? Were they a part of the military?"

"Maybe. Their gear was. Didn't know them, though."

"Why did they try to kill us?"

He gives you a look. Of course. He tried to kill you for the same reason once.

"They have a camp nearby," you murmur the answer, more to yourself than to him. "Something to protect."

He gives a slow nod, then moves to grab his rifle and a hoodie to slip on in place of the thick SAS jacket he lent you. As he moves to the door, you realize what he plans to do. Keep watch.

You slip the beanie off and run your fingers over the cut on your brow when he says something just before leaving.

"For someone who once asked me to kill them, you fight hard to survive, Twix."

You don't know what to say. Just hours ago, you almost asked him to kill you again.

There's a beat of silence and then, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Do you fight so hard."

A breath sticks in your throat, and you stare at the floor. You're not sure why he is asking this, or why the answer is so hard to give.

"I... I don't know."

With that, he leaves. You watch the fire turn to dark embers. The faded adrenaline has left you with a fatigue you have grown familiar with. If you weren't so tired, maybe you would still be scared, your mind filled with fresh memories of gore and death and screaming. But you fall asleep quickly, scooting beside Blue and sinking into the warmth of his jacket.

#simon riley x reader #ghost #zombie apocolypse au #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction #cod #cod mw2

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dandp · 13 days ago

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Ok so the fighting moments in act 2:

- I don't remember the context of what he says but Dan like slaps Phil's shoulder while being sarcastic about something (I think it was right after Phil came back without the silicone?) and then Phil smacked his shoulder back in a pointed way and then they were like staring each other down as they each smacked another time and Dan stopped it by saying it was getting kinky and to us said "we were having an us moment and then I heard a few gasps and suddenly it was becoming a you moment"

- Dan's diss track came up in a confession so Dan grabbed the holy water gun and made Phil try to do it at gunpoint, he obviously messes it up and gets sprayed, then Phil gets the gun back a bit later and sprays Dan in the ass, Dan makes a comment about how there's too much side ass going on for him to be doing that

#dan and phil #phan #titspoilers #the first one was crazy i was like sorry did you literally forget about your audience??

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simsinter · 3 days ago

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clockwayswrites · 1 year ago

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City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 3

WC: 1861 Masterpost CW: mentions of blood, past experimentation, and torture

Duke tugged the sleeves of the hoodie he had thrown on as he rolled out of bed down over his hands. The Cave was freezing. Usually the temperature was nice. Dressing up in layers of body armor and fighting crime made a person hot and the cool air of the Cave was a relief. When pulled out of bed by an all-hands meeting it was another story and so Duke tucked himself further in the hoodie.

He was pretty sure it wasn’t even his hoodie. This family (and those let into the inner circle) were almost all clothing thieves. Duke had even caught Wally West with his missing Gotham Academy hoodie once. The weird lack of boundaries had taken some getting used to. Seeing various family members naked for decontamination showers or medical procedures helped hurry that along. It was hard to care about who’s hoddie it was was after washing off cuddle pollen together.

The roar of a bike filled the Cave and Duke didn’t even look up. He knew the sound of Red Hood’s bike.

Man, he really had been in this family too long now, he thought and buried his face in his arms. Would they notice if he just went back to sleep?

“Perhaps some tea, Master Duke?”

Guess so.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Duke said and dragged himself properly upright to accept the mug of tea. At least it was warm.

Duke sipped at the tea, his favorite blend of course, as Jason sped into the Cave like the badass bastard he was. He spun his bike to a stop in one of the open spots.

“Hood,” Bruce addressed the other, the Batman™ gravel seeped into his voice even though he was dressed down in sweats, a hoodie Duke was pretty sure was actually Jason’s, and a brace on his wrist.

They all knew what Bruce meant though: report why an all-hands was called, why Tim wasn’t there, did those of them not suited up need to, was anyone they cared about hurt?

“No, old man, you report,” Jason said as he stalked up the steps towards them. “Who the fuck were you fucking fifteen years ago?”

Duke pinched himself to make sure he was actually awake and not still in bed having the most awkward dream. Alright, well, that hurt. So much for being saved from this conversation by the T-rex suddenly coming to life and breathing fire and them having to take it down with squirt guns and pool noodles.

He’d had some weird dreams since coming to live in the manor, alright?

“Um, ask what now, little wing?” Dick asked, looking between Jason and Bruce.

“I asked what I asked,” Jason said. He’d made it to the computer and they all turned obediently to look at the screen. Jason tugged off his helmet and set it down as he leaned against the console. “Who the fuck were you sleeping with at that time, Bruce?”

Bruce stared at Jason for a long moment. “Selina, mostly. Some socialites and such maybe still. What’s going on, Jason?”

“Oracle,” Jason said, not taking his eyes Bruce. “Red should have sent you some media. You’ll get why. Throw something fitting up on the screen.”

Despite what the superhero community and Gotham thought, everyone in the Cave knew that Batman was far from unflappable. They had all pulled one over on him before. But Duke had never seen Bruce looking like that before. As that image went up on the screen, it looked like someone had just shattered his brittle heart into pieces.

Duke couldn’t blame him. The sickly looking guy on the screen made Duke want to go find someone to punch and it wasn’t his face the other was wearing.

“Holy shit,” Steph whispered.

“Father, what is the meaning of this?” Damian ordered.

“Jay?” Dick prompted when Bruce seemed unable to find the words.

Jason scowled down at the ground. “Red and I were on patrol. He noticed… blood.”

Babs brought another image up on the left monitor without prompting. It was a Gotham alley like any other except it was splattered with a green spray.

“That is Lazarus water, that is not blood,” Damian said. His words were as haughty as ever, but there was a wobble under them.

“It’s blood for him,” Jason said. “Trust me. I held the kid as Red stitched him up. Knife wound. It was the only… new wound. Oracle, did Red send you…”

A new image popped up on the left screen and Jason closed his eyes. Duke had to swallow heavily and look away himself. He got now why Jason came in demanding who Bruce had slept with. Bruce’s heart was going to break all over again.

“Who?” Cass signed. Her motion was sharp and aggressive as she pulled her thumb from her chin after the sign.

“We don’t know,” Jason said. “He was jumpy.”

The picture of the horrible injuries was replaced by a video, clearly from Red’s suit. The guy was pressed against the wall, one hand gripped tight over the wet, green stain on his hoodie. He looked dwarfed in it.

“Hey, looks like you could use some help with that wound before you bleed out,” Tim said in the video. Duke could hear how he was keeping his tone carefully light.

“…just who are you supposed to be?” The guy’s voice could barely be heard.

“You must not be from Gotham. I’m Red Robin, one of the heroes here.”

The guy snorted, curling further into himself rather than relaxing at that. “So you’re just going to hand me over to the government then?”

Everyone in the cave stiffened at that, including Jason, which was interesting.

“Why would I do that? I’m a vigilante. Do you know how illegal what I do is? I just don’t want to see you bleed out. Maybe I can even take you to a safe house where you can rest.”

“So that you can interrogate me? No thanks.”

“I mean, I’d like to know who tried to kill a kid, but that’s to make them pay, not you.”

As the guy gave a horrible laugh, Duke reached out and touched Cass’ elbow, reminding her they were all there. These sort of things always hit her hard. She sent him a grateful smile before focusing back on the screen. “Maybe I deserve it.”

The guy tensed suddenly, weight shifting like he was about to bolt as the video slumped slightly sideways.

Jason’s voice rumbled from close to the camera. “You’re what, sixteen?”

“…fifteen?”

“Uncertain,” Cass spoke. Duke had to agree, the guy didn’t know how old he was, not for sure.

“Yeah, no fifteen year old deserves to bleed out. You know who I am?”

Duke tracked the motion of the hood as it slipped. The white hair was curious, considering Bruce, but if the guy was a meta or had been in the Lazarus Pits long enough… or worse, both…

“I’m Red Hood. I protect part of this city called Crime Alley. I’m not afraid to kill a shithead, especially ones that hurt kids, but I never harm a kid,” the Jason of the video said, something they all knew was true. It was an argument still often enough on bad days. “I’ve got places to put you if you needed somewhere safe; places not in the system. Or we can get you somewhere. Do you have a place to go to?”

The guy laughed again. “That’s the thing. I do. I might, I guess. Just no one is going to believe me.”

It was Tim who asked, “Why won’t they believe you? Where do you need to get?”

After the photo earlier, they all knew what the guy would look like when he lifted his head, but it still made Duke glance over at Bruce.

“I need to get to Bruce Wayne.”

Jason motioned and the video stopped there and went away.

Bruce closed his eyes.

I need to get to Bruce Wayne.

Another son he didn’t know about. Another son he failed to save from a horrible childhood because he didn’t know they existed.

“He didn’t want to see you right away, but we think that Tim and I convinced him that we could arrange a meeting between you and him,” Jason said.

“Of course,” Bruce answered instantly.

Jason just gave a little nod and explained, “He doesn’t trust the offer, or us, completely. It was enough to get him to the safe house. Passed out on the way.”

“And still asleep,” Tim piped up from the computer. “I’ve been running analysis on the… collar he’s wearing. It’s definitely a one off, but very professionally made. There’s, well, there was a tracker in it that’s been crushed. It’s meant to deliver a shock if someone messes with it, but I can disable that long enough to remove it.”

“You should wait until one of is is there,” Duke spoke up. “Just… in case there’s a reaction when it’s removed.”

Duke ducked his head when all eyes turned to him, still bashful as the newest member of the family. Bruce had been trying to reassure the other, but he knew that was far from his own strength. Clearly he needed to try a different approach.

“Just, you know, he’s clearly a meta? Of some type? It’s probably a containment collar and it could release a, you know, backlog? Of power?”

“Good thinking,” Bruce assured Duke.

“Someone better get here quick then. I hate seeing this thing on him,” Tim grumbled. At least he agreed.

Bruce looked back at the photo still on the center screen to the pale, drawn face. Even in sleep his son’s face was etched with pain.

“Bruce?” Dick prompted.

Bruce took a breath and made himself focus, to be Batman, not a grieving father. How often had he had to make that choice? “Dick, you and Jason both should go. Tim, as soon as the collar is off I want you and Oracle working on it but stay mindful of traps.”

“Will do,” Tim replied.

“And what of the rest of us?” Damian asked.

His youngest had come so far, but Bruce knew this would be a big disruption for him. They would have to watch him. He caught Cass’ eyes and she gave the slightest nod.

“I want Robin, Batgirl, and Spoiler out on the streets. Don’t ask questions yet, we don’t want to lead anyone to him, but get a sense of the mood around the big players. If this is already on anyone’s radar, I want to know.”

“And you need to make a list,” Jason said. “Kid talked in his sleep, begged his mom to stop. Could just be nightmares…”

“I’ll make one,” Bruce said. His bedroom proclivities were hardly what the papers reported, but with how this new son wasn’t certain of his age, it could be pre-Dick, or even at the start of Dick joining the family. It certainly meant there would be more names then any of the years later on. Whoever it was though, Bruce would find them.

He had to try and do that much for his son.

--- AN: Not entirely sure about Bruce's part here, but he's always harder for me to write! I think goal is to get at least one POV with all of the kids, so I guess Dick's is next likely! I'm super fuzzy today (fatigue, day fuck it, seven? Eight? Of this headache), so I hope this is at least decent~

Stay delightful, darlings!

I no longer tag, but you can subscribe to the masterpost to be notified!

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons #trauma tuesday

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