#the hole in that fence back there may get closed up

[officialtokyosan]

nobody lives there anymore. everybody always moves away all the time. it is a memory. it is simply a place.

[dekarios]

i need help with vet bills (again).

hi. for those of you who remember, earlier this year i asked for donations to help me afford toos' vet bills, who we found out through your help had kidney failure, and again with your help we got her on medication for it. unfortunately it wasn't enough, and we lost her. and then shortly after, dexter began deteriorating, which we put down to his grief of losing toos - she kept him young, he followed her everywhere, he only played because of her, he only ate when she ate, etc. without her he just stopped. and then he started to have seizures and fits daily. we got him blood tests, but he was suffering so badly. we made the decision to put him down. i didn't ask for donations this time, because i was so deeply embarrassed to ask for help again. but we are still recovering financially from that, as well as the parts of toos bills that didn't get covered from donations. my mother hasn't worked for a very long time, she's disabled and very sick, and she receives PIP from the government that only covers her monthly medications that are not covered by the NHS. my father retired early to become her full time carer, and we are living off his pension. i am too disabled to work, but because my mother already receives PIP and i live with them, the government are resistent to giving me any help - so i have zero income, and rely entirely on my parents.

this is jenny. she's a 14 year old cairn terrier, who loves when we garden because she wants to help dig holes. she helped us bury dexter and toos, digging their graves for them with my dads help. she's an angel, and loves people so much she likes to escape under the fence and join other families for awhile. one time she got into someones back garden and asked to come in as they were eating lunch. she really hates flies, and will try to bite them out of the air (she has never succeeded but i believe she will one day). she will rub her face against you until you start stroking her, and will growl and even bark if you stop! we don't have the money to take jenny to the vets, for a checkup or for anything they may want to do. this has been an ongoing issue, but toos and dexter took priority, and it hasn't been a bother to her. she existed as normal for a long time, but that's since changed.

jenny has this lump in her mouth, it is larger than the picture shows, but she is a nightmare to force open her mouth since this got so big, i think it's uncomfortable or painful for her. she can't properly close her lips now, and it has pushed all her front teeth away, misshaping her mouth, and sometimes it bleeds profusely. eating has become difficult for her, she can't eat anything hard, and currently will only eat soft human foods like rice, scrambled egg chopped up so small she doesn't have to chew, and things like soups and gravy. she's lost a lot of weight, and i'm getting frightened. to add onto it, i've found lumps like this across her body. i've done as much research as i can, and i believe it to be an oral tumor, it fits, and it looks right, and it spreading across her body is called 'full staging'. and going by all i've read - they will want to remove them in surgery. according to my research, this will cost anywhere from £585 - £4,740 for just the lump in her mouth. that's not including any checkup/test costs, or the other lumps on her body.

she hasn't been to the vet yet, i don't have any secure goal or bills to share, just my assumptions and beliefs from researching myself online. my parents refuse to take her because we can't afford it. i want to save up money, have it in my bank, and show them that we can help her now, before it gets worse, or it's too late. as i said before, i don't have any income, so the only way i can do this is with help.

here's a link to my paypal.me

the icon is a little mouse, and the @ is rivellon

i struggled so badly posting the first post like this for toos. i felt so guilty and embarrassed and ashamed. but i have no choice again, i want to help jenny. i don't want her to suffer. and selfishly, i can't handle losing another dog so soon. this year has been waking nightmare, and i need your help to stop it getting even worse.

please reblog and share, even if you can't donate.

thank you for reading.

[lizslibrary]

Facade

Summary: Bucky x Reader fic where Reader is sick but decides to go on a mission anyway.

A/N: This is my first fanfiction, please comment or critique it; I am always open to suggestions. I also struggled on finding a good ending, so I just decided to leave the rest of the story up to the imagination of the reader. 🥰

Warnings: assassin!reader, Sickness; flu, overexertion, guns, fighting, fainting, Slowburn (Picks up in the end,) angst, fluff, guilt, angry Bucky

Word count: 2,007

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

I lean my back against the side of the jet, trying to appear as normal as possible. We were going on a HYDRA intel mission and I was sick. I knew going on this mission was a bad decision, but I couldn’t let my team down.

 As I took a deep breath, I could feel a pair of eyes watching me; I didn’t even have to look over to know it was Bucky. He stared at me with his arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted slightly backward. I could tell he knew something was wrong, but I didn’t bother meeting his gaze.

A few minutes later, the plane landed in a remote location, and slowly, the back door dropped with a soft hiss. I unstrapped my seatbelt and hoisted my gun over my shoulder walking down the ramp and into a thick layer of snow. The cold air felt nice against my flushed cheeks, and I sighed as I watched the rest of the team trail out of the jet.

Steve stood confidently as he began giving orders, “Sam and Natasha, patrol the outside; make notes of everyone entering and exiting the compound.” “y/n, Bucky and I will take the inside, working on containing and evacuating evidence that may be crucial to Hydra’s destruction.” Steve stood silent for a moment. “Does everyone understand?” 

Everyone nodded and stood next to their partners. I notice Bucky watching me from behind Steve. I turned my head away from him so I wouldn’t give myself away. I knew that if he found out I was sick, he would stop the mission and make us turn around.

“The snow is thick, walk slow and conserve energy…we have the whole day ahead of us,” Steve says, beginning to walk forward.

Everyone trudges behind Steve in silence, our footsteps making quiet crunching sounds through the snow. I follow closely behind Steve, while Bucky trails closely behind me. I make sure to place my feet in Steve's already deep footprints, the last thing I wanted was to be drained of my energy before we'd even reach the compound.

I look up at the dark gray sky; we must be high up in the mountains, looking down on what seems like endless miles of nothingness.  It wasn't surprising that HYDRA would be located here, being a rather isolated organization.

A little while later I began to make out the rectangular shape of the compound through the dense snow that was falling from the sky. My hands were getting numb from holding onto the straps on my gun holster and my legs ached from walking through the snow. Steve looked over at me, I saw concern but I just gave him a reassuring nod and pushed forward.

As we got closer, I noticed that the base was a massive, grey complex. The building was made of concrete and had no windows, just little square holes that littered the walls...it reminded me of a prison.

Steve came to a stop and crouched behind a concrete barrier, he motioned for us to do the same. The team huddled beside Steve and watched the camp, it was only a few yards away allowing us to see movement from behind the large, barbed fence.

"Send Redwing out, we need to see the safest route for entry," Steve ordered. Sam was quick to oblige, sending the drone into the snowfall.

It hovered above the entrance to the complex, giving us an accurate view of how many guards there were. There were three men posted around the entrance, all wearing black helmets. One of them remained stationed by the gate while the other two patrolled around the gate.

Sam watched the feed from the drone, scanning the screen for any more guards, "Seems like there are only three near the entrance...if you can take them out you have a clear path to a set of double doors." Sam said looking at Steve out of the corner of his eye "The problem is...how are you gonna get in?"

"Tony said that there should be a keypad on the outside, luckily for us he managed to find the code," Steve said with a small grin on his face, I could hear a small chuckle come from Bucky.

Natasha shook her head "I wouldn't expect anything less from that man."

"Sam, keep a watch on Redwing and head to the left side of the building. Natasha, you take right." Steve says "Bucky y/n, follow me...be aware of your surroundings."

As soon as the plan is said, we jump into action. Steve begins creeping towards the front of the complex, with the sound of our footsteps ringing in the snow-covered ground, while Bucky and I cover him. Steve slams his shield into the neck of one of the guards while I wrestle another to the ground and knock him unconscious. My head is spinning as I stand up but I help Bucky take care of the last guy.

With the first threat taken care of, we hurry over to where Steve is standing, "This way," Steve points at a door on the side of the building. We follow closely behind him and watch his back as he types in the code on the keypad.

  He grabs the handle and turns it.  The door creaks open slowly, revealing a very dimly lit hallway. Steve leads the way down the hall.  The smell of damp stone fills the air, with the faint scent of blood and gunpowder lingering in the air.  We follow silently behind Steve until we get to the end of the hallway, where it opens up into two different hallways.

“I’ll take the right side, y/n Bucky go left,” Steve says

Bucky and I walk down the left hallway and I can feel my palms getting sweaty with each step. Something felt wrong, where was everyone? Why were there no HYDRA agents? I glance over at Bucky and see that he has a crease in his eyebrows, I could tell he was wondering the same thing. I grip my gun closer to my chest, it was eerily quiet and something felt off…very off. 

As we near the end of the hallway we enter a large room. It was filled with old dusty computers and lots of filing cabinets. I approach one of the computers and take out the hard drive making sure to put it in my pocket in hopes that it will be important intell. I watch Bucky enter a side room and suddenly the lights turn off and I jolt when I hear the loud slam of a door shutting.

It’s pitch black and I can hear footsteps circling me in the room “Y/N!? Y/N!” Bucky is pounding his fist on the other side of the door. 

I feel disoriented and dizzy as I try and move around the room “Bucky!? Where-?” I am cut off by a gloved hand covering my mouth; I scream and slam my elbow into the person behind me.

My breathing becomes more labored as I try and fight off the people attacking me. I feel myself on the verge of passing out.

 I grab my knife out of my pocket and slam it blindly into someone's torso. I lose my balance and I fall backward, causing my head to slam against the corner of the table. I let out a yell of pain and felt a warm liquid running down my neck.

I scramble back into a wall and feel someone else's hands on me, I try and fight back but my movements are disoriented; I am helpless. 

As soon as I feel all hope is lost, the door bursts open filling the room with light. Before I know what’s happening gunshots ring out and silence fills the room. My vision is swimming and I see a familiar, blurry silhouette approaching me; guilt fills my stomach.

“M-..sorry Bucky…” I slur as fight from blacking out.

Bucky scoops me up in his arms, and before I know it he is sprinting out of the compound and into the snow. My body is limp in his arms and I can hear him murmuring incoherent prayers as he runs.

Soon, we reach the jet, and he quickly puts me on the medical table. Everything around me is blurry and I don’t know what is happening.

I am so tired. Maybe I should sleep. Bucky wouldn’t be mad if I just slept for a minute…

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

My mind is pulled into the dark, tempting world of sleep.

A bright light fills my vision as I wake up. I blink a couple of times in an attempt to get my eyes to adjust to the light. What happened? Where am I? Several thoughts plagued my mind all at once and my body flings itself into an upright position.

Bucky stands up as soon as he sees me awake "Hey, hey! You're okay, you are safe.." Bucky says, gently trying to get me to lay back down.

The memories of last night flood my mind and I feel an intense wave of guilt in the pit of my stomach. I take a small glance at Bucky and notice the relief in his eyes quickly turn to that of hurt, maybe even anger. The look in his eyes pained me to see, I knew he felt upset about my actions.

"Bucky...I-"

"Why?" he says suddenly, staring me straight in my eyes.

"I'm sorry..."

Bucky closes his eyes in an attempt to calm himself "Sorry doesn't cut it." He says sharply "You almost died y/n."

I look away from him and shake my head "I know...but if I hadn't gone someone could have gotten hurt."

I watch anger form in his expression "Liz." His serious tone forces me to look at him "Are you not listening to me? You almost died!" His tone gets louder as he talks, "When I brought you back on the jet you were burning up and sweating...did you know that your fever almost reached 103."

Bucky takes a step backward and faces the wall, he rakes his fingers through his hair. "Do you understand that had I not been there and broken through a metal wall, you would be dead." He turns to face me again "Do you not understand that if you had died in that room; I would have blamed myself?" He looked me in the eyes "Do you not understand that if you died, I would have nothing else to live for?"

"Better me dead than you," I say quietly.

Bucky clenches his fist and inhales a sharp breath "Never, and I mean never, say that shit to me ever again." He grabs my hands and stands silently. "y/n, you give me a reason to wake up in the morning; the feeling I get when I see your gorgeous, happy face in the morning makes me feel alive."

I stare at him speechlessly and he continues "I know this is a terrible place, and a terrible time but I have to tell you..." The look he gives me makes my body tingle "I love you. I love you too much to the point where it hurts...and when we were in that compound I watched as the life drained from your eyes, and I felt more scared in that moment than I have ever had in my entire life...because I knew that If you were to die, I would have nothing left to get me out of bed in the morning, I would have nothing left to get me home safe from missions, I would have no more life because without you; I have none."

Bucky's words make it feel like the world has stopped, like it's just me and him and nothing can stop us from being together. I stare at Bucky's beautiful eyes, and he stares at mine; they tell me that I am here, that I am alive, and that I'm next to the person I love and care about most in this world.

[retrospacejelly]

Henry Creel x Fem! Reader: Where the reader is Jonathan Byers twin and will sister and Henry takes a very strong liking to her. Like if he was still human/not all burned up?

Hi there, of course! I hope you enjoy the read! <3

Can’t Take My Eyes Off You

Pairing: Henry Creel x FemByers!Reader 

Summary: Y/N Byers, her mom, Joyce, and Hopper sneak into Hawkins Lab to look for, and hopefully find Will. However, when Y/N separates from Jim and Joyce, she meets an odd character.

Not proofread

Warnings: Yandere Henry Creel, allusions of murder, dreams of world domination, the usual with Vecna.

PLEASE READ! So, this fic doesn’t follow the exact plotline. And thank you so much for @edb954 for making the request and for helping me with the plot!

Part: 1/?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stuffy closet felt like it was closing in on Y/N as she pressed her back against the wall. Then running footsteps of the Hawkins Lab guards echoed throughout the hallway, slowly getting softer.

Well, so much for sticking together. She thought to herself, praying that her mom and Hopper weren’t in the same predicament as her. 

They were supposed to stick together to look for Will. But no, one guard noticed them and they had to split off. 

Y/N pressed her ear to the door, sighing when she heard silence. She slowly opened the door, peeking her head out and scanning her surroundings. Stepping out, the Byers sister crept toward the end of the hall, listening for anyone else approaching.

Seeing that the coast is clear, she makes a run for it, hoping to find Hopper and her mom. 

“Umph!” she stumbles back, bracing herself for the hard floor. 

She opens her eyes. Where was the floor? Looking up, she gasps as she sees a blonde man staring back at her. He has a smile on his face, and somehow it’s unsettling.

His arms are wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her steady. Y/N quickly scrambles out of his grasp. 

“I…” she starts.

“You seem lost.” The man says, studying her. 

All she can do is nod dumbly, frozen in place. Oh, was she in for it now? He isn’t dressed like a guard. Maybe he was a higher-up? The all-white outfit suggests it. 

What would he do to her? Is he going to torture her? Kill her? What if he thinks she’s some spy?! 

He chuckles at her stunned silence. He can’t help but find her adorable. 

“Are you meeting someone here, miss?” he asks, his arms now folded behind him.

No, she can’t tell him the truth. But boy is she tempted to. The man is alluring, his gaze pulling her in. 

She takes a breath, standing taller. He doesn’t seem to be armed. Good, she has a taser in her jacket pocket if he tries anything. 

“I’m looking for my younger brother. He went missing, and I have reason to believe he’s here.” she confesses. 

He hums and nods, taking in her words. 

“Why on earth would you think he’s here?” 

“When we organized a search party, I went out on my own.” A lie. “I found his jacket by a hole in the fence surrounding the lab.” Another lie. “I figured he somehow made his way here and is being held hostage for some freaky experiment.” Not a complete lie.

Henry nods again. “I can help you look for him.”

What?

“What?” Y/N asks, not sure if she’s heard him correctly.

“I’ll help you look for your brother, Miss. He must be scared. All alone in a big place like this. If he’s even here.” he continues. 

He supposes it will give him more time with her. To…figure her out.

“Why…?” Y/N asks, uncertainty lacing her tone. 

He shrugs. “I may work here, but it doesn’t mean I’m fond of this place. The man in charge of this lab takes security very seriously. Even if your brother is young, he wouldn’t hesitate to rid of him.” 

Y/N can’t help but gasp at his words. Now she’s hoping that Will isn’t here.

He suddenly motions her to follow him, leading the woman through the maze of halls. 

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

Somewhere in the upsidedown…

Henry sensed someone in the underground. A child. And the child was scared. He kept calling out to different people.

“Mom…?! Jonathan, Y/N…?!” the boys shouted, curling in on himself.

“Will?! Will!” another voice shouts, catching Henry’s attention. 

The boy perked up, looking around frantically. 

“Y/N! Y/N, I hear you! Where are you?!” he shouts, starting to cry. 

“Will, oh my god! Will, we’re going to save you!” This Y/N person shouted, sounding like she had been crying herself.

He was intrigued. Who was this, Y/N person? 

It didn’t take long for Henry to find out who she was. Will’s older sister, and a college student at Hawkins Community College. And she was…beautiful.

Henry knew right then, that he was going to have her. No matter what. 

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

“Where are we going?” Y/N asks, trying to keep up with his pace.

He’s silent for a moment, before speaking up. “There is a place called the Rainbow Room. It used to be a place where test subjects had their free time. It’s very appealing to a young child. I suspect he could’ve hidden somewhere in that room.”

She covers her mouth in shock. “So they do experiment on children!”. Y/N can’t help but tear up, praying that Will hasn’t been caught. 

Noticing her frightened behavior, Henry places a hand on her shoulder. “It will be okay, Miss. We will find your brother.” he reassures her, smiling when she calms down.

“Thank you,” she mumbles quietly. “I never got your name…” she says as she looks up at him.

“Peter, Ballard.” He answers. “And your name, Miss?” he asks, as if he didn’t already know. “Y/N Byers. It’s nice to meet you, Peter.”.

“Likewise, Miss Y/N.” He replies, stopping in front of the Rainbow Room. Henry opens the door, a twisted smile making its way onto his face as flashbacks of the massacre run through his mind.

“What…happened here…?” Y/N asks eyes widened at the dried blood painting the walls.

Henry frowns. “A tragedy in the ‘70s. One of the orderlies, Henry, who was in charge of the children had gone mad, killing them in cold blood.”

“That’s horrible…” She says, the hairs on her neck standing on end. 

They look around for Will, more so Y/N than Henry. He knew it would be useless, anyway. As she looked around, he thought to himself.

Y/N didn’t seem like she would go down without a fight, but maybe if he struck up a deal with her…

“He’s not here,” Y/N says dejectedly, running a hand through her hair. “Where could he be?!” she exclaims to herself, pacing back and forth. 

Henry coughs quietly, getting her attention. “Let’s keep looking, surely he’s here somewhere,” he suggests, already leaving the Rainbow Room.

Y/N quickly follows suit, trying to forget about the eerie room. She almost bumps into Henry’s back, when he comes to a stop. He quickly guides her into another closet, shutting the door with a soft, ‘click’.

She looks at him, confused. Henry glances at her, putting a finger to his lips. Only now does she realize their proximity to one another. She can’t help but blush, practically pressed against his chest. 

Her brow furrows. He seemed cold, and on top of that, his heart was beating so slow she was surprised at the amount of energy he had. And that he was alive in general.

Before she could ask any questions, he leaves the room, pulling her with him. He presses his front to her back, not letting her turn around. The turn out of the hall, and unbeknownst to Y/N, left behind the bodies of two guards.

Henry stops again at another door, turning to Y/N. 

“Close your eyes, Miss Y/N” he requests.

“Why-” “Just do so, please,” he says sternly, turning back to face the door. 

Once checking that her eyes are closed, he cracks open the door, making quick work of the scientists and guards inside. 

He takes Y/N’s hand, still making sure her eyes remain shut. 

When he tells her to open them, she is met with a rotting flesh-looking mass. There’s a glow coming from the opening. The only thing separating it from her is a glass wall. 

“What..the hell is that?!” she shrieks, reaching out for Henry’s arm. He smiles at the contact.

“This, Y/N, is a portal to another dimension,” he tells her, holding her arms gently.

“Is Will in there?”

Her question goes unanswered. “Just keep looking at the portal, Y/N,” he says, his head now next to hers, his voice a low whisper.

She does as told when suddenly, her surroundings change. She gasps. It looks just like the room she and Henry are in….but….abandoned. Dark. 

Y/N looks behind her, and Henry is gone.

“Peter?!” she shouts, hoping for a response. Going against her better judgment, she starts walking around, stepping over thick vines. 

The scene changes again, and suddenly she is in a forest, silence enveloping her. 

“Peter?!” she shouts again, frantically looking all around her. Y/N hears a rustling in the bushes and turns her head to the sound.

“Who’s there…?” she shakily asks.

“Y/N…”

A voice says, making her jump.

“Peter!” she exclaims, recognizing the voice. “What is this place? Is Will here?” she asks into the air, still looking around.

“He is, Y/N. This is The Underground,” he answers.

“He’s here!” she exclaims “Where…exactly?”

“I’m right here, Y/N,” Comes Will’s voice from behind her, making the woman quickly turn to face him.

She runs to Will, hugging him tightly, sobbing into his shoulder.

“Oh, Will! God, I thought I lost you forever, Will!” she says, not wanting to let go. Despite her relief, she feels that something is off. Will hasn’t hugged her back.

Pulling away, she sees the terrified expression on his face. He’s focused on something behind her, and she freezes as well.

Y/N slowly turns to look at what Will is staring at, gasping at the sight.

Standing on all fours is a hairless-looking beast. Its mouth slowly opens up to reveal rows and rows of sharp teeth. Y/N quickly stands in front of Will protectively.

Something shoves her out of the way, and the beast lunges for Will.

“No!” Y/N shrieks in horror, trying to run to Will, but tripping over a vine. As she tries to stand, the vine wraps around her ankle, and another comes out of the ground to wrap around her middle.

“Wh-What’s going on?! Will!” She continues to holler but stops when she sees nothing in front of her. 

“You’ve seen what happens to your brother if he stays here, Y/N.” Henry suddenly says, stepping from his spot behind a tree.

“Peter! Peter, what’s happening? Where’s Will?!” she’s crying now, trying to break free of the vines.

He quickly shoes her, kneeling in front of her restrained form. “Don’t cry, my dear. Will is perfectly fine. Or, he will be once you agree to my terms.” 

Her eyes widen. “What?” she says quietly, the color draining from her face.

“Oh dear, you still don’t understand. That’s okay,” he gently caresses her cheek.

“I can bring Will back to your dimension if you become my eternal bride in this one,” he states, giving her an unsettling smile. 

“You’re sick, Peter.” she snaps, hatred seeping its way into her veins. 

“Now, Now,” he tuts, “That’s not my real name, Darling.”

Her heart drops. 

“Henry…?” she lets out, her voice only a whisper.

He nods, “Correct, Darling! Just think, we can make this world our own, I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. We can enslave your dimension, and rule over it. Or of course, I leave Will here to die, and make you live with the weight of your brother’s death until you too perish.”.

Y/N stays silent, her tears now dried up. Her decision was made.

“I will stay here with you. But you have to bring Will back to our dimension.” She says, glaring at Henry.

“You have my word, Darling.”

______________________________________________________________

Oh my goodness he is just so UGH!

[chiffon-and-spice]

(18+ MINORS DNI) He's A Violent Man, and His Heart's Decayed

Fic Inspo: April to Death

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer x GN!Reader (18+)

A/N: I just want to say I do not condone this kind of relationship in any way, nor am I trying to glamorize abuse. This is just my take on how being in a relationship with Johnny would be. Fiction and reality are two very different things, and there will be triggering topics discussed in this fic. If you don’t like violence, this is definitely not the fic for you. 

Abuse Helpline: 800-799-7233 (if a phone call is unsafe here’s a safe website you can visit, you’re not alone and there are always other options.) 

Concept: You’ve walked down this road with Johnny so many times before, your feet have grown numb. At this point it’s hard to tell who’s crazier. 

TW: Abuse, violence, self-deprecation, mutual abuse, smoking, blood 

Content: Anal, rough sex, blood drinking? (idk if this should be a trigger warning or content…), voyeurism, masturbation, dom!Johnny, sub!reader 

A man beyond saving. So tormented, trained like a dog on a leash, he is unable to do anything differently than what he's taught. Despite all the pain, the anguish, the anger, Nancy is the only family he's ever known. The only family he'd ever get. Johnny had been given a shit hand, and these were the cards he had to play. And another, with so little regard for their own self-worth, seemed unable to care about being saved from him. 

You made your way up the familiar driveway, as you have done many times before. It was late, the moon barely a sliver in the sky, hiding behind a blanket of dark clouds. It didn’t matter how little you could see though, you knew this path like the back of your hand. Every little loose pebble, soft patch, and hidden crack or ladder. 

The outside of Nancy’s may look warm, inviting, with white picket fences and brightly colored flowers dancing almost peacefully through the wind. But you knew better. You knew about the horrors that lurked within those doors. You hadn't come here about that though. As long as you didn't bother the family, the family didn't bother you. 

Perhaps that made you just as bad as them, just as wrong and twisted. Any sane person would stay away, be terrified for their life. Ask for help for the many victims that had stumbled through. Then again, it was hard to be scared for something you had little regard for. What’s a little bit of murder?

The driveway and path were covered in a deep blue hue. The night air was somewhat chilly, though you seemed unbothered by the cold. Even without a jacket, no temperature could compete with the coldness Johnny handled you with. That was a chill you felt in your bones, that nestled into your chest and pricked at your heart like a thorn that couldn’t be shaken loose. 

So why were you making your way back? Every step made your feet feel heavy with lead, though a part of you also felt as if you were burning holes in the ground. 

You were in one of those angry moods, the scary ones where you were eerily calm. Every step is slow, quiet, across the gravel coated road. Calculated. You couldn’t recall if this walk was something you had done before or something you’d picked up from Johnny. 

Your gaze drifted up to the top window of Nancy’s house, studying where her room would be. The curtains, like usual, were closed shut. It was fairly late, and you hoped that meant she’d be fast asleep. She’d never been too fond of you seeing her Johnny. Part of you wondered if the only thing keeping her from murdering you was knowing you were just as capable of doing the same to her. She didn’t have the same control over you as she did Johnny. 

There was a part of you that felt almost… confident approaching Johnny's beat down shack. You had no weapons, no items but the clothes on your back, and yet there wasn’t much concern. No fear, as you raised your fist, pounding on the old shack door. 

There was a familiarity in the action, almost like you’d done it a million times before. Even with a door in your way, you could smell the place almost as if you were standing inside. Part of you had always wondered if you’d ever get used to it. It was unsettling that you didn’t even have a reaction anymore. It wasn’t even the blood that bothered you, that was nothing unfamiliar. It was the grime, the dust, the mold that all turned your stomach. The maggots that no doubt crawled around within its confines.  

You knew Johnny heard you, after a noise erupted inside. A few crunching cans on the other side and the low sound of rustling. Like someone was trying to let their presence be known, that they were intentionally ignoring whoever was outside. 

"Alright Johnny, come on out now, I ain't gonna be waitin’ out here forever!" you called out, your voice scarily calm.

Too many thoughts raced through your mind. Your foot impatiently tapped on the old rotted floorboards, arms crossed, while you stared narrowly at the door. The only sound you heard at first was the faint chirp of the crickets outside. 

It was pitch black, hard to see, though you knew the door had opened by the sound of it scraping across the floor. A familiar head slowly started to peak out, his dark eyes protruding from the doorway. There’s something unsettling about his smile, how his eyes scan over you, after he leans against the door frame. 

He had looked at you like that so many times before, like he’d somehow just won some game. Or was reading you, studying which parts of your body would result in those screams he’d been so fond of. His stance is tall, his eyes cold, while he leans against the door. 

The man smelled of cigarette smoke, sweat, and… something else you didn’t quite wish to discern. You wanted to scrunch your nose up, pretend the smell disgusted you as it should. Instead however it had an allure, something that drew you in. Probably because that smell was unique to Johnny. 

Like always the man was calculated, precise with his wording. His hands, which usually contained thick leather gloves, were bare, a cheap cigarette poking between the fingers of the hand that currently rested on the frame above his head. He laughed a little upon recognizing you, an almost wolfish glint in his eyes. The man was alert, like he’d been anticipating your arrival. Of course he had. 

You couldn’t help but study his other hand, which was wrapped tightly with white gauze. You remembered the blood, how it slowly poured down when you’d shoved your knife through his hand. The force he knocked you over with in response. It was a vicious cycle that should have told you both to back off. 

With how much you already knew about Johnny’s tactics, there was no need to draw you in. No need for him to practice his usual charm. Instead, he simply took a puff from the cigarette, blowing the cloud not too far from your face. 

“You’re back early. Did you not get enough?” 

Johnny’s tone was casual, carefree as if this was just another conversation. Anyone listening in might hear his words and assume he was talking about his body. You knew what he was referring to though, not forgetting the faint bruises he’d marked your skin with. The fresh cuts that littered your body. You only scoffed. “You’re calm for someone who ended up with a knife in their hand last time I showed up…” you replied just as casually. 

It was hard to believe that had only been a week ago. Then again, so many of your fights blended and blurred together. The black eye back in May, the broken ribs from June, the list could go on. In between you’d always managed to get a few good hits in yourself. No one had brought out that fire in you like he did.

The dark haired man took another drag from his cigarette, lips dried and thin, as his eyes darkened. Johnny stepped outside, a little closer, and perhaps in the past you’d have cowered away. Flinched. Winced at the anticipation. However this time, you simply stood, studying his fiery glare, almost daring him to come at you again. Not many walked away after a fight with Johnny, you were aware of this. You seemed to do it almost effortlessly though. 

The man was tall, could easily overpower you, which he had done quite a few times. You could never bring yourself to be entirely scared of him though. Not when Johnny treated you differently. Not after the many times he’d let you walk away. 

What unsettles you the most however, is the way his lips curve into a thin smile upon processing your words. He blows out a bit more smoke, dropping the cigarette carelessly on the wood and stomping it out. Despite it being so late, Johnny still wore one of his old tank tops, covered in whatever work he’d done that day. It’s too dark to tell if it’s sweat or blood. 

He made his way towards you, and the closer he got the more you could smell it on him. You didn’t cower though, only meeting his gaze with the same intensity. Perhaps this is why he was so drawn to you. Why he could never bring himself to finish you off. There’s an air of intrigue, confusion, in someone that isn’t scared of the dark things you do the way they should be. 

Johnny’s warm, exceptionally warm, and he raises his hand. You’re unsure whether to expect a smack or a caress. Both would be unsettling. You suppress a shiver, as he does the later, large fingers carefully running through your hair. You’d half expected him to be angry at you, but he’s just smiling. 

It should be comforting, warm. The kind of smile that would bring joy to your partner, while his fingers twist and slip through your hair. It’s the exact opposite of comforting though, almost too perfect of a smile. 

Johnny gently buries his nose in your hair, inhaling sharply. A normally tender gesture from most partners, but not from Johnny. 

“I’m sorry…” his voice is soft, a faint whisper, and it jumpstarts your heart every time. 

The words are gentle, stirring feelings inside of your chest you’d rather not think about. Your body melts and you feel warm in his arms. There’s also that tug though, that deep pain, that thorn shifting in your chest, because you know Johnny. Know him more than you’d care to admit. 

You merely shake your head gently in response, pressing your forehead into his chest. There’s a tiredness in your stance, and you don’t know whether you hurt more for yourself or the man in front of you. 

“I know you’re not… even if you want to be, you’re not. You’re incapable of feeling sympathy.” 

There was a bleak and tired look in your eyes as you spoke, staring at the ground. A hollow apology, that’s all it was. All you’d ever received. Maybe once, you had believed those words, tasted them on his tongue, when you’d rush in after with a feral kiss. Could feel it in the sheets, quick to forgive every rugged apology.  But after the first four times, it began to ring empty. You weren’t even sure why Johnny still said it anymore. 

It certainly wasn’t to make himself feel better, he was incapable of feeling guilty of anything he did. Johnny could be so hard to understand at points. 

You wished the man you’d met back in that bar all those months ago truly existed. The charming and charismatic guy who had pulled a chair out for you, offered to buy you a drink. Flashed you that tender smile, as he shared his sob story about being a poor farmer boy whose mother had been murdered. About having to support his family, often finding the bar to be the one place he could wind down. How he hadn’t recalled seeing a pretty thing like you ever in his life.

Johnny had been so kind those first few hours, managing to convince you to come home with him. He wasn’t quite aware of just who he was messing with however. It took about six minutes before you’d pulled a gun out on him and shot him in his arm. You could still see the scar now. 

Johnny thought he could pull a fast one on you, had pulled out a knife and talked about carving your bones out of your pretty little flesh. That was his mistake, so caught up in talk, in the soft seduction of it all. 

To his surprise though, you had come back, apologizing for the gunshot wound. Which then turned into the tidal wave that grew as your relationship. Johnny didn’t do labels, no, and you were lucky that you had even been allowed to come back. You knew you weren’t his lover or anything. Just thinking the word felt weird. It was more or less about ownership. 

Even if he did love you, it was in his own fucked up way, and he’d never see you as an equal. He’d made that pretty evident. Though there was something there, something that made Johnny look at you differently than his other victims. Perhaps it was the only form of love he knew, maybe part of him wanted to feel bad for the things he did, even if he was incapable of doing so. Maybe Johnny wanted to care, but couldn’t figure out how. 

Not that you were all that innocent either. Johnny wasn’t exactly your first rodeo of dealing with a guy like this. The cannibalistic thing was new for sure, but not the violence, and the yelling, and the inner destruction. Something about relationships like these got your heart jumping. You craved it. 

Probably because there was an allure to having something so dark and evil, so sadistic, treat you special. Not that it made you feel special in a good way, but Johnny did treat you differently..  

Johnny stood, tall and quiet for a moment, his hand dropping from your hair. His arms didn’t embrace you, as you pressed against him. He was like a statue, body warm, his chest not even moving. Part of you wondered if he was even breathing. 

“You’re the one that keeps coming back,” Johnny replied quietly, shoving you away from him. 

You half expected him to just lose it and pull out his knife. Twist it in your stomach and laugh about the whole ordeal. Staining your hands with red, as you try to push the blood back in. Kill you like he’d killed all the others. You weren’t sure why he didn’t try harder to kill you. No matter how intense the fighting got, Johnny always let you go. 

“You’re the one that always lets me walk away.” 

Johnny moved closer to you now, pinning you against the door. He had pulled out his knife in one swift motion, holding it under your chin. His eyes looked darker than usual, a snarl slipping from his lips. The movements are a reminder of just what he is. 

“Exactly that, I let you walk away. You only still live cause I allow it. What the hell are you even doing here anyway? Thought I told you last time I didn’t want to see your fucking face again.”   

You rolled your eyes, leaning into the knife a little, staring down at him through narrowed eyes. 

“And I told you, you don’t make decisions for me Johnny. I’m not going to be controlled like one of your little victims.” 

You both knew deep down it was practically impossible to keep apart. Even if you wanted to avoid Johnny, the man would hunt you down. Conveniently show up to a bar you lingered at or a store you were visiting. The worst reactions were the ones where you were with another man. 

No matter how bad things got, you could never truly get away and neither could he. There was a sick twisted part deep down that both of you wanted this, craved it. Maybe even needed it. 

Johnny presses the knife a little tighter against your neck, and you’re wondering why he hasn’t cut you yet. And for a moment you see a flash in his eyes, it’s faint, but it’s there. It’s that look that reminds you every time why you can never leave. As quickly as that sad look appears it’s gone, knife dropping, as he gives you a rough shove, moving you out of the doorway so he can open it. 

Johnny doesn’t slam the door shut, his way of telling you to come in. You recover a little, barely even feeling how his arms had knocked into you, as you stumbled into the beaten down little building. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust in the darkness.  

Like always, the smell is the first thing anyone notices. You can’t help but scrunch your nose up a little, wanting to cough and choke. It lingers in the back of your throat, stinging in your eyes. There’s several dirty dishes littering the counters and sink, the beer cans on the ground, his table filled with god only knows what, and his couch looked well worn, like someone had been laying down in it most of the day. 

Still though, it’s more a discomfort thing than something that puts you on edge. You don’t wander around like a scared dog, judgment lingering in your eyes. 

Johnny casually kicks his way through a few of the cans, swinging his fridge open. The inside of the fridge matches the room fairly well, a few flies buzzing around inside, as he reaches his hand in and grabs a can.

The environment is nothing new to you, and you slowly close the door, fully stepping inside. Johnny barely acknowledges your presence at first, throwing himself on the couch, and cracking his drink open. There’s no thought in his eyes, as he sits there, almost as if he’s alone, looking a million miles away.

Not uncommon for the dark haired man. The number of times Johnny’d just sit there, as if he was waiting for something. 

You frowned softly, sitting on the couch. You knew if your voice had even an ounce of sympathy it’d be enough to set the man off. Johnny didn’t want to be coddled. He “didn’t need your goddamn sympathy,” you recalled him saying, after he had spent one night bleakly talking about how he had gained his face scar. 

Johnny had been drunk, he usually was when he talked about stuff like that, and there was always a coldness to his voice. So casual as he spoke. Perhaps because this was his day to day life. 

“Why?” Johnny finally said, his voice unreadable. 

You stare for a minute, confused, as he remains staring ahead of you. At first you’re not even sure he’s talking about you, until he does turn. Johnny’s dark eyes are studying you, as if you’re the fucked up one here. 

“Why?” you repeat, as if saying his question will make it make more sense. 

There’s a hundred things he could be talking about and you wonder if it’s in reference to Nancy, his life, your life, or just a question he doesn’t understand. 

Johnny rolled his eyes, throwing the still pretty full can across the room. It hit the wall with a low thud, the amber liquid splattering all over the floor.  Like your confusion was so unreasonable. His voice is low, now snarling.

“Why do you keep coming back?” 

The man is on you in a matter of seconds, his hands firmly placed on your shoulders, squeezing, as he pushes you back into the couch. Johnny’s towering on top of you, and he’s looking down at you like there’s something he’s missed. Some part of you he hasn’t observed, that’ll magically make it all make sense to him.

Johnny was usually good at reading people, understanding what made them tick, what to do to see that fear in their eyes. He never saw that with you though. It drove him crazy how you were just as unpredictable as he was. Johnny couldn’t make you scared like the others.  “I could so easily kill you…” he continued, voice going quieter, while his hands moved from your shoulders to your neck. “Could just squeeze… apply the right pressure until your face goes blue.”

Johnny’s hands wrap around you, tightening their grip, but despite the aggression there’s an almost carefulness in how he handles you. A desperation, as he squeezes, just enough to cause pain. His eyes are piercing your own, almost looking, begging for a certain reaction, while you remain limp beneath him. 

Johnny groans, pressing you deeper into the couch, as his eyes narrow.

“And you don’t even bat a fucking eye.” 

While looking up at him, the determination in his face, the roughness in his grasp, it’s easy to see a monster. To think about what he’s capable of, the dangerous person he is. You can’t see that in Johnny though. His hands around your neck, his eyes hiding layers and years of pain, while he rests on top of you. All you can see is a broken man. The way he squeezed your neck, careful enough to not kill, told you he wasn’t all monster. There was something gentle in Johnny. Well, in his sense of the word.  

You know better than to try and fix him, not that he’d even want it. Not that you’d ever be able to. Instead you reached out, tenderly caressing the scars on his arm. As if your fingers could mend all the broken cracks within him. 

And he breaks… he softens his grip, shaking his head and flipping you on your stomach. Johnny’s hands aggressively grab your own, holding them behind your back, his voice quiet, as he whispers in your ear. His breath is hot and makes your whole world seem to freeze while he speaks. 

This was how he handled things when they got too intimate… too personal. 

“Is this what you came here for?” 

His voice sends chills down your spine, as you hear the soft clink of his belt. It didn’t matter what your intentions were, this was how things always ended up. And you hated how much of a rush it gave you. Your whole body quivering, as you felt the leather tighten around your wrists. 

Johnny’s heavy, his hands tracing along the curves of your body, voice still right on your ear, as he lets out a dark chuckle.

“That why you keep coming back? You can’t live without the feel of my hands pulling and grabbing at your body. Can’t get enough of the way my teeth dig into your flesh, while I claim every inch of you. Make you feel every inch of me.”

Johnny loved stroking his ego, but mostly he loved when you did it for him. The way your body was flush beneath his, as you nodded slowly, face still buried into the couch cushions. 

You couldn’t even focus on his words anymore, too wrapped up in the anticipation of him. How your skin already craved his touch, while he squeezed at your hips, pulling them back. His mouth had moved off your ear, biting roughly down the side of your neck.   

“Not so mouthy now are ya?” Johnny growled against your skin, hands slipping underneath your shirt. “That’s okay… I know how to make you talk.” 

His hands are uncomfortably hot, rough, and calloused, as he plays with your body. Squeezing your hips firmly, moving along your sides. He reaches your chest, thumb brushing along your nipples. Johnny knows all your sensitive spots, which parts hurt the most, as he explores you. Mapping out your body with his hands. 

Those same hands he’d used to kill people. There was a precise way in how he explored your body, knowing which ways to take you off guard. 

You let out a low moan, sensitive to his touch. Johnny’s hands are hungry, body heavy, as he presses on top of you, continuing to move his mouth aggressively along your neck. It’s evident he cares little about not hurting you, biting harsh enough to pierce the skin. The spot feels a little wet and it’s hard to tell where or how much blood is on your neck due to the wetness of his lips.  

Johnny’s warm tongue pokes out, caressing the flesh and cooling your new wound. His mouth is hot and a cloud of ecstasy is choking your brain. You can’t think straight, only whining slightly from the sensation. The noise seems to please the man, as he lets out a dark chuckle, hands moving to the front of your own pants. 

“Almost got a word out of you…” 

And this… this is why you can’t ever go away. Why you could never wish to be with anyone else. One fuck with Johnny, and he’d shown you things that no normal man… no normal person ever would. No sane person would be excited by it. Would be driven to the edge of this madness, pulling apart at the seams in a darker kind of pleasure. And if enjoying it meant you were just as fucked up then so be it. 

You could feel your own arousal pooling hot in your stomach, between your legs, heat spanning all throughout your flesh. Johnny’s shack being cramped with no ventilation didn’t help either. You could feel sweat already starting to form along your forehead and back. His bite made you moan tiredly, hands pulling on your restraints a little.

It was impossible to sit still with the way he nipped and tugged at your body. Johnny didn’t have a gentle bone in his body. No warning before anything he did. 

Maybe that was why sex with him was euphoric, different from the way anyone had ever treated you. It wasn’t just the degrading… the roughness, it was something darker. Something that turned your stomach in the sweetest of ways. Something he’d already told you. The thrill of putting your life in his hands, knowing he could kill you anytime if he wished. Of not knowing how he was going to end this. 

Johnny’s grip is harsh, pulling your pants down with little to no care, fingers brushing between the fabric and your skin. A tight squeeze that sends chills throughout your body. His voice is little more than quiet excited breaths. 

The man’s mouth moved off the small wound he’d made in your neck, trailing down your spine. The bites were still harsh, though you didn’t think he drew blood. Johnny was so unpredictable, you could never tell what he was thinking. What his intentions were. You could only close your eyes, quivering and getting lost in the sensation. His hands continued to hold your hips, rough and no doubt forming bruises.

There’s a familiarity in his touch. In the way his hot breath slides down your back, covering it in saliva. Every low grunt he makes sends your skin crawling. Bumps form along your forearms, the back of your neck, down your spine. Any and everywhere you had felt Johny before tingling in anticipation. 

Killing and fucking were an art to Johnny. A practice he believed needed time dedicated to it. Time to do things right. Not in the romantic sense. He wasn’t trying to make you comfortable. There was no checking in. It wasn’t about appreciating the act itself. It was about the thrill, the build up and anticipation of it all. The stalking before the blade bites into his victim’s skin. 

Johnny let out another rough snarl, teeth sinking into your lower hip. They’re sharp, rough, puncturing the skin once more, as you let out another low whine. Your body reacts before you can, quivering and trying to pull away. 

“Quit fuckin’ squirmin'’,” Johnny snaps, pushing your head down into the cushions once more. 

It’s softer than Johnny, and truth be told probably smelled a little nicer. Though that wasn’t entirely a big achievement. You tried to remain still, as his lips continued to suck on the sore patch of skin. You can’t see, but there’s a dark and sinister grin as he pulls away.

Your blood is running along his bottom lip, dark against his pale skin. The indentation of his teeth against your flesh, still warm, lingers like a ghost. It’s a faint buzz that makes you feel euphoric and it’s hot and cold all at once. Mind melted, twisted, as you heard the sound of his own belt being undone. Your stomach tightens in excitement, turning in the cushions to glance behind you. 

Johnny isn’t focused on looking at you, there’s no care, as he eagerly fiddles with his jeans. He's careless even with himself. The man’s dark hair is a mess, falling loosely over his eyes. When you can’t see them, he has the face of an angel. 

Soft cheekbones, pale and perfectly sculpted, a stark contrast to his sharp jawline. Johnny is beautiful. There’s no denying that. Like a snake. Scales slick, patterns captivating to the eye. You can’t help but want to reach out, touch it. One tender caress. Fingers slipping along his scales gently, tracing along the patterns as if you can understand just what they mean.

That’s all it takes, before the snake hisses, lunging forward. Teeth sink into your neck once more, pressing that venom into your skin. You can’t help but whine, feeling his hands pull on your hips. 

It’s painful at first, like something’s tearing through you, hands quivering in your restraints. Not that he cared. Johnny continued to fuck into you aggressively, hips rolling into your backside. His breath lingers on your neck like a bad scent, and you can feel the smile in his teeth imprints. 

“Quit being such a little bitch.” 

His hands are so tightly on your hips, you’re certain it’ll leave a bruise. You don’t care though. All you can focus on is how that pain rips into pleasure. How Johnny feels making you take every inch of him. His animalistic grunts, while he throbs against you. There’s such a force in his movements that results in your whole body lurching forward. 

Johnny’s noises are low, like he’s trying to keep himself quiet, as he moans to himself. Like he can’t contain the pleasure, as he needily bucks into you. Your hips match his every movement, his hands guiding them to do as he pleases. 

You know you’re in his control, and you want to hate it. His touch should feel dirty, his teeth rotten, but you can’t. You don’t. 

You can’t hate the hot white pleasure that’s coursing through your brains. How every little grunt rushes blood between your legs. How when Johnny fucks you it makes you whimper like a bitch tied up in the hot sun. There’s no doubt he knows what he’s doing, how to please you. 

“All that talk from before… talkin’ bout I don’t control you, you’re not one of my victims. Bullshit. You just roll over and take it while lying down. You like that though, don’tcha? You like that I own you?” 

Johnny was doing things to you that made your mind fuzzy. You nodded softly at his statement. He could read you like a book. His fingers knowing all the right pages to bend. Spine worn out from the many times he'd opened you up. Devoured you whole, learning every letter of every word that was etched across her skin.

The man could crack your bones, tear your ribcage open, and feast on your organs and you’d still fade from life proclaiming you died at home. That you’d felt warmth in his touch, as his fingers clawed away at you. That his tongue only licked with the intent of bringing you pleasure. His teeth tore at your flesh, consuming you, because he wanted all of you. Johnny wanted to gorge on the darkest parts you locked away in the confinements of your mind.

Your body is quivering, squishing, beneath his much bigger weight. Johnny’s chest, hot against your back, as his hands glide up along your hips. They expand, fingers curving around your torso, as he pulls your body up. 

Johnny’s large hands trace along the shape of your jaw, before grabbing it roughly, breath burning on the shell of your ear. The hand that isn’t grabbing your face is squeezing your waist, and Johnny’s ramming into you, deep and quick, as if it’s all that’s keeping him alive. His teeth clamp around your ear, another low growl slipping past his lips. 

Then Johnny pulls his head away. There’s a lot on your face and you can’t tell if he’s become bored or impatient. The man turns you, until you’re facing him., a dark look in his eyes. 

You can see a reflection of your own face, cheeks warm with arousal, eyes watering from tears pricking your eyes, and mouth slightly open to let out another low whine. Johnny hits that particularly sensitive spot in you, knowing just how hard to go.

Your body quivers all over in response, and you go lightheaded for a moment. His erratic movements, the way his hands moved along your body, and his teeth still marking your flesh. It’s all enough to make you feel like you’re about to pop like a cork bottle. 

His thumb brushes along your bottom lip, prying your mouth open, as he groans. Johnny’s brows furrow a little, focusing, as he thrusts. His eyes close, and for a moment he almost looks pained. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. What memory he’s distracting himself from now by burying his cock deep within the confines of you. 

As quickly as it starts however, it’s gone, and Johnny’s face returns to that hard look, eyeing you down. Looking into his face while he fucked you was something that he’d rarely give you the pleasure. 

You study him, as if you can read what’s going on in his mind. Like you can make sense of Johnny’s actions. He’s a lot more open tonight than most, and for a moment you can even see a glimpse of pleasure in his own eyes. Cheeks flushing a little, before Johnny exhales quietly. 

“Quit fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that or I’m gonna turn ya back over,” Johnny snarls. 

Your expression quickly drops, while he fucks the concern off your face. It’s all you can focus on, as he pumps into you. You glare at him once more, body squirming, as you try to speak around the pleasure.

“Like what? I was just thinking about how good you’d look with a bullet in the back of your head.”

Johnny aggressively juts his hips into you, fingers curling around your jaw, as he grabs it, forcing you to be eye level with him. You’re worried for a moment you’ve gone too far, but there’s a gleam in his eyes. He lets out one of those low chuckles, before kissing you. 

His tongue worms into your mouth, teeth grazing your bottom lip, as he swallows every noise escaping your mouth. The taste of Johnny should make your skin crawl. His breath was awful, tainted with alcohol, blood, and whatever else he’d probably put in his mouth throughout the day. You can’t bring yourself to feel discomfort though. It’s like you’re seeing stars, his movements sending your body upwards, fingers curling tightly around the confines of your belt.

You want so desperately to drag your claws down his back. To mark Johnny the same way that he marked you. You whined a little at the thought, wiggling in your restraints. It’s all too much, and you feel so close. Your thighs quiver a little, unsure how much longer you can hold on.

Johnny smiles once again, pulling away. He can read your body, while his chest presses against you. Johnny’s movements slow, a dark smirk on his face. 

You can never understand how he has such good control. How he doesn’t burst, no matter how intensely the sessions get. Johnny seems so pleased with himself, pulling all the way out, and gently teasing you. Dangling that sweet release ever so close. 

“I’m not so sure if I want to finish you now…” 

“I’ll finish myself,” you snarl back, half tempted to reach down and push him in you yourself.

Damn restraints.

Johnny’s eyes narrow in response, rolling his eyes. His body continues to tower over you, but he’s smiling. Grinning. Like he knows something you don’t. Johnny’s hand moves from your jaw to your neck, running his thumb along a scar there and smiling at the memory. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Johnny chuckled darkly. 

Then as if to further prove his point, Johnny removes his hands completely off his body, sitting back. He leans against the arm of the couch, his body sprawled out. You study him, watching as Johnny brings his hand to his cock, gently massaging it. His fingers slip along the underside of it, touching it with a sense of familiarity. 

“Me though… I can finish myself just fine.” 

His words on taunting, while he continues to squeeze, his large hands easily wrapping around his length. Johnny fucks into his fist like he’s done a million times before, leaning his head back and groaning softly. 

“Johnny!”

You can’t hide the desperation in your voice. The frustration as your own body now remains untouched. There’s a fire coursing through your body, as you squirm once again on the couch. It didn’t help that watching the man play with himself made your insides tingle. There was something so hot… so tempting… in watching how he twitched in his hand. How Johnny’s cock responded to every little touch he did. 

The man wasn’t sensitive by any means, but if you knew the right buttons to push. Johnny let out another low moan, still not paying you any mind. 

“I’m almost there sweetheart.” 

You chewed your bottom lip, frowning a little, as a low whimper escaped your lips once again. 

“Please…” 

Johnny smirks a little, his grip around himself loosening, as he opens one eye. Like he’d just won some sort of game. Then he lets go of himself, creeping back towards you. 

“Please what?” Johnny asks softly, his voice low, as his hand moves down, fingers gently toying with you. 

Part of you wants to laugh. Your comment about shooting him actually had gotten under his skin. Upset him. You knew Johnny well enough to know the thought of not needing him to get off pissed him off more than anything. He was desperate for that confirmation. It would’ve been cute, had Johnny not been a narcissistic cannibal. 

“Please… I wanna cum,” you finally caved, staring up at him. “Need you to make me cum.” 

Johnny doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even give a satisfactory smile, before slipping back into you. He’s quick, movements needy and desperate, while he grinds against your backside. The way his body responds, how quickly and deeply he’s moving into you tells you he wasn’t kidding. 

Johnny had really worked himself up while fucking his hand. 

Not that it mattered though, you were close to, feeling your stomach tighten into hot coils, while a rush of heat slipped through your body. It all felt better the second time, already used to his size. Your body was his for sculpting, as you moaned once more, closing your eyes. 

“Ngh… Johnny… Fuck Johnny I-!” you’re cut off from your own pleasure, as your orgasm tears through your body. 

It’s practically impossible to sit still, quivering beneath his body. Johnny’s free hand clamps over your mouth, as if he can prevent your release, while bucking into you with a desperate thrust. His own eyes close, voice turning into a series of low grunts. 

“Ahhh…” Johnny whispers quietly, feeling your release slip out, coating his stomach. 

That alone seems to be enough to send him over the edge. Johnny stays buried, as his cock twitches within you. Ropes of sticky white cum shoot out, flooding your senses. That doesn’t stop him from sloppily thrusting into you though, moaning softly, while his hand still covers your own mouth. 

There’s something animalistic in his release, holding himself in you for a little longer, until he’s no longer twitching. Then Johnny pulls out, cum spilling on the already stained couch. 

His grip loosens, hand falling off your mouth, as he catches his breath. You come down from the high yourself, gasping, as you study him. Johnny’s eyes are blank, as he slides off the couch, retrieving his pants. You half expect him to dismiss you, tell you to go home. 

Instead however, he undoes the belt on your wrists, saying nothing. Johnny slips his shirt off, making his way to the back of the shack, where his bed remained.

You sat there for a moment in your post orgasmic haze, picking up his shirt that he had thrown carelessly on the ground. You can’t help but sniff it softly, smiling, as you pull it over your head. Then you follow Johnny, watching as he’s laid, stomach first in bed. 

You wonder if he’s asleep for a moment, but he seems to sense your presence, shifting in his bed. Johnny doesn’t turn his head to look at you though. 

“The fuck you lookin’ at?”

You never expected tenderness or praise after your activities. Hell, even the silence wasn’t anything new. It was not being immediately kicked out after that had your head turning. You stepped forward cautiously, crawling into the bed. Testing the waters. 

Johnny doesn’t speak again. 

You settle beneath the covers, wishing so desperately you could read his mind. Could hear what he was thinking. You’re surprised when he stretches his left hand out a little, turning it over to reveal his palm. You study it, expecting a knife to grow out of it. Or for Johnny to use the moment where you’re caught off guard to pull a knife out. 

You hesitantly reach out, pressing one finger lightly into it at first, before flattening your whole hand. You’re surprised when his fingers curl around your hand, and not in a way where the grip is overbearing. You study him, not wanting to ruin the moment, as you settle in the sheets.

As quickly as you hold his hand, Johnny seems to drift off, his snores light and quiet. He looks peaceful in his sleep, and it’s hard to imagine this man as a cold and calculated killer. 

[iluvnewports]

Canary | Part II

part I here

Tumblr hates posting my foremats!

18+, minors dni

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You’ve been walking around with a head held high lately and it’s not hard to see why. 

It may or may not involve a certain driven English bastard turned wanted murderer. And the couch. And that one time in the car. Maybe also, possibly, a subway bathroom stall. 

You’ve both agreed to keep this whole situation to yourselves and while you think you’re acting completely nonchalant, you can’t deny there’s a certain pep in your step. Same for him. He’s been a little less brutish than normal. 

Things have been calm, as calm as things can be when you’re one of the most wanted criminals in the country, but you’re not sure what else you’d call it. Starlight—Annie—has been trying to get her hands on a sample of Compound V, per the plan that Butcher didn’t really care for. He doesn’t really like Annie on account of being a Supe, but you like her just fine. She’s funny and sweet, though she can act pretentious at times. But Butcher can’t see past the fact of what’s in her DNA.

Just another stark difference between the two of you, you suppose. 

Annie got a lead from Stormfront's laptop about the Sage Grove Center, explaining why you and the rest of the group are now standing about ninety yards away, half of you dressed in orderly scrubs. You, Butcher, Hughie, and Annie decide to hang back just in case while M.M, Frenchie, and Koniko go inside. 

You and Butcher sit atop the van’s roof, Butcher flat on his stomach looking down the scope of a rifle at the building as you sit criss-crossed beside him, eyes squinting as you look up to the sky, hair blowing back into your face. You two haven’t said much to each other but it’s okay. It’s a comfortable silence. 

You know he’s in a mood right now since Annie is here helping physically. He can do with her leads, sure, her undercover work, but he hates having to be around her. You’re hoping your presence can at least help some to put him at ease. You look over, watching Annie and Hughie awkwardly flirt. Their dynamic is so odd, but can you really say anything? Even if it’s odd, it’s sort of cute. 

“Are they in?” You ask, unable to see much because of the distance. 

“Yeah, looks like it.” He lowers the scope, poking up a bit. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You know what’s bothering him and you don’t expect him to talk about it or share it with you first. Sometimes you have to poke the bear. 

“What about?” He asks as he looks back through the scope, surveying the area. You smile to yourself; yup, just as you expected. 

“Maybe the fact that you’re not too happy with Annie being here.” You poke at him. 

“Oh for fucks sake, are you all on a first-name basis now? Braiding friendship bracelets while you all suck off the Supe?” Butcher scoffs as he looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Yeah, I made mine in green.” You flash your wrist sarcastically as you prop your knees up more comfortably. “You know we wouldn’t have this lead without her.” 

Butcher purses his lips, lowering his scope as he furrows his brows in thought. You’re right and he knows it. He opens his mouth to talk, but just as he does, a loud boom sounds throughout the sky. Flying. Butcher quickly picks up his scope, waving his hand at you to get low and you comply. 

It’s Stormfront, landing just close enough that she doesn’t see the giant hole in the fence that Annie had made. You watch in horror, grabbing the walkie from near Butcher. 

“M.M, Stormfront is here, be careful.” You warn them quietly, not expecting a reply as you scoot towards the edge of the roof, Annie offering a hand before you jump. You gladly accept her help with a smile and a small ‘thanks’.

Butcher lowers his scope as he mutters a curse under his breath, shaking his head as he notices you standing down with Starlight which he doesn’t like. “Looks like Stormcunt is here.” Butcher huffs. Always a wrench in the plan, some way or another. 

“Oh God, what do we do?” Hughie panics slightly. 

“Nothing, that’s what we fuckin’ do.” Butcher stands up, rifle in hand as he nears the edge. Annie offers her hand to him which he ignores, jumping down as he leans into the open van door to grab his handgun just in case, cocking it and placing it in his belt behind him. 

You hear Annie sigh and you shoot her an apologetic look as Hughie looks more pitiful than anything.

Your walkie crackles and you pull it from your waistband, holding it up between the four of you. Butcher’s ears perk up as he turns, all waiting and looking at one another as the radio static continues. 

“They’re experimenting on… on the patients. Compound V. Against their will,” crkkkkkk, “this is so fucked.” M.M whispers as you hear a commotion on the other end. “They’re just… killing them.” Another radio crackle. 

Your brows furrow as you raise your head to look at Butcher with an equally worried—or angry—face. He goes to snatch the walkie from you but you jerk your hand back, slapping his hand away with a head shake. Anger bubbles within his chest, scoffing at your hand slap, as if he were some sort of child. 

You say nothing as the walkie-crackles cease, placing it back onto your pant’s waistband. You all stand in tense silence, looking at one another as Butcher fumes silently, ready to pop a vein as he looks at Annie. 

Butcher suddenly points his loaded rifle straight at Annie’s face, Annie gasping as Hughie immediately starts panicking, shouting, “Woah!” Your jaw drops.

“Real fuckin’ convenient that as soon as we get here Stormcunt shows up. But it’s just a coincidence, right?” Butcher looks down the line of the barrel, steadying it so it’s pointed directly center of her forehead. “And now they’re sayin’ they’re experimenting on people, killin’ em. You Supes, all the fucken same.”

“Butcher, she’s on our side!” You try and reason with him, shouting at him in hopes he’ll listen.

Annie’s eyes glow brightly as you can feel the electricity crackle within the air, your body hair standing up on end. “Get that thing out of my face.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Butcher laughs coldly, shrugging. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Butcher—!” Hughie tries to interject.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Hughie.” Butcher spits venomously. “You’re just as bad seeing you’re banging the cunt. Sleeping with the enemy, eh?” 

“Billy!” You finally shout which causes him to lower his gun and look at you. You breathe in sharply, slicing your hand through the air firmly. “Put the goddamn gun down.” 

“Oh so you’ll only listen unless you’re fucking one of us, that’s great to know.” Hughie laughs bitterly.

“Hughie…” you trail off. 

“No.” He shrugs you off, shaking his head. “Just shut the fuck up.” Your heart aches in your chest at his sudden coldness, your brows furrowing as hurt morphs over your face. You’ve never had him snap on you like this, despite everything you two have been through. “You want to talk about sleeping with the enemy? How could you be with someone like him? He abandoned us!”

Butcher notices your silence, watching the way hurt paints across your features. He lowers his gun down by his side as he goes toe to toe with Hughie, towering over him. “Watch yourself Hughie.” He warns.

Hughie throws his hands in the air, laughing before stepping forward, seemingly not backing down. “Fuck you, Butcher.” 

It’s now you and Annie trying to talk both of them down, pull them apart, but they won’t budge. “Guys—!”

An alarm rings out loudly, causing everyone’s head to turn as you turn on your heels and grab the walkie. “M.M? Is everything okay?” 

No response, an explosion going off somewhere within the building. And that’s when Butcher clocks Hughie straight in the jaw who falls like a sack of potatoes, Annie diving down to comfort him as he holds his bleeding nose. Butcher points at him, his voice falling very low. “You don’t fuckin’ talk to her that way. Not around me.” 

You’re embarrassed by the encounter, watching the way your two friends look at you as they lay on the ground. Your face burns, too blindsided by rage and betrayal to fully comprehend what he had just said. You immediately snap your walkie off your hip and push it into his hands, tears welling in your eyes as you send a look of apology towards your hurt friends before climbing into the van without another word. All you want is to be alone right now. 

Butcher scowls at your action, calling back to M.M on your walkie, which you can’t really hear as it’s so muffled behind the closed door. You lean away from the door, looking in the other direction of the van so no one has to see the angry tears slipping down your face. God damn, he’s such a fucking brute. It’s a different conversation within the bedroom, but he should know better than anyone else that you don’t like to be submissive anywhere but. You’ve always hated the way he needs to assert himself, and now you’re directly involved.

The way Hughie looked at you… you can’t stop thinking about it. He looked so hurt, so betrayed. You two have always been like siblings, you always had each other’s backs. He took it so hard when Butcher seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth. You were too, but you were strong, for him. If you’re Butcher’s canary, Hughie’s yours. 

The leather is sleek against your clothes and you can almost slip around in your seat as you try and pose yourself away from the door, knees dipping down towards the left. It’s silent outside the van and you can only assume that they’re all staring at each other intensely. It is Butcher’s specialty, after all. 

You’re brooding in silence, ready for it all to be over, hoping your friends are safe. 

Until it’s not. Until you hear shouting. And before you can look behind you, the van is suddenly flipping onto itself three times over, rolling about in the empty field. Your body thrashes around the metal van, throwing you into the back of the van as you’re thrown around, hitting all walls and corners as your body contorts and bends in ways you didn’t think were imaginable. It all happens so fast, it’s all such a blur, that you can’t comprehend it until you’re lying on your side as the van tilts and steadies right back up on its wheels. 

You slowly push yourself up, arms wobbling beneath your weight as you grunt out. Everything is so heavy, so blurred, so dizzy. You hear your name being called by three separate voices but the ringing in your ears is too loud to get past. You weakly push the doors open as they’re pulled, stumbling out onto the grass and almost falling to your knees as you look around. 

“Y/N…” Butcher looks as Annie gasps to herself, Hughie covering his mouth as you hold your hands out, trying your best to focus on what’s in front of you. Your torso is itchy, you feel itchy and you feel warm. 

You look down to your stomach, a large fragment sticking through the upper right of your stomach, your torn skin jagged and ripped apart as crimson clots around it slightly, thick crimson pouring down your frontside. You cough, your knees buckle. 

You collapse.

“Oh my god.” Annie gasps as Butcher jets down to scoop you up into your arms, carrying you bridal style as your head lulls back limply. All chaos and anger are put to the side, enemies become allies as they set aside their differences for the common goal of saving you.

Butcher looks down at your stomach, blood staining his clothes and palms as his worried eyes scan your colorless face. “Can you cauterize it?” He looks up to Starlight, who stutters over herself, gesturing to your wound. 

“Maybe—! I-It won’t last long!” 

“Do it, for god's sake, just do it.” He shakes his head, lifting you up at an angle so she can have access to your torso. She burns the wound with the fragment still inside, stopping the bleeding—for now.

“What about them?” Hughie asks, referring to M.M and them. Butcher shakes his head, immediately rushing forward towards the way of the road behind the thick woods. 

“Fuck them, they’re on their own.” He shakes his head as he looks down at you, the inner conflict of the situation settling across his features. You’re in between unconsciousness and reality at this point, slipping between the two gradually. Hughie and Annie follow closely behind Butcher, both unsure of his plan but following along anyway as they hold worry within their hearts. Hughie regrets snapping on you if only he could take it back. 

Then you wouldn’t have been in that fucking van. 

“We need a car,” Butcher says thickly, pulling you closer to him as fingers hook from beneath and wrap around your body. Your cheek rests against his inner forearm, groaning with furrowed brows. You’re so beyond frazzled that the pain is instead a dull, uncomfortable throbbing throughout your body. Tame, yet enough to drive you mad.

The three of them eventually flag down—or really, carjack—someone’s car on the road, leaving them behind with a card for Susan Raynor with him as Annie speeds down the road, Butcher holding you close in the backseat.

“Please let me do this. You gotta’ let me do this one fucking thing for ya’.” Butcher whispers to you, rubbing at your cheek as he holds your face. Your legs lay across his lap as you lean against the car door, Butcher leaning forward just enough so he wasn’t putting any weight on you. “You’re going to be okay.” It’s more of a plea to God himself than reassurance. 

He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, somehow bloodied deep red. Your face is so pale, so drained of life and color as he holds your face, wiping his thumb over your cheek again just to feel you. He repeats his soothing mantra to not go insane. 

“You’re going to be okay.”

—

You’re somewhere calm, in a serene field that stretches for miles, perfectly cut grass with small flowers. You look down; you’re barefoot, wearing a flowing dress that cuts off just above your knees, loose sleeves comfortably falling down your arm until it elopes around your wrist. You’re clean, comfortable, calm. 

You place two hands on your stomach, smoothing down your dress as you lift your head. There he is, in all his glory. Butcher, standing about six feet away from you, same beach shirt with the two buttons popped open, glistening chest expose with chest hair poking through. 

“‘Ello gorgeous.” He walks towards you, grabbing your two hands as he gives you a once-over. Everything is perfect; you don’t feel nervous, embarrassed. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

You smile, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. You don’t need to question why you’re here or where you are. Everything is perfect.

The scene changes and suddenly you’re laying on your back, plush grass pillowing your back as the collar of your dress is pulled down beneath your chest, wetness coating your nipple as Butcher’s tongue swirls around your left breast, sucking slightly as you sweetly moan into the air around you, fingers tangling within his thick black hair. Your leg is exposed as he pulls your leg up against his side, fingers gripping and digging into the flesh of your thigh as he grinds against your cotton underwear. 

He kisses your neck, lapping his tongue upwards and suckling on your ear. His heavy breath sends chills down your spine and your skin ignites in chills when he whispers in your ear in response to your moans, “I know sweetheart, I know.” 

Everything changes again and you’re now on top of him, dress hiked up your legs as you grind on his cock. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back and forth, cock wedged up your cunt as you bounce slightly, head lolled backward as your pants are met with the breeze of the open sky above you. Butcher sits upright, pulling you into his chest as you gyrate back and forth, cock plunging deep within you and causing that amazing friction you know all too well. His tongue finds its way back to your breast, suckling on it as you moan out. 

You’ll never get used to how big he is, it’s as if he breaks you in every time, stretching you out for his liking. He bites down on your breast, causing you to wince as you grab both sides of his face, forcing him to look at you. 

“Sorry love,” he smiles, lips parting as he watches you ride him with such intensity, such need. Your back arches against him, his arms wrapped around you as he pushes into the arch of your back further against him. The light-headed feeling is slowly making its appearance, the burning between your legs becoming more intense as your lower stomach bubbles, your panting picking up and you moan out into the air. Your ears ring as you’re pushed over the edge, straight into the arms of your climax, Butcher gripping a fist full of hair as your eyes fall shut. He nips at your throat, giving you the perfect balance of pleasure and pain as you cry out, cock rubbing into you and hitting the spot as you feel his cock twitch inside of you, spilling his seed as you clench around him, tip repeatedly hitting your cervix with a dull pain that can only be described as feeling right. 

Eyes shoot open and you’re faced with a white ceiling, the feeling of IVs stuck in your arms making you cringe as you lay up in a hospital bed fit with a gown. You’re disoriented, bright light blinding you as you sit up with a wince, your hand flying to your stomach as you collapse back down. You can feel the rough stitches beneath your gown’s thin fabric. 

Looking around, you notice Butcher facing the window, his back to you as he stares silently, lost deep in thought. The sun is setting. It’s nice to see it from this height instead of being stuck in some dark, wet basement. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him, knowing what sort of things he can get into when he’s left in that mind of his. As soon as he hears your voice he immediately turns, his features relaxing as he gives you a once-over. 

“You get impaled and almost die and ask if I’m okay?” Butcher chuckles as he walks over to your bed, placing two hands on either side of your cheeks and planting a lasting kiss on your lips. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asks in a whisper as if you’ll break apart into his hands if he’s too loud, allowing your face to relax as he sits down across from you. 

You shrug nonchalantly with a hum. “Little sore.” 

His hands still haven’t let go of your face, eyes flickering between both of your own. “Yeah?” He humors as if to say no shit. 

“Kind of stupid to bring me to a hospital.” You wrap your hand around Butcher’s forearm as you rub against the rough skin, his arm hair soft against the pads of your fingers. “It’s a miracle I didn’t wake up handcuffed to the bed.” 

You watch Butcher’s face contort into a smirk, just watching the dirty thoughts run across his mind. You tsk, and when he opens his mouth, you put your finger up and press it down to the pad of your thumb, signing “no,” as you hum with a brow raised. He releases a breath in humor, smiling as he tilts his head. Hands slide down your face, one resting on your shoulder as the other rests within the crane of your neck. His face suddenly falls, now looking at you solemnly. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He shakes his head, brows furrowing and he can’t even look into your eyes, instead looking down between you. “This should’ve never happened. None of this was supposed to happen.” 

“Butcher…” You trail off with a small sigh, shaking your head as you place your hands atop his in comfort. “It isn’t your fault. Shit like this is just inevitable, in our position, our line of work. The way we live. It’s our hand dealt.” 

“I know that.” Butcher turns stern. “Jesus fucking Christ, you don’t think I know that?”

“Then—?”

“It’s too dangerous.” He shakes his head. “I don’t—I can’t—“

He can’t even speak. He almost lost you today and he honestly can’t handle it. You shake your head again, placing your hands on his face as you force him to look at you. “Billy,” you say gently. His empty eyes look at yours. He’s already lost so much, you know that. “I know. But we’re in this together, yeah?” You shake your head to encourage him.

“We’ve been through a lot these past couple years, and even before we…” He swallows. Hearing him speak so gently isn’t something you’re used to. “I’ve always cared for you, you know that. With everything we’ve been through the past year, these past couple years, this is the first time I’ve ever considered quitting.” Butcher’s eyes switch between yours as your thumb strokes his beard, your eyes heavy with sadness as your heart aches. 

His hands fall from you as he recoils, regressing away so he can collapse in on himself. He looks away again. “I don’t want to lose you.” 

“Hey, hey,” you whisper, grabbing his rough hands and pulling him closer. “You won’t lose me. I’m here, I’m still here.”

He nods, though you’re not really convinced. You decide to take a different approach.

You lay back into your bed, patting beside you. Your bed is just big enough to allow it and all you want to do is use this moment to reassure him. Fuck Homelander, fuck Vought, fuck everything right now. All you have right now is each other. Butcher complies, crawling up and collapsing next to you. You both face forward, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as you take his hand in yours. It’s silent, but that’s okay. 

Everything is falling apart, but amid the chaos, you want to ground yourself in a moment to appreciate what you have. You don’t have a lot, but you do have people who care for you. And honestly, for the moment, that’s okay. It’s worth it to have moments like these. 

“I had a dream, just before I woke up.” Everything’s so heavy, so you decide to turn to something else. 

“Oh yeah?” He leans his head down onto yours. 

“It was you and me in a field. It was beautiful. I was wearing a dress and you were in your stupid beach shirt.” You giggle to yourself as he scoffs. 

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” He’s offended. You snort. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard beach shirts are all the rave in England.” Butcher rolls his eyes. 

“We were in the field, it was nice. Calm.” You smile with a shrug, remembering how it made you feel. “Then we were fucking.” 

Butcher’s eyebrows lift as he turns his head so you can see him, pleasantly surprised. “We were banging? In a field?”

You nod with a smile. “Better than a car, hm?” 

“I’ll say. Maybe after all of this is over we can go there, yeah?” 

You turn back to face the door as you lean back into him, eyes closing gently as you daydream of it all. “As long as it’s far away.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You smile with a hum, stroking against the back of his hand, catching some hair beneath your thumb. You don’t want to bring up what he said earlier in fear of him shutting down; you know how he is. You hope you can talk about it later, if later ever comes. 

Despite his need to constantly be strong for others, you want to be strong for him. And that’s why you can’t admit, you won’t admit, that you’re scared too. The two of you constantly tiptoe around death every day. But today was too close of a call. You’re scared, even more than you were before. You’ve always known you could die; That’s not the issue. The issue is that if you do, you’re finally realizing what you’d be leaving behind. 

And upon that realization, you’re scared. Butcher has already lost so much that maybe you take into consideration that your loss may be too much. And you don’t know what to do with that fact. 

You pack it away for later. Because for right now, all you want to do is absorb what is now. Who knows how much of it you even have left? You take a deep breath as you memorize the way his hand feels beneath yours right now or the way his soft breaths feel against your temple. The way his beard scratches your skin slightly. 

“Me neither.”

[ghostboneswrites2]

Barriers

A long awaited request from my mutual who asked to remain anon.

Summary: Turkish polyglot!reader is on a run with Daryl and three new arrivals to find a warehouse rumored to be stocked with food. When the destination is overrun with the dead, it's up to you to communicate with those who do not speak english to get you all home alive.

Warnings: TWD typical stuff. Potential TW for those of you with religious trauma as there is a Catholic prayer.

All dialogue is translated in (red).

Turkish, Romanian, and Spanish is translated by my mutual and their friends.

Romanian is translated using Google translate, as neither of us are very fluent in romanian but we wanted to include a balkan country.

Please forgive any inaccuracies! This was a labor of love and it was much harder than I anticipated, but I'm so glad this mutual asked for this. It was fun to exercise my brain!

Characters and their languages:

Derya: Turkish Maria: Spanish (originally french with the name Marie, but we couldn't get anyone to translate the french lol) Andrei: Romanian Rolf: Dutch

        Tensions were high. The newcomers knew where a large stash of food was and Daryl was sent to help them retrieve it. The only setback was the communication barrier, which was where you came in.

        "Sunt încă la șase străzi distanță. (It's still six blocks away.)" Andrei told you.

        "Six blocks." You repeated to Daryl.

        "We won't make it that far with all them walkers." Daryl whispered, peeking through the boarded windows of the little shop you all holed up in. The herd came out of nowhere. 

        "Trebuie să cunoașteți un traseu mai sigur. (You must know a safer route.)" You pleaded with Andrei. He just shook his head. You sighed and turned to Derya. "Depoya gitmenin başka bir yolu var mı? Mücadele edemiyeceğimiz kadar fazla  kişiyiz. Burda kapana kısıldık. (Is there another way to get to the warehouse? There are too many for us to fight our way through. We're trapped.)"

        "Galiba burdan çatıya çıkmanın bir yolu var. (I think there's a way onto the roof here.)" She suggested. "Binalar karşıdan atlanabilecek kadar yakın. (The buildings are close enough that we could jump across.)"

        "Daryl, do you think we could jump roof to roof?" You asked.

        "Maybe. Buildings are pretty tight knit." He shrugged.

        "Okay, Derya, çatıya çıkan yolu biliyor musun? (do you know the way to the roof?)" You asked her. She thought for a moment.

        "Binaların arkası çitle çevrili orada bir merdiven olabilir. (Behind these buildings is all fenced off. I think there's a ladder out there.)"

        "Okay. Good thinking, Derya." You patted her shoulder and rushed over to the back exit, peering through the cracks in the wood. "She's right.." You whispered. "Daryl, this way! Andrei, Derya, Maria!" You waved them all over as you unlocked the door and pushed it open. Sunlight poured in as you all piled outside and rushed up the ladder. On top of the building, you could see just how far up shit's creek you all really were. The herd wasn't a herd at all -- it was a massive horde. It filled up the streets of the small town  like a sea of death and decay. 

        "Querido San Judas Tadeo.. Patrono de las causas desesperadas, escucha nuestra oración. (Dear Saint Jude Thaddeus.. Patron of desperate causes, hear our prayer..)" Maria gasped, clutching the crucifix she wore around her neck. "En tiempos de desesperación y desesperanza, guíanos a la luz del amor de Dios... (In times of despair and hopelessness, guide us to the light of God's love..)"

        Daryl looked to you questioningly. 

        "It's a prayer." You mouthed. He nodded. 

        "Y'all ready?" He asked. You nodded and ushered the other three toward the edge of one of the building that lined another. There was maybe a two foot gap between the two. It was doable. 

        "Andrei, tu primul. (you first.)" You nodded to the man, who lept courageously and landed smoothly. "Now, Maria." You looked to the girl. She was young, maybe nineteen, and clearly devoted to her faith.

        She tucked her crucifix into her shirt and took a breath, whispering the rest of her prayer as she geared up for the jump. "Ayúdanos a encontrar fortaleza en nuestras pruebas y a confiar en el plan del Señor. (Help us find strength in our trials and trust the Lord's plan..)" She took a running start and flailed her arms as she flew from one building to the next. She rolled as she landed but she was otherwise fine.

        "Derya, sıra sende. (your turn.)" You smiled to her reassuringly. Out of everyone, you'd grown the most friendly with her, as you were both Turkish. She told you about the warehouse to begin with. 

        She nodded and jumped across, smiling triumphantly back at you after she made it safely. You and Daryl crossed over next. The process continued over three more buildings, all the while Maria still prayed desperately under her breath. "Quédate a nuestro lado en nuestra hora más oscura y llévanos por un camino de esperanza. En tu pasión, intercede por nosotros y lleva nuestras súplicas a Dios. (Stand by us in our darkest hour and lead us to a hopeful path... In your passion, intercede for us and bring our pleas to God..)"

        At the end of the block, you were all drawn to a halt. The next building was at least six feet away. None of you hard faith you could jump that far. The sea of walkers was still raging below, waves of bodies crashing into buildings and obstacles as they swarmed. 

        "Qué vamos a hacer?! (What are we going to do?!)" Maria's panic was becoming more evident.

        "Sólo tenemos que pensar en un plan. (We just need to think of a plan.)" You assured her. You turned to Andrei. "Știi o cale? (Do you know a way?)"

        "Nu.. Mai avem cinci blocuri (No.. We still have five blocks.)" He said solemnly. 

        "Okay." You took a breath. "Do you have a plan?" You asked Daryl. He scanned the walkers on the ground below, his silence answering your question. 

        "şurdaki kütüphane, (That library over there,)" Derya spoke up, one finger extended to point out the building she was talking about. "Arkadaşımız rolf orada. o sadece flemenkçe konuşuyor ama daha önce bize yardım etti belki de tekrar yardım edebilir. (Our friend Rolf is there. He only speaks Dutch, but he has helped us before. He may be willing to help again.)"

        "Do you think we can make it to that library across the street?" You asked Daryl. 

        "Why?" He asked.

        "They have a friend that lives there. He might help us if he's still there."

        "He lives in a library?" Daryl tilted his head. You shrugged.

        "That's what she said."

        "Mm... Maybe." He nodded. "We need to distract 'em, though." 

        "How?" 

        "Dunno.." He looked around. "Ya still got that toy ya picked up for Judith?"

        A lightbulb went off. Of course! The loud toy! You dug in your bag and quickly found it. You turned it on and pressed a button, a loud song ringing through the speaker. You handed to him and he threw it as far from the library as he could. To your pleasure, the toy didn't break on impact. The mindless corpses below slowly turned their attention to the sound, the tune of Old McDonald drawing them in. When enough of them were distracted, the five of you crept down the side of the building and hurried over to the library.

        "Rolf!" Derya hissed, lightly tapping at the glass. 

        " Rolf we hebben hulp nodig! (Rolf, we need help!)" You added quickly. Moments later the doors swing open and you piled inside, Rolf shutting and barricading the door behind you.

        "Wat doe jij hier?! Zie je niet hoeveel van hen er zijn? (What are you doing here?! You don't see how many of them are out there?)" Rolf scolded. You could tell he preferred his solitude.

        "We hebben hulp nodig om naar het magazijn te gaan. Dat is 5 blokken verderop. (We need help getting to the warehouse. It's five blocks away)" You panted, out of breath.

        "Het magazijn? (The warehouse?)" He scoffed. "Jullie zijn gek! (You people are insane!)"

        "Nee, maar we zijn wanhopig. (No, but we are desperate.)" You pleaded.

        "Je komt vast naar mij denkende dat ik weet hoe ik jullie door al deze dingen heen kan krijgen? (You must be to be coming to me thinking I know how to get you through all those things!)" He waved his hands around.

        "Ona kamyonetini sor (Ask him about his truck.)" Derya urged.

        "Wat dacht je van de truck? (What about your truck?)" You asked Rolf. He glared at you.

        "Nee. Absoluut niet! Enkel voor noodgevallen. (No. Absolutely not! Emergencies only.)" He declined.

        "Dit is een noodgeval. (This is an emergency.)"

        "Oh, oké laat me het verduidelijken. Enkel mijn noodgevallen. (Oh, okay, allow me to clarify. My emergencies only.)" He crossed his arms.

        "Is dit niet jouw noodgeval? (This isn't your emergency?)" You raised your eyebrows, motioning your hand to the door. "De hele stad is overspoeld met hen. Je zal het hier niet lang volhouden. (The entire town is flooded with them. You wont last here long.)"

        "Ik red me prima in mijn eentje, dankje. (I do just fine on my own, thank you.)" He insisted.

        "Oh? Ik zie nochtans geen eten of water hier. Hoe lang kan je zonder? Want die dingen gaan daarbuiten zijn voor dagen, misschien zelfs weken voordat iets anders ze weg lokt. (Oh? I don't see any food or water here. How long can you go without? Because those things will be out there for days, or maybe even weeks before something else draws them away.)" You pushed. He thought for a moment.

        "Oké goed. I breng jullie naar het magazijn en dan zijn jullie op jullie zelf. (Okay, fine. I take you to the warehouse and then you're on your own.)"

        A collective sigh of release aired out into the room as he rushed to find his keys. You all followed him to the back exit. He glanced back at the group. You and Daryl nodded at each other and stepped ahead of the others.

        "Jij opend de deur, en wij zullen je beschermen. Sluit de deur achter je. Wanneer je de teuck start, zullen wij de deur voor alle andere en beschermen ze. Vertrek niet tot iedereen in het voertuig zit. Begrepen? (You open the door, and we will cover you. Shut the door behind you. When you get the truck started, we'll open the door for everyone else and cover them. Don't leave until everyone's in the vehicle. Got it?)" You instructed. He nodded, reluctantly.

        You quickly relayed the plan to Daryl and everyone else in their respective languages, then counted down. "Drie… twee… een! (Three... Two.. One!)"

        On your word, Rolf threw the door open as planned, and you and Daryl rushed out, stabbing and beating down walkers left and right. You heard the door slam shut. You peeked behind your to see a nervous Rolf looking overstimulated and overwhelmed at the chaos around him. "Komaan! We hebben je gedekt! (Come on! We have you covered!)" You urged him.

        He stepped between you and Daryl as you strategically kept him safe. Once he was to the truck, he shut himself inside and you and Daryl bade way back to the back exit. The engine revved and sputtered a few times before the truck was up and running, but it didn't take too long. At the sound of the fully started vehicle, you threw the door open and the rest of your crew worked their way through the walkers. Maria, a particularly nonviolent young woman who made herself more useful as the sneaky one, cowered in the center as you all surrounded her and defended yourselves from the threat of the undead. Once everyone had piled inside, you and Daryl jumped in last. Rolf wasted no time putting the pedal to the metal, so to speak, and before long he was pulling up in front of the warehouse.

        "Okay." You sighed. "Worst part's over, right?" 

        "Ik zal op je wachten. Wees snel. (I'll wait for you. Be fast.)" Rolf announced. You tilted your head. "Mijn bibliotheek is omsingeld. Er is niet voor mij om naar terug te keren, als ik zelfs leven binnen geraak. (My library is surrounded. There is nothing for me to go back to, if I could even make it inside alive.)" He elaborated. "Ik help jou een thuis te krijgen, jij geeft mij een thuis. (I help you get home, you give me a home.)" 

        "Okay." You nodded. "Wij kunnen dit. Laat ons gewoon niet achter. (We can do that. Just don't leave us.)" You placed a hand on his shoulder and thanked him with your eyes.

        "Alright, we need to get in there, grab as much food as we can, and get the hell on somewhere before it gets any worse. 's a damn miracle we made it this far." Daryl said. 

        "Okay. María, eres rápida. Si vienes con nosotros, te cubrimos. (Maria, you're fast. You come with us, we'll cover you.) Andrei, vino și tu. Știi ce căutăm. (Andrei, you come too. You know what we're looking for.)" You turned to them. They nodded nervously. "We get in, grab as much as we can, and get out." You continued, once in spanish and once in romanian. 

----

        Back at Alexandria, people were surprised to meet a new member of the community, but mostly just grateful everyone made it back alive and in one piece. The food was just a bonus at that point. You had all been gone way longer than planned.

        After introducing Rolf to everyone and making sure those who didn't speak english had everything they needed for the evening, you and Daryl finally retired to your shared home. Relief and gratitude set the mood, but after you had both showered and found something comfortable to wear, you couldn't help but to pick up on a subtle sense of disappointment written all over his face.

        "We did good." You assured him as you plopped beside him on the sofa. "The food we brought will feed everyone for a week, and we can probably go back in a few days and that herd will have moved on." 

        "Ain't that." He shrugged.

        "Then what?" You asked, brushing his stringy damp hair out of his eyes.

        "'s just..." He chewed at his lip. "Just felt so clueless out there, ya know? Useless. If you hadn't been there, all them people woulda died 'cause I wouldn't know how to talk to 'em." 

        "Well, I was there." You assured. "And they wouldn't have died anyways because you're a badass."

        He huffed a dry laugh. "I dunno. Just wish I had more skills than huntin' and trackin'." He admitted.

        "What?" You scoffed. "You've taught me more survival skills since we met than anyone has taught me in my entire life. You did teach me tracking and trapping, but you also taught me how to be quiet, sneaky, and observant of my surroundings. You taught me how to read people, and how to kill them effectively if needed. You are so much more than a hunter or a tracker." You rambled. His eyes scanned over your features as you went on, silently admiring how you always managed to find yourself on a tangent, no matter the subject.

        "Mm." He grunted. " Still wish I could just... talk to everyone, ya know?"

        "Then I'll teach you." You offered. "Starting tomorrow, with the language of my people. Turkish." You grinned. “Lesson one: Seni seviyorum sen benim kahramanımsın.”

        "Wha's that mean?" He pushed his eyebrows together in confusion.

        "It means I love you, you're my hero."

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[fire-but-ashes-too]

(Writerblr) intro post!

Hi! welcome to my blog! this is my (very late) writerblr/general/artblr intro, or just somewhere with all my general informations :)

please, go on and read *bows*

☆ Ash is my name on here and i go by she/her

★ Im a teen writer and artist, but i dream of acting

☆ im from italy

★ pan ace and quoiromantic (or wtfromantic its the same) (im still kinda questioning tho??? probs demiromantic??? idk?? feelings r weird atm)

☆ entp and introvert

★ im always up for tag games or stuff like that :)

☆ recently added tags! #ash writes- my writing ofc #ash and her rants- just me talking abt random stuff could be anything serious or not #ash on fire- probs me fangirling over something lol i may get overexcited beware

★ i relate to a spiritual and psychological level to black cats and all their other forms (aka regulus black, tori spring, aristotle mendoza etc etc etc)

i mostly write fantasy or fanfiction, but sometimes i engage in various genres as mystery, dystopian or surrealism :)

★ So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

genre: fanfiction

audience: general/ teen and up

tropes: rivals to lovers, college AU, slow burn, a lot of fencing, paris✨

cw/tw: past rape/non con, ptsd, homophobia, wounds/blood

progress: i try to update every week but nothing's promised 🥲

snippet here:

Years ago he’d learned to mask his handwriting, so now he could easily forge any handwriting he wanted, if he was given a good example of it being used. There was something extremely interesting in how each person connected two letters to each other. How they wrote an “ar” was different from how they would write an “or”, how much the words were apart from each other and how much pressure they put in the paper told a lot about someone, to him it was like zodiac signs. He didn’t always have to copy other handwritings, not unless he wanted to throw the blame on that person. He just had to invent a brand new writing style, and be careful to not slip his between the cracks. And that’s exctly what he did in the letter. Before Jesper could finish his monologue about how much he had missed out in the past few months holed up in his office, a blackmail threat was ready to be closed inside the paper envelope, just the signature was missing, but he didn’t bother to add it. A proper threat always had to be anonymous, it was always better to give as little information you could. Everything could be used against you. The maroon wax sealed the opening with a satisfying fizzling and a single wisp of smoke. The clock chimed on the wall, it was already 6 pm, he had to go finish some assignments.

(previously titled: questionable decisions)

☆ The Rogue

genre: fantasy, dystopian

audience: teen and up

setting: a fantasy world im currently busy (trying) building

progress: just vibes really, two mainc characters, a couple sides and an outline plus one of the first chapters, not much really but im working on it

characters:

anne: the rogue from where i took the title.

shes a 17 y/o girl who lives in a bunker in a forest, on the run from the government as she's a "high traitor and liar who must be destroyed".

she has the ability to modify her face and appereance for a while and she has a prosthetic arm connected to her virtual friend Indigo.

thanks to it she's able to teleport and keep track of various things.

alexander: the son of the dictator, he's lived his life in a bubble until 2 years ago, when he finally managed to get more social contacts with people and (slightly) catch up on what he's missed, behind his father's back of course.

he meets anne when she's captured and figures she's his best shot at escaping his father domain.

snippet:

This time, she materialised in the shadows behind a bulding, which gave her enough cove for her to shift her facial features. Her nose a little bigger, her hair some shades brighter, her eyes more elongated and greener than the grass growing outside her doorstep and a splash of freckles to top it all off. It was way harder to do it without a mirror, and way more dangerous. For all she knew, she could’ve been looking like a girl with a fish head, and she didn’t know if that would be better or worse than looking like herself. Anne took out a hat and a silk scarf, she wrapped it around her neck and jumped in a group of tourists gazing at the city. In no time she was in the square, vendor’s stands circling her, colourful flags waving in the wind. She could’ve stayed like that for ever, stuck in the memories of her old life, but she knew it couldn’t last forever.

★ Flowers and Homicide

genre: mystery

audience: general

cw/tw: blood, dead bodies, autopsies

main character: Giada

she's a forensics student who one day stumbles (metaphorically) over a dead body in her neighbour's lawn and starts investigating.

progress: actually finished but in italian sadly so in the translation process

☆ Confessions of a timeless man

genre: short story, surrealistic

audience: teen and up

content warning: suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression

plot summary: a man is stuck living the same day over and over, after almost 10 years there, he tries to escape his curse by killing himself

progress: completed XD

(here's my ao3 btw)

you want to know more about me! why than you, here you go!

★ my favourite artists are Taylor Swift, Conan Gray, Arctic Monkeys, Chase Atlantic, Marina, Lana del Rey, Sabrina Carpenter, Mother Mother and Billie Eilish (theres more but i cant remember whoops)

☆ synesthetic bitch

★ other than writing, art-ing and reading i love baking/cooking and crocheting

☆ theatre kid over here, always up for screaming my lungs out

★ uhhh im a vegetarian

☆ i know a scary amount about death and murder (especially poisons)

★ i dont have a specific vibe, it usually changes every few months or so

☆ i probably have anxiety but ive never been to therapy so idk 💀

★ always up for fangirling :3 (im in too many fandoms *cries* buuut im most active on pjo, marauders, grishaverse and osemanverse, musicals and some books that i have boards for on my pinterest :D)

☆ i am terribly scared of insects, needles and dogs

★ my (quite unusual) sport is aerial dance, a circus speciality that looks really cool but is acctually really painful

☆ my pinterest, spotify and goodreads if by some reason you're really interested in the chaotic human being that i am :)

thank you for reading this farrr🥹🥹

have a great day/night/life :D

[1starqi]

Beach Episode

summary: as the title suggests, you and your boyfriend go to the beach pairing: boyfriend!matthew x reader (gn) genre: fluff warnings: established relationship, reader has hair (sorry bald readers, love you), blond matthew (wrote this in may), very brief mentions of food word count: 1k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had the window rolled down since you got out of the city, and you can feel the cool breeze tangle and tousle your hair on the three-hour car ride. You know that your hair’s going to look and feel crazy when you get out, but it’s okay because the salt water can take care of that. Drawing you out of your daze staring at the crystal blue sea, you feel the hand intertwined with yours shift on the seat and a familiar thumb absentmindedly rubs your hand. The morning sun shines brightly above you and you squint through it to see the road ahead of you—it’s almost 11:00, an hour after you were supposed to arrive. Matthew's attentiveness made you behind schedule, he was careful to remember to pack a cooler of your favorite drinks, and some extra towels.

As you approach the parking lot, there are people milling about. An older couple sits in their blue beach chairs, surveying the scenery, and little kids splash in the shallow water while the older kids walk on the sand bar farther out. Matthew carefully parks the car by the fenced entrance between the yellow dunes. The asphalt below your feet as you get out is hot beneath your flip-flops and scattered with sand. The breaking waves break with a white crest and flood the abandoned sandcastles.

“Alright! I got the cooler.” Matthew calls from the other side of your car, bringing you back to the task at hand—transporting your stuff from the trunk of your red convertible to the beach. 

“I can get the towels!” You say, which turns out to be the wrong thing to say because when you turn around you see the beach towels already slung over his shoulder. You smile and roll your eyes, “I could do it, seriously.” You tell him, but he just shrugs and closes the trunk in response. You walk over to him and slip your hand into his unoccupied one. Your eyes dart back to the cooler he carries, wondering if it’s too heavy, but looking at how he’s carrying it and the way the muscles in his arm flex, you decide it’s probably nowhere near too heavy. However, you do feel a blush start to form under your skin.

A gull caws above you, “It really feels like the beach.” You comment and he hums in agreement and squeezes your hand. “I slipped in some more of your favorite cherry soda right before we left.” 

“How did you do that without me knowing?” He smiles and cocks his head to look at you. You don’t know if it’s because of the scenery or the sand beneath you, or maybe it’s your adoring boyfriend next to you, but your heart swells. Approaching your selected location, you can hear the waves crashing and it sounds just like having your ear in a conch shell.

Approaching the rocky outcove, he sets the blue cooler and towels down on the sand. You grab a thin striped towel and snap it over the uneven sand. As you snap it, a small crab skitters back into its home of a hole nearby. It falls almost perfectly, save for the corner that’s tucked under itself. Matthew reaches down and straightens it out. 

Relaxing with Matthew on the sand is pleasant, but as the afternoon wears on and the sun begins its descent toward the horizon, the temperature feels like it climbs higher. The higher temperature entices you both with the promise of cool relief of the ocean waters.

Looking over at your boyfriend with his elbows propping his torso up and his legs stretched all the way out. “Swim?” You exchange a single word with him, and that’s all it takes for you both to rise from your spot on the sand, eager to immerse yourselves in the refreshing water. Walking quickly, you make your way to the shoreline, the sand shifting beneath your feet.

The waves lap gently at the shore with the lateness of the day, inviting you in with their rhythmic motion. Matthew takes your hand and his grip is firm and reassuring. The coolness—coldness—envelops you, sending shivers down your spine as you adjust to the temperature and the shifting sand below your feet. The saltwater buoys you as you glide through the waves. You dive beneath the surface and the cool water wraps you in its embrace. When you surface, Matthew is beside you, his hair is slicked back from his face. As you both surface, your hair is strewn across your face like seaweed, and you hear Matthew’s infectious laugh ring out from next to you. “What? As if your wet hair looks any better.” You tease him with a pretend frown. You’re lying, though. You’re not sure if his wet hair looks better than yours, but you know it looks damn good. The blonde goes darker when wet, and you can see his roots beginning to peek through at his hairline.

“No, love. It’s adorable.” He smiles and tucks a strand behind your ear, freeing your vision. A huge smile breaks through your pout and you bump him with your wet shoulder, looking down to hide your smile.

Together, you float on your backs, gazing up at the vast expanse of sky above. The mosaic hues of the sky blend and melt together and cast a warm glow over the water. Here, with the ocean stretching out before you and your boyfriend by your side, a strange peace settles within you. Turning you head to see Matthew floating with his eyes closed and the sun shining on his face, you know that you can take whatever life throws at the two of you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: guys im back heres a revised version of smt i wrote before i left hope u like love u mwah

[indigosunsetao3]

A Reason To Try

Chapter 13 - Escape Plan

Masterlist of Chapters

Warnings: 18+ - No minors Please read the tags on AO3 for any of your triggers

Alex Keller X Original FMC 6.0k words - AO3 Link

Madeline had been in the midst of pulling on a pair of boots when she heard the sound of an approaching car. She shot up from where she had been sitting and went to one of the bedroom windows to peer out, careful to stay off to the side. The gauzy curtains shielded her enough from being seen, but she could easily see the car, cars, pulling in. There were at least three of them, and they were driving slowly surveying the area. Her eyes instantly cut to the bowls that she had left on the fire escape overnight, and she debated how fast she could open the windows and pull them in before they saw. She decided against it as they drew closer; movement would draw their eye, but a few errant items may not.

“Madeline,” Alex called, his voice even lower than usual as he watched two vehicles park by the construction trailer. “How many do you have?”

“Three,” Madeline answered as she walked out to the living room, feeling her body already beginning to tense up with fear. “Why? Are there more?” She asked as Alex remained stock still, staring out the window.

“Two,” he answered simply as he continued to watch. Two men climbed out of a beat-up truck, guns raised, looking around the area as their companions climbed out of their car, also armed. “Armed,” he continued as Madeline walked up to his side to look out as well, pressing herself up to his side to look out the small gap he made in the curtain with his fingers.

“I didn’t stay long enough to see if they were armed,” Madeline answered as she gripped the windowsill, watching as the men used the hole in the fence Alex had made to get into the construction area.  “What do we do?” Madeline asked after a second of watching. One of the men was barely a man at all, a gangly teenager who held his shotgun like he had never seen one before, let alone used one.

“We watch,” Alex said quietly as he flicked his eyes down to her. He brought his free hand up to her lower back, carefully pressing his hand there as a form of reassurance. He could feel how nervous she had become, everything rigid as she stared out the window and her breathing tight. “And we prepare. Start gathering what you want to take and put it in easy-to-move containers. Fill the duffels, backpacks, and anything easy to carry. Keep it as quiet as possible.”

Madeline leaned into the touch before jumping as a car door slammed, and muffled voices could be heard yelling at one another.  When Alex flexed his fingers in response to the noise, she knew he was thinking exactly what she was; they were going to draw those things. In all the time they had been there, nothing had shown up, not even a noise in the distance to indicate they were around. But Alex had still kept quiet outside, was still careful as he worked, watching over his shoulder, and never letting himself get too distracted. She had watched him stop what he was doing on countless occasions to listen. Yet these people were loudly yelling at one another, opening and closing doors without worry, and making a ton of noise rattling the fence.

“They’re too loud,” Madeline finally whispered as someone, another younger-looking guy, began messing with the generator, hitting it a few times because it wouldn’t start. Alex had siphoned it the day before so it just whirred then whined and died. “They’re going to draw them,” she breathed.

“We’ll keep an eye on it,” Alex answered, his voice a bit distracted as he watched two men enter the trailer. They went in guns raised but hardly looked like they were properly trained on how to clear, which meant they’d be jumpy. “If they show up, we’ll figure out the next steps, but for now, let’s keep it one thing at a time.”

Madeline nodded once before stepping out of his grasp. If they needed to get ready, she needed to move now. Most of their items were in the living room and kitchen, respectively, but she still had clothes and items in the bedroom, and she knew Alex had some of his own things in the room he had taken.

She went to her room first and carefully threw things onto the bed: clothes, hygiene items, and a second set of heavy-duty sneakers. Living in a constant state of traveling, Madeline had learned how to pack and make the most out of little space, so she began folding. She rolled undergarments into tight balls and shoved them into her spare sneakers, stuck hygiene items inside rolled-up pants, shoved odd-shaped items into the side nets of the backpack and filled any gaps with shirts. The pack was stuffed to the brim and hard as a rock by the time she finished but she had managed to get everything she wanted to take in it and then some.

Alex kept his vigil at the window, ears strained for any noises getting too close to their condo or for those things. Luckily, the things shrieked and snarled, so their sneaking up wasn’t really a fear, and in the open area, their sounds would travel. So far, nothing. He also listened to Madeline’s quiet shuffling and the soft footfalls as she showed up in the living room with two bags so tightly packed that they made a thump as she dropped them onto the couch. She stood up and pushed some sweaty hair off her forehead, evidence of her hustling, before giving him a tight smile and heading to the kitchen.

All the work she had spent neatly dividing and packing up the items seemed null, though having her notes on them did make it a little easier. She was able to find easy-to-eat foods, ones that weren’t too heavy but had more nutrition. She dragged her old duffel onto the floor next to her and started filling it, dispersing the weight between it and another bag with the water and food. She and Alex would each have to lug one, and she grunted a bit as she lifted one onto her shoulder, then the other, before stumbling to the couch to drop them.

“We need to get to the roof,” Alex said suddenly as he spotted the group headed toward the condo. They were moving to begin raiding the condos, as he expected, but he knew what they would find. He had already gone through them and picked them clean. He hadn’t been meticulous in his movements because there was no need to cover his tracks inside the building. They just needed to keep up appearances on the outside for people driving by. But if they started going condo to condo to find them turned over and empty, they’d be upstairs to them fairly quickly.  

“The roof?” Madeline asked, a bit winded as she heard the people getting closer, their voices echoing in the open stairwell between the condos as they talked. They were discussing how to split up, what to look for, and what to take. And to shoot first and ask questions later. Apparently, it didn’t take long for some people to lose their humanity.  “Why not the cars? We can just-“ she flinched as a loud bang followed by a grunt, and another loud bang met her ears. They were kicking in the doors and calling out taunts to the potential people inside.

“We won’t make it to the cars without them seeing,” Alex answered, “they’ll be up here soon. We need to look like we’ve left.”. He pushed off the window he was at and started gathering up the laptop and phone along with some other spare wires. There was another bang as he shoved the electronics into a duffel with the food before snatching up his notebook and the bag of keys of the shortlisted cars. The last thing he did was bend under the couch and dig out a small reusable grocery bag, one Madeline hadn’t seen before. He packed it as well, zipping up the duffel one-handed.

“The door?” Madeline asked as Alex grunted, throwing the straps of both duffels over his shoulder. The loveseat was still shoved against the door, and he turned to look at it.

“Leave it, they’ll hear us move it,” Alex answered as he ducked his head to slip the M16 strap over his head. “Can you just get the bags?” He slipped the safety off his gun and held one backpack by the strap out to her.

“I-yes,” Madeline answered as she stared at him. The bags of food had to be at least fifty pounds each, and he was holding them ease, along with his gun, which she knew was also heavy. Not to mention all the extra items he had shoved into the duffels at the last moment. She crossed the space to him quickly, and he motioned for her to turn around so he could slip the straps over her shoulders before she picked up the other one to carry by hand. She opened her mouth to inquire what car they were going to take when she heard an angry yell.

“They’ve figured out there’s nothing in those condos,” Alex supplied calmly as he stared at the door.  His heart rate had kicked up a few notches, but he still remained calm. These were civilians, not trained soldiers. So, while they would be trigger-happy, they were sloppy, and he could outdo them. It was just a matter of how many he could take on at a time. “Come on, they’re going to kick in every door they can find.” And no sooner did he say that, they could hear them beating at a door seemingly just a floor below them.

Madeline followed him back to the bedroom, her eyes doing one last sweep of the area before following Alex out onto the fire escape. They moved slowly in an attempt to be quiet, but every movement, each creak, sounded like a gunshot to her ears. She curled her lips into her mouth as she gingerly lowered the window back down, praying her fingers didn’t slip in the water on the glass. When it was in place, she stooped to pick up the bowls, carefully stacking them into one another before going up the stairs.

The roof was soaking, with puddles of water all over, and Alex pointed for Madeline to go to the far corner behind some HVAC units. He wanted them to be as far away from the fire escape as possible because if they couldn’t get into the condo by the front door, they could figure out the fire escape route and go up that way.

Madeline was still quiet with her steps as she walked on the roof, her feet splashing in the standing water as she panted at the extra weight on her back and in her hands. The air wasn’t frozen, but it was still chilled, and the wind that whipped around felt like it was going right through her jacket. When she got to the units, she crept around the side, half bent over, before crouching down fully so she couldn’t be seen over the roof edge. It was soaked over here, too, but they had nowhere else to go, and she eased the backpack onto the driest-looking spot next to the roof wall.

“Good?” Alex asked as he finally joined her, losing the duffel straps from his shoulders to the ground and rolling his neck a bit. When Madeline nodded her reply, eyes wide and skin a few shades paler, he gave her a small smile before sitting next to her on the roof. The water instantly soaked through his pants, and he sighed in discomfort before tensing. The group had made it to their condo. He could hear them smashing at the door, yelling at one another, and then the sound of gunshots. They had resorted to shooting at the door to get it open.

“Alex,” Madeline whispered as she gripped his forearm, flinching at each shot and yell. They weren’t even trying to be civil anymore. Each blast of the shotgun made her wince, and Alex rolled his arm over slowly and extended his hand out to her to grab. She did it gratefully as he sat listening, eyes trained toward the fire escape.

“We’re okay,” Alex stated reassuringly before he leaned forward, grabbed a duffel, and unzipped it a bit before sitting back with a few keys in his hand. “Each of these cars is fully stocked,” he explained as he shoved a few key fobs at her. There was a small post-it note wrapped around the keyring, and Madeline peered at the writing. It was the color of the car and a few numbers or letters from the license plates. “If we need to run, go to any of them,” he explained, and he saw her open her mouth to fight. “I gave us plenty of options on purpose. We can’t plan for everything, but I did my best,” he grinned slightly.

“You’re keeping some, right?” She asked as she fingered one of the loops of an actual set of keys instead of a fob. An older car, she was guessing.

“Yes, there are still some in there,” Alex said with a nod as he tapped the duffle with his foot. “All of them are viable options. So, pick your favorite,” he smirked as she mulled over the logos on the keys in her hands.

Then they heard the rattle of the metal fire escape.

Alex gently untangled his fingers from hers and pushed up on his knees, slipping the gun strap over his head and setting it gently to rest on his thighs. He could hear multiple sets of footsteps on the fire escape, the metal rattling as they clamored up, and a few voices talking. He cut his eyes to Madeline, who shrank down even further against the wall, and he indicated for her to be quiet, to which she nodded. If they could just stay tucked down in this far corner, hopefully, these people were in too much of a rush or inept to do a clean wipe of the area. Then, once they left, he and Madeline could wait it out a few hours before escaping.

Madeline shoved the keys into her pockets as she stared at Alex’s back and listened. It sounded like three or four men walking on the roof, all of them chatting casually and laughing at what they had found. One of them commented that it was obvious a woman had been in the condo, and she shut her eyes at the crude remarks they made about her from the dirty clothes they had found. Alex inhaled a sharp breath through his nose in indignation as he adjusted to reach into his vest and dig out a knife. Madeline stared at him and shook her head once, but Alex slowly shifted the gun off his lap and gently set it down on the rooftop.

They were too close for shooting, too many of them, and the more noise he made, the more people he’d draw. There were four of them, and as he quickly checked around the edge before pulling back, he saw two of them were teens who looked like they hadn’t seen anything more than a schoolyard fight. If push came to shove, he could disarm and take them out, but then they’d have to move before the rest of their companions realized they were missing. He carefully nudged the gun toward Madeline in a sign for her to take it, but she shook her head at him again.

“Take it,” Alex hissed as he flipped the knife in his hand, letting the weight settle in his palm. He nodded pointedly at the gun as if to indicate they were done talking about this, and he watched Madeline reach for it. When her fingers closed around the butt of it, he leaned his back against the HVAC as he shut his eyes to listen to their steps. They were getting closer, spread out a bit but still in a relative semblance of a group. He’d have to move quickly, aim for the biggest guy first, and pray that he was leading the way.

Alex took a deep breath, then another, body bent in a crouch, preparing for the best moment to strike. The toe of a boot came into his view, and as he was about to slip out from behind the corner, a loud blaring horn cut through the silence. He flinched and stayed crouched, looking over at Madeline as the men cursed, obviously just as startled as he had been.  

Madeline prayed that whichever alarm she had set off was one of the cars that was further away. She had reached into her pocket blindly and hit the alarm on the first fob she wrapped her fingers around. Alex was good, but it was four against one, and he was planning on just going into the fight with a knife; she couldn’t risk that. He snapped his eyes to her in silent reproach, but she didn’t care; what she had done had the desired effect. The men had halted in their steps and quickly turned around and jogged back to the fire escape to find the source of the noise. They were cursing as they ambled toward the metal steps, and Madeline gave Alex a small smile.

“What happened to being quiet?” Alex asked as he scrambled toward Madeline, shoving the knife into its slot on his vest as he picked the gun back up.

“You have your methods. I have mine,” Madeline answered with a shrug as she turned the key fob over in her hands. “I hope this wasn’t one you really wanted to take,” she said as she peered at the logo, a Toyota.

“I was more partial to the Ford,” Alex deadpanned. “I think you can cut it before we bring more friends.”

Madeline turned the alarm off so only a ringing silence met their ears. She pocketed the key fob again and shifted in her crouch to fall back on her bottom, water seeping into her skin. The men shouted at one another from the windows and parking lot, trying to figure out what had set off the car.

“How long do we wait? Madeline asked quietly as she leaned her head back on the wall.

“Until they leave or nightfall, whichever comes first,” Alex answered as he peered at the watch on his wrist. It reflected the current time they were in as well as the time in Uzikstan on a smaller face. The pang in his gut at the thought of that made him drop his wrist.

“Nightfall? It’s barely nine,” Madeline groaned as she shifted her hips a bit. She was going to be stiff if they sat there all day.

They fell silent for a bit, listening to the rummaging and things being tossed around inside the condo just below their feet. Alex was sure they were dragging all his hard-won things out the door in the nice totes Madeline had packed for them. It was frustrating that all of it went to waste, but he’d rather have them focus on that instead of trying to find them. As much as he hated to admit it, her trick with the car had been a saving grace; if their group had realized too quickly that their friends hadn’t returned, it would have been an all-out brawl.

“So, is this like a reverse stakeout? We’re the suspects having to wait out the CIA?” Madeline asked after long minutes, nudging him with her shoulder.

“People always think stakeouts are these glamorous things,” Alex answered with a chuckle. “It’s mostly just this. Sitting and waiting for the target to move. I’ve had to lie on a roof for almost a full day just watching a building more times than I can count.”

“I blame Hollywood,” Madeline answered. “They always made it look fun. Junk food, witty banter,” she sighed wistfully, “longing stares between the partners that refuse to acknowledge the tension. Then, in the next scene, they jump one another in the backseat.” She laughed a bit, trying to ease some of her own fear now that they had a moment of rest with the men off the roof and well away from them.

“I can tell you that the witty banter dies pretty quickly, and it’s mostly silence with the occasional check-in and cussing at how bored you are,” Alex answered. “And your partner is usually just as grumpy and probably hasn’t showered in about a week. No one wants to jump anyone in that state.”

Madeline laughed before bending her knees to wrap her arms around them. “I suppose. I like the fake version better,” she confessed as they both heard glass shattering. It seemed that these people were just destroying things to destroy them. “Less dangerous.”

“And more kissing?” Alex asked with an eyebrow raised, and he saw a faint blush creep across her cheeks.

“That too,” she admitted with a sigh.

“Well, I can promise that these men are all flash and no bang. They are being loud to be intimidating because that’s all they have going for them. It’s the quiet ones you have to worry about. The ones you never hear coming,” he explained as a car alarm went off again. He was about to continue talking to convince her they would be safe, if a bit sore, when it registered.

The car alarm that was blaring was further away. It was coming from one of the cars he must have moved in his rearranging, not one of the ones closest to them. Alex had left those keys with those cars, carefully tucked inside the wheel well to avoid setting off the alarms. There was barely any gas left in them, but they could still be useful to someone else for the battery or shelter. Which meant there was only one reason the alarm was going off. Someone, or something, else was there.

Judging by the growling shrieks that echoed, they had attracted more than other survivors.  

“Shit,” he barely breathed as he twisted in his seat to peer over the wall. He could see them, a good dozen of them sprinting toward where the men were yelling again. They were drawn to sound and movement, so the men frantically picking up what they could to run had caught their eyes. And the car alarm still going off, one of them having probably bumped into it, would just keep drawing more and more of them. “We’re going to have to move,” Alex said as Madeline peered over the wall with him.

These stupid fucking men had ruined everything, Had destroyed any hope of shelter by kicking in, or shooting down, the doors of the condos. They had drawn the things by being so loud, and now they were just a beacon for anything else around. Madeline had seen the way these things worked firsthand too many times. They would just keep coming in droves, looking for prey in packs.

“The only way down is the fire escape,” Madeline answered as she shifted the backpack. “The men,” she started, but Alex shook his head.

“The men are less dangerous than these things. We make a run for a car; they’re doing the same thing at this point; they aren’t going to be as concerned with us; they’ll be worried about themselves,” Alex answered as he hefted one duffle on his shoulder, then grabbed the second backpack. If he was going to be using the M16, he needed to be a little freer to move.

Madeline dug into her pockets and pulled out the keys, fingers gripping them all in one hand before grabbing the second duffel and half-hauling it over a shoulder. It was heavy, the strap digging into her skin, but she gritted her teeth as she adjusted it. She was lopsided with weight but shifted and began jogging toward the fire escape.  

The shrieks were getting closer, and the panicked yells of the men below them added to the mix. After days of near silence, the noise was enough to make Madeline flinch as she ran with Alex toward the fire escape, hitting the unlock button on every fob she could. The chaos would hopefully keep the men below distracted from her actions as the mechanical clicks and flashing lights indicated that vehicles were being unlocked.

“Keep going,” Alex said with a nod as he came up hot on her heels, seeing her hesitate at the railing as she looked to him for instructions. “I’m right behind you,” he said as he gestured for her to get moving.

They made it down a level and a half before pained screams met their ears. The group of raiders hadn’t gotten away in time. Madeline focused on her breathing as she kept going and made it to the third floor when a few things burst through the breezeway, chasing a man who had broken away. Not a man. One of those teenagers who no longer had a weapon and was sprinting for his life. He wasn’t going to make it; the tall fences were going to block him in, and he seemed to realize it the second Madeline did.

“Get in a car!” Madeline screamed loud enough that it made her ears pop. “Get in one of the cars!”  

The kid hesitated, looked up, and made eye contact with Madeline, who was half-leaning over the railing as she pointed to the scattered vehicles. He seemed to understand after a second and ran for one, reaching for a door handle and yanking hard. It didn’t budge.

Alex groaned at Madeline but shifted his stance, raising his gun up to try and help the kid, taking aim at one of the things as he ran for another car. Madeline was fumbling with the keys to unlock them, double-hitting the buttons to get another car fully unlocked, when Alex took his shot. It caught the infected person in the shoulder; it didn’t do much but slow it down for a second as it twisted with the impact. Alex shot again and caught it in the neck, the bullet angling off to shatter a car window. They were too fast. He shifted his sights to be just a few inches ahead and took a third shot, and it hit home right in the temple.

“Oh fuck,” the kid yelled as the blood sprayed everywhere, and he yanked on a car door. He managed to get it flung open, but the rest of the party had arrived. There were too many. Alex sent a spray of bullets to try and take as many out as possible, but only a few shots made their mark.

Madeline watched it as if in slow motion as one of the things bodily climbed up over the car and tackled the teenager from above. The panicked scream made her gasp, and she twisted away from the sight as the boy yelled for help, his voice drowning out in gurgles as the thing clamped down on his neck and ripped at his jugular.

 “You have to go, Madeline,” Alex said as he came up beside her, eyes darting around at the mess in the parking lot below them. There were too many, and that damn car alarm was still going off, drawing more.

“Which car?” Madeline asked frantically as she looked up at Alex, who was looking at the parking lot.

“Any of them,” he answered. “Pick one and just drive,” he instructed.

“Fine,” Madeline answered as she looked down at the keys in her hand before glancing at the parking lot. “The red Ford then,” she stated as she held up the keys; he had said he had been partial to a Ford anyway. “I’ll open the back door for you so you can concentrate on keeping them back.”

“No. I want you to get in the car and go.” Alex stated as he flicked his eyes down to her. He saw the moment the words clicked in her head that he was telling her to go without him. The panic in her face was only emphasized more by the last bit of color draining from her face.

“What? No. I’m not going to leave you,” Madeline nearly squeaked as she reached for his arm as if afraid he was going to run from her now. “That’s not how this works.”

“There’s a huge farm about twenty miles straight north from here, off this main road,” he gestured toward the community's exit, ignoring her protests and how she opened her mouth to fight. “Stay on the state road where you can and find Mulberry. It’ll be right before you get to the next town on your left. Go down it for a while until you see the barn and other buildings. Don’t go into them or on the property; go to the service road behind them and wait there. Pull off the road into the woods a bit.” Alex kept his voice even, unhurried, as he relayed the instructions even though they were running out of time.

“No. I’m not going without you,” Madeline said firmly as she held him. She’d be damned if she left him here alone.

“I told you I tried to plan for everything; this is one of them,” Alex answered as he looked down at her. “I will cover you to get to the car, and you will get in and go.” His words were a firm command but not a cold one, just one that she knew there was no arguing with. “Both of us will not make it right now; there are too many. You know it, and I know it,” he paused, staring into her wide eyes to make sure she understood. He gently placed his hand over her own and squeezed once before prying her grip off him.

“Alex, I-” Madeline started, her heartbeat throbbing in her ears.

“I’ll follow you when I can. But you only wait for me until daybreak tomorrow. If I don’t find you by dawn, you need to keep moving. One group of raiders just means there are three more around. You can’t linger. You have to keep on the move,” he instructed, feeling a lump in his throat but forging on. “I have a map,” he dug into his back pocket and handed her a well-folded piece of paper. “It goes as far as the middle of Alabama, so you’ll have to get another. But I highlighted the route. Remember not to take-”

“Stop!” Madeline snapped as she shoved the hand he held out to her with the map. “I’m not going anywhere without you. I am not leaving you. Do you think I can get to Texas alone? You think I can live with leaving you here?” She felt a dizzying swoop in her stomach just thinking about what he was asking her to do. A few days ago, she was so upset with him that she told herself she would be fine if he just walked out the door, but the reality was she was terrified to be alone. To be without him. “I don’t like this plan. I don’t like any of this. Give me another plan of yours; you said you have multiple. Pick another one.” She was firm in her words, though she felt like she would be sick.

“You don’t have to like a plan for it to be the best plan,” Alex answered with a sad smile. “I’ve gotten you this far…you have to trust me.”

Madeline opened her mouth to keep arguing when something rattled the fire escape. The things were trying to climb up to them; it seemed their original quarry was either dead or turned, and they were the new focus. She felt Alex shove the map into her hands as he raised his gun and shot down right through the gaps in the metal floor, hitting the one in the lead right between the eyes.

“Go, Madeline,” Alex said as he avoided her gaze, staring down the sights of his gun to take aim at more of them. “Run right for the Ford. Don’t pause, and don’t look back; I’ve got you.”

“You better be there,” Madeline breathed as she shoved the map into the front of her sweater, needing to keep her hands free. “I need you to be there, Alex.”

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Alex answered, daring to look over at her one more to give her a soft smile and nod.

Madeline felt her body move while her heart still screamed at her to stay, to make it work so they could go together. But she knew Alex was right; he had been right about every move they had made so far. If she lingered, she could ruin his chance to escape, so she needed to trust that he knew what he was doing.

Before she knew it, she was jumping a few feet down between the bottom of the fire escape and the parking lot, careful to avoid the thing that was still oozing blood from what was left of its head. The asphalt was wet, and even over the growls and shrieks, she could hear the rubber of her sneakers squeak against the pavement as she sprinted. The things seemed to be right on her heels as she went, and she felt her bones rattle with every shot that Alex took, hands flying up to protect her head as one felt so dangerously close she was certain she felt the breeze of a bullet on her neck. But just as he promised, Alex kept her covered.

She made it to the car and ripped the door open, practically falling into the seat as she did. She threw the duffel into the passenger seat and balled her feet under her before slamming the door shut. One of the things rammed hard into the glass as if it was only a second behind her, and she screamed into the muffled silence of the car as its hands clawed at the glass, frantic to get to her. She stared at it for a second before shakily hitting the push start and throwing the shifter into drive as she pried the backpack off.  

Alex watched from his perch as Madeline wriggled around inside the SUV, peeling the backpack off her back before starting the engine. When he knew she was locked inside and uninjured, he raised his gun up from its firing position and rushed back up the metal steps to the top. The whole structure shook under him as the things writhed and fought one another to get to him first, snarling with rage and hunger.

The fire escape on the far side of the building was his only option at this point. It was the furthest from the getaway cars and closest to the beacon still blaring, drawing every infected within miles, but there was no other choice. The things were only a few paces behind, and Alex heard the telltale sound of a body falling onto the roof in its uncoordinated rush to get to its prey. He began running again, changing out his magazine as he went and tossing the empty one somewhere on the roof.

Alex had known his chances of escaping were slim when he told Madeline to leave him. But as he watched her speed out of the community, tires screeching and horn blaring to draw the infected away, Alex felt a sense of contentment with his choice. After so many failures on this mission, he succeeded in one of his promises: he kept her safe.

[wyn-n-tonic]

Live Fires & Low Lights

Word Count: 2.8k Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader Warnings: IDK, man, Javi gets his dick sucked and ya girl lost the plot for a bit there. Author's Note: Don't look at me.

“You're teasing me, sweetheart.”

It’s true. “I am.”

Another button slips through the corresponding hole his shirt where your hand’s been braced against his chest as heat flushes across him. This may be the longest he’s sat still in weeks, not quite sure what to do with himself now that he’s back Stateside. 

This week especially has been tough. Now that the jet lag has worn off of him, the nightmares are settling in to leave him with a different kind of hangover in the morning. His choice has been beer or whiskey or you on, sometimes all three, on those nights but he doesn’t rush it.

So why should you?

“Come on, baby, let me take you bed.”

“Mm, no.”

Breath caught beneath your lips, he grips into your hip as if admitting defeat. As if he couldn’t easily overpower you, push you to your feet off the couch and down the hall to the dark, still half unpacked, room.

Readjusting your position over him, both hands fall flat against the beat of his heart in his bare chest. He trails the back of his finger along your cheek before attempting to tuck your hair away from your face. “My pretty girl, what are you getting at?”

“I'm getting at you,” you tell him, lips dragging against his.

Both hands on your hips now, he pulls you down as he pushes up, lips parting to take in the breath you’ve half punched out until you’re trading soft laughter.

“Oh,” you laugh. "I’m definitely getting at you.” 

“Because”—he readjusts how he’s sitting, hands trailing up your back—“you're teasing me.” 

“I know and it’s just so difficult,” you mock him. “Big Javi Peña is usually the one in charge of me.” 

One large hand wraps around the back of your neck and he pulls you down with the slightest pressure until your mouths are sealed against each other, tongue stroking lazily upwards over yours. Again, he’s restless except when it comes to you, taking his time between painting walls and mending fences to keep his tongue attached to your body.

And he’s gotten stronger, thicker and even more all encompassing than he ever has been before. He blames it on the desk job and all the food, says he’s busting out of all of his clothes but he’s always worn tight pants so you don’t see why it bothers him too much.

It certainly hasn’t bothered you.

Raising one hand to his cheek, you rub against the grain of the stubble he’s been growing. He didn’t like it at first, said it made him feel unkempt, but then he saw the mark it left on your face or between your thighs and now he lets a couple days pass before he gets at the razor. Today, he said something about shaving the mustache too but quickly stopped speaking when you snapped at him. It tickles now and the giggles only spur him on until he’s trying to lift you both.

“Javi, no.” You push back against him until he settles back against the couch. “I want you to stay here.”

“We can’t do much here,” he insists, voice impossibly low. “Come on”—he presses his lips gently against yours—“I wanna kiss you in other places.”

“Javier,” you whisper down at him, nose to nose.

“Hmm?”

“I want to kiss you in other places.” 

“Why would a pretty girl like you wanna do a thing like that?”

Because you need to get out of your head, you think. You need to sit still and let go. “You need to relax.” 

He laughs, dimple pocketing his cheek, and it’s so easy to imagine him long ago before the world stopped letting his smile hit his eyes. “Sex is the way to relax me then, huh?”

You shrug. “I figure that’s what you’re typically looking for when you wake me up at three in the morning.” 

“I'm looking for a lot more than that, baby.”

“I know, I know.” Something close to proving to himself that he can contribute to somebody’s pleasure and not just their grief or the anticipation of it.

Hands slide back down to the hem of your dress, each one curving around the back of your thighs, and he pulls you closer. “Given how lively the bed’s been this week, I’m shocked you want more right now.”

“But this time, I’m giving,” you tell him. “This time you’re not the one putting your back into it. Javi, baby, I know why you wear light colors now”—you fist your hands into the light purple collar of his shirt—“and why we only ever fuck in the dark anymore.” 

Pupils melt across his iris, low lights and shadows and love blurring where the black ends and the brown begins. He looks like he’s been struck. Not that verbal blows ever hurt him, not after the way all these years have played out—how they keep playing out in his head over and over again. It’s more a mix of vulnerability and embarrassment that he’s been caught.

Another kiss to his lips, body shocked still against the back of the couch. Then his cheek and across his jaw. His Adam’s apple bobs beneath your lips as you work your way down the thick column of his throat and his heartbeat speeds up when you nip at the pulse point on your way to his collarbone. 

Adjusting his grip again, he pushes up against you and groans.

“You sound—and feel—like you could really use some relief, baby.”

“I—yeah.” 

There is a desperation in his voice you haven’t heard in a long time, a slight cracking as if under pressure.

Reaching down between your bodies, you palm him through the rough denim of his pants as you push back off his lap and sink to your knees in front of him. His hands fall to his sides and he licks his lips while searching your face, eyes rising with you to watch as you adjust between his legs.

“You're killing me, sweetheart.”

Your shoulders rise and fall again as your palms run up the expanse of his jean clad thighs. There’s a slow burning fire somewhere in the pit of your stomach and the way Javier licks his lips only serves to stoke those flames. Fingers meeting at the button of his fly, his hand wraps around your wrist.

“You really don’t have to, hermosa.”

“I”—you shake free of his loose grip—“want to.” A low groan leaving his throat as you pop the button free, allowing him some breathing room in the otherwise tight pants.

And, god, he’s perfect with his liquid coal eyes following your movements and his trembling hands attempting to help. He looks so nervous, never not being the one to give and give and give.

You place a kiss to his bare thigh as you tug the material down his legs, eyes never leaving his. His breath catches as yours ghosts heavy across his sensitive skin, a small twitch caught in your periphery as you move to the opposite side for more.

“You're holding your breath, baby.”

“You aren’t looking at me.” Even in the dim light, the tips of his ears are burning red. “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

Planting your elbow on the top of his thigh, you lean your head into your palm, blinking up at him with the eyes he swears are just too big to be real. “I'm looking at you right now, handsome.”

If he was blushing before, he’s lit up like a Christmas tree now.

“Again,” a dimple pockets his cheek, tugging his lips up in half a smile, “you're teasing me, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Javier,” you shake your head as it lifts, both palms lying back flat on his legs. The muscles in his stomach contract as you slide them up to his hips, chest lifting slightly with the involuntary movement. “What is it you always tell me, baby boy?” You ask him, finally wrapping a hand around his fevered cock. “I don’t tease,” you repeat his words to him, watching as the thick column of his neck strains against the groan building in his chest. “I build the anticipation.” 

If he didn’t like this game, he wouldn’t play it. He wouldn’t be sitting here, looking down at you, struggling to breathe because you’re taking all his air. If he wanted to, he could very easily overpower you; grab your wrists and pull you back up and over him before flipping the script. If he wanted to.

There’s a soft desperation behind his eyes; the kind that betrays his deepest fear. That, one day, he’ll pull himself from his nightmares only to find you got tired of the screaming and all the sleepless nights. That every single bit of his life will lose the meaning he was holding onto and any hope that he could still be good along with it. Judging by that look and the measured counts of his breath, the only want he has is for exactly what you’re giving him right now.

“You gonna do something with that?” He asks, tongue darting out against his lips as he glances down to your hand and back. “‘Cause, baby, I’d really like you to do something with that.” 

“You mean like”—your thumb presses against the underside of his head, sliding easily up and over the pre-cum covered tip—“this?” 

A hard exhale pushes through his barely parted lips, brow furrowed up as he nods a little too enthusiastically. His hands are fisted into the couch at his sides, short nails clawing to keep control through short, quick breaths and the slow pump of your hand around him.

Mouth falling slack as you lean up and over him to place a kiss to his lower belly, a strangled moan hits your ears as you move downward before licking a stripe back up the small curve of his stomach. Fingertips ghost along the back of your hand—the one pressing down on his upper thigh—and, when you look up at him again, you can tell there’s a plea on the tip of his tongue; locked away by the bite of his teeth into the pout of his lip.

You can feel the tension pulsing off of him, the strain with which he’s trying to keep himself under control.

“Do you still think I’m teasing you?” 

His entire body stills, nails of one hand dug into yours as the other digs into his bare thigh, and nods once.

“Okay, baby boy,” you coo. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

Protest is heavy on his lips, half a second from jumping forward because he thinks you mean you actually will stop, but he melts back down into a puddle when you lean forward again and take the tip of him into your mouth.

Every ounce of him is fighting to relax, a half groan strangled from somewhere in his chest as his muscles remain tight and his fingertips cling to the edge of yours like he’s holding on for life.

“Javier…” You pull off of him with barely a pop, bottom lip dragging over the ridge of his cock. "Love of my life.” He looks somewhere near tears, blushed red and heated up to the tips of every appendage. Placing your hand atop the one clawed into his own skin, you press another kiss to his fevered shaft. “Relax.” 

He still doesn’t when you swallow him back again, body tensing further the farther you push down. If you didn’t know him, if all you knew of him was still the young ranch handler with the sweat stained shirts and the crooked smile, you’d think it’s nerves. He has them all the time, shakes with them when they wake him at night. It might be true still, whether by the weight around his waist or the heaviness on his shoulders. Fact is that he doesn’t let you do this anymore, hasn’t in months, and he doesn't know how to react.

“Fuck.” Tears in the expletive, the grip across your hand releasing as you pull up again. 

You know how much he’s dealing with—has dealt with. Javier takes his own pain out into your pleasure. Truth is, you stopped feeling like more than a means to an end shortly after returning. Looking up at him now, shoulders finally pressed down into the back of the couch with crimson across his cheeks, what’s been missing all this time looks back at you. 

That same heat between your lips, salty and sweet, flushes through your body and down to your toes as his fingers slip into your hair to pull you down; the angle he hits the back of your throat with changing as he lifts his hips and settles them again.

“Baby.” The low register of his voice stokes that flame in your belly, groans flowing freely down to your ears. “Dios mio, mi amor.” 

Coming up for air again, you replace your mouth with your hand, swallowing thickly beneath his gaze. “Was that so hard, sweetheart?”

Nostrils flaring, he leans forward, hands slipping down to grab heavy beneath your jaw. “I haven’t seen your lips this swollen in”—one thumb presses into your pout and he shakes his head—“I actually can’t remember the last time I saw your lips this swollen.”

“That's because you only ever fuck me with the lights out anymore.” 

Forehead pushing into yours, he lets out a breath. “That hurts you, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“It’s not because I don’t think you’re attractive.”

“I know,” you tell him, nodding against his hold on you. “I've never once thought that.”

Eyes closed, heavy breaths fan across your face as you continue to pump him slowly in a loose fist. He nods slowly and then opens your mouth with his again, the flat of his tongue pressing down on yours, and drops one hand to wrap around yours.

Javier hasn’t moaned like this in so long, everything is usually punctuated by short grunts as if he’s exerting himself on a rowing machine, and if you weren’t wet before, you certainly are now.

“Let me put it in you, my love,” he begs against your lips. “Please. Let me be inside of you.” 

“You can be inside my mou—“

“No,” he shakes his head. “Let me be inside of you.”

“You,” you say sternly, “can be inside of my mouth or—“

He lets out a half cry as you stop your movements, his much stronger grip around yours stilling with you. “Fine,” he bites. 

Hands back in your hair, he guides you down on him again, swollen shaft puling against your tongue. He’s so close, tells you as much even though there’s salt rapidly dripping onto your tongue. 

Javi relaxes back into the couch again, your name and small curses tumbling forth between breathy moans. It’s too much, the sound of him losing himself in the way your mouth stretches around him and the heat between your own hips turns from a dull ache to an immediate need.

You should’ve let him be inside of you. But if he had, you wouldn’t get to see him this wrecked. He could be in control if he wanted to and you give it up to him so easily all the time. Seeing him like this, melted down against the soft leather upholstery, is evening the score. He’s always laser focused on you and your happiness as a way to prove he’s a good man. 

“Good men deserve to be happy too, Javier.”

His eyes open, eyebrows pinched, and he stares past you almost like he can’t remember his own name. “Are you touching yourself?” 

You hum an affirmative, lost in the barely there pressure you can give yourself from this angle.

“How wet are you?” He asks, voice sounding far away.

“Very.”

There’s no warning except the tightening hold he has on your hair, pulling harder as he pushes your mouth back down to the base of him and he’s spilling down your throat as the tip of your nose nestles into his curls. One rough, gun-callused palm cups your cheek, thumb sweeping across the swell of it to brush small tears away, and he cries out as you continue taking all that he gives, hips moving in a circular motion against your hand. 

Every time you think he’s finished, you moan around him just to find he’s got more until he finally pulls you off and up to towards him again as he bears back over you.

Javi’s chest heaves in time with yours, eyes roaming all over you as he tries to catch his breath. “You haven’t sucked me off in a long time.”

“You haven’t let me.” 

Deep breath. “Well, that’s just stupid but I’m not surprised with myself.” 

“Javi,” you frame his face in your hands, “baby, you played your part.”

He huffs a laugh. “What's that supposed to mean, mi amor?”

Pressing your lips against his, your thumbs follow mirrored paths to wipe at what he’ll swear is sweat. “You don’t have to continue fighting this war in your own head.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Rolling your eyes, you push back against his shoulders, making room for yourself in his bare lap. “It means”—you straddle him gently—“that I know our bed isn’t the only thing on fire in the still of the night.”

Nails dig into the meat of your hips, strong hands having found purchase beneath the hem of the short nightgown you sport most nights, and he nods. “Yeah.” 

“So, baby, let me take care of you in the low light too.”

[kyiratodoroki]

An MHA AU where things go (a lot) more in the villains' favor, even if things start out a little rough for the 19-year-old Blue Flame. 😏 Dabi is living on the streets and struggling through the day-to-day need to survive, but things may soon take a turn that no one in Japan saw coming.

A title is in the works...

Edit: A title has been chosen...

🌒🌟🌘Transilience🌒🌟🌘

an abrupt change or variation

CW: Language - lots of bad language 😂 - violence in the future - things will probably get dark - I rarely write anything that isn't dark in some way

🌒🌟🌘

"This fucking sucks."

That's what Dabi thought as he hoisted himself over the windowsill and dropped to the ground. He swore under his breath as the full moon slipped from behind the clouds and flooded the alley with light as if determined to expose him. He hastened his pace, slipping into the shadow of the building next door as a siren erupted in the distance.

This had been his life for the last two - no, maybe it was three - years. He lost track somewhere between then and now. His primary focus revolved around survival. Food. Shelter. He spent most of his days figuring out how to keep himself alive and out of trouble. It was all in the hope that one day he'd be able to crumble the foundation of society and shatter the illusion of perfection the masses had been brainwashed into believing about the heroes they idolized.

Propaganda spewed by the Hero Public Safety Commission put the heroes on a pedestal, made it seem like the title came with a guarantee of virtue and honor, like somehow those who wore it were incapable of being assholes with the same flaws every other human being possessed. Lying. Cheating. Narcissism. Betrayal. Being a hero didn't make someone a good person, but being a hero did make most people look the other way when the "hero" did something *unheroic*.

That needed to change. One way or another, he was going to make sure it did, but it was a goal he couldn't fulfill from the inside of a prison cell.

Dabi dodged in and out of alleyways, cut through three empty lots, and scaled a chainlink fence. The sirens eventually died down, taking the edge off his nerves. When he felt confident no one was following, he doubled back and headed for the condemned piece-of-shit he'd been calling home since the beginning of summer. It sat on the outskirts of one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, which lowered the risk of being discovered by a random hero. They never came around the area unless it was unavoidable.

Thirty minutes later, he got "home" - for lack of a better word. The back door hung askew. It had a broken hinge and a large crack in the wood that had already extended a few inches since he'd found the place. Every window was boarded up except for the narrow one over the kitchen sink and one in the upstairs bathroom, which didn't close the whole way and had no screen. There was at least one hole in most of the floors, and the staircase had a busted step he had to remember to avoid. At least the roof kept everything dry when it rained. For now.

He pried the door open and stepped into the kitchen, scanning the tiny space for any sign of intruders. It was dark, save for the muted light filtering through the grime-caked window, so he probably wouldn't see shit unless someone was standing right in front of him. He sighed and tossed his bag on the counter before lighting a nearby candle with a fingertip. It didn't increase his visibility much, but it wouldn't draw attention either.

The wear and tear of life on the streets gnawed at the edges of his resolve. He'd never abandon his dream, but damn, the day-to-day left him feeling frayed. The phrase "ready to fall apart at the seams" came to mind, but in his case, the idiom was far too literal for comfort.

Dabi pushed down his exhaustion and frustration and tried to focus on the weeks to come. Winter was on the horizon, and his current residence left a lot to be desired even in the best weather. The cold wasn't an issue, but he didn't know exactly how sturdy the roof was. For all he knew, it might cave in under the first heavy snow.

"Late night?"

He didn't bother to turn towards the voice, pulling out three bowls and a few bottles of water. "The fuck do you want?"

"No need to get hostile. Do I need a reason to visit my buddy?"

Dabi barked out a laugh as he grabbed a plastic fork from the nearby box of silverware. "Buddy? That's a good one."

"Dabi -"

"Fuck you, bird. I'm nothing but your self-appointed charity project." He popped the lid off one of the bowls and threw it into a nearby garbage can - not like there was water to wash it - then stabbed the fork into something resembling rice and beef. Hopefully, the dark spots were seasoning and not mold this time. People needed to clean out their damn refrigerators more often. "Besides, I don't think all your little hero friends would approve of you hanging out here."

Dabi shoved a forkful of the leftovers into his mouth and scowled as he chewed. It wasn't moldy, but it tasted like shit. The rice was undercooked, and he suspected those dark spots were bits of burnt... something. It was impossible to tell. He swallowed anyhow and took another bite. He hadn't eaten since the previous day.

The silence went on for so long that Dabi finally turned around, half expecting to find himself alone, but Hawks was still standing in the kitchen doorway. Shadows obscured most of his face, making his expression hard to read, but Dabi swore he looked hurt. The light shifted, and then the hero was grinning.

*Gotta be my imagination.*

"Hey, I'm not the type to worry about what other people think." Hawks shrugged. His feathers rustled. He moved further into the room and gestured towards the table. "I brought some stuff."

Dabi choked down another mouthful of food and glanced at the table sitting next to a refrigerator with a missing freezer door. When he left, the surface was cluttered with bottles and cans and an overflowing ashtray. All of it had been cleared away and replaced with a case of water; a few cloth bags, which he assumed contained food; and a pillow and blanket.

He glared at the items, his grip on the bowl tightening. The hero had a lot of nerve showing up out of nowhere with his damn pity gifts. He was probably proud of himself for helping out the "less fortunate" or some shit; as if this one small act somehow made the world a better place.

It didn't change anything.

His eyes narrowed when he noticed a box tucked in between two of the bags. Even in the dim light, the bright white logo on its side was visible. Hinode Donuts The high-end pastry shop was located on the far side of Musutafu, and he'd only been there once It pissed him off even though his mouth watered at the sight.

During the previous winter, he'd taken up residence in a nice little house in Minami Ward to escape the bite of a particularly nasty cold snap that had settled over the city. The owners were on vacation, so he helped himself to a warm bed and a pantry filled with instant ramen amd chips.

One of the neighbors must have noticed his presence because the winged rookie showed up in the middle of the night about three days after he got there. Maybe Dabi should have been grateful it was the bird that answered the call. Hawks somehow figured out the nature of the situation and stayed cool even though Dabi attempted to instigate a fight. The hero offered to help him find a job and a place to stay. He wasn't stupid enough to fall for the bullshit kindness routine, but he did grudgingly allow Hawks to buy him a large coffee and half a dozen doughnuts before blowing off his warning to stay out of trouble in the future.

For the remainder of the season, Dabi stayed at a questionable hotel, earning his room and a few spare bucks by running errands he knew would make the bird regret letting him go. It's not like he had a choice, and he was used to the dirty work by that point. Morals didn't equal survival in the streets, and if he was anything, Dabi was a survivor.

"Why the hell do you keep showing up here?"

"I just can't resist the hospitality."

Dabi rolled his eyes as he tossed the bowl in the garbage, unable to stomach any more of the mystery leftovers. The bird was an idiot, putting them both at risk. Dabi meant it when he said the hero's friends wouldn't approve. If one of them caught on and followed him, Dabi knew he'd be royally fucked. A few of the jobs he'd done recently had gotten more attention than he liked. Hawks had to be aware of the situation, but here he was with that stupid cover-boy smile and his damn doughnuts.

"Look, Dabi, I know you think I'm -"

A loud bang from upstairs stopped him short. His eyes widened, and Dabi growled, his left hand bursting into flames. The flickering blue light sent an array of shadows twisting up the walls and across the ceiling as the crackle of fire filled the sudden silence.

This turn of events wasn't a complete surprise. Heroes weren't trustworthy. Some part of him - very deep inside - had begun to think maybe Hawks was different from the rest. He'd almost been willing to consider the possibility this hero had a genuine intention to help rather than try to trap him or fuel his own ego. Dabi ignored the pang of disappointment and focused on the sense of relief that came with the fact that he never let his guard drop completely.

"Should've cooked you when I first had the chance."

Hawks threw his hands up in surrender, shaking his head. "Whoa, wait! I don't have a clue what that was. I swear, I came alone."

"Not buying it, hero."

A crash erupted from the livingroom, followed by a series of thuds accented with curses that echoed through the house. The second intruder wasn't doing anything to hide their presence, and Dabi questioned whether the bird might be telling the truth after all. If he wasn't, his choice for backup sucked.

"After you." Dabi grinned, gesturing towards the doorway with the flames still dancing on his fingertips, eager for action. There's no way he was getting caught between the two.

Hawks hesitated before passing through the archway. Dabi followed, every muscle tensed in anticipation. The livingroom was darker than the kitchen. All the windows were covered in boards and newspaper, which allowed him to move around well enough during the day but made getting around damn near impossible once the sun set. He'd memorized the landscape of the space. Broken furniture littered the floor, and there was a two-foot hole near the massive bookcase that blocked the front door. He spent most of his time in the master bedroom on the second floor where he kept a small lamp and a futon and could move around a little more freely.

"Heeey, Dabi, did you know there's a step missing... Wait! What are you doing here?"

Dabi groaned when he recognized the voice and stepped around Hawks to confirm his suspicion. Sure enough, a black-clad figure at the bottom of the staircase was climbing to his feet as he rubbed his head. A mask hid his face, but his confusion was apparent as he stared at the winged hero.

"How the hell do you people keep finding me? You'd think I was advertising my fucking location on the internet!"

Dabi turned on a heel and extinguished his flame as he went back to the kitchen, leaving the other two in darkness.

[veronicaleighauthor]

The Great Depression

It’s odd to admit that The Great Depression fascinates me, especially since it was a dark period in American history. But it does fascinate me, enough so that I’ve written several short stories and a couple novels (unpublished) based in the era. How people lived, what they ate, how they entertained themselves – most of all how they survived that period – it intrigues me.

Following WWI, during the Roaring Twenties the economy and America thrived. The present and future appeared bright. A few economists predicted that the good times couldn’t last forever, but the world paid little attention. Throughout 1929, there were signs of a slowing economy, and then on October 24th – what is now known as Black Thursday – the stock market crashed. In the following weeks, it was confirmed that the perpetual party of the 1920’s was over and that a new, bleak era was being ushered in.

For the next decade, America and the rest of the world endured the Great Depression. Images of bank closures and people lined up for soup kitchen often crop up in the history books and on the internet. As well as the famous photograph of the careworn mother and her children. My four grandparents lived through the Great Depression and that part of their lives affected their experiences and behavior. Even late in life, they couldn’t shake off those memories. Growing up, I heard countless stories of those days. My grandmother, Margaret, was very candid about the past. She would have just turned twelve when the stock market crashed and she would have been sixteen in 1933, which was considered one of the worst years during the Depression. Her memories were vivid, painting a picture that the history books couldn’t. She was the third of six children – her eldest brother died as a baby – her father was a boiler maker and her mother a housewife. They were a loving Christian family, which is what I believe brought them through the hardest of times. Grandma and her family never went hungry, however, there were many times they didn’t know they’d make ends meet. Yet somehow, they always did.

Hobos would show up on their back porch. A picture of a cat had been drawn on their fence, signaling to other hobos that a kind lady lived there. And my great-grandmother, Edith, was kind, feeding whoever was hungry. If great-grandpa, Charles was present, the visitor would be welcomed in the kitchen to eat and for a nice conversation. Charles always had a job, unfortunately he didn’t always have work and was often sent home. By 1933, his health began to fail and two weeks before Margaret’s sixteenth birthday, he died. Extended family planned to help, by splitting up the family. So-and-So would take Margaret, So-and-So would take Bettie, So-and-So would take Russel…but Edith was adamant: “We may starve together, but we will stay together.” For the remainder of the 1930s, they banded together to survive.

The weather seemed to turn against the country as well. Dust storms struck all over America, costing lives and ruining livelihoods. It soon became known as the Dust Bowl. Lightening accompanied the storms, and folks would hang chains off the bumpers of their cars to prevent them from being stuck. If caught in a dust storm, one would have to cover their face with a cloth and walk backwards against the gusts. Houses had to be shut up tight, windows closed and key holes plugged to prevent the dust from seeping in. But old houses had their crevices and dust would get in somehow. Decades later, Margaret and others who lived through the Dust Bowl, out of habit would place cups and bowls upside down in the cabinets because that is what they did to prevent dust from collecting on their dishes.

Clothing was rarely store bought. Dresses were made from stylishly printed feed sacks, using patterns, and sewn by hand, or by sewing machine. Sweaters and cardigans were knitted or crocheted. Shoes were worn at work and school, but at home if the weather was seasonable, they went barefoot to preserve their shoes. Clothing was patched and mended and passed from one sibling down to another, then onto another family. Like many of that era, Margaret left high school early to work. She was first a maid, then she worked in a number of factories. Her earnings of $4 a week went to the household. Later during WWII, when she earned $16, she was allowed to keep $4 for herself, and felt she was rich.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt was elected president and was eventually voted into office three more terms, holding the position until his death in 1945. After Herbert Hoover, who was oblivious to the suffering of the American people, many trusted Roosevelt would lead the nation through the dark times. His New Deal, his relief programs, his steadiness, his fireside chats were a beacon of hope. His assurances that they had “nothing to fear but fear itself” spoke volumes. Despite his attempts to alleviate the financial woes and troubles of the 1930s, the US didn’t rise out of the Great Depression until the onslaught of WWII.

            Years later, Grandma told me that her life had been a hard one, but it had been good and satisfying. I believe many of that era would say as much. I don’t know if it is the Great Depression that is my favorite era, or if it’s the people who lived during that time. They possessed an indomitable spirit. After the Great Depression, they endured WWII and more or less saved the world. That generation proved to us that whatever trials we may face today, this too shall pass.

[soaringeag1e]

Escape {57}

Detective!Dean x Victim!Reader

Warnings: Language, Frustration? Fluff

Words: 2,311

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Patreon

New Years seem to be non-existent with everything that was going on. Between the haunting case of the family that was butchered on Christmas to Dean being shot only a few days later, the enjoyable celebratory holiday seemed to disappear into its own black hole. December ended and slipped into January just like any other month of the year, but thankfully the next few weeks following the hecticness seemed to remain decently calm. Things were quiet for Dean at work which gave him a good amount of time to heal. Though he was fairly bored considering he was stuck behind his desk for most of his days, it kept your worry for him lower on the panic scale.

All things considered however, January wasn’t that bad of a month which gave everyone hope for the rest of the year.

“You sure you’re up for this today?” you were too busy cleaning out your coffee mug to see the look Dean gave you, but you could sure hear the attitude in his reply.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you know…” you shrug as you turn off the faucet and set your mug in the sink. “I just don’t want you pushing yourself…”

“Y/N, I’m fine!”

“I know.” you sigh and Dean sees that he may have raised his voice a little too much considering how defeated you looked.

“Listen,” he sighs, the guilt of snapping at you weighing on him. “I know you’re worried about me, but I promise you, I’m okay. You’ve helped me change my bandages so you know that I’m practically healed up now. That and the doctors say I'm doing great.” Reaching out, he takes your hand in his and pulls you close, placing a kiss to your forehead before embracing you completely. “Even if I wasn’t,” he whispers into your hair. “I doubt hunting for a wedding venue would push me over the edge.”

-

Looking over the wooden fence at the fancy house, another round of disappointment settles in with you. Dean hurried around the front of the car, trying to block the gust of wind that came through the valley with his leather jacket.

“Jesus!” he huffed as he quickly slipped into the drivers seat and shut the door. “That came out of nowhere, huh?” he chuckles, but that amusement is quickly wiped away when he looks over at you and sees pure defeat.

Slipping his hand into yours and getting you to look away from the venue and back at him, he gives you a gentle grin while squeezing your hand a bit.

“We’ll find a place. Okay?” You nod, not so confidently before looking back through the windshield. “It was definitely pretty, but come on...” he laughs, unamused as he unravels the flier in his hand. “No balloons. No tacks, nails or screws? No confetti or bubbles are allowed at the venue. No tape of any kind is allowed on the tables or chairs. I mean…” Dean scoffs, looking back at the venue completely dumbfounded by how strict their rules were. “You can’t even have candles in there, honey.” 

“We mine as well just get married at the courthouse.”

“Hey, no! We’re not giving up, okay? There’s plenty of places to…”

“Yeah and all of them have stupid rules to follow!” Deciding to let you have your moment, Dean closes his mouth and sits back in his seat. “I mean…so far the only place that was reasonable was the second one we saw, but to be honest, I would rather get married in the middle of Nebraska!”

“Yeah, that place was no good.” Squeezing your hand again, Dean brings it up to his mouth and drops a few kisses. “We’ll find something.” With a little tug, he pulls the two of you closer and wraps his arms around you. “Why don’t we take a break and go grab some lunch, hmm?”

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

-

Dean watched as you flipped through the packet of venues you made and wanted to check out, using the pen you brought along to mark off the ones that were definite no goes. He couldn't help but find it humorous though for the fact that you sipped your soda while focusing on your task, almost like you did this as a profession.

"You up for more hunting or do you just want to head home after this?" Your eyes lift to meet his but he can't help but chuckle as you keep the straw locked between your lips. "Because we can call it for the day, we've seen a lot and I know you're getting a little frustrated." Your mood seems to drop a little and after a few passing moments you sigh, letting the straw fall from your lips and your body to slump in your seat.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry." He tells you pointedly. "Planning a wedding is stressful. Everyone gets frustrated at some point."

"Yeah, at some point. We've barely gotten started." It's then that Dean looks across the table at you with a certain sternness. 

"Will you please stop beating yourself up about this?" Taking your hand, he lightly runs his thumb over your knuckles. "You seemed to be enjoying the planning up until now, so is it just the stress of finding a place that's getting to you or is there something else?" 

"You're being all detective with me again." Dean grins, finding the look on your face amusing. 

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to. But I would like for you to tell me what's bothering you." Of course you look hesitant and at one point he even thinks you’re going to refuse to spill your worries, but then you sigh softly and your entire body seems to deflate in surrender.

“Okay, well…part of it is the stress of finding a place but…” you pause and he tries to read you the entire time. “I don’t want to settle on a venue.”

“I don’t want you to either.” he argues back, wondering where you came up with that idea in the first place.

“But I just know that work for you has been all over the place and I don’t know when something big is going to happen again.”

“Y/N…”

“Like that family right after Christmas? If you have to go off and deal with something like that again I don't know when we’ll get another chance to do this so I want to be able to find a place and get that crossed off our list because…” While you went on and on in one breath, Dean finally yanked on your hand to get you to stop, letting you take a few breaths before you ended up passing out.

“First of all, breathe.” he’s satisfied when you finally let out a solid breath. “And second? Y/N, you come before work, alright?”

“But…”

“No! No, but’s. If they really need me, then fine, I’ll be there to help when I can. But when you need me? You’re first, every time.” Seeing as you got the message he brings your hand up to his lips. “I don’t need you worrying about work, alright? Leave that mess to me. You just worry about the wedding and taking care of yourself and when you need me for something, tell me. I’m there. Okay?”

-

Another round of wine was poured for the women while the guys received another beer. Laughter was being passed around the table, smiles big as the group enjoyed all the gifts Dean was getting.

After everything that had happened in the last few months, this was probably one of the most relaxing days all of you have had for a while and the fact that it was Dean’s birthday, that just made it even better. Aside from the family coming together, Eddie and Bobby even joined the dinner making it even more special. Despite Dean telling you how Bobby was practically an uncle to him, you've barely spent time with the man, so it was nice to sit down and get to know him a bit better.

After pulling out the tissue paper Dean reached into the bag and pulled out a glass mug. He knew he didn’t really need any more to add to the collection at home but when he read the print on the side he accepted it immediately. He burst out in laughter, smiling over at his partner before handing it to you so that you could read it.

“That’s good.”

“You like it?” Eddie asks, wondering if he should have got him something else. 

“I do. That’s great.” Dean continues to chuckle as he sets the bag off to the side.

The mug had three lines painted horizontally on it, the first line being at the top and it said ‘Don’t Speak’. The next line was marked perfectly across the middle with the words ‘Hold On’ and then the final line was right before the base and it said ‘Ok. I’m Listening’. It certainly was perfect because for everyone that knew Dean knew he needed his coffee before dealing with anything big in the mornings. If anything, you were kind of jealous that you didn’t find something like that for him first.

“Okay, well you can’t exactly unwrap my present yet, but…here.” you tell your fiance as you dig something out of your purse. The entire table is intrigued as you didn’t let any of them in on the present which made you that more anxious on whether or not he would like it.

“Okay?” Dean chuckles softly as he unfolds the piece of paper you handed him. His eyes look over the picture and then you can see him scanning the words at the top, your heart racing a little faster with every second that passes waiting for him to react. He looks at you briefly before looking back at the printed paper. “You didn’t.”

“What!?” Sarah yells out, no longer patient.

“What did she get you?” Sam laughs because of his wife’s reaction but is genuinely curious himself.

“She uh…she got me a whole setup for the garage.” he tells the table before handing off the paper to his brother.

“I just know that your tool box is overflowing and for how much you like to work on cars…you could use the space and the storage for it all.” As the paper is passed around the table, Dean smiles at you fondly, leaning in not long after and kissing you sweetly.

“She’s a keeper.” The two of you hear John say at the other end of the table, getting the majority of you to laugh.

“I already knew that.” Dean says as he pulls on your hand, getting you to get out of your chair and slip onto his lap where he embraces you and kisses you a few more times. He didn’t care that his family was watching and he didn’t care what jokes and teases he would endure later because of it, he was happy and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

-

“It’s going to look so good in here.” You smile with pride as you look over the roof of Dean’s Baby, seeing him eye the garage as he pictures his new present set up in there. “What time are they coming tomorrow?”

“They said sometime between nine and noon.”

“Awesome.” he quietly cheers to himself, taking his time to follow you into the house as he continues admiring the thought of a more organized setup for his tools. “Well, that was an amazing birthday, babe. Thank you.”

“Ah.” you throw up a finger just as he sets his gifts on the table. “It’s not over yet.”

“What!?” he laughs nervously. “You've done enough!” he calls out after you disappear into the kitchen. “I don’t need anything else….” he continues to protest but is cut off when you reappear with a homemade pie in your hands. “What…when did you do this?”

“When you were at work this morning.” 

“You were sleeping when I left.” he states, looking at you a bit confused.

“So you thought.”

“You sneaky little…” Instead of finishing his sentence, he captures your lips in a kiss. “You’re too good to me.”

“It’s your birthday, that’s how it’s supposed to be.” Dean takes the pan from you, smelling the flaky dessert before turning to set it on the table.

“Well, for how amazing that smells, I think I’m going to hold off for a bit.” he smirks, placing his hands on your waist before pulling you into him.

“You’re turning down pie?” you squint as you look him in the eye. 

“No, I’m not turning it down. I’m just…putting it off for later.” he says before capturing your lips.

“Why’s that?” you ask into the kiss, your lips barely parting as he continues to kiss you through his answer. “Because I want something else first.” You giggle when his grip on you tightens.

“Oh really?” He hums against your lips, clearly too busy kissing you to answer with words. “And you just assume that I’m going to give it to you?”

“No.” he says, kissing you one last time before finally pulling away a bit. “But I’m asking nicely.”

“Are you?” Dean grins when he sees you’re playing hard to get.

“Okay.” he sighs softly, his smile still plastered on his face. “Can I pretty please take you upstairs and worship you like the amazing fiance that you are?” You had to admit, it was near impossible for you not to smile.

“Ugh…I guess so.” you playfully pout as if you’re not all for it.

Dean’s smile grows and then he lifts you in one swift motion, making you squeal out in surprise before you’re able to wrap your arms around his neck. Once he got you upstairs, he definitely kept to his word.

[chicago-pd-is-weird]

Alt Prompt 1: “Is this all a game to you?”

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 via the link, or find it below the cut:

Hank sat in the cage, hands cuffed behind him, looking up at his two closest friends. He’d gone too far - again. Trudy had her arms crossed, tears streaking down her face. Al was leaning against the door of the cage, which was closed and locked, looking down as he picked at the skin around his nails.

Al sighed and spoke first. “You’re done.”

“Done? No. I’m just getting started. These guys deserve everything that’s coming to them, Al, and-“

“I said you’re done!” Al raised his voice, one of the rare times he did so. Hank deserved it. He looked at Hank, meeting his eyes with a dangerous glare. “Done! Forever!”

“You’ll have to kill me,” Hank said with a soft laugh. “Like putting down a diseased dog.”

“Is this all a game to you?!” Trudy cried, shaking her head and banging her fists on the cage. “Are you enjoying yourself?!”

“Very much so,” Hank replied, smiling as he stood, walking forward to meet her, face to face behind the chain link fence. “Yes, Dee, this is all a game to me. A silly little game. A fun little game. Murdering people, bad people, people nobody will miss - that’s the game. Killing them before they kill me.”

“Except you went too far this time,” Trudy replied with a huff, looking over Hank’s face through the holes in the fence. “Too far.”

“I only kill those who have to be killed. For the greater good.”

“What about the little girl?” Al asked.

“She got in the way! All I did was knock her out!”

“You killed her!” Trudy screamed. “You fucking killed her!”

“I knocked her on the head! It’s not my fault she died!”

“She had head trauma! It wasn’t just a blow, Hank, you bashed her skull in!” Trudy’s tears dropped from her face onto her chest.

“She’s not dead, she’s in the hospital.”

“On life support!” Al yelled. “She may as well be dead!”

“No,” Trudy said. “She is dead, because her grandparents decided to withdraw life support.”

“Then they killed her, not me,” Hank replied, shaking his head. “Her father would’ve killed her soon enough anyways.”

“That’s it,” Al replied, unlocking the cage. “That’s it. You are a sick animal. A deranged dog. You need to be put down.”

Hank chuckled. “Yeah, right. As if you’d do that, Olinsky. You couldn’t even handle Browning. Or, what about Pulpo? Advocating for his life? You don’t have it in you, O. How can you say that you’ll put me down when you can’t even put down some of the sickest criminals?”

“This isn’t revenge,” Al said, grabbing Hank and shoving him over to his Dodge Magnum. “This is justice.”

Trudy and Al pushed Hank into the trunk, taping his mouth shut, the closed it, driving hours outside of Chicago. The two drove in silence, considering exactly what they’d do, and how they’d do it. They needed to take care of the problem. They drove until they nearly ran out of gas, in which they stopped and fueled up, then drove more.

Finally, they stopped at some remote location near Green Bay, Wisconsin, but further north. Al stopped at a supply store, getting what he needed, just the way Hank had taught him.

The good old “Chicago necklace.”

It was just a few cinder blocks and a thick chain, but it was enough. He set them on the floorboards of the back seat. Trudy was crying silently in the second seat. Al got back into the car, sighing and taking her hand. “Want me to drop you somewhere? I can do this.”

“No,” Trudy whispered, shaking her head, squeezing Al’s hand. “For Jenny.”

“For Jenny.”

Al drove again, finding a secluded spot on the water. He found a small boat, paying under the table for it in cash, never to be put on the record. When everyone was gone for the night, he and Trudy got Hank out of the trunk.

Hank didn’t struggle. He didn’t even fight them, like they thought he would. He took it all without issue, getting onto the boat with Trudy and Al. He glanced between the two of them. He knew what was happening. It was evident by the looks on their faces. They’d already disarmed him, cuffed him, and made sure he couldn’t yell for help. The only thing left to do was kill him.

Once Al and Trudy were far enough out into the water, they looked at each other. The moon was covered by the clouds, making it so dark they could barely see one another, let alone anyone from the shore. Not to mention the fog that had started to roll in over the water.

Al stood up, taking the duck tape off Hank’s mouth for a moment, but didn’t say anything. Hank chuckled. “Want me to speak my last words?”

Al sighed, peering into the fog, as if he could see anything. Trudy spoke up, looking at Hank. “You don’t feel any remorse?”

“No,” Hank huffed. “I took care of the problem. She was collateral damage.”

“Then I know you’re really a monster. You’re not the man I met thirty years ago. You’re someone else. Someone… horrible. A man without a soul.”

“Call me what you will, Dee, I am what I am.” Hank shrugged.

Al turned around, tears rolling down his own cheeks now. “Fuck, Hank, I thought you’d at least…” He trailed off. What had he thought? That Hank would just come back to them?

“That I’d apologize? Feel sorry? Maybe even beg for my life?” Hank cocked an eyebrow. “You know me better than that, O. I’ve never begged and I won’t start now. Kill me if you want, but I won’t beg for my own life. I’ll live as long as I live and do whatever I do until someone else takes it away. I guess the question is are you gonna be the one to take it from me? Or will she?” He set his eyes on Trudy.

Trudy couldn’t help it. She slapped him, a hard, sharp slap to Hank’s cheek. “You’re a monster.”

“Yeah, I am,” Hank growled in reply.

“This isn’t who Camille would’ve wanted you to be.”

“She’s not here!” Hank yelled, lunging forward to knock Trudy over into the bottom of the boat. “She’s not here to dictate me! She left me! They took her away!”

Al grabbed Hank, pulling him off Trudy and punching him a few times until he was bleeding, then pulled him up and grabbed the chain, wrapping it around his neck.

Hank laughed. “Using my own technique on me, huh O?”

“Shut up,” Al replied.

“Stole it from me, like everything else has been stolen from me.”

“I said shut up!” Al pulled the chain right around Hank’s neck, making him laugh.

“Tighter, Al, I know you can. Choke me out. It’ll be harder to get the water into my lungs. A painfully slow death.”

Al shook his head, Trudy adjusting the cinder blocks so she could push them over the edge when they were ready. “I would never torture you like that,” Al replied, sighing again as he looked down at his former best friend, grabbing his revolver from his ankle and choking the hammer, pushing it against Hank’s forehead. “I’m not a monster like you.”

[kimberly40]

Southernisms:

Dumb as a bag full of hammers.

Meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes.

I won't say it's far, but I had to grease the wagon twice before I hit the main road.

If a trip around the world cost a dollar, I couldn't get to the state line.

He looks like he was inside the outhouse when lightening struck.

She looks like she was born down wind from the outhouse.

Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day.

Never smack a man who's chewin' tobacco.

The quickest way to double your money is to fold it over and put it back in your pocket.

Scared as a sinner in a cyclone.

Scared as a cat at the dog pound.

She's so ugly she'd make a freight train take a dirt road.

He's so ugly his cooties have to close their eyes.

So ugly his mama takes him everywhere she goes so she doesn't have to kiss him goodbye.

She looks like she fell face-down in the sticker patch and cows ran over her.

He looks like the dogs have been keepin' him under the porch.

He's about as sharp as a mashed potato.

So dusty the rabbits are digging holes six feet in the air.

It'll last about as long as a fart in a whirlwind.

He's rough as a corn cob.

He's got enough money to burn a wet mule.

He's about as sharp as a bag full of wet mice.

It's as dry as the dust in a mummy's pocket.

It's about as scarce as bird crap in a cuckoo clock.

He's as tight as the pages in a book.

This race is as tight as the rusted lug nuts on a '55 Ford.

It’s hot enough to peel house paint.

Running like a squirrel in a cage.

Safe as a tick on a dog with a stiff neck.

He couldn't pour rain out of a boot with a hole in the toe and directions on the heel.

If dumb was dirt, he'd cover about half an acre.

So windy we're using a log chain instead of a wind sock.

Tighter than bark on a tree.

As welcome as an outhouse breeze.

Her hair looks like a cats been suckin' on it.

We were so poor my brother and me had to ride double on our stick horse.

As bad-off as a rubber-nosed woodpecker in a petrified forest.

As confused as a cow on astroturf.

It was so hot you could pull a baked potato right out of the ground.

It's so dry the trees are whistling for the dogs.

Busier than a cat covering crap on a marble floor.

If things get any better around here, I may have to hire someone to help me enjoy it.

Well knock me down and steal muh teeth!

Cute as a box full of puppies.

You can't get rid of 'em. He's like a booger you can't thump off.

It's about as hard as trying to steer a herd of cats.

The wheels still turning, but the hamster's dead.

He's so confused he doesn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his ass.

She was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

So crooked you can't tell from his tracks if he's coming or going.

I wouldn't trust him any farther than I can throw him.

He's got more guts than you could hang on a fence.

So dry the catfish are carrying canteens.

So dry I'm spitting cotton.

So hot the hens are laying hard-boiled eggs.

Cold as a frosted frog.

Cold as an ex-wife's heart.

Cold as a cast iron commode.

Cold as a banker's heart.

She's about as useful as buttons on a dishrag.

He's tougher than a two-dollar steak.

Happy as a puppy with two tails.

She’s got enough wrinkles to hold an eight-day rain.

That’s about as useful as a trap door on a canoe!

He’s busier than a one-legged man at a butt-kickin contest!

He’s so dumb he couldn’t piss his name in the snow.

That politician’s so crooked he could hide behind a cork screw!

That baby was so ugly the Doctor spanked the Momma!

She’s so ugly she’s got ten-foot pole marks all over her.

It’s rainin’ so hard it sounds like a cow pissing on a flat rock.

He’s so bad off, his eyes looked like two piss-holes in a snowbank.

Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit!

Her hair looks like it caught on fire and somebody put it out with a brick.

He couldn’t find his rear with his hands in his back pockets.

It’s raining so hard the animals are starting to pair up.

His pants were so tight that if he farted, he’d blow his boots off.

Raising kids is like being pecked to death by a chicken.

He’s so skinny, his pants had only one back pocket.

He was mean enough to hunt bears with a hickory switch.

He was ugly as a burnt boot.

Tougher than the back end of a shootin' gallery.

...Thank You, Dear Lord, for blessing me with being a Southerner.

•Photo taken near Spruce Pine, North Carolina