#and now my hands are anchors. dead weight. if this is to be the rest of my life than isn't it already over? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dykeishheart · 4 months

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Excerpt of Saints in the Desert (draft)

Putting under the cut bc it's long lmao

And also for (mild) disturbing content. Read at your own discretion.

Dark clouds gathered in the sky, the first Damian had seen since entering the desert so long ago. He had almost forgotten them. The air cooled, leaving only the sting of his burnt skin in the breeze. How could it rain here? Damian stopped walking, looking up to the sky in nervous wonder; it had been so long since he felt weather like this, weather that felt like home. When Damian turned he noticed the king looking up at the sky as well. He wondered if the king would be able to feel the rain. The thought was only brief; Damian started walking again.

“Why do you keep walking? You are far from my kingdom now. Is your cowardice so deep that you fear being tracked even this far?”

Damian ignored him. The specter drifted behind him as they moved on. The air was almost pleasant. It was such an alien feeling these days that Damian almost couldn’t place it at first, like some part of his core had grown over with misery and dampened his nerves. Damian thought about Leander, roaming somewhere in this horrible desert holding his head. Leander should feel this cool evening air. Not him.

Oh god, Leander.

Damian came to a massive dune, steep and wide. Thoughtlessly he trudged, pushing ever more sand with his labored steps, losing nearly as much ground as gained, crunching beneath his feet. Damian began to notice that the leather of his soles had worn through; sand was finding its way under his heel, sticking itself to his sweaty and clammed skin. What a perfect picture of misery, to work toward such pointless ends with such injurous means? No matter. He planted his hands to climb, grabbing at nothing save the endless amounts of sand.

He might’ve spent hours this way. Climbing up far enough to reach the upturned sand of his handholds with his feet, slipping on the lack of anything solid, only making progress by jamming his pointed hands so far into the sand as to anchor themselves among the tons of granules’ weight. The thought of wasted effort crossed his mind, but never stuck. There was no wasted time for a dead man, no injury for a deathless one. The top was nearing anyhow.

Damian reached the peak with his now bloodied hands, no sooner conquering the dune than collapsing to fall down the other side. He tumbled end over end, falling completely slack from the exhaustion of his Pyrrhic victory. He winced as his back finally crashed into the sand hard enough to stop rolling. As he lay with his eyes tightly shut, he began to smell something odd. Was it… flowers?

Damian hesitated to open his eyes. He heard the rising and falling of someone breathing next to him, an even in and out of complete serenity. The flowery scent grew clearer, as if a haze was lifted from Damian’s senses and he knew now where and what he truly was. The feeling lulled him, lifting his aching muscles from so much torment. Damian could feel his chest rising and falling in rhythm with the breathing body next to his. A sigh overtook him. Was this contentedness? No.

No.

Damian shot upright, peeling his eyes open to the dark evening. The rain clouds still loomed overhead. The ground around him was a grove of columbines growing at odds with the desert sand. He swallowed, mustered his courage despite the pit in his stomach, and turned his head.

Lying in the flowers was a relaxed man, his dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail that was cast beside him, his head resting on his crossed wrists, looking skyward. His breathing remained calm as ever, gentle rises and depressions. Without turning to look at Damian, Leander spoke.

“You’ve been gone a while, Damian.”

This was wrong. This was terrible. Disgusting. Leander was dead. Leander is dead, he thought. As sure as the axe he swung that day, Damian was sure Leander was dead.

Leander turned his head and smiled that easy smile Damian had missed so long. The depth of his dark eyes felt close enough to drown in. Floods of emotion washed over him in every direction at once, leaving him in the depths with no sign of shore. Seeing Leander alive. Or whatever this was. His head still on his shoulders, his face still full of vitality. No awful voice crawling through Damian’s head from stitched lips. The feeling in Damian’s chest was pounding harder than his heart. Even the hunger subsided, at least in this moment. The scent of these columbines, favorites of Leander’s from back home, impossibly sweet. Damian knew of the tales of men losing themselves to madness in the sun, but the realness of his ache was heavy enough to drown out the doubt. He let himself fall back into the flowers, just as Leander beside him.

“I’ve missed you. So terribly. It’s the ache that’s stayed the strongest.”

Leander pushed himself up on one elbow, looking at Damian. “Let me see your face,” he said, pulling Damian by his cheek to turn his head. Damian looked deep in his face as Leander appraised him. “Your hair has grown unkempt. So has your beard. God,” he said, his face painted with concern, “you look fucking awful.”

Damian laughed, Leander with him. “Yes, I suppose I’ve had other concerns. I wish I could’ve been washed and groomed to see you again. I just never thought I would.”

“It’s not a meeting I’d have guessed either, if I’m honest. Tell me though,” he started, looking downcast, “you are a saint now, yes?”

Damian’s breath caught. He looked down at the columbines, idly tracing the edge of some petals with his fingers. “So you know about that.”

“Of course. It was my neck, after all.”

“I’m so sorry, Leander.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t know.”

“I’d still be a murderer even if it wasn’t you.”

Leander looked up to meet Damian’s eyes. “We’re soldiers, Damian. We made our peace with that long ago. You told me once that any man that objects has freedom to walk away.”

“I know. I didn’t think I’d be killing my own, though,” Damian said, his voice cracking.

“But you don’t hold that regret for the women and children of Enura. Only for me.”

“No. I regret them too. I wish I’d walked away that day when I said you could. I should have walked away with you.”

Leander began plucking columbines from the ground, raising them to his face, his eyes not leaving Damian’s. He inhaled deep, then said, “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Your favorites, if I recall.”

Leander nodded. He held the plucked blossom to his mouth and planted a gentle kiss on its petals, reached out, and placed the flower behind Damian’s ear.

“A shred of beauty amongst the decay. You’ve still got a sense of humor.”

“No. Two beautiful things.”

Damian stopped, his smile fading. He looked now at Leander differently. “What?”

Leander pushed himself forward and put his hand on Damian’s cheek. Such a gentle feeling. He pushed Damian to the ground. Damian looked up at his best friend, his dead friend, mouth agape. How had he not realized?

Damian stifled the words. “How long ha-”

Leander pushed himself down onto Damian and kissed him. It was forceful, ravenous. His hands pushing him deeper into the flower bed below. Damian’s cracked lips peeled open under the force of this hunger, this consumption. It was as if Leander was drunk on his bleeding lip, hungrily lapping at drops from his mouth. Damian’s head was swimming. He felt Leander’s ponytail draped across his cheek, felt the heat of his breath that was so unlike the even in and out from before. He felt the rain beginning to fall. He felt hungry.

He felt himself give in and kiss Leander as forcefully as he had. Wants he didn’t even recognize clawed at him now. The rain was drenching them both, but neither cared. Lust found itself buried in Damian’s mouth and he wanted it out. He wanted. Oh god, he wanted. He felt Leander’s hands on his chest, smooth and determined, sliding down to the hem of his shirt, rolling over him like coveted gold. Elation washed over him, saturated him, made him shake. Leander pulled his mouth away, grinned, and pulled Damian’s head to the side.

He sank his teeth down into Damian’s neck. A flash of pain, but gentleness with it. It was a loving bite. He could feel Leander’s lips close around the skin, his hot breath next to Damian’s ear. His eyes rolled, his body shaking, overcome with new sensations. To think this was hiding below the surface. He felt Leander’s hand creep lower. Dangerously low. A twitch of surprise, which Leander laughed at.

He pulled his face up. “Not bad for a dead man, eh?”

Damian tried catching his breath, realizing only now how hard he had been panting. “Where in the hell did this come from?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know. You felt it as strongly as I did. You felt it every time you spared the other men the kindness you gave me, every time I gave you a portion of my dinner at camp, every night we stayed up talking to avoid going to sleep.”

Damian knew he was right.

“You slept rough every night. You never spoke about it but you had terrible nightmares every single night. I slept next to you until morning every time, holding your arm to keep you company because it’s all I could do for a man who wouldn’t tell me what battles he was fighting in his sleep. You tell me you didn’t know I loved you.”

“Loved,” Damian said, quietly. He mulled the word over in his mind. “Past tense.”

“Yeah. You and I both know this isn’t real. It can only be past tense now, can’t it?”

“It feels real enough,” Damian said, placing his hand on Leander’s chest. “I hope you know I love you too. I don’t think I understood it at the time, but I do. But then I always am the last one to figure things out, I guess. I’m sorry I didn’t love you sooner.”

Tears rolled on Leander’s cheeks among the rain. “You loved me enough that I knew. Don’t regret what’s done, darling. Where are you?”

Damian thought to himself. He had no idea. He was in a patch of foreign flowers that shouldn’t be growing here. He was in a rainstorm. He was with his lover, his dead lover whom he had killed with his own hand. He was starving. He was resting for the first time in ages, somewhere lost in an eternity, nestled in a little patch of impossible home. Home. What did that word even mean anymore? He didn’t belong to Kelsys any longer. He wondered if he even wished to. All it would take would be to turn back around. He could hide himself among his countrymen. Nobody really knew who he was beyond the scant few soldiers of the castle that he had fled; it wouldn’t be difficult to hide anywhere else. Kelsys was vast country, perhaps he could find a place out in the frontier? A simple agrarian life. He’d always wanted to raise animals. Have a window in his den to look at the columbines.

Damian looked back up to meet Leander’s gaze. There was a softness to his evening eyes that made Damian weak. The pain was catching up to him. The hunger. The aches of his muscles. His burnt skin. He’d spent so long pushing it under, trying his best to ignore it, but it was now bubbling up in a terrible boil. Leander’s face shifted with growing concern; he could obviously detect Damian’s pain. Before he could speak, a shadow fell over both of them, leaving Leander in an almost inky black darkness. A man’s shadow.

He appeared as if from nowhere. Ephemeral, illusory. Damian could look through him into the darkness of the rain. He squinted his eyes, trying against all to see the detail of the man, details which seemed to dance away from Damian’s eyes.

“Who are-?”

Before Damian could even finish his question the man materialized, a severe man in dark armor holding a long axe. Damian’s eyes locked themselves to the man’s face. His face. Damian was looking as a horrible shadow of himself, his eyes full of malice. A contemptible zealotry radiated from the shadow’s eyes. Damian knew it well. Horror mounted in Damian’s mind as he realized what was happening. He couldn’t even scream. He couldn’t do anything.

Damian’s shadow raised the axe. With a clean and mighty cleave, Leander’s head fell into Damian’s lap.

#saints in the desert

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missathlete31 · 1 month

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Dead on Your Feet Chapter 13

Finally a little progress for this story!

Okay so I know it's only 1,200 words but this is the first I've written in months and it makes me happy that I got something out! I can't tell you how much I've been hating everything of mine for the better part of a year. All my confidence was gone because I just compared myself to all the other brilliant writers on here and wondered what the hell was the point. I can't say I completely recovered from that spiral but I'm trying and while I'll never say I'm in the leagues of the other big names in this fandom, I do try and that's all I can ask for.

Here's hoping I can keep the momentum and finish this story before next year.

Ignoring the perfectly good wheelchair that was waiting for them on the carrier’s deck seemed like an excellent idea when Maverick first shouldered all of Bradley’s weight to guide him to medical, but half way to their destination, Pete is seriously kicking himself for once again refusing to do things the easy way. He’s tired, wet, and feeling his age with every laborious step. The physical demands of the task pales in comparison to the emotions; these past few weeks, hell these past few hours, putting him through more than he ever thought possible.

But Pete Mitchell is also stubborn as a mule when he wants to be so the older man just grits his teeth and tugs Rooster along a little quicker.

The pilot in his arms is staggering as well though, whimpers increasing with each added step as they traverse the narrow corridors of the ship. Navy personnel flank them from doorways and stairwells, watching in silence as they pass, some with looks of pride, others just plain shocked. Usually there is a sort of tribalism on a ship that goes well beyond rank; sailors turn their noses on pilots, pilots strut around like cocky little shits, and everyone stays with their own, but that's not the case today- today everyone is on the same team.

His team has done the impossible and the rest of the ship is giving them their due.

It reminds Maverick of a different mission many years ago, one with a far happier ending.

Medical, (besides being farther than Pete remembers as he lugs Bradley along), is in various stages of its own chaos by the time the two men get inside. There is a large commotion on one side of the wing, a scramble to get Seresin stabilized drawing all staff's attention by the yells for blood, plasma, and assistance. Bodies moving give peeks to the pandemonium in front of them and like a train wreck, Maverick finds he can’t look away. A nurse shifts and there is Jake’s arm, listing helplessly off the gurney, what looks like bite marks marring the skin. A doctor turns and darkened blonde hair is sticking out in dishevelment from one side of the bed, something the Captain knows by now would infuriate the vain pilot lying there. He spots Sosa, still taking charge and ordering the others about, his hand gesturing to the bloodied bag of fluids still draining from Hangman’s chest. Vitals loaded up to the monitors start screeching and the whirlwind of motion crescendos, barks of orders vacuuming the air in the room.

Pete’s body reacts faster than even he is prepared for and he tries to manhandle his godson away from what is about to happen, except Rooster’s good leg has become an anchor, planted firmly to the ground and stopping them from moving any further as the Lieutenant stares wide-eyed at the frenzy.

“Bradley” Maverick urges, having enough sense to know that they shouldn’t watch, that they can’t. Memories of the helicopter will forever haunt the older man, he doesn’t need to wait and see another traumatizing medical procedure happen in real time. “Let's get you settled-"

"I need to stay with him, I promised."

"Hangman's in the best hands" Pete explains, "the very best. There's nothing more you can do for him now, besides get yourself looked over so you can be there for him after. That's what Jake will need."

It's bullshit really. What Jake needs is even more blood and an operating table from what Maverick can make out in the incessant calls from the doctors and nurses, but that isn't going to get Bradley to sit on a hospital bed and Maverick's arms can only hold him up for so much longer so he makes do.

He shuffles them to the furthest cot away and then yanks the curtain across as though the thin fabric will protect them from the horrific sounds across the room, a proverbial shelter from the shit storm that is Jake Seresin being given paddles to resuscitate him for the second time.

Maverick holds back the urge to puke as the memories of the helicopter ride come back again and instead works to manhandle his godson to lie back on the bed. Bradley is still resisting though, somehow continuing to torture himself by fighting to get back to his wingman and watch his possible demise. That is until a particularly ominous sounding thud rings out, and the bedlam ceases. In that silence, Rooster seems to stop too, giving his captain the chance to move him towards the bed and all put pushing him down onto it.

Bradley lands on his butt on the mattress and stays planted, a blessing for Maverick who’s own body sags in relief when he moves to take one of the chairs at the bed’s side. Activity has started up again behind their wall of curtain, not quite as loud or insistent as before and Pete surmises that the odds are 50/50 on whether this is a good or bad thing.

Bradley however seems to have taken the pessimistic side. “Is this what it was like” he begins, eyes unfocused and staring at the tile floor in front of him, voice detached in a way that make’s Pete’s still half frozen body feel even colder, “when you held my dad that day? Knowing he was dead and still holding on? Having them wretch him from your grip to now wait for them to come in and tell you it was all for nothing?”

Maverick shudders at the brutal question lobbed his way, the vivid recollections thrown with it. He thinks of the bathroom mirror after they finally forced him out of medical after declaring Goose dead but Pete fine, of a feeling of loathing he still hasn’t completely shaken 30+ years later. If his lifetime of service to his country and fellow man earned him any sort of favor, Pete can only pray that he can use it to prevent Bradley from having to go through what he did. It’s a guilt that will haunt forever. “Hangman isn’t-“ he bites his bottom lip, and forces himself to look at Rooster, even if the other man is still looking away, “Hangman isn’t dead” he manages back weakly, not able to convince himself so he knows he isn't convincing Bradley. Every time he closes his eyes the older man sees the blond lifeless body on the helicopter floor, watches the compressions on the kid's chest, the fight to get him back.

Was it all for nothing?

"Yet" Rooster's voice shakes Pete from his mind, despite only being a whisper. The young pilot's gaze finally meets Maverick’s own, "Hangman isn't dead" the Lieutenant parrots back solemnly, "yet."

#top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #top gun #dead on your feet #hey look at me #trying to write again

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spitfire-of-the-sea · 2 years

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Stowaway Part 2 - The Rescue

Apparently there's people out there who think this idea is as hilarious as I do. :D Which makes my little old heart very happy <3 @soleilnomoon @a-forgotten-universe @nie-moge-oddychac @aloeanemona27 - thank you for replying and pushing this idea to the next part :D

Laying the ground works here. From here on out everything is fair game. Hehehe.

Reader x Ace/Marco/Thatch interaction (SFW) 2.3k Pure silliness

You had stayed clear of water ever since you had eaten that devil fruit, familiar with the well-known side-effect that came with the powers... You had known that you were basically an anchor now.

You hadn’t known, though.

Hadn’t known how the waves would crash over your head and push you under.

Hadn’t known how the strength would drain from your very bones, how your lungs would suddenly scream for air and panic would flood you.

Hadn’t known that no matter how desperately you kicked your feet, something was dragging you down, invisible hands that closed around you and pulled you down, down, down. Your struggles weaken with each second, the light of the surface slowly moving more and more out of reach.

It was then that the light momentarily vanished completely from your sight and you couldn’t help it, you gasped for air and all you got was salt on your tongue and fire trickling down your chest.

Then, suddenly, magically, something solid came around you, tightened, and you were pulled up. Your head broke the surface of the water and you desperately fought for air, coughing and sputtering and spitting out water and fear alike. Dazed you didn’t even fully comprehend what was happening, not until you were out of the water and pressed against a solid chest, big hands massaging your sides and many voices all around you, muttering and cursing.

“Did you get her in time?!”

“I thought cats can swim!”

“Quick, get Marco!”

“Look at the poor thing, shaking like a leaf!”

The only reason you didn’t change shape then and there was because you simply didn’t have enough functioning brain cells, not while you were fighting for air, not when you were coughing up water, the memory of something dragging you down fresh in your mind.

When finally you felt like you could breathe again, you realized that the chest you were pressed against was almost as hairy as you. The hands rub your sides insistently, coaxing even the last gulps of water out of your heaving chest.

Slowly and with considerable effort you pressed your paws against the man holding you, dizzy and nauseous. When you looked up, you saw the face of the guy with the pompadour from before – except now his long, auburn hair was wet and clung to his face. His eyes rested on you, worry written all over his face.

“What’d you that for, huh?” he murmured and Ace’s face appeared next to you.

Ace placed his hand on your head and gently turned it to look at him, his brows drawn together. His hand was so warm and you couldn’t help it, you leaned into it, following his body heat. “I think she’s fine, Thatch,” he murmured and rubbed your ear between his fingers. “Probably got scared. You shouldn’t let go of her, who knows, maybe she makes a run for it again.”

“She’s drenched, though,” the guy holding you up against his wide chest – Thatch? – answered. “Won’t stop shivering, either. Here, you take her, warm her up!”

You groaned in protest when his large hands scooped you up and you were handed over to Ace, who quickly took you and tugged you under his chin, his body impossibly warm against you. Before you could properly think about your actions, you melted into him and pressed yourself flush against him, desperate to soak up his heat.

“Ssssh… it’s all good, baby girl. We’ve got you,” he murmured against your head, and slowly, way too slowly, the full weight of the situation dawned on you. If only it wouldn’t feel so nice to snuggle into him and enjoy not being dead.

However.

HOWEVER.

You were surrounded by pirates who seemed to be absolutely unaware that you were, in fact, only at most 50% cat and those were magical, for lack of a better word. Then there was the fact that you were currently in the arms of who you were pretty sure was Ace D. Portgas, commander of the 2nd division and… well…

You were also naked. Except for your fur. And that would help you very, very little once you returned to your human form or even hybrid form. There were a couple of things you didn’t necessarily want to flaunt in front of 50 or more pirates aboard their ship surrounded by the open sea. You had literally just proved with doubtless evidence that there was no way off this ship, at least not alive.

The extreme size difference between your human and cat form meant that you had to leave your clothes behind. Usually not a problem, you had stashes all over the island for exactly this purpose, after all. Thing was… you were no longer on your island.

Hesitantly you lifted your head to look around. Yeah. A couple of dozen pirates, all definitely too close and paying too much attention for you to just turn bare-assed and tits-out. You weren’t shy but even you had boundaries.

When you noticed them parting to make way for a new figure, you flattened your ears against your skull and watched with growing horror the tuft of blond, pineapple-like hair bobbing closer. Shit. Just what you needed. Marco The Phoenix, commander of the 1st division. The guy was worth over 1 billion berry.

Maybe if you got away you could hide somewhere…? You were small, after all…?!

You started to wiggle in Ace’s arms and twist in an attempt to get away but he only closed his hands tighter around you, pressing you close and making an escape impossible.

With growing dread, you saw Marco come to a stand next to you. Yeah. You couldn’t reveal yourself. They’d throw you overboard. Or worse. They’d want to keep you. As entertainment! Or… or…! Worse! They’d make you become a pirate, too! Biting back any words that might have stumbled over your tongue, you pressed your face into Ace’s neck.

“She’s shivering even more now,” he murmured. “Marco, can you check her? If she’s really fine?”

There was a brief silence, then you heard Marco answer: “Sure. But does anybody want to tell me why we have a cat now-yoi?”

“Must have snuck on during the night.” This time it was Thatch’s voice. “She was in the mass hall in the morning, Ace found her.”

“Yeah, she was sleeping above the fireplace. Probably smelled the food. Look how scrawny she is! Just bones and skin!”

Annoyance bubbled up in you and it was an emotion you could work with much better than fear. You so latched onto it. Curling your tail around yourself you started to wriggle around again. Just bones and skin?! You were most decidedly not bones and skin! That’s just how you looked when you got wet…! Everybody only saw the fluff and thought that was your full volume. Once that volume was gone, well… WELL.

“We can give her some food later,” Thatch said and you almost perked up at that. You hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon and now that he mentioned it… you were hungry.

“Well, we can put her in the larder. There’s some mice there she can hunt,” somebody said and your ears twitched. Ewww. As if you’d ever do such a thing. You made a mental note to stay far away from the larder, you didn’t plan on catching fleas.

“Why do you keep calling it she? Has anybody even checked?” another guy asked and you tugged your tail closer around yourself. They were welcome to try. You’d scratch their eyes out first…

“She’s clearly a girl,” Ace snapped, completely exasperated.

You froze. Fuck. Had he… looked at you?! With horror you started to struggle with renewed force, holding curses back with the last shreds of your sanity.

“I mean, look at her! She’s way too tiny and fine-boned to be a guy!” he said then and you huffed a sigh of relief.

“That’s… that’s not how cats work, Ace.”

“Shut up, leave her alone!” he turned his back to the crowd, thereby taking you out of their sight and you could have kissed the man. He was so right. Leave her alone! Freedom to the cat! Take her back to that island back there!

“If you want me to check her, you’ll have to give her to me-yoi,” Marco said with a sigh and held out his hands.

“Ah, right, sorry! Be careful, though, she’s a flight risk! We don’t want her going overboard again!” Ace chuckled and once again you were picked up and handed over like luggage.

Was this your life now?

“Well, first things first,” Marco said as you dangled between his hands and he looked you over. “Definitely a girl.”

Your jaw dropped as your eyes locked and you felt your blood rush to your head, your heart pounding in your ears. With a growl worthy of a tiger – at least you thought so, the chuckles that broke out around you told a different story – you curled into yourself while swiping your claw at him, claws out.

It was a quick move, with good technique and wonderful flow.

Turned out, though, that your short little legs didn’t get anywhere close to Marco’s face and all you did was claw at the air in front of him with about as much chance of teaching him a lesson as a gust of wind had.

The bastard chuckled at your attempt. “And she’s not a happy girl-yoi.”

“Well, you’re holding her all wrong!” Ace said and sounded rather agitated. “Support her butt! Don’t just dangle her like that!”

You flinched when he did just that. Support your butt. You coughed, thoughts racing. You personally didn’t think your butt needed all that much support. You also came to the final conclusion that there was no way in hell that you’d turn into your human form after this. There was absolutely no way you’d survive the sheer embarrassment.

There wasn’t much you could do, really, your attempts to scoot off his hand were rather inefficient thanks to the way Marco was still holding you up and you slowly resigned yourself to your fate. Karma had finally caught up to you. You’d have to stay in your cat form until the next island and the chance to flee. You’d have to leave your dignity behind but at least you’d be alive.

Marco only chuckled and finally did as told, placing one hand below your butt – honestly, this was the weirdest day of your life; it was barely breakfast time and three men who were world-known criminals had touched your ass by now – and pulled you against his chest. Which, wouldn’t you know it: also naked. The shirt he wore was not even buttoned and you once again, your cheek smushed against warm, naked skin. Less hairy than Thatch. More so than Ace. Definitely less warm than Ace but firmer than Thatch.

9 out of 10 stars. Would recommend.

You hiccupped a slightly hysterical laugh and barely swallowed it down before it grew too loud, feeling the intent gazes of all three commanders on you, all of them quiet now. Shit. Shit. Shiiiit.

Oh well.

“Mew,” you uttered and fucking hated yourself for it.

Then, because they were still staring: “Meeeeeeew.”

“She sounds weird,” Thatch muttered.

“You sound weird!” Ace flared up immediately.

It was then you decided that you had a clear favorite so far. Thatch had saved you from drowning, though, so you would let it slide. Your cat game was top-notch!

For added effect, you lifted a paw to your mouth and gave it a tentative lick. And then, because you were an idiot who had ignored the events of the past ten or so minutes, you gagged at the taste of salt on your tongue and almost hurled. Again.

Thatch chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, momentarily distracting you. Shit. He was actually pretty attractive when his pompadour wasn’t distracting from the rest of him. He had a much brawnier build than the other two commanders, his upper arms thick and his chest wide. His chest was covered in auburn curls and you could spot several tattoos on his upper body.

Apparently, you were momentarily distracted enough to miss something vital happening. Or very least you had to assume as much when you were suddenly covered in blue flames!

That was probably the moment when you lost another one of your 9 lives, or at the very least it sure felt so. Your heart was in your throat and your whole body convulsed when the realization slowly hit you – blue flames were dancing over your body, along your paws, and your tail…! You kicked and scrambled, painting bloody lines all over Marco’s chest, but his iron grip didn’t even loosen a tiny bit.

“Oi! You should have warned her! Now you scared her again!” Ace protested.

“You think I should have sat this cat down and explained to her how my devil fruit powers work so she wouldn’t panic when she sees fire-yoi?” Marco asked dryly. “Tell her how it’s healing flames that will not harm her in the least? Yeah. I’m sure she’d have understood.”

You’d been only half-listening in your struggles but when you saw the scratches you had inflicted upon him just vanish under your paws, your eyes went saucer-shaped and after another moment you realized… the flames indeed didn’t burn you. They felt cool, almost pleasant. Your tail twitched. What the actual fuck…?

“She’s fine. Swallowed a bit of seawater but she’s coughed it all up,” Marco finally said and the flames died down again, leaving you sitting there utterly dumbstruck and frozen, thoughts racing. Devil fruit powers, huh? So he had… healed you somewhat?

“She’s still drenched, though, if we let her dry like this she’ll have salt in her fur and if she tries to clean it, she might consume too much salt and get sick.” You looked up. Well, you were completely wet, he was right, and you didn’t exactly care for licking yourself clean. Even without the added taste of salt. Ew.

“I guess we’ll have to give her a bath, huh?” Ace concluded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Wait. What.

Let me know in the comments who of the guys should do the honors. Hehe. <3

#one piece x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you #thatch x reader #thatch x you #marco x reader #portgas d ace #thatch one piece #marco the phoenix #one piece #fluff #no brain cells were involved in the making of #stowaway series

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castieldelamancha · 1 year

Text

"I thought you said you knew a shortcut."

Dean only huffs, annoyed, he is too busy trying to remember how to get where they are going to to grace Cas with an articulated answer.

His phone is dead since he forgot to charge it the night before. It wasn't his fault, he is only human, after all, and Cas can be quite distracting when he puts his mind to it.

Castiel lost his phone at the beach two days ago, so they have no way to know where they are now, except for the blurry memories of his younger self's mind when he came here almost thirty years ago.

"Why do roads have to change so much?" He mutters under his breath, hoping Cas hasn't heard him.

"So you admit we are lost." No luck.

Dean groans, still too annoyed to string a whole sentence together.

Half an hour, and Dean's acquiescence of their predicament, later Dean is parking nearby the empty wooden benches he remembers were already here when he visited this lookout point for the first time.

"Damn," he says as they exit the car, "we missed the sunset." But at least they made it.

Castiel doesn't say anything he just walks around the car and offers Dean one of his hands, patiently waiting for him to close his door and take it so they can make their way to the closest bench.

"It doesn't matter, it's lovely out here."

"Yeah," Dean nods, "it was my first time driving baby on my own," he tells Cas, he was 19, "we were on a hunt in a town not too far away from here, dad," he clears his throat, "dad had been gone for a day or two, researching or drinking himself to numbness, or both, and Sammy was being his most annoying self." He recalls, looking up at the Moon, lost for a moment in the past, at the same time still anchored to the present by Cas' hand in his, his warmth so close beside him, "I was so damn overwhelmed, I needed to get out of that motel room and clear my head."

"How did you find this place?"

"I was driving around, aimlessly and-"

"You got lost back then too?"

Dean bumps their shoulders together with a laugh at Castiel's clear joking tone, "no, shut up," he uses his free hand to scratch the back of his neck, "maybe I did." Castiel laughs at that, Dean loves his laughter so much, he joins in. He rests his head on top of Cas' when it falls on his shoulder as their laughter dies out. He nuzzles his cheek against his unruly hair. "It doesn't matter, does it? I found this spot I am so generously sharing with you now."

Castiel hums, thoughtfully, "I guess you are right."

"Another place I can cross from my list of places I've always wanted to show you." Dean says after a beat of silence, it's not like he has a written list or anything. It's in his head and he hasn't shared it with Cas wanting every place to be a surprise for him. There are others he has sadly forgotten, others that don't exist anymore too.

"I really like it, Dean." Cas says, earnestly.

It was nice to be here, all those years ago, Dean thinks, quiet and peaceful, but is nothing compared to what it feels like now, having Cas with him, sharing and creating memories instead of running away from the weight of the world he used to carry on his shoulders. It's peaceful and quiet still, the view as breathtaking, but his loneliness is over.

#destiel #vanessa writes ✨#ficlet #tuserpris #uhmm this old married couple 🙄

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rebel-walnut · 1 year

Text

Let's Do The Time Warp Again

Steddie Season 3 time travel fic, Part 6

Ao3, Pt. 1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5

Steve answers the door on Eddie's second knock still adorned in his sailor costume, and if Eddie wasn't running on pure shock-ridden survival instincts he'd make a comment about it. As it stands, Eddie barely even remembers the drive over.

Eddie had woken up to no air in his lungs, clawing at the fraying couch cushions he'd collapsed onto mere seconds after getting into his trailer. He didn't have time to think before he was shakily punching out the numbers smeared in red over his forearm, Steve answering with "come over," in that oddly commanding and seductive tone of his that he seems to get during Armageddon, and then Eddie was replying with "on my way," and suddenly the line was dead. Eddie's lucky he remembered how to get to a house he'd only ever been parked in the driveway of to sell overpriced drugs to underaged teens.

Now, Steve seems to be wearing a similar distressed expression to Eddie's, complimenting his rumpled costume. Steve peers through the crack of the slightly open door into the woods surrounding the house before tugging Eddie inside and latching the door behind him. Steve's fingers stay anchored to the light denim of Eddie's vest over his shoulder, the tremor in them almost hidden by the weight of the fabric. Out of instinct Eddie covers Steve's hand with his own, their shaking syncing for a second before finding their own polyrhythm. Neither says anything for a moment, anxiously content to match each other's panicked breathing and catch the worry in the other's eyes. Then Eddie makes the mistake of looking down to Steve's right hand.

"Why in the everloving fuck do you have a nail bat, Harrington?"

Steve's small laugh cuts through some of the anxiety in the air, and he gives it a small spin in his hand as he lets go of Eddie's vest.

"I feel like I shouldn't need to answer that, given what we just went through- er I guess go through in a year? Besides, Jonathon made it, I just stole it in '83 and never gave it back."

Eddie tries not to let his jaw hit the floor as he reaches for the handle of the bat, fingers slightly brushing Steve's. He lets Eddie take it.

"Byers made this apocalyptic instrument of insanely metal destruction? Who knew he had it in him," Steve snorts while Eddie inspects the bat, though not daring to give it a swing lest Mrs. Harrington materializes right in front of him to personally murder Eddie for slashing up her Roman drapes and turning her vases to dust.

"I feel like I should've known he had it in him," Steve quirks his lips into a crooked smirk and gestures to the left side of his face. "He's the one who kicked off the thrilling saga of me getting my face caved in," Steve's tone is light and teasing, but there's an underlying tightness to it. "Plus, it wasn't nearly as bad as the year after when fucking Hargrove smashed a plate over my head-"

Eddie had heard the rumors about who tried to curb stomp King Steve back in '84, whether Steve deserved it or not, had it worse or not. He opens his mouth to ask, because really? Hargrove smashed a fucking plate over his head? That's a story Eddie needs to hear, cause fuck Hargrove and his god complex, racism, questionably closeted homophobia, and just general douchebaggery, that guy's the worst. Eddie would continue his train of thought -and probably turn it into a whole tangent- if the way Steve cuts himself off mid-sentence while the color drains away from his face wasn't extremely concerning.

"Steve? What-"

"Hargrove."

Steve's eyes grow impossibly wider as he reaches to dig his fingers into both sides of Eddie's vest. He's not shaking anymore, but Eddie wouldn't call paralyzed with fear a win either. Eddie balances the bat against the door and mirrors Steve, resting his hands on Steve's shoulders in a hopefully comforting weight.

"Hargrove gets flayed- the mindflayer gets him," Steve's eyes start to narrow a touch, the panic giving way to compartmentalized strategy that Steve must have learned from the world ending every year for the last four years. "He gets flayed, and then tries to kill Nance, and I hit him with, well, a really wicked car-"

"You hit Hargrove with your car?!" Eddie's voice squeaks and Steve drops his hands, rushing down the hallway with Eddie behind in tow.

"Well not my car -I wish I could have kept the Todd Father-"

"Todd father?" Eddie whispers to himself more than anyone, watching Steve grab a magnetic note pad off his fridge and rip the grocery list off the front before scrounging through a drawer for a pen.

"-Robin would have been relentless about it though, despite the fact that I drive her and the gremlins everywhere for free-" Steve's rambling feels like a habit he picked up from Robin, Eddie thinks. His rant tapers off into small mumbles and hums as Steve scribbles chicken scratch all over the notepad in a mess of dates and question marks, finally tearing it off the pad and sliding it across the island towards Eddie.

“Now, I was trapped in a Russian bunker for like three days so most of my information is coming from what everyone else told me-” What the fuck? “-but from what I remember, El and the rest of the kids find out for sure that Hargrove is flayed on Tuesday. Same day that me, Robin, Dustin, and Erica get stuck in the elevator. He must have been flayed before Tuesday though -I think El mentioned something about seeing him the day before and thinking he was off- since he was already showing enough signs that he was flayed,” Steve pokes at the paper with the butt of the pen, tapping where he underlined Sunday the 30th (today) - Tuesday the 2nd (TWO DAYS!!!). Underneath, he wrote Hargrove trapped in the sauna on 2nd, possibly already flayed, and ASK EL!!!!!

Steve’s gross overuse of exclamation marks aside, they still have almost no information on how to fix this. Even before adding Hargrove to the mix, their plan seemed to consist of ‘lure spooky evil Russians away from the gate and see if we can use their portal,’ and ‘ask a magical pre-teen to blast them forward in time somehow, even though she might not even be able to do it.’

“Steve, I’m gonna be totally and truly honest with you here. I do not give even half a fuck about Hargrove, and I’m not sure why you do, but I think maybe we have bigger problems than the biggest douche-weasel we know getting what he deserves,” Eddie watches Steve’s gaze darken, his eyes narrowing and his brow furrowing at the center.

“If it was just him that this concerned, I wouldn’t give a shit. But he’s Max’s brother,” Eddie’s eyebrows shoot upwards and he tries to suppress the drop in his chest. “The guilt over not being able to save him is what gets her cursed next year,” Steve’s breath is shuddering, his intense stare breaking just a little. “I can’t let her go through that again, man. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s just a kid- one of my kids- and I didn’t even see it. I barely even noticed something was wrong with her, just let it happen right underneath me,” His voice cracks as he stares into Eddie, eyes wide and hollow. Eddie lets his heart break from the haunted look on Steve’s face alone.

“Fuck- you should’ve seen her when she handed me that fucking letter- so resigned to her own death, and she’s barely even a teenager, just accepting it like she thinks she deserves it-” Steve breaks and his head drops into his hands, quiet sobs wracking his body against the counter. “And I don’t even know if she made it- we let her go after him alone-”

Eddie moves in an instant rounding the island to pull Steve against his chest and tucking Steve’s head under his chin, just letting the other curl in on himself. Steve’s breaths heave against both of them, Eddie drawing his in slow and pronounced in an effort to get Steve to match his breathing.

He didn’t know Hargrove was Red’s brother. He knew them separately; Hargrove being the asswipe that liked to terrorize his friends in highschool, calling them every applicable slur under the sun. Red was just the quiet yet slightly off putting girl that lived across from him, that he only got to know at the end of the world. He barely even knew why she was cursed in the first place, spending most of his energy running from murderous jocks. But fuck, that girl stole his heart the minute she pulled out the Myers mask. So, fine. Anything for Red.

Steve’s still shaking against Eddie’s chest, but it’s at least slightly slower now. Eddie’s rubbing small circles into Steve’s shoulder, trying to give some sort of grounding pattern and pressure as Steve slows his breaths in between shudders.

“We’re gonna figure it out,” Eddie whispers against Steve’s hair, his breath tousling it just a touch. “Red’s gonna be okay. We know now, we can fix it,” Steve sniffles against Eddie’s shoulder and leans into Eddie’s hold around him. After a moment when Steve’s breathing is back to normal, he straightens up but doesn’t quite lean out of Eddie’s space. His eyes are tinged red from tears to match the flush of red in his nose and cheeks from crying. The pink is striking against the deepness of his eyes and the gold of his freckles, and Eddie thinks it’s a cruel joke from the universe that Steve still looks like an Adonis after a breakdown, meanwhile Eddie ends up looking like a rat that got left out too long in the sun.

Steve lowers his hands from where they were tucked around himself and gently rests them against Eddie’s arms, his thumbs tracing light patterns under the crease of where Eddie’s elbow bends. Steve’s staring holes into where their skin is touching -both of them just lightly holding each other and neither daring to move- before he gives a small cough and a shake of his head that dislodges a few perfectly-styled waves.

“Thank you,” Steve says in the smallest voice Eddie’s ever heard from him. It’s the sort of voice Eddie used around Wayne during the first few months of them living together. The kind that says I’m scared, and I’m vulnerable, and don’t judge me, and please give me a chance before deciding you don’t want me. Or maybe that last one’s just for Eddie.

“You don’t need to thank me. It happens,” Eddie tries to match Steve’s lightness, the moment too fragile for his usual buzz. “Besides, I meant what I said. Even if it’s too late to save Hargrove, we can help Max,” Eddie pulls on Steve’s arms a little for emphasis, and Steve sways into his space with a tentative smile. “I don’t know what consequences we have here -whether this timeline gets erased or what- but we should try, right?” Eddie flits his eyes between Steve’s, relishing in the light that’s slowly coming back. He wants to bask in it.

“Right,” Steve says with more of his usual lightness, looking back down at their tangled arms. Steve runs his fingers across Eddie’s skin again, both of them just staring down together. Steve’s fingers dig in a little bit. “I know we just got past the dark shit, but we should probably talk about the whole reason you came over in the first place before I decided to hijack your freakout.”

Eddie laughs despite the dryness in his mouth at the memory of the dream, jerking his head a little to get rid of the phantom press of hell-tentacles around his neck. He’d bleach the dream from his memory if he could. The endless dark of whatever extra-terrestrial ocean he was in, the slick sounds of the vines moving against each other. The suffocating press of them. The hissing voice that was thick enough to breathe in like air. Eddie’s still trying to figure out where to start when Steve takes a step back to wrap his arms around himself.

“Any chance it had to do with a void and vines from the upside down?” Eddie’s blood is cold in his fingertips and buzzing against his skull. Fuck. No. Eddie forces down a breath and tries not to taste the lingering scum from the upside down.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.”

“So it wasn’t just a standard PTSD dream? You had the same thing?!” Steve gives a solemn nod. Eddie’s pacing now, every ounce of calm that he’d mustered up for Steve a few minutes ago now defenestrated and set on fire. His hands are pulling through his curls in his usual nervous habit with Steve standing oddly stoic across from him, save for the heavy indents his fingernails are making in his arms. “Goddammit, I was really hoping I was just overreacting.”

“Did, um. Did a voice? Say anything to you?” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and tries to push down the physical memory brought on by Steve’s words. The voice ‘saying’ something feels underwhelming. The way Eddie heard it, it was more of a force of nature than anything. Tearing between his cells and slithering between his ears, the hissing suffocating and killing any air he tried to breathe. Pungent and thick like smoke, less of a voice and more of a weapon. Eddie tries to talk about it anyways.

“Told me I don’t belong here, but I can be used. Used for an army, I think, I don’t know- I was sort of choking on vines at that point,” Eddie stops his pacing to face Steve and bite at his nail instead, Steve’s eyes immediately snapping to his.

“So the other figure was you…” He says it more to himself than to Eddie even though Steve’s gaze is still intensely trained on him. “Do you think-” Steve cuts himself off with a harsh swallow and Eddie knows he’s feeling the phantom grit from the vines in his throat. “Do you think it’s him? Creel?” Steve’s eyes are blown wide and his nails are digging deeper and deeper into the sides of his arms. They live in the silence between them for an infinite amount of seconds before Eddie has to break it.

“Has to be,” It’s quiet and unsure when he says it, but the unspoken fact is sure; Vecna knows they’re here. And he’s going to make them pay for it.

“Fuck, okay. God, this would be so much easier with Nance, she’s always the logical one with the strategy,” Steve huffs out a breath and finally releases his death grip around his biceps, electing instead to scrub his hands down his face before resting them on his hips. Were Eddie not currently in the middle of an existential crisis, he probably would’ve had to bite back a comment about Steve looking like an exasperated housewife. “Do you feel any different? When Will got possessed he said he could sense it, like a presence or something, was always touching the back of his neck. I don’t know, I never really understood it. But anything like that?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Eddie runs his fingers across the nape of his neck- in search of what exactly, he has no clue. Maybe for him to turn into the upside down version of Medusa with vines sprouting from his head. The thought makes him want to gag. “Maybe we woke up early enough that it didn’t like, mark us or whatever?”

“Maybe…”

It’s naive and they both know it, but neither say anything to contradict it. Steve gives a small thoughtful nod with his eyebrows back in their usual furrowed state. Eddie’s ready to drop it until tomorrow anyways, having had enough threats to his wellbeing for one day.

“Okay. Well there’s no way you’re going back home tonight. We can camp out in the living room and take turns sleeping to make sure nothing else happens,” Steve says with a clap of his hands and is back in what Eddie has dubbed his Babysitter Mode ™. Eddie chooses to ignore the plasticity in Steve’s smile as he’s shooed into the living room to flip through Steve’s frankly massive collection of VHS tapes. He’d blame it on Steve working at a video rental store, but that hasn’t even happened yet.

The whirring of the microwave combined with light popping is muffled from the kitchen, Eddie still fidgeting at the entrance to the living room. It’s a slightly surreal experience being at the literal King of High School's house for a sleepover movie night, and being casually told to go pick from dozens of movies. Sure, it was brought on by interdimensional time travel, but that feels slightly less relevant when faced with being invited into Steve Harrington’s mansion that could fit Eddie’s whole trailer in the foyer (What kind of house has a spacious enough hallway to be considered a foyer? ridiculous).

Eddie’s still debating just withering away in the entrance when he notices a slightly crumpled beer can by the foot of the couch. The spill is sticky with age and dark around the edges, almost black at the farthest points. It’s absolutely disgusting. It also happens to be just human enough to break the perfect mansion illusion and let Eddie over the threshold. Turns out even the Steve Harrington of ‘85 has his bad habits, if you can call leaving a spilled beer out for months on hardwood floors that probably cost more than Eddie’s whole life a bad habit. He kicks the can lightly with the toe of his sneaker and is surprised to find it not glued to the floor, but rather moving freely.

He crouches down next to the spill and picks up the can to find it still half full of liquid. On closer inspection the edges of the puddle seem almost gooey, the black reflecting blue and green in the light. Maybe not grosser than anything Eddie’s ever found in the corners of his room, but still gross enough that he wrinkles his nose when he touches a finger to the black and it comes back gelatinous.

“Harrington! I’m gonna need a hazmat suit and some paper towel in here-” Eddie gasps at the sharp prick of pain in his finger and blinks a few times at the way the goo seems to be- moving. It forms an all too familiar pattern as the goo starts to create tendrils that twist up from the spill and slide against each other. Eddie stumbles back, but the tendrils are quick to follow. They latch onto his hand again, pulling and sucking at the skin, sending shocks of pain up his arm. He tries to shake them free, wipe them off on the floor, nothing.

The tension in the goo is building fast, the tendrils too strong to the point that Eddie cant get away. He watches as the tips of his fingers start to turn white and pale, an ache behind his eyes and temples growing. There’s a buzzing in his ears blocking out any other sound, and Eddie just catches the sight of his veins turning thick and black with poison before his vision starts to tunnel. He thinks he sees a mop of golden brown curls come into view. Maybe they call his name. Someone is, he thinks. There’s a hiss in his throat and under his skin and in his veins, and all Eddie can think is that he forgot to pick out a movie for Steve.

_____

TAG LIST (reply to be added): @estrellami-1 @melodymeddler @songbird-garden @gregre369 @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @bestwifehaver @mediguro @goodolefashionedloverboi @huniiibee @rhyswritesreadsandcries @i-have-three-feelings @mightbeasleep @grtwdsmwhr @hirikka @starlight-archer @clumsiluni @celestialrebel1 @quarble @woolley-socks

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steddie fic #st #st fic #time warp #shovel writes

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feliciadraws · 1 year

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Nightmare

Okami - Waka/Mei

Angst...just...angst; may or may not be a companion piece to my 'Fear' piece from this year's Spookami (ya know, this thing)

Also shoutout to my partner-in-cringe and fellow angst enjoyer @bamboorocket because we do be enjoying that angst

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Straight through her... The unclean claws of those foul, wretched beasts...they just...tore straight through her...

How could he have let this happen...how could he have stood by, anchored to where he stood as if with chains, chains weighted with his sins...how could he have just...watched...watched as Mei was slashed to pieces by those twisted creatures, her fragile body left eviscerated, blood pouring from the horrific gashes carved across her delicate flesh...she was so delicate...so helpless...she didn't even stand a chance against those beasts...and he couldn't, no, didn't even come to her aid... Waka's heart came to a standstill as his innards wrenched with the horror of the sight, only freed from his paralysis as he dashed forward to catch her as her bleeding, broken body slowly collapsed to the ground, the air and time itself around him thickening to a murky viscosity as this very nightmare played out in slow, hazy motion. He fell to his knees, distraught as she fell limply into his hands... Blood...there was...so much...blood...it was everywhere, pouring from every open inch of her body...flesh ripped open, the taint of decay left from their unclean talons already eating into her wounds...

"Wa...ka...I'm...I'm sor-..." Mei weakly whispered as she raised a bloodied hand to Waka's cheek, sounding almost as if she were attempting to apologise...apologise for what? For his sins? For the blood on his hands? For dying at the hands of one of the very demons that he had allowed into this world? For being doomed by the lingering aftershock of his own doings?

"No...no, Mei...ma cherie...this was..." Waka tried to remain strong for his love, tried to comfort her as he cradled her tenderly as she lay dying in his arms, holding the tiny hand that weakly graced his cheek, feeling as the life, the spirit, slowly, achingly, slipped from her body...

Her chest fell as a single final breath escaped her lungs, the arm that had held the last of her strength went lifeless, the light disappeared from her eyes like the dying flame of a burnt out candle...she was...

"Mei...ma...cherie? Non...non non non non non...no...Mei...no..." Waka loosened his hand as Mei's bloodied arm fell limply to the ground, her dead, lifeless body resting in his arms as his heart begun to crack, shattering into a million pieces as the cruel reality was laid before him, hitting him like a brutal sledgehammer.

Mei...she was dead...she really was dead...and yet... "No...no, Mei...stay with me...Mei...no...s'il-te-plait reste avec moi..." his voice begun to wobble as his heart broke in his chest, the sheer agony that permeated every fibre of his being reverting him to his mother tongue in his devastation. "S'il-te-plait reste avec moi..." he whispered with vain, futile desperation as the heartbreak that rose from his core collected in his eyes as tears begun to streak down his face, mixing with the blood, Mei's blood, that had been smeared on his cheek. Waka shuddered with horror as he looked down...he saw Mei's blood smeared all over him, spread across his kimono, across his sleeves...on his hands...her blood, her innocent blood, was on his hands. Now...now he couldn't even speak...all he could do was kneel in heartbroken horror as his love lay dead in his arms, her blood shed by reason of his own foolishness...

"Mei...ma cherie...de-...desole..." he tearfully whispered as he lowered his face to hers, the tears dripping from his eyes and onto her bloodied face as he wept, cupping her cheek in his hand while her residual warmth still lingered in her now lifeless flesh.

As he wept and mourned, he could only reel as the phantoms that swam in his mind crawled from their hiding places in the depths of his soul to remind him of the reason as Mei joined the ranks of the many, many souls doomed to their cold, stony graves by his hand, the blood that stained his footsteps wherever he dared to tread...

His mother, his people...

The Celestials, Amaterasu, Himiko...

All of them...dead...all of their blood staining his hands...and now Mei had joined them.

He swore he would protect her, even if he had to give his life, and yet she still paid the price that should have been his to pay…maybe…this was inevitable. He was a prophet, his eyes could see through the very veil of time and glimpse events yet to come, maybe he had foreseen it and denied his vision for fear of losing the girl he so dearly loved.

Maybe…maybe he really did carry a curse upon his shoulders, that everyone and everything he loved was destined to die…

As he raised his eyes to the heavens in his anguish, the voices of those same phantoms whispered darkness to his soul, moaning and crying to him... "It wasn't the demons...you brought them here...you brought them to her. It was you, Waka...YOU KILLED HER." "YOU...KILLED...HER..."

"Waka...Waka...Waka..." an ethereal voice called out amidst the swirling torment of his nightmare, like a sword of light slicing through winding tendrils of dark, and as his eyes shot open, as if like a flash of lightning burning away the storm clouds swirling in the skies of his consciousness, the hellscape of his nightmare had all but disappeared; he was back in their bedroom, and there she was.

"Waka...you were having a nightmare again, weren't you...?"

There she was...sweet, beautiful, darling Mei...her perfect skin free from any sort of mutilation, her eyes, those beautifully dark eyes, as dark as wells of ink yet bright with life and the light of the lamp by the futon, open and earnest...there were few times he was so happy to see her beautiful face than after such horrific nightmares.

His gaze softened, melting like frost with the warm touch of spring, upon seeing her face, his eyes relaxing as his ragged breaths steadied with her touch as she brushed her delicate fingers over his cheek, right where her hand had been in the nightmare he had just awoken from. That dainty hand, free from blood or cuts or any sort of demonic taint…the relief he felt cast a haze of warmth over the dimly lit room as he tenderly turned to her, gently resting a hand to her own cheek in a bittersweet, perhaps superficial reassurance.

"Oh..." Waka replied with an outwardly pleasant sigh of utter relief as he formed a smile on his face, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek, as per the norm, "you shouldn't worry yourself, ma cherie...just lay yourself back down, get some more sleep…” Phantom fingers hooked their way around his heartstrings upon seeing the worried look in her eyes as they lay back down, the poignant melody played ringing through his head as she curled herself up on his chest...

He looked to her, so...so small and...fragile in his scarred arms as he held her… He looked to the ceiling, and asked himself...how? How would he tell her? Would he even tell her? The girl who took the weeping cracks in his broken heart and sealed them with gold, the girl who finally silenced the tormented screams of a thousand doomed souls wailing and weeping in his head... How would he tell her that the nightmares she helped soothe were macabre portraits painted by the bloodied brush of his sins, the guilt that had left poisoned hooks in soul for over two centuries...the horrifying portraits of her bloody demise?

#okami #okami waka #waka #mei (okami oc)#okami oc #oc/canon #waka/mei #okami fanfiction #okami fanfic #my writing #my drabbles #yeah this is your fault bamboo #i hope you're ready for A N G S T #you want angst? because that's how you get angst #that and the urge to write a companion thing for my spookami thingymabob

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mazerunnerfanatic · 2 days

Text

Shared Trauma

Pairing: Thomas × Brenda (Also Platonic!Newtmas)

Universe: Movies

A snarl. The swipe of a knife.

"Newt! Please!" Thomas's throat is raw, tears filling his eyes. He's so scared, terrified for his friend and of what he's become.

There's nothing behind his eyes anymore, just pools of black tar that replace the chocolate brown they used to be.

His friend-turned-Crank stumbles forward, swiping at him again.

Swipe

Swipe - Shink!

The sound was sickening to Thomas, even more so when Newt goes still against him, wide-eyed and staring blankly. When his friend collapses to the ground, Thomas shoots up.

His skin is coated in a thin layer of sweat, chest heaving. He looks around the room lit by faint moonlight, fingers tightly gripping the sheets twisted around him. He takes deep breaths to try and draw himself back into reality.

It wasn't real. Just a dream, just a nightmare.

Just a memory.

The memory that keeps Thomas up at night, the memory that hangs on him like an anchor, keeping him pulled taut between blaming himself and blaming WCKD. Where to aim his grief at, his anger, his pain.

He's drawn from his thoughts when a warm hand rests against his forearm, causing him to look over. The person next to him shifts to rest on her side. She rubs her thumb over his arm.

"Hey," Brenda says softly.

Thomas inhales quietly, swallowing.

"...Hey," he whispers back.

She looks over his face for a moment or two before her eyes drift to the arm she's rubbing. She's so quiet that if it weren't for the shifting of her thumb on his arm, he'd have assumed she'd fallen back asleep.

"The Nightmare again?" There's no judgement in her voice, no irritation or annoyance, despite the constant torment that Thomas experiences at the hands of the Nightmare.

Thomas nods quietly. Brenda just sighs. No more words could be said now, nothing of use anyways. She'd run out of ways to tell him it wasn't his fault, so much so that he could hear her saying them anytime he thought about Newt.

Brenda shifts on the bed and pulls Thomas to lay on his back again. The weighted comfort of her head on his chest gives him some sort of relief from the turmoil he's facing. Shakily, his hand raises to gently run through her hair. Brenda melts against him, sighing again.

Thomas's eyes have just started drooping when Brenda speaks up in a soft murmur.

"If it wasn't my fault, then it wasn't yours either. I had the Cure in my hand when I found you two. It was just as much on me as it was on you."

Brenda knew that her words were old news to him, something he's heard time and time again. But she also knew that including her own possible blame in the death of their non-immune friend broke Thomas from his cycle of emotions in the moment, gave him some aspect of clarity. It didn't lessen the pain, only stifled it. Muffled it. For the time being, anyways.

Thomas doesn't respond for a while, not sure what to say.

He didn't blame Brenda in the slightest. He'd seen the pain and regret in her eyes when she saw Newt's body, the same pain and regret he'd been feeling, vial of the Cure in her hand. Thomas was told that she'd been inconsolable while he was out from his bullet wound, fully blaming herself for just not being faster.

Of course it wasn't Brenda's fault, what more could she have done?

But the purpose of her words slowly hits Thomas. He'd done everything he could to save Newt, tried to calm him down, take his weapon from him. But the Flare was too strong.

Brenda tried too. They both failed, but neither were at fault.

So, with a deep sigh, Thomas pushes the thought of his dead friend from his mind. He runs a hand through Brenda's hair again, letting his eyes flutter closed. Sleep tugs at his mind as he lays there.

If blaming himself meant blaming Brenda, then Thomas refused to do it. It wasn't her fault, so it wasn't his.

It wasn't either of their faults. And that, Thomas could live with.

#the maze runner #tmr #tmr thomas #tmr brenda #trenda #thomas x brenda #brenda x thomas #tmr newt #newt & thomas #thomas & newt #canon ship #one shot #after the events of the death cure #tmr movie

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lleeroon-blog · 2 months

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Moira and Leeannes Journal Turdas 26th of Suns Dawn 4e 202

These boots of waterwalking truly are made by a master. It enhances the waters surface tension and makes it seem as though youre walking on solid rock. We enter the ship through a hatch near the anchor hole, with Leeanne ordering that she gets the final kill on the emperor, saying that since I had killed Mercer, she kills the emperor. Makes No difference to me.

Slash, Stab, Slice. Knok, Stretch, Thwip, Thunk The month of the dark brotherhood being "Dead" has made the guards Lax. Lazy. They didn't expect anyone to board their ship. It was almost Too easy clearing out the Emperors Royal Guard. The skeleton keys worth its weight in gold on this ship. So many locked doors, so easily broken into. The Ships Lieutenant was easy enough to dispatch. One arrow into the wood, one knife across his throat. Even had the Master Key on him. The key that opens the Emperors Quarters. One More Kill. This shall be Leeannes Honor.

When i had shifted and opened the Door, Mede wasnt scared at all to see a large wolfwoman enter his chambers. Hell, he was cordial. He went on about us having a date with destiny and all that. I had cut him off with a grab to his collar, preparing to split his head in my jaws like a ripe melon. But before that, he had asked Us to Kill Motierre afterward, which was already on my list. His Flesh was Delicious. Utterly sweet and succulent. The taste of Royalty, Fat with Exquisite meats and Wines. After Feasting on our prey, i had made my way Outside, tearing through the rest of the Guard and making my way back to the solitude docks, to cross the Maro Betrayer off of our list. barely even a fight. With that, we head back to Whiterun to end this entire Saga once and For All

When i had arrived within the bannered mare, the richman's guard was swigging meade down at the bar, and told me that he was in the backroom to talk. When i had entered and closed the door behind me, Mottiere pulled me into a hug. Jumping and cheering about how i had served skyrim in ways i couldn't ever know. Then afterwards he released me and sent me on my way, telling me that our payment was in Volenruund, where we first met. When he turned around, i placed my hand on his shoulder, pulled him in close and covered his mouth. "Mede says hello", I whispered into his ear as i slid my knife across his throat, cleaving through his flesh like a hot knife through mammoth cheese. Afterwards, Leeanne got to feast on the poor fool. Delicious. After that, i had chased after Rexas who had made his way onto the second floor of the bannered mare. I had tackled him through the door leading into Saadias room and feasted upon him in there. Poor Girl had to see that. From there, we had made our way to the under-forge and out the back, sprinting our way to Volenruund and collecting our payment. 20,000 septims. More than enough compensation for this entire ordeal. Now to get this money to the Dawnstar sanctuary.

When i entered the dawnstar sanctuary, Nazir pulled me into a hug... So much Hugging today. When i had told him the payment, he had laughed and said that it was definitely worth our while. After that, he sent me to riften to speak to Delvin mallory to get upgrades for our sanctuary. As i stepped out, i was greeted by the Mad Jester Cicero. He started talking about how foolish it was to spare him and how foolish it was to spare him. I had my sword half out its scabbard when he had started laughing about how much of a joke it was and how everything was hunky fucking dorey. He then Blew past me and went to tend to the corpse... The people i surround myself with.. Onto riften.

Spoke to Mallory and i spent ALL of the gold i had gained on refitting the sanctuary. I think I'm gonna lay my head down in Whiterun for a few days. Hircine protect me.

#skyrim #journal #werewolf #roleplay

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bewitchingbooktours · 1 year

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War of the Sea - Kickstarter by Dana Claire #FantasyRomance #Kickstarter

War of the Sea - Kickstarter

Olympian Wars

Book One

Dana Claire

Genre: Fantasy Romance

Publisher: Chamberlain Publishing House

ISBN: 9798987263563

ASIN: B0BLGH16G6

Number of pages: 270

Word Count: 80,000

Cover Artist: Brush Media Group

Tagline: A bargain. A brigand. A battle for the sea.

Book Description:

His powers could save the ocean. Her vendetta could sink a kingdom.

Captain Elouise Farrington, the youngest pirate on the Caviar Sea, seeks revenge on her father’s killer. But when her oddly hypnotic foe proposes a pact to kill the Siren Queen and end the War of the Sea’s bloodshed, she must make a choice. Put aside her long-brewing retribution or act the underhanded pirate and use the alliance to claim the life of the man who destroyed her family?

Captain Rylander Bordeaux, the revered royal navy captain of the Isle of Cava, has one mission—kill the Siren Queen and end the War of the Sea. The ocean is the only place Rylander calls home, but to bring peace to his beloved waves, he must defeat his past so he can reshape the future. His greatest hope is Captain Elouise, who calls to him like no siren song ever has. Too bad she’s almost as bloodthirsty as the fanged heart-eaters themselves. She promises to lend her all-female crew to his war on the sirens, but can he trust a brigand—especially one who wants him dead—to uphold her end of the bargain? Or will she be his undoing?

www.WaroftheSea.com

Kickstarter

Excerpt:

Our mouths met once again, hungry and desperate, as I lifted her into my arms. Her chemise rose and bunched in between us. My palms cupped her exposed thighs, urging them to encircle my waist. I walked us backward to the bed, never breaking our kiss, and slowly lowered her down, careful to bear my weight against my forearm. I savored the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath mingling with mine, as her fingers wove into my hair. Pleasure and pain radiated through my scalp as she pulled the ends with her iron grip, her moans urging me on. With my free hand, I explored her, tracing the lines of her neck, the softness of her breasts. Her body arched in response, a silent plea for more.

I continued my journey, my hand tracing the curve of her hip, slipping beneath her knee, and wrapping her leg around me once more. The connection between us grew stronger, an unspoken understanding that we were meant to be entwined, a meeting of souls. And then, with a surge of anticipation, I pressed into her, feeling her heat and the electric pulse of our bodies against one another.

She pulled back, her eyes locking onto mine, reflecting a hunger and longing that mirrored my own. A mischievous smile played upon her lips as her fingers toyed with the button on my trousers. But before she undid it, I heard a noise. Footsteps.

“It’s probably a good idea to tell you both I’m in the room.” Smitter’s voice sounded somewhere behind me, way too close to the bed, to us.

I jumped backward, lost my balance, and stumbled to the floor. My rear landed hard. Lou swathed herself in a wad of sheets.

“I had hoped you’d come up for air, but there’s really no good way to interrupt.” He waved in between us.

“I’m going to kill you,” I growled from the floor. Out of all the times my uncle had popped in and out of a room, this had to be the most invasive and humiliating.

“Why would you …? I can’t— Don’t you ever do that again,” Lou shouted, horrified. Her hands balled around the sheets. Flushed like a sunburned noble, she volleyed her gaze between me, half clothed on the floor, and Smitter. Her knotted hair stuck up on top of her head.

“Yes, I realize it’s not great timing, but the two of you need your rest. We drop anchor tomorrow on the perimeter of Anthemusa. The men have already been moved to the soundproof rooms. And we need to strategize how you’ll slay the Siren Queen, now that our first plan is no longer viable.” Smitter’s concerned brown eyes found mine. “Also, your aunt said this isn’t the right time for”—he swirled a finger in our general direction—“this.”

Lou’s brows contorted. “What? Who is your aunt?” She gaped at me.

I waved Lou off. Aunt Artemis, the goddess of childbirth, would know when Lou should abstain, but I wasn’t about to have that conversation. I bent my knees, resting my elbows on my thighs, and rubbed my temples. My family had truly outdone themselves. Not a single boundary nor a clue as to how their incessant involvement could be a nuisance.

About the Author:

DANA CLAIRE is an award-winning author whose stories explore identity, fate, and destiny in the crossroads of romance and adventure.

Her love of romantic tension and the supernatural effortlessly translates into spine-tingling action and unforgettable characters.

She lives in Los Angeles, CA with her adoring husband living her dreams: writing books, telling stories, and changing the world, one reader at a time.

Website: https://danaclairebooks.com/

Newsletter: https://bit.ly/3rDRy05

Shop: https://shopgiftsforbooklovers.com/

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Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DanaClaireBooks/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/dana-claire

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@authordanaclaire

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Dana-Claire/e/B08P6PQ8LJ

GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20913760.Dana_Claire

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lotus-flowerz · 3 years

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hello hello I love your writings so far sobs I couldn't help but do an ask myself aa (it's my first ask ever help hwkajd) could I request perhaps gn reader that flinched away from the boys by reflex? (preferably with Diluc, Kaeya and Kazuha but you can add or remove someone if you want to!) like they were hanging out and reader was lost in thoughts and suddenly when they see in the corner of their eyes how the boys raise their arm for smth reader quickly raises their arms above their own head to protect it- how would they react and how would they comfort the reader? I hope it's not too much or if you're uncomfortable with it you can ignore it if you want to whaaaa

AHHH TY IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY WRITING! i actually do this too, some of my old friends would make fun of me for it, so i hope that my writing here is accurate >.<

i also added beidou in here, hope you don't mind, i just had to since she's my favorite character <3

TW!! FLINCHING, ANXIETY, PAST TRAUMA, MENTION OF DEATH AND INJURIES

SLIGHT INAZUMA ARCHON QUEST SPOILERS

KAEYA BACKSTORY SPOILERS

The cherry blossoms fell silently from the trees under which you and Kazuha were sitting. Those had remained unchanged since you and Kazuha were children. The beauty of the pink blossoms falling towards the green earth without a care.

It had remained the same through the vision hunt decree, through the war, through watching Tomo get killed by the shogun, through both of you getting injured during said fight. Kazuha's hand was burnt from Tomo's vision, and your body had a large scar running from your knee to the side of your neck from a stray bolt of lighting from Tomo's divine punishment. If not for Kazuha's determination to not lose another friend and Beidou and her crew caring for you, you would be dead.

These days, although you and Kazuha both carried the same trauma, he seemed to be doing leaps and bounds better than you were. Your eyes flitted to Kazuha, who was writing poetry. The only sound that could be heard was his pen gliding across the paper, filling it with his eloquent words that always seemed to flow so smoothly.

You were deep in thought, when out of the corner of your eye you spotted something coming towards your face. Instinctively, your hands flew out to shield yourself, leaving a very confused Kazuha, who was only scratching his head, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

"Dove.. did you think I was going to hurt you?"

You slowly lowered your arms, guilt washing over you.

"No! It's just- sometimes, when movements are too sudden.. I.. you know, I try to protect myself because uh.."

His eyes drifted to your scar, then looked up at your face, only to find it tilted to the ground. He put a finger under your chin, bringing your eyes up to meet his, then kissing your forehead.

One hand snaked around your waist while the other traced lightly over your scar, sending shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around him as well, putting a little of your weight onto him.

He kissed your lips, squeezing you tight against him.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again. I promise."

"Kazuha, it's not-"

"I know it's not my fault. And I know I couldn't have prevented it. But I promise you, you're safe now."

He brought his hand up to cradle the back of your head as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"Thank you." you said, squeezing him a little tighter.

"No need to thank me. I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Kazuha."

You had been a part of Beidou's crew for just over a year now, after meeting her in the wharf of Liyue harbor after finally finding the courage to leave your abusive and toxic partner. You didn't have a place to stay and you were clearly distraught, so when she asked if you were okay and you immediately began to cry, she offered you to come on her ship. You trusted her, since she was the well-known captain of the Crux. After you had explained your situation, she offered you to join her crew. You agreed, and began dating her about six months after joining the Crux.

Because you had been aboard the Alcor for a year, you knew the crew was loud and prone to get drunk. You had never liked to drink, preferring to quietly sip a small glass of dandelion wine while sitting next to Beidou while she drank a few beers and talked with her crew.

It was now the one year anniversary of when you had left Liyue Harbor, and conveniently, the Alcor was anchored there for a bit for a supplies run, imports drop off, and exports pickup. While out and about with Beidou, you had seen your ex in the wharf. They were about to come and talk to you, when you had pointed them out to Beidou. Beidou had slipped her arm around your waist, glaring at your ex, who glared back and turned heel to walk away.

Now, you sipped your wine beside Beidou, deep in thought. The loud atmosphere wasn't helping your anxieties, and you couldn't get your ex's glare out of your head. You didn't even realize you were completely zoned out until Beidou raised her arm to sling it around your shoulders, after she noticed you were zoned out.

Your arms flew up to shield yourself, and you spilt wine all over the both of you. The cup clattered to the floor, but luckily no one else noticed what just happened.

Beidou's face dropped and she quickly picked up the cup, setting it back down on the table.

"Men!" she called out. "Y/n and I are turning in early tonight! Make sure you scallywags have this cleaned up by the morning!"

The crew cheered their goodnights, raising their beers to their captain and her first mate. Beidou smiled, slipped an arm around your waist, and led you back to your guys' shared quarters.

"Alright doll, what happened just now?"

She closed the door behind her and sat on the bed next to you, looking at you with a certain softness that made you melt.

"I'm.. I'm sorry, I was just thinking of my ex, and how we saw them earlier, and I couldn't get their glare out of my head.. and I left them exactly a year ago.. I don't know why I flinched away from yo-"

Beidou cut you off by taking both of your hands into hers.

"Y/n, don't say sorry! You know, your ex wouldn't stand a chance against even my weakest crew member. They will never hurt you again."

"I don't doubt that for a second," you said, a small smile growing on your face, "Thank you for taking me in, Beidou."

"No, the pleasure is all mine. I couldn't ask for a better first mate. You're safe now, okay?" she smiled, squeezing your hands.

You looked into her eyes for a moment before throwing your arms around her. She squeezed you back, kissing your head.

"C'mon, let's shower and get this wine off of us." she giggled.

You laughed. "Yeah, let's."

Kaeya had told you his backstory, but you never mentioned yours. You just weren't ready to talk about it. Your parents had never been great, you always walked on eggshells around everyone, and everyone was all too rough with you, emotionally and physically.

You had met Kaeya in the tavern one night, while trying to drink away what you were feeling. Kaeya had noticed how obliterated you were and let Diluc know he was taking you to stay at the Knights Headquarters, and would keep an eye on you. The rest was history, and now you and Kaeya had been dating for a little over a year.

Kaeya had told you his backstory on Monday. That same day later on, you had a run in with your parents at Blanche's, where they had yelled at you for deciding to become a Knight, and proceeded to pick you apart from your very core.

In turn, you had been drinking a little more than usual for the entire week. You seemed more withdrawn and just not fully there. And it all came to a head when you were laying in bed next to Kaeya.

He went to put his arm over you, a loving gesture, but your arms came up on instinct to shield yourself. He sighed loudly.

"You're scared of me."

"Oh Archons- I didn't mean to- no, I swear it isn't-"

"You've been acting all angry and cold ever since I told you about my roots. I thought you would be the one who didn't leave me after I told them."

"No, Kaeya- please, just let me explain!"

"I'm listening."

You began to hesitantly tell him about your parents. His face grew angrier and angrier every time you told him another thing your parents had done to you.

"I'll kill them. I had no idea that that happened though. I'm sorry for assuming."

"It's alright, Kaeya. I didn't even consider that you might think I was acting weird because of where your confession."

"I swear they'll never get near you again, alright? You're safe now. It's alright."

He pulled you into him, wrapping you up in his strong arms and putting his legs over yours, making you feel protected and safe.

"No one will hurt you, not on my watch. I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Kaeya. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"No need for apologies, you were gonna tell me when you were ready. Now let's get some sleep, that dandelion wine I downed earlier is starting to get to me."

You giggled, burying your head further into his chest.

"Alright. Goodnight, Kaeya."

"Night, prince/ess."

You and Diluc had been dating for a few months now, you had met when he had needed to hire a new bartender, and you volunteered your mixing skills to the Angel's Share. You had caught his eye immediately, and he had asked you out on a date soon after you began your work there.

Your ex wasn't a kind person, to say the least, so you had been hesitant to say yes. You assured Diluc that this was just because your ex was unkind to you, but you had never mentioned physical harm. You hadn't wanted to worry him.

You were sitting on the couch with Diluc, his arm slung over your shoulders while you stared into the crackling flames of the fire burning before you. Diluc wasn't paying attention, as he was reading a book in his free hand.

He raised his arm up, attempting to adjust to a more comfortable position, but you misread this. Your arms were shielding your face in an instant, and Diluc was looking at you with a shocked and concerned face that quickly morphed to anger.

"I'm going to kill him." he growled/

You lowered your arms and looked down, avoiding looking him in the eye.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"Did he hit you??"

"I, um, didn't want to worry you."

"Barbatos.. and this domestic abuser is just, what, roaming around Mondstat? No punishment for the pain he put you through?"

"I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want him to come and hurt me. I also didn't want to cause any trouble."

Diluc rubbed a hand over his face, before wrapping you in a hug.

"You're safe here, alright? I will never lay a hand on you to hurt you. I won't let anyone else hurt you either, okay?"

"Thank you.." your eyes welled up with tears, "I thought you would be upset that I didn't tell you."

"No, never. It's a hard thing to talk about. If you'd like, I have connections. We can have him arrested."

"I don't want to cause trouble.."

"You won't. He won't be able to hurt anyone else this way. But we can discuss this later. Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"That'd be nice. Thanks, Diluc."

"You're welcome, angel. Tell me if anyone hurts you again, alright? I'll protect you."

"Will do. I love you."

"I love you too."

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deepdarkdelights · 3 years

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Time of Death (Jungkook x Reader) (10 Seconds Part 4)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Stalking, Obsession, Forced Relationships, Blood (Lots of it), Gore, Fear, Panic/Anxiety, Discussions of dead bodies, Mourning, Depictions of a corpse, Detailed Depictions of Wounds, Burying A Body, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Child Abuse (not depicted)

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

Preview: The thought of the frail boy, huddled in the kitchen corner and drenched in his own father’s blood with his body mere feet away had you halting to a stop. He had killed him for you, to save your life and his own. Why didn’t that scare you? Was it because he had killed a horrible person? Perhaps if it had been someone you had cared about you would have lunged for those keys without a single hesitation. But he had murdered his mother’s abuser, the man who manipulated him, and the monster that terrified you.

A/N: Surprise! This is a 2k Follower Celebration Gift! I think I did a good job of keeping it a secret hehe. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, I never thought I would write a fourth installment to the 10 Series but here it is! I can’t wait to see what you all think about this new chapter, I’ll see you in the comments and in my inbox! Happy 2k my Little Delights 💜💜💜

Part 1 Here // Part 2 Here // Part 3 Here // Part 5 Here

The time of death was ten minutes to seven.

The kettle was whistling painfully loud.

Your fingers that had dried with blood were curled into Jungkook’s tresses still attempting to soothe his shaking form. His wails had quieted down, the only sounds leaving his body being soft sniffles, hiccups, and the occasional sob. He was still shaking, horribly so, and his grip on you was near bruising as he refused to let you go. He was using you as his anchor, the only thing keeping him rooted in that spot and drifting away into a sea of dark despair.

The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood and half cooked food. The meal that Mrs. Jeon had been cooking was left abandoned long ago. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but the blood coating you and Jungkook was stiff, dark, and flaking uncomfortably.

The body laying on the floor a few feet away from you was still oozing blood onto the tile of the kitchen floor. The skin though had paled significantly, and it’s chest had fallen still. There was no other way around it, he was definitely dead.

He was finally dead.

Your breaths had slowed now, your heart settling despite the horrific scene in front of you. You tilted your head back and rested it against the base cabinets behind you, allowing your eyes to flutter shut and your chest to expand with a great inhale. Despite what you had witnessed that night, that felt like the first time you had actually been able to breathe without a weight on your shoulders or a glare drilling into your spine.

Despite your captivity, you felt free.

So, you allowed yourself those few, brief moments of relief. You allowed Jungkook to cry all of his guilt away into the security of your neck, your fingers sifting through his hair gently as you rested your chin on his head.

You couldn’t rest for long though, you had work to do.

“Jungkook,” You whispered, your lips pressed against his dark mop of hair. “You need to let me get up.”

“No, no, no, no.” He mumbled to himself, over and over again as he pressed his huddled form even tighter to your own. His shaking had begun to worsen, your neck beginning to dampen as a new wave of tears surged forward. He was traumatized. You had to go about this very, very carefully.

“You have to, Jungkook. I need to help your mother.” You replied, running your hand up and down his back slowly as his breaths became deeper and longer. “I won’t leave.”

He remained absolutely silent, his little sobs ceasing, only leaving you with the feeling of his silent tears gently dripping down onto the bare flesh of your neck. He squeezed you tighter for a moment, mumbling something quietly to himself that you couldn’t hear. And, very slowly, he detached himself from you, his eyes trained to the floor refusing to look at you. Those big, doe eyes of his were glazed with tears, his eyes, cheeks, and nose flushed pink from crying so violently. He sniffed a few times, his breath hitching every now and then. And still without saying anything, he turned and faced the corner base cabinet, tucking himself away into the space and crossing his legs while pressing his hands against his eyes, effectively cutting himself off from everything around him. He looked like a child being punished and sent to the corner.

Once you were free from his hold you hastily stood up and grabbed the handle of the kettle, removing it off of the heat to allow your ears a moment of respite.

The two living Jeons were in similar states, Jungkook’s mother though, she was much worse. That foggy, far off look was still apparent in her eyes. It was like she was drifting off into a dream while still being awake, far away from her pain and the bloody mess before her eyes. She almost looked catatonic.

You squatted down on your haunches in front of her, trying to meet her gaze but doing so unsuccessfully. You slid your hands beneath her arms and attempted to help her rise up to her feet with you. Her body was more conscious than her mind, failing any attempts to resist as she unconsciously did what you asked of her. You guided her arm around your shoulder and began to walk the two of you down the hallway. The task itself was becoming a herculean one, now that the adrenaline had dissipated you were feeling every punch and kick that had been delivered to your body. On the outside, it probably looked like Jungkook’s mother was the one helping you and not the other way around. You had a prominent limp, and vaguely you could remember the blast of pain in your kneecap from the heel of a boot slamming down into it. You were sure that you looked like an absolute wreck.

Your mother in law remained as quiet as her son, no words parted her lips, only soft exhales that seemed cacophonous in the eerily silent, dark hallway. Her room had not been far from the kitchen, and that was good for you. The quicker you got her settled, the quicker you could get her added weight off of your bruised body.

You eased the door open, the hinges creaking softly as the two of your shuffled into the pitch black room. You guided her to the bed and gently sat her on the edge, removing her slippers for her before helping her under the cover of her bed sheets. She still said nothing to you, instead she rolled over onto her side, her eyes still holding that far off look, and laid her head against the pillow on the empty side of the bed. Her husband's side of the bed.

A chill rolled down the curve of your spine, your body shuddering at the unwelcome feeling. Even though he was gone, he undeniably still had his hold over her.

The door clicked shut behind you as your bare feet met the cool wood floor of the hallway. It was so quiet, the lake house had never been this quiet. You were already on edge, and this was only making matters worse.

A soft glint of light against metal caught your eye. You turned on your heel and faced the direction of where it was coming from.

Car keys. There were car keys resting in the dish by the front door.

Your heart began to pound at the sight of them, the slim beams of moonlight reflecting the metal keychain they rested on as if they were calling out to you. You were being given a chance to escape to freedom, probably your best chance. You could leave if you wanted to, there was no one stopping you. Not Mr. Jeon, not your mother in law, and not Jungkook.

Jungkook.

The thought of the frail boy, huddled in the kitchen corner and drenched in his own father’s blood with his body mere feet away had you halting to a stop. He had killed him for you, to save your life and his own. Why didn’t that scare you? Was it because he had killed a horrible person? Perhaps if it had been someone you had cared about you would have lunged for those keys without a single hesitation. But he had murdered his mother’s abuser, the man who manipulated him, and the monster that terrified you. And he had also killed his father, his parent, the man he looked up to and desperately wanted his approval.

Jungkook was just as scared and confused as you were.

And so you made probably the most insane decision you would ever make. You backed away, turned around, and left the keys forgotten in the dish by the door. And instead of fleeing to freedom, you returned to the blood stained kitchen.

Jungkook was no longer in the position you had left him in. Instead, his back was pressed against the base cabinets still on the floor as he stared emptily at the limp body of his father on the ground.

He was staring, numbly, at his father’s corpse.

You edged your way into the room, slowly, your feet barely making any sound against the kitchen tile. You crept your way over to him before settling down into a squat in front of him, obstructing his view of his father.

“Jungkook,” You said, his eyes flicking up to finally meet yours. “We have to take care of it.”

That brought the tears back. His big, brown eyes began to fill again, the hiccups returning in tandem. His broad shoulders began to shake, his lower lip quivered with each rush of panicked breath that parted his delicate lips.

“I-I can’t. Please, I can’t.” He choked, his head bowing down as he began to shake even more. This required more delicacy than you had previously thought. To you, that man was an abusive bastard, to Jungkook that was his father, a person he loved dearly for his entire life.

You let out a little sigh before raising your hands up to cup his face, the cold metal of your engagement ring brushing against the apples of his cheeks. “Jungkookie, we can’t just leave him there.”

He remained quiet as your fingers gently stroked his face, his eyes fluttering shut as a few tears escaped to run down his cheeks. His breathing was slowing now with your presence, his shoulders bobbing less now with each little cry he let out. He sniffed twice before looking at you once more.

“I can...I can call someone.” He mumbled.

“Okay, let’s do that then.” You nodded, attempting to give him a reassuring grin despite the flecks of blood that framed your face.

He shuffled slightly before pulling out his phone from his back pocket. You noticed the screen saver now, in fact this was the first time you had ever seen his phone. It was a picture of you on your “wedding” day. The chiffon dress was floating around you as it draped over the cobblestone path and ferns that lined the backyard garden. You could just barely see your painted toes peeking out from beneath the hem of the dress and the slight shine of metal from the leg cuffs that had slipped out of hiding. That day seemed so far away now.

He typed in his password, too long and too quick for you to memorize, and immediately went to his contacts. He selected the one he was looking for and held the phone up to his ear, but not before grabbing onto your hand and twining his fingers with your own.

The person on the other end picked up fairly quickly and Jungkook began to ramble into the receiver about what had transpired. He had to stop and re explain every so often as he would cut himself off with a choke or a sob or a flood of tears

“I can’t clean it all up myself, I-I just can’t.” He said, his voice rising in volume with each word.

You could hear a muffled response from the other end of the line, but you couldn’t make out what was being said.

“O-okay. The front door is open...he’s in the kitchen.” Jungkook said before abruptly ending the call and going limp. His cries were silent this time.

A part of you couldn’t help but appreciate the irony of your situation. If anyone should have been a mess in this whole ordeal it should be you. But instead, here was your kidnapper, completely collapsed and torn apart. It was the epitome of irony. But even through this, you still could empathize with Jungkook. Not only had he unexpectedly lost his father, but his own flesh and blood had tried to murder him and then he had to dispose of his own father. It was a horrible twist of fate.

“Come on, we need to clean you up.” You said, your hands tracing down the curves of his face to settle on his shoulders and rub soothing circles into the material of his shirt.

He froze beneath you, most likely scared of the thought of having to get up and be faced with the proof of his sin.

“Hey, look at me, only look at me.” You instructed, gripping his chin and forcing him to look you in the eyes. “Just focus on me.”

His hands settled on your waist as his eyes stared into your own, listening to the soothing words that oozed from your lips like sweet honey. The two of you rose, unsteadily, and you began to lead him out of the kitchen and down the hallway. As long as he focused on you, then he wouldn’t have to see what he did.

“Good job, Jungkook.” You cooed, like a mother would to their child. He was so fragile at that moment, he very well could have been a child.

You guided him into the bathroom and pressed down on his shoulders forcing him to sit on top of the lid of the closed toilet. You turned to face the bathtub and bent over to begin running the water and warm as you could. You needed to get him to calm down as fast as possible. As soon as the water felt warm enough, you switched the water to the shower setting and turned back around to face him.

His wide eyes were following every movement you were making, he looked like a little lost puppy. You shook the thought from your head and came to stand in between his spread legs.

“Arms up.” You instructed, gripping the hem of his shirt and lifting it up over his head. You allowed the article of clothing to flutter to the ground, there was nothing more you could do for it. The most logical thing would be to probably burn it, it was completely soaked through with blood. You couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable that would have been to wear, feeling the thick liquid stick to your skin and slowly mat your shirt down to your skin.

Jungkook took care of the rest of his clothing himself, there appeared to be more clarity in his eyes now that he was away from the dead body that was still laid out on the kitchen floor. Although his panic returned as you began to turn towards the door. He reached out and gripped your forearm, one of his legs in the tub and the other still on the floor.

“Please, don’t leave me.” He begged, his lips quivering again.

“Okay, I won’t leave.” You promised.

His hand slid down your forearm before finding your hand and wrapping around it tightly. He stepped into the shower and sat down on the floor of the tub, allowing the water from the shower head to cascade down on his seated form.

You watched in morbid fascination as the blood began to liquify again and run off of his skin before mixing with the water and swirling down the drain. He squeezed your hand in rapid pumps, it was a steady rhythm like that of a heart beat. His head pivoted to the side to look at you again.

“I didn’t want to...I didn’t mean to kill him.” He said, his voice so low it sounded more like a whisper.

“I know.” You nodded.

“I just, I couldn’t control myself. I didn’t know he was still hurting mom, and then you. I couldn’t take it, I couldn’t let him hurt you. Not you, never.” He swallowed, looking away for a moment before continuing.

“And then his hands were around my neck and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I knew he was going to kill me and then he was going to take you too. It was going to be me or him, and then you saved me. You saved us.” His eyes were getting misty again.

“But I didn’t mean to kill him, I just wanted to hurt him, to make him stop hurting me, my mom, you. But once I started I just - I couldn’t stop.” He was starting to ramble now, his traumatized mind bouncing from thought to thought without a clear end goal. “I killed my own father...I murdered him. You know I would never hurt you right? You-you know I would never do that to you?”

He had jolted up at the realization that you would think he was a monster, a murderer. If only he had known you had thought he was a monster long before he had killed his father. Now though, you were not so sure that thought held true.

He had twisted his torso, his wet hands gripping the edge of the tub as his gaze poured into your eyes. Your vision narrowed on to the tattoo that was inked into the skin of his chest. Your name was settled just above his heart, all healed and scarred in and perfectly opaque. He had done this for you, this was all because of you.

And the most unbearable truth, was that you hated to see him in pain.

“I know, you would never hurt me.” That was the truth.

He slowly raised his tattooed hand up to lightly brush against your face. The dried blood on your skin was stiff and uncomfortable, and the touch of his wet hand sent pink water down your face. That shower you had taken not too long ago had been for nothing.

“Let me hold you, please.” He begged, his eyes darting over the features of your face.

Well, it wouldn’t be anything he hadn’t seen before and the feeling of dried blood on your skin was begging you to climb into the tub.

So, you stripped yourself of your clothes and settled yourself into the tub with him. Your eyes sliding closed as you felt his arms wrap around you and pull you into his chest. He was warm beneath your cheek and his touch was gentle. You could feel the light tap of water drops falling against your skin, the thick steam enveloping the two of you in the space of the bathroom as his fingers grazed up and down the length of your spine, his other hand stroking your damp hair.

It was intimate in a way you never thought possible. Right then and there, in that moment, it became easy to pretend. It was easy to pretend that there wasn’t a bloody corpse a few feet away, that you hadn’t been the cause of it, that you hadn’t been kidnapped all those months ago. It was easy to pretend that your kidnapper wasn’t the one holding you so delicately despite the fact your mind was struggling to imagine it being any one but Jungkook, the shy boy you knew in high school.

It was so fucked up. You were fucked up.

You hated the fact that you knew what was happening to you, it was taking over you slowly but surely.

The two of you laid curled up against one another in that tub for longer than you knew, the pink water swirling down the drain finally turned clear by the time the two of you decided to get out.

You held Jungkook’s hand again, the two of you clad in pure white towels as you guided him down the hallway and up the stairs, making sure he didn’t remove his gaze from you and think back to the body that waited in the kitchen.

You couldn’t help but think how sick others would find the two of you. You could hear the true crime channels already, talking about how you had left the corpse in the kitchen while the two of you curled up in the bath and then retreated to your bedroom. They would be disgusted, horrified by your actions. But they wouldn’t know what you had endured, and they would never find out about that night. You were going to make sure of that, if anything came to pass, no one would ever know what happened to Mr. Jeon.

Once you had returned to the bedroom, you swiftly pulled on one of his hoodies and a pair of shorts. He elected to wear one of his baggy t-shirts and a pair of lounge pants that hung heavily off of his body making him appear smaller than he really was. He looked like a lost child, unsure of what to do and where to go.

He was staring off again into the depths of the closet, his vision unfocused and his body frozen. He was as still as a Grecian statue, and just as beautiful and idyllic as one. His hair had gotten longer since the wedding, he hadn’t been getting it cut since he had taken you, far too preoccupied with taking care of you and protecting you from the wrath of his father.

You watched several drops of water drip off the curled edges of his hair and wet the collar of his shirt, his body remaining unflinching at its touch. You approached the bedside table and pulled out a brush that was not unfamiliar to you while grabbing a stray towel. You then sat yourself on the edge of the bed, legs crossed.

“Jungkook,” You called, pulling him from his stupor. “Come here.”

He crossed the room and hesitantly sat beside you, that kicked puppy look still plastered to his features. You picked up the towel and set it on top of his head, ruffling the wet strands of hair back and forth in an attempt to somewhat dry them. A soft, muffled laugh echoed from beneath the fabric. You peeled it back, exposing his face to you but still keeping the towel over his wet hair.

“My mom used to do that, I didn’t realize how much I missed it.” He admitted, a ghost of a smile resting on his lips.

You smiled in response, one that was not forced and was the first genuine one you had ever given him. What he had done changed things between the two of you, more than you or he could ever realize.

After quickly running the brush through his hair, you guided his head down to your lap and began to run your fingers through his clean tresses. His body had relaxed against your touch, his broad shoulders going limp the more you smoothed your fingers over his scalp. A shudder wracked through his form, not once but twice, and then there was the feeling of a cool tear rolling against the warmth of your thigh, right where his cheek was pressed against the bare stretch of flesh.

He was crying again.

“I love you.” He mumbled into your skin. “I love you so much.”

“Jungkookie, relax.” You cooed, your breath misting over the shell of his ear. You tried using that soothing voice again, that nickname that you thought would calm him down.

You could feel a steady flow of tears rolling over the curve of your thigh. His body no longer shook, and his breaths were no longer labored. These were tears of acceptance.

“I hate to see you in pain.” You admitted, something that simultaneously felt like a weight dragging you down and a breath of fresh air. You were fucked.

The rest of your time together passed in silence, his breaths steadily beginning to slow and the rise and fall of his chest becoming gentle as your fingers played with his drying curls. He had fallen asleep in your lap when you heard the lock on the front door being undone, and the hinges squeaking as it swung open. You could hear muffled voices speaking to one another and the heavy sounds of footsteps walking down the first floor hallway.

The clean up crew had arrived.

You remained still for a long while, ensuring that Jungkook was fully wrapped up in the arms of sleep. Slowly, you eased yourself to the side, your hand cradling his head gently as you settled it down onto the surface of the mattress, your body slinking backwards off of the bed.

You approached the bedroom door and paused for a moment, listening for any noise downstairs while looking and Jungkook, verifying that he was still deep asleep. With both tasks complete, you eased the door open and entered the second floor hallway. You had some business to take care of.

You walked down the stairs slowly, your pace quickening the closer you got to the first floor, far enough away so that Jungkook wouldn’t hear you and wake up. Your hand gripped the banister as your feet met the floor, still holding it you swung yourself around the corner and headed to the kitchen.

As soon as you entered, so did the men from the sliding glass door that led to the porch. The both of them were familiar, you knew them from the wedding. And you most definitely recognized Kim Taehyung, the biggest question you had was what was he doing here.

The shorter of the two waved at you from the door, an angelic smile on his plush lips with his eyes pressed closed. Your gaze zoned in on the blood that stained the hand that was energetically waving at you, that angelic smile was that of a fallen angel.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was watching you curiously, waiting for your next move.

“I would really prefer if you didn’t run and make our job even more difficult.” He spoke, the deep timbre of his voice shocking you despite having heard it before.

“I don’t plan on running,” You spoke honestly, “I just want to get rid of that bastard.”

“Look at that Tae, three people will get the job done much faster.” The blonde one chirped as he pushed his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand, avoiding smearing blood on the lenses.

“Besides, she wouldn’t be so stupid to run while outnumbered.” He continued, his eyes fluttering open. You could have sworn the devil was hidden in their depths, that sweet smile of his contrasting dangerously with that twisted look in his dark eyes.

“Come on doll, you can help us get rid of the evidence.” He giggled.

“Jimin, I don’t think Jungkook would-” Taehyung started, only to be interrupted by said man.

“She said she wanted to help, do you see Jungkookie anywhere?” Jimin replied, rolling his eyes as he pulled you around the island where the corpse previously laid.

The space was empty now, only a large pool of blood remained. The entire area was a mess, rivers of blood flowed through the grout of the tile and the base cabinets were covered in splatters of crimson from each time Jungkook had plunged and withdrew the blade from flesh.

“Where did you move the body?” You asked, your tongue swiping over your lower lip. It felt rough like sandpaper, completely dry.

“It’s outside, the last thing you want is a corpse stinking up your kitchen.” Taehyung replied, resting his elbow on the kitchen island and cradling his chin in his palm.

Jimin returned with a toolbox, a mop, bleach, and a bucket. He hummed a soft melody to himself on repeat as he began to set up his items, uncapping the bottle of bleach and filling the bucket with water.

“Tae, screwdriver.” Jimin called over his shoulder, waving the tool around.

Taehyung rounded the island and retrieved the screwdriver before settling into a squat and beginning to loosen the screws on the cabinet doors.

“What are you doing?” You asked, lingering behind the two as they began their work. Taehyung removing doors and Jimin mopping up the mess.

“Blood soaks into wood, it’s almost impossible to get out. It would just be easier to burn the doors and buy new ones.” Taehyung explained, pulling the door free from the cabinet. “Make a pile of these in the fire pit, we’ll take care of them later.”

Once he handed you the door, you scuttled out onto the porch and jogged down the steps. Your toes met the grass and suddenly you were taken back to that night all those months ago when you tried to flee. The brief, exhilarating, and terrifying moment where you thought freedom was within your grasp.

The sight of Mr. Jeon’s corpse was sobering. Your thoughts of running quickly died down when you saw his stiff body laying on the ground, like a snake hiding in the grass. You shuddered at the thought and sprinted past it, tossing the door into the firepit and returning to the house.

You, Taehyung, and Jimin had created a rhythm with one another. Jimin continued wiping the scene of any physical evidence and Taehyung removed all the doors while you ran them to the fire pit. Jimin had not been wrong when he said that three people would get the job done much quicker. By the time all of the doors had been moved to the fire pit, Jimin was finishing up with the significantly smaller pool of blood.

And you, you had questions that you needed answered.

“Why is...why is Jungkook like this?” You asked slowly, settling yourself against the counter by the sliding glass doors.

“Like what?” Taehyung asked as he twisted the cap back onto the bottle of bleach.

“Obsessive, controlling, a kidnapper?” You offered, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as soon as the words left your mouth. You had almost forgotten they were not only cleaning up a murder, but were also Jungkook’s friends.

The two shared a knowing look with one another, Taehyung was more cautious, Jimin was thrumming with energy.

“You know what they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Jimin said, his hands gripping the very top of the mop’s handle, his chin settling onto his hands.

“It isn’t just Jungkook and his father, it’s the entire family, it’s been like this for generations. Who knows how far back it goes.” Taehyung added. “I’m sure you could tell from the wedding.”

You nodded in confirmation, you definitely knew that the whole family was just as sick as your “husband” and his father.

“It’s tradition doll, everyone in his family passes it on to the kids. Jungkook’s father met his mother in high school, she was much different then. Fiery, headstrong, independent. Mr. Jeon referred to training her like breaking in a wild mare, and he was far from lenient.

Jungkook was alone for a few years before his sister came along, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to witness or hear his mother’s training, if you know what I mean.” Jimin said with a tilt of his head.

You knew what he meant, those deep scars maring her flesh were still burned into your memory. Jungkook had seen and heard far more than any child ever should have had to. It made sense why he finally snapped when his father raised his hand to you.

“Jungkook’s father wasn’t the most emotional guy, and if Jungkook messed up, well, he received training of his own too.” Taehyung said, his vision unfocusing like he was seeing something you and Jimin were not privy to.

All of the pieces were finally coming together. Jungkook’s mother was not the only one to be on the receiving end of his father’s fury and punishments. Your eyes burned like you were seconds away from crying, poor Jungkook had been through more than you could have anticipated. It was no wonder why he so desperately wanted you. He wanted someone to make his own family with, someone who could show him love instead of pain. The two of you were broken, messed up individuals who were finding shelter with one another.

How could you feel that way about the man who took you? Because you understood him.

“He wasn’t all that bad though, taught us a lot of useful things.” Taehyung mumbled, snapping out of his daze.

“Taught you things…” You trailed off, a confused expression on your face before you finally understood. “You mean you-”

“If you’re thinking I have someone waiting for me at home that I put there, then yeah, you’re on the right track.”

The man standing before you, the celebrity that you had seen countless times on billboards, magazines, and television shows, had been a kidnapper all along as well. Jungkook’s father had made a bigger impact on others in his twisted life than you had previously imagined. He had not only conditioned his son, but his two best friends as well.

“Don’t look so surprised, dear.” Jimin smiled. “We just love deeply and passionately, what’s so wrong with that?”

A feeling had settled in the pit of your stomach at the tone of his words and the faux innocence on his face. Something in the back of your head was telling you they were far more dangerous than the man that lay asleep on the floor above you. There was a time where you considered Jungkook to be the worst monster there was, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But the men before you were far worse, they were monsters that enjoyed creeping out from the veil of darkness and bathing in the light. They took joy in what they did, and they had no qualms about making it known. They were satisfied with themselves, they like being monstrous.

Perhaps being self aware was far more threatening than being delusional.

“Ready for the final step?” Jimin asked you, jerking his head in the direction of the door.

You didn’t need to ask him what he meant by that, you were well aware. The three of you all slipped out of the door and onto the porch. You kept them at a further distance than you previously had, now knowing their true nature you felt safer that way.

The porch light behind you hummed and flickered, the light shifting between bright and dim casting shadows of all lengths over the porch. It was like it’s own contained thunderstorm, each flash of light unpredictable with a new and varying glow upon each pulse.

The porch steps creaked beneath your combined weight as the three of you made your way to the body that lay waiting. In your prior attempts to avoid the pale corpse, you had missed the deep hole that had already been dug up and prepared for your husband's father.

His lips were tinged blue at this point, his skin appeared papery, pale, and thin. The wounds all over his chest and abdomen had finally stopped seeping blood, but his clothes were completely drenched in it. Jungkook had done a number on him.

You and the two men conducted the rest of your work in silence. Taehyung gripped the corpses arms while you and Jimin grabbed his legs. He was heavy, your arms burning in resistant as you tried to lift him. The three of you gave the body two good swings before releasing it and letting it fall to the bottom of the pit. It was far from a dignified burial. It was exactly what he deserved.

Without saying a word, Jimin picked up two spades and handed one to you with a smile and a wink. You gripped the wood of the shovel violently, your nails sinking into it as your jaw clenched. A rage was slowly consuming your entire being in a way you had never felt before. You approached the edge of the pit and looked down to the very bottom where the corpse haphazardly lay.

How ironic was it, that he had planned to put you there, even dug the hole himself, but by the end of the night he was the one to come to occupy it.

You stabbed the shovel ruthlessly into the pile of soil and dumped it into the gaping hole. That rage that had been creeping over you had finally taken full effect as you lost yourself in the motions, stab, lift, drop, repeat.

Stab, lift, drop, repeat.

Stab. Lift. Drop. Repeat.

You and Jungkook were far more alike than you once thought.

Jimin had been working alongside you, although at a much steadier pace than you. Your eyes were pinned to the bottom of the grave, watching each shower of dirt cascade over the body at the bottom.

Taehyung had attempted to swap places with you by the time the pit was halfway filled, but you firmly denied him. Instead, he took Jimin’s place and allowed the blonde man to settle himself in the grass as he watched you with a gleeful smile.

In your first few months with the Jeon’s, you had been a scared little girl. You had cried tears that nobody cared for and you had thrown tantrum after tantrum to be released. You were tired of crying, you were tired of being scared, you refused to cower any longer. You were tired.

Someone was meant to die that night, and when all was said and done, it wasn’t only Mr. Jeon that had been buried.

You made it your mission to rid the world of a kidnapper, a sadistic torturer, and an abusive father. You made it your mission to get rid of a young, scared girl that didn’t belong there.

With a final huff, you patted down the last clump of dirt on top of the grave and dropped the spade down into the green grass beneath your feet. It was finally over.

“This would make for a perfect garden, don’t you think?” Jimin asked with a soft giggle, folding up his glasses and sliding them into his pocket.

“Whatever you say, Jimin.” Tae laughed with a boxy grin.

They were definitely worse, far worse than Jungkook.

The rest of the clean up, you left to the two men. You watched from your place by the grave as Taehyung pulled a matchbox from his coat pocket. He slipped a single match free from the little box as Jimin began to douse the pile of cabinet doors you had made in gasoline. Taehyung struck the match on the side of the box, once, twice, and then thrice, finally setting the match aglow with a little flame.

He admired the fire for a moment, watching it slowly crawl toward his fingertips before flinging it into the pile and watching the whole thing burst into flames.

The glow of the fire cast deep shadows over the contours of his face, making him even more beautiful than he appeared. Evidently, that beauty had come with a price, his soul.

“We’ll take care of the rest from here. This was fun.” Taehyung said, his tone was so casual you were caught off guard. He was acting like this had been some weird bonding exercise, and in some twisted manner it very well could have been.

“Jungkook chose well.” Jimin said, resting his chin in his hands as he looked up at you from his seated position.

You said nothing in return, instead you pivoted on your heels and made your way back towards the house. The sudden call of your name though had you stopping in your tracks, your head turning to look back over your shoulder.

The smile that once decorated Jimin’s lips had fallen away, an emotionless and dead look on his face as his dark eyes looked into your own. “I hope that I won’t have to clean you up one day, doll. Take care of our Jungkookie.”

Your heart stuttered and your body went cold. It didn’t take a genius to understand what he was insinuating.

“I hope it doesn’t have to come to that either, Jimin.” You mumbled before leaving the two and entering the house.

Your feet immediately led you up the stairs and back to Jungkook, all thoughts of escape far from your mind. You were exhausted.

When you entered the bedroom, you saw him still curled up at the foot of the bed where you had left him, completely passed out. His hair had fully dried and curled around the ends, his cheek pressed flush with the mattress and his pink lips parted and pouting in his sleep. Your fingers mindlessly brushed over the smooth skin of his cheek in a gentle caress. He reminded you so much of an innocent child when he slept.

“Jungkook.” You whispered, rubbing your fingers into his skin with a little more pressure as you tried to wake him. “Let’s go to bed.”

He groaned beneath your touch, his eyes just barely fluttering open as he looked up at you. You crawled onto the bed beside him, gripping his shoulder as you guided him back towards the headboard with you.

You flipped the blankets back and slid under them, pressing yourself back into the pillows as you opened your arms for him. He sleepily dragged himself beneath the blankets before resting his head down onto your chest and winding his arms around your waist. Without thinking, you wrapped one arm around his shoulders and let your other hand fall on top of his head, slowly sifting your fingers through his hair.

You could feel his lips resting against your collarbone as he nuzzled into the exposed skin, pressing a lazy kiss to flesh. His fingers were rubbing against your waist as his breathing began to slow, his hold on you was loose yet secure.

“Love you.” He mumbled tiredly, resting his cheek against your chest.

You knew he did.

~~~~~~~

Muffled whispers in the early morning hours woke you.

You groaned to yourself before rolling onto your side and cracking your eyes open. The morning sunlight was gently filtering through the large bay windows to the left of the bed, casting hues of orange and yellow over every object in the room.

Jungkook was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing the windows, his back to you as he held up his phone to his ear. His words were soft, just barely audible in your groggy state. But you could make out the gentle dip in his shoulders, his head slightly tilted forward as his voice cracked on certain words that parted his lips.

You waited for him to finish his call in silence, your eyes finally adjusting to the light. Your gaze traced over his shoulders and down the line of his spine, mapping out each line and curve as you woke up.

“Alright...I’ll see you soon.” He murmured before ending the call.

He gently set the phone down on the nightstand as quietly as he could, unaware that you were no longer asleep. He stayed still for a moment, gathering himself with a few deep breaths before turning on the bed and facing you.

His eyes widened in surprise at seeing you awake. The light from the sunrise backlit his frame, creating a halo of golden light around the crown of his head.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He whispered, playing with the sheets in a guilty manner.

“It’s alright.” You said, blinking slowly from the heavy feeling of sleep weighing down your eyelids. “Who was that?”

“My sister, she’s on her way over.” He gulped, chewing his lip in anxiety.

“Jungkook -” You began, a new sense of anxiety welling up in your chest.

The last thing you wanted was that she-devil coming back. Who knows how she would react to the news Jungkook had to deliver. She was daddy’s little girl after all.

“I have to tell her, she’s going to find out eventually and I’d rather it be me who tells her. It’s my fault, I did this.” He replied firmly despite the sob that was caught in his throat by his last sentence.

You hesitantly reached your hand out towards him, the limb shaking for a moment midair before you rested your hand on top of his tattooed fingers.

“None of this is your fault, Jungkook. It was his.” You had come to understand Jungkook in a way you were incapable of doing before. All of the pieces had come together, and despite still seeing your kidnapper seated beside you, you also saw a frightened, broken little boy.

His lips parted in surprise, not expecting to hear you say those words. His fingers twisted together with your own as his other hand came up to gently cradle your cheek. In the golden glow of the morning sunlight, he kissed you delicately like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. And you let him.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his lips just brushing against your mouth as he held your hand against his chest.

“Thank you.” He mumbled against your lips before kissing you once more.

His hand still stayed connected with yours as the two of you made your way downstairs. You noticed three things. One, your mother in law’s bedroom door was left ajar. Two, Jungkook stayed frozen in his place with his eyes refusing to look into the kitchen. And three, that was where his mother was standing.

You released his hand and headed into the room. Mrs. Jeon was standing with her back to the stove and her misty eyes trained on the floor where her husband’s body had previously laid. She was as still as a statue, her face completely unreadable. It was like looking at someone with catatonia, she was there but she also wasn’t.

Gently, as to not startle her, you rested your hands on her shoulders and guided her into the living room. You set her down onto the couch and spread a stray blanket over her lap. Still, she did not move and she said nothing to you.

Jungkook hadn’t entered the kitchen, but now he stood at the edge of the living room, his eyes full of pain as he looked at his mother. He felt responsible for her state. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know what he was thinking.

“Are you hungry? I can get you something.” You offered, attempting to distract him.

He firmly shook his head. “I feel sick to my stomach.”

The guilt was eating him alive.

The ring of the doorbell caught everyone’s attention, even Mrs. Jeon. Her body had slightly shifted at the sound, but other than that she made no attempts to stand.

Jungkook’s hands were shaking at his sides and you could just barely see a drop of sweat rolling down the side of his neck. He was beginning to panic, his guilt and stress seeping out into physical responses.

“I’ll be with you.” You said, your hand slipping back into his own. His skin was clammy from anxiety. He firmly squeezed your hand three times before guiding the two of you back to the front door.

He took a few calming breaths, a wince pulling at his features as the doorbell was rung again with impatience. Not being able to delay any longer, he opened the door and allowed his sister inside. She instantly dropped her purse to the floor and shuffled her shoes off, wrapping her arms around her brother’s shoulder in an excited hug.

“Jungkookie!” She squealed, her face alight with joy. It wouldn’t be like that for long.

She released her brother and turned to face you, “And how’s my sister in law…”

Her words slowly died out as she caught sight of you. Her eyes, eerily similar to her fathers, trailed over the bruises and cuts that decorated your face and limbs. She looked you up and down in silence, and slowly her expressionless face donned a twisted smirk.

“I see someone’s been misbehaving.” She said with a click of her tongue. “I wonder what you did to upset my brother so much.”

“We need to talk.” Jungkook interjected, grabbing her by her elbow and leading her into another room.

Your heart was thundering in your chest like a racehorse. That look she had given you, those eyes of hers, she was a perfect mirror of her father. She enjoyed reveling in the pain of others. You knew that much from the panicked look Jackson had given you at your wedding.

Jackson.

Your eyes narrowed in on her purse she left abandoned at the front door. You knew what you needed to do. Your entire body was tingling with fear as you hastily approached her bag and ripped it open, rifling through all of the items until your fingers met the matte plastic of the remote control. The controller to her victims shock collar.

You could hear their voices in the next room over, Jungkook’s voice was rising as he attempted to talk over her but the ringing in your ears was too loud and obnoxious for you to focus on what they were saying.

You turned the remote over in your trembling fingers and fumbled with it before popping the lid off of the back of the remote. And from there, you began to rip everything out of it. The batteries had been soldered in place, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins allowed you to rip everything inside free from its place as blood began to flow from your nails. If you couldn’t save yourself, then you would save him. You would answer his silent pleas of help.

She was screaming now, loud, pained, angry yells echoing throughout the house. She was infuriated.

You shoved the innards of the remote control into the depths of your pocket and slid the lid back onto the back of the remote before putting it back into her purse.

You approached the room where the two siblings had disappeared into and caught sight of their altercation. Jungkook was crying again as she screamed at him, the reality of what he had done hitting him full force.

“Fuck you! How could you, for an outsider?! You killed our father?!” She screamed, her face red.

“I’m taking mom and getting her the fuck out of here and away from you, you bastard!”

You watched as Jungkook’s sister yanked their mother up from her spot on the couch, her grip bruising as she dragged the older woman towards the front door. But the minute she caught sight of you, she came to a full stop, a chilling look in her eyes.

“You, this is all your fault!” She yelled, before releasing her mother and lunging at you.

She got one hit in before Jungkook snatched her by her waist and lifted her up off of the floor, restraining her in his hold. The sight was not unfamiliar to you, it was reminiscent of the time he had taken you in the parking garage months ago. She writhed around in fury, kicking her legs and tossing her head back in an attempt to hurt him and free herself. But, all it took was a few simple words for her to settle down.

“Don’t make me kill another family member.” Jungkook snapped, tears forgotten and his voice harsh as he shook her in his grip. His threat was not empty.

Her body went limp. “So, that’s how it’s gonna be?”

“That’s how it’s going to be.” He confirmed, before dropping her to the ground.

She picked herself up with more dignity that you expected, grabbing her mother with one hand and her purse with the other.

“I want to make myself clear, this is far from over.” She spat over her shoulder, fixing you with a glare before tugging her mother out of the house and letting the door slam shut dramatically behind her.

That went better than you expected.

“I think I’m hungry now.” Jungkook said softly, spurring a rush of laughter to shake your body. What a way to move on from what just happened.

You leaned your head back against the wall behind you as your husband's footsteps disappeared down the hallway. You had come to realize much about yourself and your predicament in the past twenty four hours. You covered up a crime, you buried a body, and you escaped death more than once. You had a sudden streak of luck that you had not anticipated considering the months worth of misfortune you had been subjected to.

You had become a puppet master of sorts, that was something you never expected to happen. You never thought you would regain control over your life after you had been kidnapped and forced into a marriage with an obsessed classmate. Your luck had been shot, and this break through you had received was relieving. You finally felt some sense of normalcy despite everything you had witnessed and done during your time with Jungkook and his family.

A sudden clatter rang out from the kitchen, your eyes flashed open. You hadn’t thought about Jungkook entering the kitchen, he had been frightened mere moments before, not daring to cross the threshold. But that had been from the sight of his mother, not the thought of what had taken place there. You had made a huge miscalculation.

“Baby?” Jungkook called, his voice becoming closer, deeper, and smoother.

You stepped down the hallway, stopping halfway as Jungkook came into view. Your heart stopped, your body trembled and went cold. Pressed between his tattooed fingers was the case of birth control that had been left discarded on the counter the night before. You had made a big mistake. His eyes were dark once more, his head tilted in questioning as he rolled the package around in his hand.

Your break was over.

“What’s this doing here?”

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