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lamb-entertainment · 6 months

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WBMM Chapter 9

I’ve laying on the ground for God knows how long clutching my stomach bleeding out when I hear the door click open.

“Liam I'm ho- HOLY SHIT WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!”

I can't manage a response and just listen to the heartbeat in my ear. Pepper runs over and checks my heart rate before stripping me. She ran into the kitchen and grabbed a first aid kit, rushed back and started cleaning my wounds.

“I think my arm is broken Pepper.”

“I think the glass in your stomach is more important. This is going to hurt.”

Pepper starts to remove the piece of glass and I groan in pain turning to my full form and wriggling around trying to get away to the point pepper was pinning me down. I lunged forward as much I could and bit into the arm that’s holding me down. Pepper yelped in pain before grabbing me by the muzzle and holding my head down. She then full forced pulled out the glass and quickly covered the wound making me scream in pain. Pepper tried to soothe me with her voice

“Its ok its ok.”

My panting turns to normal breaths and I return to my human form which luckily doesn’t hurt as much because of the amount of numbness I feel. Pepper grabs my hand and firmly presses it on the wound.

“Hold down with pressure but not to much.”

I was only half responsive to everything and only really half awake to everything when she got up and grabbed some water for me. She kneeled down next to me and grabbed my head holding up while slowly feeding me water.

“You need to replace all the blood you lost with water so drink up.”

I was only half awake so it kind of felt like mild water boarding but I drank as best I could.

“Pepper?”

“Yes, Liam?”

Her voice was anxious but still calm as if she was talking to a hurt wild animal. Which she kind of was.

“Can I go to bed.”

“Sure, Liam.”

Pepper then helps me up and practically carries me to bed. I lay down and immediately go to sleep.

I wake up to Pepper staring at me. I’m wrapped in bandages specifically on my stomach while my arm is in a splint. The door to my room is open and the tv is on. Pepper starts speaking to me in the same tone as before.

“Hey, Liam. How are you feeling?”

“I have a headache and I'm sore.”

“Well, that’s good, all things considered.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s about 5:17.”

“So Ive only been out an hour than.”

“5:17, Monday.”

“What... ugghhhh I have to go to work.”

“You probably shouldn’t.”

“Oh come on. For someone who dropped out of medschool you did a great job with these bandages.”

“Thank you, but you should still go to the hospital.”

“We can’t afford that, besides I have no more sick days to use.”

“Fine just take it easy and call me imeditaley if anything happens, actually call 911 then me ok?”

I slowly gain my senses back and realize the news is on and they’re covering …ME! The news anchor speaks going over some footage of the pet store and a picture of... ME! Although you couldn’t really tell do to the distance the photo was taken at and me half transformed.

“The attack on PetGo was horrific, with vampires stealing and killing animals from the store. When the heroic policemen intervened, getting attacked in the progress. Saying that the vampires attempted to hurt them, sprinting at them and swinging before getting shot. One of the vampires has escaped though leaving through the back of the store and running away says witnesses. Citizens have been advised to avoid going out of their house as much as possible and reporting any sightings of vampires or suspicious people-”

“What the hell!”

Pepper looks at me confused for a second before looking at the tv.

“Oh... yeah uhhh just get changed and we’ll leave. If you need help getting ready, I'll be right outside.”

Pepper leaves my room and I haphazardly change. My thoughts slowly come back to me. Holy shit. I was going to actually kill her out of pure hatred and panic. I feel my panic swell back up like a train wreck, something horrible that you can’t stop or look away from. I had become what I feared the most, not a vampire but a vampire who kills. I start to breathe heavily, slowly turning into my full form. I fall to the floor. Pepper yells out.

“Liam?!”

I feel my panic rise even more I became them the pet shop theives, the robber, and the person who killed my father. I did exactly what they had done. Pepper rushes into my room.

“Liam hey just breathe.”

Pepper’s hand lays on my shoulder rubbing it back and forth. I calm down and stop from turning. Pepper continues to calm me down and asks me what's wrong. I have to take a second before I explain everything to her.

“Its ok, look you just feel that way as a vampire.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Whenever I taste blood I get like that too and it consumes my life tell I drink a serving of blood. It’s comepletly fine. Not much you can do about it.”

I calm down and take some deep breaths. Was this really normal? Does that make it ok though? That doesn’t sound right. I mean if that’s the case does it excuse vampires form their actions? Pepper speaks up again.

“I’ll meet in the car ok?”

“Yeah ok but why?”

“I have work too numbskull. Plus, I already missed almost a day of cleaning, so I’ll have to schedule in a bunch of houses to make up for loss income on both sides.”

“Shit, sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault well not entirely.”

Pepper left out the door and I took some deep breaths before leaving. I step outside and pepper has already pulled infront of the apartment and is playfully honking at me. I rush down there and jump in the car. The ride was uneventful and I mostly just rested my eyes. Pepper would occasionally ask if I was still feeling ok. We reached my office at about 5 56 and Pepper reassures me she’ll pick me up later. I walk into the building wave to the receptionist and go up the elevator. I'm walking into my office when I feel a swift force go into me. I turn to see it’s Vinnie and given the fact I was stabbed 25 hours ago I lose my balance and fall to the floor. Vinnie falling with me and landing on top of me. His hand is behind my head stopping it from hitting the floor. His head though, had fallen slightly past mine. He moved his arm from the back of my head gently laying it down and using his hand to prop himself back up. I can see his face as he continues to unintentionally pin me to the floor. He starts speaking.

“LIAM! Finally, I've missed you I was so worried especially after seeing the news!”

I was listening to him, but I honestly couldn’t hear him. I was too distracted by his busted lip. He must of bit his bottom lip when he fell. Blood is slowly trailing off his lip.

“Liam is something wrong? Oh it must be because I tackled you. Im so sorry I really didn’t mean to here let me get off.”

Vinnie started to get off of me when some of his blood trailed of his lip and into my mouth. He sat up and lifted his arms from beside my head, but I wanted more. I grabbed his hands and pushed him off of me pinning him to the ground and flashing my fangs with an undying thirst. I quickly regained consciousness to see Vinnie's scared face I let go of him and immediately get off him.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Its, its ok.”

Vinnie is still lying there in shock for a second before standing up and asking me a question.

“What was that?” “I’m so sorry I just, I got a taste for blood yesterday and I haven’t been able to control myself.”

“Well, uh is there something I can do to help?”

“No, Pepper says it will pass when I drink a serving of blood.”

“Well you could… have a serving of my... blood if you wanted to.”

I blink.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Vinnie then takes of his sports jacket and rolls up his sleeve offering his wrist to me.

“Here.”

“Uhm I uh actually need your neck. I would take it from your wrist, but I could burst a vein and there’s other complications with that so.”

“Oh, uhm ok.”

Vinnie takes off his tie and unbuttons his first 4 buttons. I walk forward and push him to the desk.

“You’ll need something to at least lean on you’ll be pretty tired after I’m done.”

Vinnie replies through a flustered blush. I’m guessing he must have been nervous. I would be too in his position.

“A-alright.”

I lean him back against his desk, move my arm past his stomach and brace myself. My other hand gently goes over his chest grabbing onto his shirt and pushing it past his neck. I take a step forward putting one of my legs in between his. I lean into him and push my head into his neck, opening my mouth, and sinking my teeth into his smooth skin. Vinnies hands move from supporting him against the desk to grabbing around my back. He’s gripping onto my shirt with pain in his eyes before they glaze over with joy and his grip loosens as I take more and more blood his breaths go from sharp to soft, the pace quickening. I slowly remove my teeth from his neck, and I feel his grip soften, his legs slightly give out as I move off of him. His face red with blush and he speaks up.

“That was uh...”

“I know. Here want me to help you to the couch.”

I grab onto his arm and lead him to the couch. He crashes onto it and looks at me, his face still present with pleasure. I grab a tissue from his desk and gently wipe his lip and neck. He reaches for my arm in the splint gently grabbing hold. He speaks up with a semi-absent mind.

“What... What happened to you.”

“Oh, I stopped a pet store from getting robbed by some vampires. It really hurt though. I mean I don’t have any real fighting training.”

Vinnie replies with a still flushed face but now present in the conversation.

“You should take some classes for self-defense. Do you know Tyler? He’s who I use.”

“No, and I can’t take classes I can’t afford.”

“I could pay for them.”

“What! I can’t accept that that’s too generous.”

“No really, it’s no problem. Besides I want you to be safe. It’s also an investment in my safety as well as everyone else’s!”

Vinnie moves his hand to my neck slightly caressing the bruise I have. I feel myself get a little excited from his touch. I try to continue the conversation.

“Are you sure.”

“Yeah, I’ll give him your number so you can set up what works with your schedule.”

“Thank you. This means a lot to me.”

Vinnie smiles to himself before speaking up.

“You know the news coverage going on about you?”

“Yeah?”

I don’t know what Vinnie was going to bring up, but it’s making me nervous.

“If you had a suit people wouldn’t be able to recognize you. I was thinking I’ve been sewing for years now... I could make you a suit.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, I already have a couple ideas. It would be my pleasure to do so. In fact, I could probably get it done in less than a month!”

“If you insist alright.”

“Great!”

#original writing #writing

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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?”

#bts #bts jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #yandere #yandere bts #yandere jungkook #bts fanfic #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere kpop #yandere bts x reader #jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #yandere jeongguk #yandere jeongguk x reader

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wri0thesley · 3 years

Note

Could I get some Gojo face sitting please 👉🏻👈🏻🥺 Maybe with a chubby reader?

fool for love - gojo x reader (2.25k)

gojo asks you to try something, and you can never say no to him.

(warnings: nsfw, afab reader, fem pronouns (pet names). explicitly chubby reader, mentions of worries about weight/body. cunnilingus/facesitting)

Sometimes you think it’s a good job that you and Satoru Gojo are a couple; you’re absolutely certain that nobody but you would put up with him. You’re totally convinced that you’re the only fool in the world who sees his arrogant smirk and the thrust of his chin and the cocky set of his shoulders, listens to him go on and on about himself and about his work and about his strength, and wants to kiss him instead of kill him.

You do kiss him, coincidentally. A lot. Partly because when he’s kissing you, he’s not running his mouth – partly because the taste of his lips on yours and the feel of his hands on your waist, pulling you in, is addictive. You can’t get enough of him – and luckily, it seems that he can’t get enough of you either.

So when Gojo had thrown out this suggestion, casually, as if he was asking you what you two were going to order for dinner that night (you’ve never seen Gojo make anything more complicated than a ramen cup), it had not taken you long to agree.

Faced with it, though – Gojo situated on the bed, arm stretched over his head, grin on his face – you begin to wonder if maybe it’s such a good idea.

“Don’t back out on me now,” he says, the cocky grin not leaving his face. “I’ve been dying to taste you for hours.”

You shift uncomfortably on the other side of the bed, suddenly horribly aware of the curves of your body. No matter how Gojo’s words send a thrill through you – you know from experience he’s good with his tongue – you can’t deny that you’re a little afraid.

It’s easy to forget the difference between the two of you when he’s got you pressed underneath him on the mattress, cock plunging in and out, mouth hungrily kissing every patch of skin he can get at. When Gojo looks at you with his hair falling in his face and his eyes like starlit galaxies, you feel beautiful – but you’re not sure if you’ll feel quite the same way straddling his face.

He sees the way you bite your lip, the anxiety beginning to show in your gaze – and Gojo softens. You see him like this rarely (he’s proud more than he’s caring), but he’s shown this side of him to you every so often, when something has made you draw in on yourself. One of his hands wraps around your bare shoulders, pulling you to face him.

“Hey, doll,” he says, pressing his nose against yours affectionately. “What’s got you pouting, huh?”

“I . . .” You swallow. You feel so embarrassed admitting it! Gojo has never said anything about your body beyond how much he loves having your hips to hold onto, how he loves your thighs wrapped around his waist, how soft and warm you are tangled up beside him in bed – but your insecurities always seem to flash back up at the most inopportune of moments. “I’m just . . .” You blink, biting your lip. Your voice comes out in a soft breath. “I’m worried I’ll be too heavy.”

Gojo’s eyebrows draw in. You must have seen him without anything shading his eyes a hundred times now, when the two of you are in the bedroom, but you are still knocked back by just how pretty he is – the constellations in his irises, the fan of his white eyelashes against perfect skin. The expression makes his mouth jut out, so kissable that it takes your breath away.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he says, as if the very idea is laughable. “I could lift you over my head right now--”

He reaches for you as if he’s going to do it, arms locking about your waist – the tension breaks as he effortlessly pulls you back, your body landing on top his. He doesn’t so much as let out a ‘whumph’ of air at the sensation of your body hitting his.

“I’m the strongest, remember?” There’s more than a note of swagger in his voice; he is so very proud of that accomplishment. You suppose he has every right to be.

“I guess,” you breathe, and he makes a soft harrumphing sound before his fingers twist into your hair, pulling you close to him to kiss you.

“You guess?” He sounds mock offended against your lips. “I guess that means I’ll have to show you exactly what I mean, huh?”

A nip at your lower lip; his hands roaming your bare back, stroking the curve of your ass and hips. Everywhere Gojo’s long fingers touch leaves a trail of fire behind, like he’s branding you with the pressure of his fingertips. You imagine them leaving glowing trails behind the colour of his eyes – but the coil of heat that they’re helping stoke, low in your belly, is more red than anything else.

“How’re you gonna do that?” You breathe against the softness of his mouth. He tastes like sugar; he always does. You can’t get enough of him, dizzy and breathless. You would gorge yourself on him if you could.

“Take a seat on your throne, princess,” he grins, letting his head hit the pillows hard. His pale hair spreads out all around him like a halo as he moves a hand from your hip to tap his mouth with his fingers. “And find out.”

You guess it would shut him up. Gojo’s mouth can’t keep moving if he’s got you occupying it. And you also can’t deny that the thought of it – riding his face – is more than half of the reason your inner thighs are slick with your arousal. Still . . . what if you really are too heavy for him?

Gojo murmurs your name softly – you meet his eyes again, and you see softness and tenderness reflected in them, despite the fact that his mouth is still shaped into a cocky smirk. You know if you say no, he probably won’t push you. But . . . you don’t want to say no. You push yourself up from his chest.

He’s still wearing his underwear, and you wonder if he can sense how damp you are where you briefly straddle him – because you can certainly feel how stiff he is, the outline of his cock pressing against silken boxer shorts (yeah, of course he’s a silk underwear kind of man – you’ve seen them countless times, but just how Gojo that particular detail of him is never fails to make you smile).

“Okay,” you breathe. “I hope you’re comfy.”

Gojo’s face splits into a grin as you move yourself, your knees suddenly either side of his face, his cheeks pressing against the softness of your thighs.

“Babe,” he starts to say, “I’m absolutely the com—mmppf--”

His gloating is cut off by you sitting on his face. The whisper of his breath across your heated folds as he’d spoken had been too tempting, your sex feeling like it was pulsing in time with your heartbeat – and so, you’d given in. Using your hands as leverage on the headboard of the bed, you’d sunk fully onto your knees and muffled Gojo’s words.

Oh, God.

Your mind blanks out at first, as Gojo’s tongue goes at you hungrily. For his first hungry licks at your core, he’s voracious – he seems to want to drink you up like fine wine. Gojo does not drink – you know this very well – but if he could get drunk on your slick, you think he’d already be unable to stand up. One of the hands on the headboard goes to tangle in the fluffy strands of his pale hair instead, and he looks up at you for a moment, pausing with the flat of his tongue pressed against the throbbing bud of your clit.

The sight of his eyes between your thighs almost pushes you over the edge there and then – looking down at him feels like tumbling down a rabbit hole, like you’ll never be able to pull yourself out of their lovely depths. He makes a soft noise against your folds that has you practically vibrating, your toes curling – and you realise it’s a question.

Maybe he’s asking you what’s wrong, maybe he’s asking you if you want to stop, but your mind is all hazy from the feeling of his mouth on you. So all you do is tug at his hair and gasp, your hips rolling forward against him to try and coax his tongue into flickering across your clit like you’re longing for it to do.

“Satoru,” you whimper, voice all thin and reedy like a prayer, and Gojo does not need any more encouragement than that to return to his work.

Gojo’s hands rest on your hips and even you feel small for a second, the length of his fingers and size of his palm almost overwhelming. There’s so much power in the way he holds you – so much strength behind the casual clench of his fingers into your plush. He keeps you anchored there as he uses the flat swathe of his tongue to lap at you all at once, briefly teasing your entrance before he twirls his tongue around your clit like someone licking whipped cream off of a fancy dessert--

He’s caught you watching him do exactly that out of the corner of your eye many times before, and grinned at you widely with a hungry murmur that he’ll devour you in exactly the same way if you want him too.

Does he not need to breathe?

You lose track of how long you’ve been sat on his face for. You can’t think of anything else with the warm, wet muscle of Gojo’s tongue teasing you. He thrusts it in and out of your entrance, making your entire body jerk and your walls try and cling to him, constrict around him. He flicks his tongue so fast over the bud of your clit that you can’t understand how he does it, it can’t be human to move that fast--

All through it, the tension tight in your stomach is getting hotter and tighter and needier, like a instrument's string being tuned to its breaking point.

You can barely breathe. There’s nothing but Gojo’s insistent lapping at your core, the thrust of his tongue in and out of your channel (has Gojo’s tongue always been so long? It feels just as good inside of you as his fingers always do, but different--). Your hips are rocking and grinding against his face against your will, your fingers twisting into his hair. You’ve lost your senses completely in the chase of your release, hovering tantalisingly close--

Gojo gives your clit one final, soft lap, the barest hint of his teeth against the hood and you burst into bloom for him like a flower. The string snaps and heat floods your body, Gojo’s name escaping you in a wail. Fireworks burst into being behind your eyelids.

Gojo’s tongue follows through, coaxing you through the soft, gentle aftershocks of your orgasm even as your thighs are trembling and your grip on the headboard is beginning to loosen. If it weren’t for his hands on your hips, you would probably fall forward and hit your head on the wall, passing out – but Gojo’s assessment of his strength wasn’t for naught, and your spent body is being pulled down so your heated cheeks are pressed against Gojo’s firm chest. You blink up at him in your exhausted, pleasure-drunk state--

The entire lower half of his mouth is dripping wet, glinting with your arousal and his own drool from how hungrily his tongue was going at you. But his eyes are as sharp as ever, drinking you in like you’re the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen – as if he can’t believe that you’d ever doubt yourself.

Nobody would believe you if you told them how Gojo gets, sometimes – if you told them about the smile-softened eyes and the softer words, the way he holds you like a precious treasure that might break at any moment. He leans down and strokes some hair from your eyes, almost lazy.

“I told you I was the strongest,” he says, and even though it’s a boast, his voice and manner is so soft that you barely register it. You’re smiling up at him like a fool. Maybe it’s foolish to love him as much as you do – but if it is, you don’t want to be clever. You don’t want to be anything but his, here, in his bed, sprawled out across him, lazy and sated.

You kiss the bit of his chest directly beneath your lips lazily, needing to express your affection for this arrogant, gorgeous, irrepressible (perfect) man.

He sighs at the contact, shifting – and you’re reminded of what’s currently lying beneath his own underwear, hot and needy and thick. It’s a testament to Gojo’s willpower he hasn’t mentioned it yet.

You smile at him. One more minute of relaxing on his chest – of having your hair played with, of getting to look at him . . . and then, you’ll see to that.

Gojo’s eyes are just as gorgeous when you’re knelt between his thighs as they are when he’s trapped between yours, after all.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #not sfw #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #writing #jjk posting #afab reader #fem pronouns #jjk writing tag

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atlabeth · 3 years

Text

nightmares - mike munroe x reader

summary: It was a deal made by two almost-friends in the early hours of the morning after the worst night of their lives, when they realized that all they really had left was each other.

a/n: so this is once again. not my normal content but ive been on an until dawn kick lately and fell in love w the characters all over again. i dont know if anyone still reads or writes for this fandom but. here u go. enjoy

warning(s): lots of cursing, canon typical violence, mentions of graphic violence/death (but nothing too descriptive), mentioned depression, insomnia, and alcoholism, some heavy themes but its hurt/comfort so it ends in fluff

wc: 4.8k

You were running.

You were running, and it was freezing — fuck, it was freezing.

You knew your surroundings; how could you ever forget? Every fucking moment on the goddamn mountain was engraved into your mind for what you assumed would be the rest of your life, an assumption that had since been proven correct.

And now, against your will, you were back. Of course you were back.

A shudder ran through your whole body as that all-too-familiar screech rang out behind you, each second of it like nails on a chalkboard in the worst way. Your lungs burned like all hell but you couldn’t stop — if you stopped, you were as good as dead.

Some part of this fucked up thing was almost funny. Humans were always boasting about how they were the top of the food chain, how they were the height of evolution. There was nothing to keep an ego in check like being hunted by a supernatural creature.

Any thoughts of bullshit philosophy were dashed from your mind as you took a hard right, nearly falling over from the sharp curve of the mountain but just able to catch yourself. Your heart was thundering in your chest, the beats nearly lining up with your sprinting. You felt an intense urge to turn around, try and gauge your chances, but the thought of slowing down for even a second terrified you. It’s not like you needed to anyways — you knew exactly what was after you.

You were nearing the end of your road, both literally and figuratively. You stumbled over a tree root, your hands splayed out in front of yourself at just the right angle to keep your momentum going and, in some feat of luck, stay upright and running.

But your luck had just run out.

Your senses were proven correct as the harrowing cliff edge came into view, and a thousand things screamed in your mind at once as your demise stared you right in the eye. You barely managed to catch yourself, very much aware that the snow falling into the void could’ve just as well been you.

That fucking screech again, even closer than before, and you whipped around as you took an instinctive step back. Your hands patted around everywhere, searching for something to defend yourself, but you had nothing. No gun, knife, even the ground around you was devoid of rocks.

You had nothing. You had nothing to defend yourself from this goddamn nightmare creature, and you were going to die.

Your eyes darted around wildly in an attempt to find something, anything, to save yourself, but there was nothing. You took another step back and felt your foot slip, your breath catching as you barely managed to save yourself with a twist and a lunge away from the edge. The shock of the ground and the cold against your skin was just enough to remind yourself that you were actually alive. Another pile of snow mimicked the fate that seemed imminent as it trickled over the side of the cliff, and you screwed your eyes shut as you tried to shut your mind up.

Think, goddammit, if you wanted to get off of this fucking mountain you had to think—

The screech that pierced through the night sky was far too close for comfort, and as your head snapped back towards the woods you swore that your heart stopped beating.

It had caught up. You were out of time you were going to die but you didn’t have anything and you were going to fucking die—

A flash of white pushed off a tree and lunged towards you, teeth bared as it emitted that horrible screech. You didn’t even have time to scream, completely frozen in place as one clawed hand reached your neck, and you braced for the moment of release.

You shot up in your bed, breathing rapid and unsteady with a barely contained cry on the edge of your lips as your hand instinctively flew to your neck. You heaved an almost strangled sigh of relief to know that your head was still attached to your body (it might’ve seemed obvious, but… your head wasn’t exactly on straight at the moment, all jokes aside) and collapsed against the headboard.

You ran your hands across your face as you tried in vain to calm yourself down, ultimately having to turn on your lamp to ease your troubled mind that there was nothing going thump in the night.

It had been this same routine almost every night — horrible nightmare, wake up crying or screaming or both, and start the day at 3 am because you couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but what choice did you have? Therapy had been mandated by the police for a certain amount of time after the incident, but… it’s not like it had helped. How could it, when no one truly knew what you had gone through?

Well… that wasn’t completely accurate.

One person knew what you were going through, and you hadn’t said as much as one word to him since that night. You didn’t really… know what to say.

Hey. I know we’re not all that close, but I’m sorry your girlfriend and all your friends were killed by a Wendigo and that I made it instead. Hope you’re not going insane with grief. I’ll send you a card at Christmas!

...yeah. You had no idea what to say to him after months of no contact.

The relationship you had with Mike Munroe was a strange one, to say the least.

None of you were the same after that night on the mountain. The horrors of the mines would be forever entrenched in your head, flashes of the Wendigos appearing every time you closed your eyes. You and Mike were the only ones who made it off, and the guilt you carried everywhere was a burden you knew you couldn’t shoulder. And even after the physical scars had faded, you knew the mental ones never would.

Sometimes you wondered how you had even managed to get involved with the group in the first place — bonds that had been made in your freshman and sophomore years had somehow managed to stay strong enough throughout the rest of high school, strong enough to cement your spot in the friend group and the yearly lodge visits. You liked them all well enough, enough to go up to an isolated mountain with them for a weekend or so, but… yeah. Sometimes you did wonder what the hell you were doing with them.

But now?

Now, you would give almost anything to hear Sam’s laugh or one of her compliments, or tease Ashley and Chris about their very obvious feelings; hell, you found yourself missing Matt’s useless football facts. And even though Emily and Jessica weren’t always the nicest, you still had managed to worm your way into their hearts. Knowing that you would never get Emily’s brutal but helpful advice or get dragged to a football game by Jessica again?

If someone had told you the difference between life-long trauma and a completely normal existence was that blonde girl with the braids in your biology class, you might’ve thought a little harder before accepting that party invite.

The days after you were rescued from the mountain passed in a daze, questions and interrogations from police never sticking for too long. And it didn’t even feel like it mattered, the way none of them seemed to believe you.

They kept you separated from Mike throughout the whole process, and you were only able to catch glances of him when you were being transferred to different rooms throughout the long process. It really was like something out of a horror movie — a group of teens go up to a lodge in the woods, and only two return with a story of unspeakable horrors — and rather than try and work out what had happened, they seemed intent on pinning the deaths on you and Mike.

As if you weren’t dealing with enough after watching your friends get murdered by the monster of another friend, the people that were supposed to be helping you were instead trying to charge you with them. If it wasn’t so fucking infuriating, it would’ve been laughable.

The worst part? You could hardly blame them.

When you took a second to listen to yourself, to what you were spouting to the police, you sounded insane. If you hadn’t witnessed it all first hand, you wouldn’t have believed yourself.

You told them to go down to the mines. That the thing that killed your friends would be down there, and they could see it for themselves.

You didn’t know if that was the right choice. Hell, you might’ve been sending those cops to their deaths. But it was the only way you could think of to get them to believe you.

(You doubted they would go down there anyways. What was the word of two crazy college kids over actual logic? Not much, you imagined.)

You were in that damn interrogation room for what felt like forever until you were finally taken to a hospital to get your wounds treated. But even in the hospital bed, police were by your side asking about what happened every day of your stay. After your discharge, you were forced into custody until they got information that they deemed satisfactory.

By some miracle, you and Mike weren’t charged with anything. The news might’ve gotten hold of your story, but you didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t ever look at the news after the tragedy, too afraid that you would see the smiling faces of your friends staring back at you, or pictures of you and Mike with news anchors trying to talk about how involved the two of you were.

If there was one thing worse than going through hell, it was other people trying to make a profit off of your spiral.

Your friends’ families offered their condolences, but not much else. You didn’t hold it against them. Your survivor’s guilt was strong enough to know exactly why they didn’t reach out further.

(You blame yourself for their deaths, after all. Why wouldn’t they?)

It was the same situation with Mike.

Maybe you had purposefully drifted apart from him, trying to build up walls of your own so that he wouldn’t be able to spring it on you first. You assumed he hated you after what had happened, and he had every right to. You might’ve helped each other through the night, but you had no other option. Now, everyone else but you was dead — people he cared about more than you — and you just couldn’t face that.

But as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you realized that you might have to.

You looked awful.

Weeks of sleepless nights were catching up to you, appearing in the form of

hollow eyes and dark circles, along with a slight discoloration of your skin. The scars from the mountain had mostly healed, but there was a particularly nasty gash on your cheek that was still showing — it wasn’t doing you any favors in the ‘looking completely normal and sane and not severely sleep deprived’ department.

You splashed some water in your face to try and wake up a bit, but the slight drowsiness that followed you everywhere seemed to be a permanent part of you now.

(It was almost funny, in a way. You were so paranoid and alert all the time, unable to fall asleep, and yet it was all you could think about in moments like these. You wondered when irony had become such a staple in your life.)

You had tried talking to therapists, your friends, your family, even searching the internet for advice on what to do after a life changing traumatic event. Nothing had worked.

The simplest solution had come to mind more than once, but you had pushed it aside with the determination to work through this on your own. But now, staring at yourself and seeing how much you had deteriorated…

You had to go talk to the only person who would understand.

You had considered turning around more than once on the drive over.

Because, really, what the hell were you doing? Showing up at his doorstep in the middle of o dark thirty because— because what?

Because you had a nightmare?

He had gone through the same thing you had, probably even worse. Losing Jessica right in front of him, having to cut off his fingers to get free, spending countless hours alone, dealing with the nightmare that was the sanatorium, and then…

Well, you had been in the mines with him and Josh when it happened. There was no doubt in your mind that the scene replayed in his head endlessly, just like it did for you.

Showing up… it was going to be a mistake. You knew it was.

For all you knew, Mike had moved on already. He was stronger than you, he always had been. Maybe your presence would send him spiraling once more, or maybe it would just earn you a verbal beating like no other. Mike had always been nice enough, but the trauma you had endured was enough to turn a saint into his own worst enemy.

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anything, and as you turned down his street you regretted more than ever not keeping in touch with him. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation, scrambling after your last hope for salvation after slowly killing yourself over the past few months.

But there was no chance to turn back now, because before you knew it your knuckles were rapping against his front door.

The pause between your arrival and a response was so long that you considered leaving and pretending like this never happened, but just as you began to step back the door swung open.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but… he was there. The only other testament to the horrors of Blackwood Pines, and maybe the only person that could help you through this.

“...hi,” you murmured, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you looked the personification of your shame in the eye.

Mike blinked a few times, whether to try and wake up a little or out of surprise from his visitor you didn’t know, but it was a few seconds before he responded in kind. “...hey. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

You chuckled dryly as you nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for the sudden arrival. I’m, uh… I’m kind of surprised you even opened the door.”

He huffed out a short breath in a facsimile of a laugh. “Not getting much sleep these days.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” You crossed your arms across your chest and let out a loose sigh, eyes wandering around in an attempt to think of what to say next. It should’ve been so easy, but… but for some reason, it just wasn’t.

“Guess so.” That awkward silence stretched out once more, neither of you knowing how to fill it. Thankfully, Mike continued to take the plunge, but it wasn’t without a slight barb. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” you stopped just as you had begun, because you really didn’t know. You had come here for help, but could Mike really do that for you? He was the same as you — a fucked up teenager trying to deal with something so far beyond him.

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you made eye contact once more. “I… I really don’t know. I’m out of options, and… I can’t keep going like this. So I came here to talk, or— or to try and get some help. I don’t know.”

That same silence filled the air once more, the night ambiance the only thing in between the two of you. You missed when that silence used to be comfortable, but… you could only blame yourself for it.

“So— so, what?” he asked, the beginnings of a frown starting to crease his brows. “You just— we go through all that together up there, and then when we get back down you don’t say a word for months. And now— now, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, you just show up and ask for help?”

“God,” you muttered. When he put it that way, it was true. It was ridiculous, to expect his help after the way you had just left him to deal with it all on his own for a reason borne of your own insecurity. “You’re right. This was— this was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You had already turned to go when you felt a calloused hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly soft as he sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head to make room in the doorway. “No, I—” Mike paused for a moment, as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m sorry. You can come in. Obviously, you can come in.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you tried to hide your shock at the gesture, but you weren’t about to turn it down. You nodded, and he stepped aside to make space for you to walk in. When you did, you were met with a mess not unlike the one back at your apartment, save for the beer bottles. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly on every surface, so you took a seat on a clean spot on the floor, leaning back against a chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. You actually preferred it this way — it was grounding, in a literal sense. Mike pushed aside a laundry basket and did the same, but pulled one leg up and let the other lay extended.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been accumulating once more. “Why did you just…” he gestured around with his hands to try and get his point across but ultimately settled with a sigh. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to text, or call, or write, or— or anything. Hell, I would’ve probably jumped to get a messenger pigeon from you. But it was just… radio silence.”

You picked at the dry skin on your thumbs as you tried to come up with an answer. “I… I don’t know,” you repeated. “It was stupid, and it was horrible of me to leave you alone. I mean… I don’t know why I did it. I know what I’ve been going through, and I know you’ve been going through the same. So I don’t know why I didn’t try to reach out and see how you were doing.”

He chuckled mirthlessly as his eyes swept over the empty bottles that had accumulated on the coffee table. “I’m not the best with alone.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I thought…” you shook your head as you looked at the ceiling. “I thought that you hated me. I know that you cared about them all more, you were closer to all of them, and… and I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That I would just always be a reminder of what you lost. And… and, I don’t know. Maybe it was my way of trying to move on. Was a stupid fucking idea, though.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I get that. I dunno why I didn’t try to talk to you either. Maybe since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to either. This whole thing fucked me up.” His gaze moved to you. “Fucked us both up.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered as you tapped your fingers on your knees. “I can’t look anywhere without seeing them. I mean, I see that fucking…” you grimaced. “I see Josh, and I see what that thing did to him, and I just— I’m right back to step one.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “...yeah. That was seven layers of fucked up.”

“You can’t just keep saying everything was fucked up,” you said dryly. “It was shitty, too.”

Mike snorted, some kind of slightly masochistic humor going on between the two of you. “Nothing really gets the point across like fucked up.”

“Guess you’re right,” you finally conceded with a small smile. “This is… this is nice. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to… I don’t know, to talk to someone like this.”

“It is,” he murmured.

Another pregnant pause hung in the air, but the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable now. Trickles of what it used to be like, of your old life, were beginning to poke through.

“I never hated you,” he said suddenly. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and it was like his brown eyes were piercing through you as he continued. “I never did. After it happened… yeah, I was mad. I was fucking pissed, but it was never at you. You were my friend too, y’know? Even though we weren’t that close, we were still… we were still something. And I’m glad you made it. I just wish you hadn’t convinced yourself that you had to go through this alone. Maybe things would’ve turned out different, these past few months. For both of us.”

You nodded, choosing to avert eye contact first because you almost couldn’t handle the sincerity. Your heart sank a bit at the sight of all the beer bottles, and you knew that he was right. Maybe things would’ve been different if the two of you had weathered it together from the start. And so you said that.

“I still can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for—” you gestured around at the mess with a sigh, “for this.”

“Look.” His voice was raspy as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and as he met your eyes once more you were able to see how truly exhausted he was. With dark circles that matched your own, scars that were still healing, and a certain hollowness behind his eyes… It was like looking in a mirror. And it made you realize how fucked up the two of you had really become.

Mike had always been good at holding himself together, putting up his signature egotistical-douchebag-jock act in the face of anything that threatened to tear him down, and more often than not he came out victorious. But not even class presidents were immune to the horrors that they had faced, and it was taking more of a toll on him than you had realized.

“It’s not your fault. You— you did everything you could; I know I’m still alive because of you. Besides, we were idiot teenagers — we still are — and none of them deserved to die because of it. Not Hannah, not Beth, not any of them.” Mike shook his head and sighed. “Not even Josh. Man was fucked up even before all of this, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He needed help, but instead he got his fucking… god. I can’t even say it. But he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, the subconscious process having stopped because of the weight of his words. It was cliche, but you didn’t know how much you needed to hear those four words: it’s not your fault.

“Maybe you should be my therapist,” you joked weakly. But as you let your eyes trail back to Mike you bit your lip. He hadn’t included himself in that statement, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why.

“Mike… it wasn’t your fault either. You’re not just saying bullshit to try and make yourself feel better, it really wasn’t your fault. What do they say? ‘Getting through your guilt is the first step to recovery’ or some shit? You deserve to be here just as much as I do.”

“But it was,” he insisted. “It’s easy for you to say that. You tried to stop it, I… I just went along with it. Fuck, I started it all. Hannah and Beth went missing because of me, Josh went out of his fuckin’ mind, and if he hadn’t brought us all back up there for his revenge plot then they wouldn’t have died. How is it not my fault? Why do I get to live when all of them died because of me?”

“Mike,” you sighed. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know why we made it back when none of them did, but it’s not your fucking fault, okay? You— yeah, that prank was fucking stupid, but— but how could you know what was going to happen?” You huffed a laugh that was only slightly unhinged. “People pull pranks all the time. Native American legend cannibal spirit things don’t try to kill people all the time. You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s not going to help them, and it’s not going to help you.”

That silence stretched out once more as he took in your words. You didn’t know if he believed them or not, but you did. That had to be worth something, right?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he muttered, breaking the silence once more. “And I… I don’t know. I don’t know why it took almost fucking dying from those goddamn things, a— and seeing what happened to all of them...”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “All the shit that happened, all of them dying — I don’t know how long it’ll take until we’re okay again. Hell, I don’t even know if we ever will be okay again. What happened up there was fucked up in the worst way, and the fact that no one believes us makes it a hell of a lot worse.”

You chuckled darkly as you cupped one hand in the other. “You can say that again.”

His lips twitched for a moment as if he wanted to smile but ultimately thought better of it. “I know we aren’t that close anymore, but the truth is we’re the only ones on this fuckin’ planet that know what really happened up there. We’re the only ones that will ever really understand what happened to us, and… and I think we’re the only ones that can really help each other through this shit.”

He met your eyes once more, something resolute in them. “So the next time this happens, because it will, if you don’t want to be alone… you can come here. Any time, any day, no questions asked. Just knock on that door, and I will be there. No more isolation, no more trying to get through this on our own. We gotta be there for each other, because we’re all we have.”

You nodded gratefully, a feeling of warmth slowly creeping through your body with his reassurance. “Thank you, Mike. You… you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some clue,” he murmured.

As you exchanged weary smiles, you saw a faint twinkle in Mike’s eyes. He was always the kind of person to help others, even if it was for the wrong reasons, and that was one thing that stuck with him after the disaster. And in that moment, a long lost feeling washed over you — safety.

You hadn’t felt safe in… well, it seemed like forever. Adrenaline and pure instinct were responsible for getting you through those twelve hours, along with an overwhelming wave of numbness and denial. But once all of that wore off, the nightmares had begun. Your friends, the Wendigos, the mountain itself — anything and everything that your mind could use against you, it did.

It was a living hell. You could hardly ever sleep anymore, horrific images always jolting you awake after an hour or two and keeping you awake for the rest of the day. It was no wonder Mike had ended up with a drinking problem — it was probably the only way he could sleep, the only way he could bring some form of peace to his mind. By some miracle, you had avoided that fate, but… you would be lying if you said you hadn’t come close.

But somehow, for some reason, you could tell that things were going to be different. Now that you and Mike weren’t avoiding each other anymore in the name of painful memories… you felt like things were going to be okay. Or as close to okay as you could get these days.

You weren’t alone, and neither was he.

He had saved your life on the mountain more than once. Now, he was saving you again. Just in a different way.

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ud tags: @kwyloz

#mike munroe #mike munroe x reader #mike x reader #until dawn x reader #until dawn #until dawn fic #mike until dawn #sadie writes #i always get so insecure when i post things that arent for atla #then i remember that. this is my blog and i can write what i want #lol

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Text

Night Changes

This isn't based on an ask, but I've had some early-Cap ideas brewing and think about the first time the team heard him laugh a lot. His and James' friendship is so sweet in SW--the beginning of it must have been such a shock to them both. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

So maybe James had bitten off more than he could chew. It wasn’t the first time, to be sure, but coaxing (read: drag kicking and screaming) his new teammate out of the carefully-constructed mosaic of scowls that made up his entire personality was proving to be a little more challenging than he previously expected. With most rookies, all it took was some elbow grease and overenthusiastic inclusion in group events to get them to open up—with his brand-new soon-to-be best friend, he had to handle things a little more delicately.

Sirius Black was a puzzle wrapped up in one of those freaky code-breaking machines from World War Two Lily liked to talk about. He was one of the best hockey players James had ever seen, but off the ice he seemed to shut down. The intense focus on his face smoothed out into almost perfect neutrality, and in the four months since he joined the Lions, he had never once smiled for real in front of the team. He sat in his stall and padded up in silence, then went out and kicked ass before following Pascal home like a living shadow.

Naturally, James took it as a personal mission to pry Sirius Black’s closed-off persona open like a stubborn oyster. He tried including Sirius in group events—the rookie went along with a quiet “yeah, sure”, but sat at the table and nursed a single drink for the entire night. He tried getting into friendly banter with him on the ice, but it was like Sirius had never joked with anyone in his life. Hell, he even tried finding him a girlfriend, which tanked harder than the goddamn Titanic.

“Rookie!” James shouted down the hallway.

Sirius jumped and turned around, obviously confused. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” James laughed, jogging over to toss an arm over his shoulders. “What’s up?”

“Not much.”

He waited for Sirius to continue, then rolled his eyes and gave him a friendly shake. “C’mon, man, how was your weekend? Has Dumo coerced you into being a stay-at-home babysitter yet?”

Sirius’ frown deepened. “What? I come with him to practice every day.”

Change tactics, change tactics— “Got any plans for Friday?”

James knew the answer, of course; it was always no or not yet or a simple shake of the head. If he was a less observant man, he would have assumed Sirius didn’t actually want to hang out with the team. But the longing looks toward their easy rhythm and the way he always tilted himself toward locker room conversations told a different story. “None yet,” Sirius said with a shrug.

James gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Good, ‘cause I’m having a party at my place and you’re not allowed to miss it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want you to be there, duh.” The bewilderment didn’t fade from Sirius’ face, but beneath it—well, maybe James was just seeing things, but he looked almost hopeful. He ruffled Sirius’ hair and headed for the locker room. “Friday at five, rookie! I’ll be waiting!”

The week passed in a slog of practices and cold weather. Sirius clammed up more and more as the party drew closer, but James didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered between the rest of them like he was analyzing a play. He would make one hell of a captain someday, if he could just relax a little.

“Hey, rookie, want a ride?” he asked when the big day finally arrived.

“Don’t you want to go home and set up first?” Sirius’ brow furrowed. For an eighteen-year-old kid, he was awfully thoughtful. James couldn’t wait to see him let loose a little. “I wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

“It’s a yes or no question,” he teased, poking the bit of exposed shoulder through the widening hole in Sirius’ under armor.

“I…” He faltered, then the corner of his mouth twitched up. It was the closest thing James had seen to a smile from him yet. One point for Potter. “Sure, Pots. Thanks.”

“No problem. Meet me at my car in five or so, yeah?”

“D’accord.”

“Oho, fancy French,” James laughed, turning back to unlace his skates.

It wasn’t until thirty seconds after Sirius left the room that he remembered he never told the rookie what his car looked like. Horrible, terrible visions of the poor guy wandering around the parking lot—or, god forbid, thinking James had left without him—flashed through his mind. It would undo everything he had been working so hard to build.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath as he shoved his gear into his duffel with reckless abandon and hurried out of the locker room. His legs would be stiff from trying to run so soon after a grueling drill practice, but it was worth it to save his friend. “Rookie? Hey, Sirius, you still here?”

There was no response. James cursed again and made a beeline for the door to the parking lot. Please, God, don’t let him get lost. I need him to trust me.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he panted as he burst out onto the half-frozen concrete.

Sirius looked up from his phone with a strange expression. “Are you okay?”

“Thought I lost you for a sec.”

“You said to meet at your car, yes?” He glanced between James and the car in sudden worry.

“Yeah, yes, absolutely, I just—” He made an aborted gesture and dug his keys out of his pocket. “I realized I forgot to tell you which one is mine.”

Sirius blinked at him. “I know what your car looks like.”

“How?”

“Because you drive it here every single day and you gave me a ride three weeks ago.”

‘Dumbass’ went unsaid, but James could feel it hanging in the air. He coughed lightly. “Right. Anyway, you can toss your bag wherever and hop in the passenger seat. My place isn’t far from here.”

Sirius took his duffel as he unlocked the car and settled both in the trunk with more care than James’ poor, battered bag had ever seen in its life. That was another thing that confused him about Sirius Black—he was so careful. He walked quietly for someone so tall, and each movement seemed pre-planned.

Each movement, that is, until he tried to get in the car. “Uh, Pots?”

“That’s m—oh.” James covered his mouth to stifle his laughter as Sirius tried to fold himself into the passenger seat and failed miserably. “I’m sorry, my girlfriend was sitting there last. Uh, there’s a lever on your right—yeah, there, just give it a pull and—”

With a harsh ka-chunk, the seat slid all the way back. Both men froze. It took everything in James’ power not to burst out laughing at the deer-in-headlights shock on Sirius’ face.

“Yep, that one,” he managed. “Nice job.”

They drove in relative quiet—James chattered on about weekend plans and hummed to the radio while Sirius watched out the window with the occasional monosyllable response. It took James a bit by surprise how comfortable he was, even without a steady stream of banter. Sirius might have been stubborn and silent and determined to foil all James’ plans at getting him to socialize, but he was calming to be near, like an anchor on unsteady water. Despite his overall quiet air, he was obviously paying attention to every word that left James’ mouth.

“You’re a good guy, y’know that?” he said as they turned onto his street. Sirius glanced over in surprise. “Most people tune me out within, like, five minutes.”

“I’m a good listener.”

James opened his mouth to respond, then paused. “Was that—Sirius Black, was that a joke?”

Something akin to mischief—mischief!—crossed his face. “Maybe.”

“Were you roasting me?” James gaped at him. “Oh my god. The guys are never gonna believe this.”

“Probably not.”

“You sick bastard. They won’t believe me.”

“You can give it a shot,” Sirius said with a shrug as the engine turned off. Pieces began to connect in James’ head as he stared, incredulous, at the rookie he thought would never even crack a smile. Four months of work had not been wasted, as he had feared; every joke, every one-sided conversation, and every attempt to get Sirius involved had been seen and heard and taken to heart. When he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen Sirius actively agree to something unless James asked personally.

“We’re friends,” he said aloud, too surprised and too happy to hold it in. Not friends in the way James was with the rest of their loud, over-the-top teammates, but friends all the same.

“Well, yeah,” Sirius said as if it was obvious.

James unbuckled his seatbelt and socked him lightly on the shoulder, barely suppressing a shriek of excitement. “Love you, man. Grab your shit, we’ve got a party to set up.”

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

As much as it pained James to say it, having someone around who was six-foot-three was a huge help. There was no blow to his pride as he dragged Lily’s stepstool out; no grudging acceptance that he simply couldn’t reach those last two inches on the wall. Instead, he could foist any and all responsibility on his brand-new best friend in the whole wide world and focus on the things that mattered, like putting anything breakable or important far away from the grubby hands of his inebriated teammates.

His success was still ringing in his ears when the guests finally arrived—throughout the evening, James rode the high of accomplishing his mission to pull Sirius Black into his tight-knit circle. Every minute of those four months was worth it.

Midnight came and went, and by one-thirty in the morning James’ cramped living room was packed with tipsy hockey players in a vague imitation of a circle. “Non, non, I’ve gotta good one,” Dumo said, hiccupping. The room fell quiet as he leaned forward. “What do you call a body of water with a chicken in it?”

“What?” Kasey whispered, starry-eyed like a kid at Christmas.

“A swimming pool.”

The room stayed quiet, and then someone started to laugh. Slowly, they all turned to the source of the noise, and James felt a ripple of shock roll through the team as Sirius snorted. “It’s a swimming pool,” he said around a smile, his accent thick from three drinks. He had a nice laugh; James could get used to hearing it. “Like—poule, like chicken?”

His whole face was alight with happiness. James wasn’t sure whether to cry or cheer. That’s what I’ve been waiting for, he thought. That look, right there. Sirius fit in among the group like a missing piece of their puzzle, snickering away as if he hadn’t been stoically silent a day in his life. His laugh was downright bubbly.

“I don’t think they get it,” Dumo said into the rim of his cup.

Sirius shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “D’accord, so—so ‘chicken’ in French is poule, yeah? So a chicken in a body of water is a swimming poule. Do you get it now?”

A few oh’s of understanding washed over them, but several people continued to stare. “Too drink for this,” Sergei grumbled, though James could see the smile pulling at his mouth as Sirius turned to him with bright eyes.

“But it’s funny!” Sirius protested, so earnest it made James’ heart hurt.

“I think it’s funny, rookie,” he assured him with a clumsy pat on the arm. “And it’s my house, so I say Dumo gets a point this round.”

Kasey hiccupped. “Hey, anyone who makes the rookie laugh gets points in my book. No offense, dude.”

“None taken,” Sirius said, though his cheeks were pink.

James nudged him with his shoulder as Talker started a knock-knock joke. “It’s okay,” he said under his breath.

Sirius picked at the label on his cup. “I know I haven’t been very social,” he muttered.

“It’s okay,” James insisted. “It always takes rookies a while to warm up, so we’re just glad you’re happy. I’m glad my best friend is having a good time at my party.”

A heavy silence fell between them as Sirius looked over, eyebrows raised. “Best friend?”

“What, like you didn’t see this coming?” James slung an arm over his shoulder. “Yes, you French-Canadian nerd, you’re my best friend. And that means I’m your best friend, and there’s no take-backsies.”

“What the hell is a take-backsie?” Sirius laughed. “Did you make that up?”

James grinned. He had the feeling this was the beginning of an excellent friendship.

#sirius black #james potter #pascal dumais #kasey winter #sergei ivanov #thomas walker #rookie #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #pre-cap #friendship

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

Take Me, I’m Yours

(the highest voted options on the poll were ‘Geralt rescues Jaskier from trouble’ and ‘Jaskier riles the Captain up in public’ so I teamed up with the ever-marvelous, stupendously talented @limrx to bring you this Swashbuckling AU oneshot/art piece featuring a horribly jealous Geralt and a frisky, flirty Jaskier)

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

“Do you think he likes me back?” Jaskier asked. He leaned over the ship’s railing to look more closely at the dolphin following behind them. Lambert didn’t think he’d fall overboard but it would be kind of funny if he did. The strange young nobleman did have a way of always landing on his feet, though.

“I know he does.”

“Well how come he hasn’t told me anything about it, then?”

“You’ve met the Captain, right? About this tall, long white hair, weird yellow eyes, emotionally incompetant?”

“You have a good point. Should I just confront him about it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Lambert rolled his eyes before shooting Jaskier a pointed look. “If you want to send your ransom note back to Lettenhove the following morning.”

“Fuck. I just want to kiss him, Lambert. Regularly. I want to know if he snores or not. I want to lay on the deck beneath the stars and talk to him like we’re friends and not just pirate and pseudo-pirate-captive. I really want to see what his ass looks like under those godsforsaken trousers, Lambert, it’s killing me not knowing.”

“You’re more insatiable than a siren during the rainy season,” the second mate teased. “But with fewer teeth.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going ashore when we lay anchor?”

“Am I allowed?”

“I assume you’ll be allowed. You’re practically part of the crew. You’ve been aboard for nearly two weeks and you’ve pulled your fair share of the weight, if not moreso.”

“Why thank you, Lambert. I appreciate you noticing.”

“Of course, Jaskier. You may be an utter fool and a fop to boot, but at least you’re a hard worker.”

“Asshole.”

“Mhm.”

They both watched the dolphins for a minute in silence before Jaskier’s face split into the most heinous and dastardly grin. It filled Lambert with an unmistakable sense of fear and worry. “I have a brilliant idea. I know how to get Geralt to admit his feelings.”

“No, absolutely not. I am not getting roped into this, you horrible little minx. Don’t give me that look! I won’t help you this time!”

“But Lamby-bert,” Jaskier whined. “If he has someone to take all his frustrations out on in bed then I’m sure it’ll be easier to negotiate for higher shares next time we take a vessel.”

Lambert did not miss the fact that Jaskier said ‘we’ when referring to the crew. The second mate knew the little nobleman was here to stay; it had been clear that Jaskier would be sticking around from the moment Geralt first laid eyes (and hands) on him. The Captain hadn’t stopped looking out for the lad since. Lambert wasn’t even going to think about that singular flirty kiss atop the mainmast nearly a week and a half ago. Geralt had been pining after the acrobatic little idiot ever since and making absolutely no move to flirt back. It was driving the crew absolutely crazy. “Alright, you devilish siren. I’m in.”

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

Jaskier cleaned up nice.

And he deserved to clean up nice. He’d worked hard to put this outfit together. Billy had lent him a pair of dark blue breeches in return for Jaskier’s help with mending the mainsail. The shirt he was wearing was half a size too big, which was exactly big enough for the neckline to plunge even lower than he usually wore it. This way it revealed more of his toned (and rather hirsute) chest. He’d borrowed it from Starkey, who was the same height as him but who had much broader shoulders.

The Captain was going to absolutely die when he saw Jaskier.

He whistled a rather naughty shanty as he exited the bunk room and made his way towards the gangplank where Starkey, Lambert, and Eskel were waiting for him. He spun in a quick circle, arms out to show off his clothes. Lambert and Starkey whistled appreciatively and Eskel hid his face in the palm of his hand. “Ready, boys?”

“Absolutely not,” Starkey smiled. The first mate standing next to him tilted his head back to look at the sky, sighing deeply.

“Are you sure about this? What if the Captain tries to kill Lambert?”

“He won’t be killing anyone. Hopefully. If he does run his sword through anyone, it will most likely be me,” Jaskier joked. “Now, this is my first time drinking with real pirates. Anything I should know?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Eskel suggested. Lambert bit back a laugh and Starkey snorted.

“Impossible.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

The four men made their way down onto the docks and through the sparse crowd of sailors and merchants still mingling in the evening light. Starkey led them to a decent tavern and found a vacant corner table, which gave them an excellent view of the door.

Geralt and Starkey had spent the morning selling their stolen cargo to various merchants, shopkeepers, and artisans. The Captain had divided up the gold between his crew according to their various contracts and Jaskier, more as a jest than anything else, was given two crowns as well. “For not dying,” Geralt had intoned seriously. The men were amused but Jaskier’s face had gone bright red with embarrassment. The young noble had talked them out of trouble with the Skelligan patrols twice last week and Geralt was repaying him with public humiliation? Lambert knew that the Captain’s earlier actions were about to make this evening a lot more entertaining (if slightly uncomfortable) and he was ready to get this show on the road. He flung an arm around Jaskier’s waist and ordered them all a round of ales.

“So everyone knows what the general goal here is, right?” Jaskier clarified.

“Yes,” Eskel nodded. “You’re using Geralt’s jealous nature to make him act on his less than subtle feelings for you.”

“Correct. Wonderful.”

Lambert squeezed the noble’s hip through his borrowed pants and Jaskier huffed indignantly in reply. Starkey chuckled softly at their antics and winked at the barmaid when she brought them their drinks. “Can’t wait, really. It’s been so boring lately and the last two ships we took didn’t even fight back. This is drama. This is entertainment!”

“Shut up, Starkey,” Jaskier pouted. He leaned back into Lambert’s embrace and gulped down half his ale.

“Slow down, kid,” the first mate teased. “Or you will be drunk when he gets here and your plan won’t work.”

“I need to get the pink in my cheeks or I’ll look suspicious,” Jaskier argued. “One ale should do it without getting me tipsy. Maybe two if it’s weak.”

“Method actors,” Lambert rolled his eyes.

Jaskier was sipping slowly at his second ale and the other three pirates were on their fourth or fifth when Geralt finally came barreling through the tavern door. “There you are!” Eskel shouted, waving the Captain over. Nobody missed the barely-hidden glare Geralt aimed at Lambert’s arm where it rested against the nobleman’s lower back.

“Captain,” the second mate nodded.

“Lambert. Eskel. Starkey.” Geralt greeted them all in turn.

“Heyyyy,” Jaskier whined, leaning forward against the edge of the table and pouting. “What about me, sir?”

“You.”

“Rude,” the brunette huffed. Lambert ran a lazy hand up and down his spine and Jaskier watched as Geralt’s eyes narrowed into slits. He sighed sadly and melodramatically into his mug and nodded once in the second mate’s direction. “Thank you, darling. At least someone in this crew likes me.”

Starkey saw Geralt’s eyelid twitch and slid Eskel two crowns under the table to settle their bet. He thought the vein on their Captain’s throat would show up before the eyelid went, but it must have been the first mate’s lucky night this time around. “Hey Eskel, let’s see if any of the lovely ladies here want to dance with us, eh?”

“You coming, Captain?” Eskel asked. “Seems like Jaskier and Lambert are a bit busy.”

“Yes, Geralt,” Jaskier egged him on. The Captain had a white-knuckled grip on the handle of his mug. The noble took a long swig of ale and licked a bit of foam from his lip when he was finished, noting the way Geralt’s eyes locked onto his mouth. “Why not go dance with a pretty lady. Certainly nobody else has your attention.”

The pirate Captain finally snapped. He slammed his mug down and reached around the table to grab Jaskier around the waist. He hauled him out of the second mate’s grip and onto his feet. “Captain, what are yo-”

“Yer coming with me, siren,” Geralt snarled. Lambert relinquished the nobleman with very little fuss, winking at Jaskier as the pirate Captain swung him up and over his broad shoulder. The young man flashed all three of his co-conspirators a thumbs up as he was carried out of the tavern like a sack of potatoes.

“A little rude to Lambert, don’t you think, sir?” he asked, resting his elbow against Geralt’s shoulder blade and settling his chin onto his hand. He crossed his ankles to make it easier for the pirate to balance his weight comfortably. “But they’ll be happy to know that our little plan worked out.”

Geralt stopped in his tracks but did not set his captive down. “Your what?”

“Our plan,” Jaskier explained as if bored. “To get you to finally do something about all this sexual tension between us. I kissed you on the mouth for fuck’s sake.”

“I thought it was an accident.”

“Oh, and saving you from hanging at the hands of some Skelligan officers, was that an accident? Not sending a ransom note last time we stopped for water and not turning you in for the reward in Novigrad, were those accidents too? There is a hefty bounty on your head, White Wolf, and I could be living independently in a castle somewhere right now except that I happen to find you endlessly attractive and fascinating.”

“Hmm.” Geralt resumed walking. Jaskier noticed with a smirk that his pace had picked up quite a bit. As if he was suddenly in a hurry to be somewhere.

“Hum dismissively all you like, sir, but you’re still carrying me back to your cabin to ravish me senseless, are you not?”

“Ravish may be the wrong word for what I’d like to do to you, but you do look rather tempting.”

“Thank you. I put a lot of effort into this ensemble.”

“You’re a calculating little nymph, aren’t you?”

“No, of course not. I only managed to secure a bunk aboard the Kaer Morhen and wrap its infamous captain around my finger in less than a month. I am but a silly nobleman with excellent dexterity and a penchant for climbing.”

“Lambert was right to call you a minx.”

“He does love that nickname.”

“It’s not an endearment.”

“Whatever.” The ground shifted and Jaskier knew they were making their way up the gangplank and back onto the ship. This was the part he’d been waiting for! Geralt kicked in his cabin door and stepped inside, turning to close and lock it behind them. Jaskier wriggled impatiently. “Set me down!”

“Hmm, no. I rather like the view from here.”

“Excuse me?”

Geralt gave him a gentle smack on the ass, almost a pat really, and huffed out a laugh at Jaskier’s offended noise. “You’ve been an awful lot of trouble for a nobleman and a captive.”

“I’m barely a captive, Geralt. Give it up already.”

“You haven’t signed the book.” He set Jaskier back on his feet and looped his arms around the younger man’s waist to pull him close. “You’re still a captive until you swear on the book and sign your name next to the others. Then you’ll be part of my crew.”

“I have yet to negotiate for my shares,” the brunette stated. He tilted his chin back, baring his neck slightly and offering Geralt his ale-damp lips. “Ten crowns after every capture and I get to sleep in here with you. That sounds fair.”

“You’re a good worker. Seven crowns, you can sleep in here with me, and you can borrow my bandannas whenever you want.”

“Even the red one?”

“Especially the red one.”

Jaskier’s soft pink mouth brushed against the pirate’s as he murmured his answer: “Deal.”

Geralt’s lips crashed against Jaskier’s with the strength of a wave hitting the side of his ship in a maelstrom. The Captain’s mouth was so warm and his lips moved against the younger man’s with almost frightening determination. As if he was trying to prove himself. His arms were strong around the nobleman’s lower back and his white hair brushed deliciously against the skin of Jaskier’s neck.

“You’ve bewitched me, body and soul.”

“Oh, Geralt,” the younger man sighed, opening his mouth to let the other in. I never thought the word ‘plunder’ could apply to kissing but here I stand, corrected by experience yet again. The White Wolf of the Seven Seas pulled away, made breathless by a young and foolish nobleman in search of adventure.

“I’m not a siren, you know. Not even a little. My family’s estate is landlocked.”

Geralt’s fingers rose from his waist and brushed against his cheekbone reverently. Those amber eyes, so cold and focused when he shouted orders or intimidated a merchant captain, were looking down at Jaskier with such devoted tenderness. The ex-noble felt his heart fill anew and double in size. There wasn’t enough room in his body to hold all of this feeling.

“Kiss me again, Captain. Take me to bed.”

“You’re too good at tempting me. You must be evil.”

“I assure you,” Jaskier smirked, ripping Geralt’s shirt over his head in one smooth movement. “I am.”

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peachy-panic · 3 years

Text

WHUMPTOBER DAY 3: “WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”

This is the next chronological piece of Do No Harm, continued directly from this chapter.

Tag list: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump

WARNINGS: Medical procedures, referenced/implied noncon, slavery setting, the usual.

The young doctor seems a bit skittish and far less cruel than the other Facility employees, and that comes with the dangerous notion that perhaps he doesn’t plan on hurting him. But that notion requires a naivety of which Jaime is no longer capable. He, of all people, is aware that cruelty can disguise itself in many shapes and sizes. Just because it isn’t obvious doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and that only makes it all the more dangerous.

There’s no use in hoping either way, he decides. Dr. Tate will either hurt him or he won’t, will either touch him or he won’t, and Jaime can’t — won’t — react. He has already made that mistake once today and will certainly pay for it later in ways he doesn’t want to think about now. He would do well to remember that he doesn’t hold any power here. Not in this room, this building, this life. And that, despite any arbitrary written rules, Dr. Tate is free to do as he pleases.

At least he had removed the restraints from his mouth and wrists. Jaime can console himself with this small mercy.

Those had always been the worst part of nights with Mr. Torley, on the all-too-frequent occasions he decided to use them. He was clearly very into them, and even more into Jaime’s fear of them. In addition to the claustrophobia they stoked in him, the use of restraints in bed had always felt something like a mockery. What use was it to restrain someone who can’t fight back regardless? The binds on his wrists and ankles were nothing more than accessories. The shackles in his mind did all the work to keep him still. And Mr. Torley knew that.

He does his best not to think about that now. Not to think about Mr. Torley at all, since that was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. Distantly, he wonders how long the influence of his first Keeper will continue to stain Jaime’s existence beyond the termination of their six-month contract.

Dr. Tate, who has been buried in the cabinets above the sink for several minutes, turns back to him sporting bright-blue gloves that adhere tightly around his slender hands. He meets Jaime’s eyes for half a second before his gaze darts somewhere just to the left of his shoulder.

“We need to run a couple of tests,” he says in a detached, clinical voice, all notes of lightheartedness from earlier removed. “I’ll need to collect some samples from you.”

Jaime nods once in acknowledgement, squeezing his fingers tightly, unconsciously around the edge of the table. There’s an unnatural pause in his cadence, and Jaime when looks up, he watches a slight twitch of movement in the doctor’s jaw.

“Please remove your pants and underwear,” Dr. Tate says, his voice taking on a lower pitch. “You can leave them on up to your thighs, if you’d like.”

The slight shift in demeanor sets Jaime on edge, but he doesn’t hesitate at the command, even as a familiar panic claws at the inside of his throat. He drops forward from the table, his legs taking his weight. His thumbs hook the waistband of the thin, cotton pants he had been returned in, and he doesn’t allow himself a moment of hesitation before pushing them unceremoniously off his hips. He takes Dr. Tate up on his merciful offer to keep them partially on his body. The cold, sterile air inside the clinic is sharp against his exposed skin.

Jaime’s eyes find the ceiling as he prepares for the touch he knows is coming. He doesn’t look to see whatever tools and instruments Dr. Tate is laying out on the silver tray beside the exam table. He doesn’t have to. “We need to run a couple of tests.” Whatever foolish hypotheticals Jaime once held in regards to WRU — what they did and didn’t know about the treatment of their wards — had long been shattered.

Of course they needed to test him for sexually transmitted diseases. They can’t have a Domestic Companion spreading something to the next paying customer that buys their time and exposing their innocent charade.

There’s a pause in Dr. Tate’s movement, but Jaime doesn’t look away from his spot on the ceiling tile.

“I’m going to touch you, now.” Dr. Tate’s voice is low and measured. “I need to examine you for bumps or sores, any abnormalities.” He clears his throat. “And I’ll take a swab from your urethra. It might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt you.” Another pause. “Please, tell me if it does.”

Jaime’s grip on the table tightens, but he otherwise doesn’t react. Distantly, he is grateful for the warning, the bare explanation, mortifying as it is. He knows that the doctors here are not obligated to explain anything to the Companion patients, to seek consent in any form. Their consent was implicitly given in the contracts they signed at intake. He just as easily could have left Jaime gagged and bound to the table and gone about the procedure without so much as a word to him. Jaime is glad he hadn’t.

Instead, Dr. Tate’s touch is light and professional. His gloved hands don’t linger, they don’t poke and prod to get a reaction from him. It seems, even, that he touches him as little as possible. Almost as if he is as eager to get this over with as Jaime is, which doesn’t feel quite possible.

The fluorescent strip of light next to his focal point on the ceiling burns at the edge of his vision, but he doesn’t look away, using the mild discomfort as an anchor to hold himself steady. He concentrates on that instead of the gentle touches, gritting his teeth against any traitorous urges his body might provoke. Mr. Torley had loved that about Jaime — his responsiveness to touch — but not as much as he loved using it against him.

His stomach sours at the memory, fresh humiliation creeping into his cheeks at the idea of something similar happening now. He doesn’t think Dr. Tate would tease him the way his Keeper had, but he still doesn’t relish the idea of becoming physically aroused in front of this young doctor, who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him and, in another life, Jaime might have found pretty.

The thought is gone almost as soon as it comes, too painful to linger on. The idea of another life. A normal life. A life at all. These are thoughts Jaime is forbidden to have. The phantom sting of an electric shock lights up the column of his throat and Jaime winces.

“Sorry,” Dr. Tate said quickly, misunderstanding the movement and withdrawing his hand. Jaime’s eyes finally fall to his as the doctor takes a step back, inserting the long swab into a glass tube and sealing it with a cap. “The worst part is over.”

Jaime is numb all over, but he nearly laughs. He knows that having stepped foot in this facility again, the “worst part” has not even begun.

“I’ll need to collect another sample from your mouth,” Dr. Tate continues, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, and Jaime absently wonders why they even bother wasting extra product on the patients here. “And we’ll draw some blood—”

Something catches his voice mid-sentence and Jaime’s eyes flick up to his again. Dr. Tate looks at him, and then pointedly, hurriedly away. Jaime swears he can see his pale cheeks reddening.

“You can— We’re finished with that part.” He stumbles out. “Feel free to cover yourself up.”

Jaime does as he’s told, finding it somewhere within himself to be grateful that the doctor had kept the procedure professional. He couldn’t say the same thing for every encounter he’d had in the facility clinic before.

********

Sebastian knows what happens next, and that’s why he finds himself taking his time with the rest of the visit. As soon as he’s completed the mandated intake exam, he is supposed to mark the patient as cleared in his chart and alert the handlers to come collect him. To take him back into the part of the facility where Sebastian has never set foot; the “residential” wing where the unclaimed Companions are housed between contracts. On all the promotional advertisements, it’s depicted as a dormitory-like accommodation. Now that Sebastian knows just how little truth exists behind their lies, he can only imagine it’s nothing of the sort.

His mind conjures images of iron-barred cells and concrete rooms, of medieval dungeons with chains and darkness and filth. It’s a sensationalized version of what he assumes is probably the truth, but that doesn’t mean the reality is any less horrible. After what he’s seen in his time here and everything he’s heard, he has no doubt that the people who are forced to reside here between Keepers are subject to the company’s own brand of horror. Frankly, he’s in no hurry to turn his patient back over to their hands a moment sooner than he has to.

The boy is silent and entirely pliable throughout the whole exam, allowing himself to be moved when necessary and not so much as flinching when the needles for the blood draw break his skin. Sebastian is glad when the more… invasive parts of the exam are over. The boy had been no less compliant during them, maybe even the opposite, but Sebastian hadn’t missed the subtle changes in his posture, the way the muscles in his hands clenched and released around the edge of the table as he touched him as little as possible.

He had looked up at the ceiling instead of at the wall behind Sebastian, as he had done previously, and Sebastian had silently prayed that the position wasn’t intended as a way to hold back tears. He doesn’t know how he could live with himself if he made this kid cry.

When the blood has been drawn, the test samples submitted for lab processing, and a full physical performed, Sebastian has run out of ways to delay the inevitable. He closes out of the boy’s patient profile on his screen and turns to him, hands folded professionally in front.

“I’ll need to alert the handlers that your intake exam is complete,” he told him, probably unnecessarily. He hadn’t looked to see how long he had been in the system, but from his behavior, he assumes it’s been long enough to break his spirit. He probably knows these protocols better than Sebastian ever wants to. “They’ll come and escort you back to the residential quarters.”

110750 nods once without looking at him. “Thank you,” he says flatly. Then, there is a moment of pause before he lifts his eyes and seems to level Sebastian with something more sincere. “Thank you for… for letting me get cleaned up.”

Sebastian feels like shattering into pieces all over the cold linoleum. Instead, he tries for a smile and lands somewhere in the realm of a tight, thin line at his lips. “Sure,” he says, a bit mortified to hear the crack in his voice.

He watches 110750 take slow, measured breaths as Sebastian makes the call he desperately wishes he didn’t have to make. He tries not to stare as they wait in tense silence for the handlers to arrive. Of course, Sebastian could leave the room if he wants. The intake procedure is done, and so is his minimal obligation to patient care. But something feels wrong about leaving him. More than that, something feels utterly wrong about this boy being taken out of the clinic, away from his line of sight, where he can’t see what will happen next. He only knows it won’t be good.

A split second before he hears the clinic doors whoosh open, Sebastian steps closer to his patient, lowering his voice to a quick, urgent whisper. “Keep an eye on that broken nose,” he advises. “If you have any trouble breathing as it heals, please don’t hesitate to let your assigned handler know that you need medical attention, okay?”

The boy hitches in a breath but doesn’t respond. Sebastian takes half a step closer.

“Look, you have a right to medical assistance,” he says, the words feeling like treason on his tongue despite knowing their written truth. “Even here. Even now. You can always come see me here if you need to. They can’t legally prevent you from requesting care. Do you understand?”

Unexpectedly, something dark flashes in the boy’s eyes. Something less like the fear and dread he had witnessed earlier, and something much more akin to anger. Anger at Sebastian?

Before the interaction can go any further, they are interrupted by the unceremonious swing of the exam room door. The same two men who had brought him in - one with a fresh bandage on his face - push their way in, stepping between Sebastian and his patient.

“Up you go, 7-5-0,” Handler Hernandez barks, and the boy is on his feet before he can finish the command, his hands behind his back, head bowed.

“Oh, look who finally decided to behave,” the other one - Smith, maybe? - taunts as he sizes him up in a way that makes even Sebastian’s skin crawl. Just as he had prior to the visit, the man shifts his gaze to him, a sneer permanently embedded into his expression. “Does he get a lollipop for good behavior? Maybe a sticker?”

The boy doesn’t look up at him, but Sebastian thinks he sees his throat move. He feels a swell of rage rise into his throat, coming to a boiling point for the second time since he entered the room with this boy, but he swallows it back, keeping as level an expression as he can manage.

“He was perfectly agreeable,” he responds tightly, refusing to play into whatever mockery he’s initiating.

Smith answers him with a dismissive snort, turning his attention back to the boy like a predator who just found fresh meat. “What do you say, sweetheart?” He asks, the thick rubber of his boots squeaking against the tile as he takes a step too far into the boy’s personal space. “Think we can go the easy way back, or would you prefer to do things the hard way again?”

The beat of silence in the room is painful as they await his response, which comes eventually in a subdued voice, through slightly gritted teeth and with his eyes on the floor. “The easy way. Sir.”

A snort from Hernandez breaks the tension. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, he is escorted from the room and seems to take with him all the air in Sebastian's lungs. Naively, desperately, he hopes for the briefest moment of eye contact before he’s taken away from him. But his eyes stay downward, even as a large hand curls around his bicep and makes him stumble in his gait as he’s yanked forward. Sebastian watches helplessly as he disappears from sight, one singular thought slicing through his mind on a loop:

Who did this to you?

#whumptober2021 #slavery #whump #like bbu adjacent?#Do No Harm: Jaime & Sebastian #medical setting #referenced noncon

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inkskinned · 4 years

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When the honey showed up, we all just took it inside. That was one of the things about it - it was always a little warm, always in the same simple jar and the nice plaid bow. Handmade-like. Most of us put it in our pantries or in the back of our cabinets, some put it in the fridge. we just thought to ourselves: gee, what a wonderful present.

I don’t know how long it took before we all had one. For a while, the most that would happen was two-minute feel-good op ed pieces in local newspapers. People would run little letters to the editor to find out the “culprit”. Sometimes there were faux-serious “investigations” when that parent freaked out about the possibility of drugs in honey. Most of the time, it ended quickly. After all, it was a nice gift from a neighbor, and it was yours. that was another thing. A house could be 122 people, and we’d all find our own jar on the doorstep, one at a time. we would know when it was ours and when it wasn’t, no matter how alike they looked. nobody ate it, at first. It was yours, and you wouldn’t eat it, and you couldn’t eat another person’s. it just wasn’t done. and the thing is - in that imaginary house, of 122 people? we’d all buy other honey. it was both there and took up space - but none of us thought of it as actually existing. we’d put down our storebought honey right next to it and think - why did i buy another? i’ve wanted to try this one for a while. and then the thought would simply be out of our head, because this is our third bag of baby carrots we have bought to let spoil again.

it was that one person who mentioned it on youtube. actually i think it was a vimeo “urban legends” series. some person with 6 followers who deleted like instantly. but then 6 people said something similar: everyone they knew had this one specific honey story. and then 12. and then all of a sudden we all woke up to “#honeyonthedoorstep” globally trending. we all posted our pictures of our honey and called each other liars and got into discourse fights with vegans and people without a sweet tooth. In 24 hours, it was running the media. 9-at-night serious news anchors leaned over to each other and said “now john, did you hear about this?” and despite their disbelief, they’d admit: i got the honey too. I think somewhere in march. maybe around the 5th. but i never ate it or thought anything of it. i just thought - what a nice gift.

By the end of the week, there were YouTube challenges and instagram memes and a netflix miniseries in the works. Lots of people tried to eat their honey, and most who “succeeded” were deemed a hoax - but truth be told? it’s not good tv to watch someone pick up honey and say “actually it’s not ready” or something similar and just decide to go do something else. i tried once, winedrunk and thinking i could be famous because it’s just honey. and i remember thinking that exact thing - it’s not ready. i realized i needed to go do dishes, this was stupid and kind of cringey.

and people freaked out, of course. outside of the jokes were parents who were asking if their children would get a jar one day, if this was a one-time thing. there were so many conspiracy theories the government finally had to say something (not that any of us were actually listening), there were massive hunts to find “the team of honey dispatchers”, there were plenty of false confessions, there were rallies to destroy the things. i don’t know if anyone actually did, because in the end? it was just a jar of honey, and it was yours, and it would be a shame to throw it at the floor just because the internet told you so. I moved three times that year - grad school, job, other better job. i always took mine with me. it wasn’t a real choice, it was just... like taking a plate that belonged to your grandmother, or carrying a song stuck in your head. it was just something that was going to come with, but it bore no special attention. and then back into the pantry it went.

two weeks later? we all just... moved on from talking about honey. it was in some memes, it was in BuzzFeed’s “top 5 weirdest stories (that are actually true)”, it was going to be the central plot of books and horror movies. but it wasn’t interesting, not really, anymore. it was like saying “all people need food”. it was just true, and not really changing. every consecutive conspiracy video got less likes, and by the end of the year, it was old enough to be a staple in bad stand-up comedy and in coming-of-age children’s shows.

nobody believed the first ones who ate it. the most traction that those posts got were from friends and family who barely remembered the whole fad. we all just figured it was a weird annual resurgence kind of thing.

but then people were definitely, absolutely, 100% eating their honey. i think i heard about one of my coworkers first. i didn’t know her; she was in another department. she told everyone it was very similar to “normal” honey. just a little tarter than she’d expected.

twitter was in an uproar. the honey was sweet to some. spicy to others. horrible, bitter, like a thousand stingers. it was perfect, it tasted like summer. most people said: it’s just honey, and absolutely regular.

those of us who weren’t ready were biting our fingernails for a while, going to our pantries, wondering - what the fuck do i mean it’s not ready? but it wasn’t ready.

like i said, it’s warm, always. But you just... know. one day you realize you really want honey on toast. or honey on tea, honey on a banana, just... honey. i remember opening it, but it didn’t feel like any more interesting than going to the cabinet for honey ever feels. i pour mine, usually, skipping a spoon because i’m usually too lazy. i was already in the middle of my meal before i realized - this is the honey. it’s not just a normal breakfast, it’s the breakfast, holy shit.

mine is just, you know. honey. it has a little hint of spice and sweet to it, which i actually quite like. it reminds me of this red pepper jelly my family used to get, and it makes me happy. but in the end? it’s honey. i don’t feel like i’m connected to a seventh realm. it’s good on oatmeal and bad in coffee no matter what some of you will tell me.

it’s just, you know. once you get your jar, and it’s ready, you have a little honey roughly every 24ish hours. it’s nothing absurd. it’s just honey, i mean - it’s like saying “you’re alive, so at some point, you should probably eat.” Most of us, it hasn’t really changed our schedules. it doesn’t seem to ever run out, which is good, because we’re always forgetting to check to see if we need more before we go shopping. for most of us? you don’t die if you miss a few days, even a few weeks, you don’t go crazy trying to get it back. sure, there’s weirdass cultists who worship it, but most of us just seem to think - it’s nice to have, and it’s okay to want this thing.

now, there’s some stuff out there, you know, about what it all “means”. and honestly, we all notice things. i’m not the only one who has seen that good people tend to think their honey tastes good and eat it normally. bad people tend to eat their honey frequently but hate every second of the eating. there are plenty who will snort and say “i’m a good person and i think it tastes like dirt” and plenty who will say “i’m a shit person and i think it tastes like the summer i finally kissed her”. and i don’t know, not the way i knew if it was ready, but it feels like a simple thing amidst all the messy. and it’s probably helpful that i think mine is, like most people’s, just a nice in-the-middle. i mean, the other day i heard it asked like a star sign - what’s your honey like?

there’s this one thing, though, you know. i choose to believe, because it might make me secretly happy. it’s like believing in nessie. i know realistically it’s probably just hearsay. but there’s this underground rumbling that, over time, the honey changes. just a little, every day, unnoticeable to most of us who go to work and do our best by others but still sometimes steal toilet paper. there’s these stories of people who made it rich by selling out their friends, who stole patents, who argue that others should charge for insulin - that they liked the honey, at first, but over time, it’s gone rotten. and similarly, every so often, there’s these stories of people who were normal “regular” honey people, who helped someone out of the bottom. who chose to be just a little bit better than they were the day before. who had moments of decisive kindness that changed them. they all say the same thing: since then, the honey has been amazing, and they work to keep it that way.

my grandmother and my mother were never surprised. they have this saying about bees and their secrets. my mother said to me: we have always had these tiny angels. they’re just giving us each a taste of the world we are making.

my grandmother later tells me, while watering the flowers, almost the exact same thing: they will haunt us when they go, because they keep books in their combs. and they see us giants, and no matter who we lie to? the world of bees will know.

#spilled ink #prose #short story #honey #i originally wrote this in my car while binge eating doritos happy mardi gras style #but then tumblr deleted it lmao bc i walked between 2 wifi connections #so if it sucks its bc i had to half-remember a good version

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pennylanefics · 3 years

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Soft Alphabet v. 2 - Isaac Lahey

a/n: i’ve had this done for so long but have been lazy to transfer it over 🤣

A - Attention (how much attention they give you/when they do/what they do)

if you’re alone, you’re his main focus. he just loves you so much that when you spend time together, he wants to spend time with you. sure, he can come over and do homework and sit in silence together, but he can do that at home, or scott’s. he won’t ask for much, watching a film would be just fine as long as he can just have you in his arms. if you are dealing with supernatural stuff, though, he tends to focus more on that, if it’s not at home. if you’re doing research together for the pack at your place or scott’s, he can’t help but kiss you every few minutes just to let you know that he’s thinking of you and is happy to be with you.

B - Baby (do they want a family/how are they as a father)

isaac definitely wants a family in the future. he didn’t want to end up like his dad, and he wanted to make sure his life was better than the way it was before he met you. he only ever wanted two kids, and that’s what happened. you gave birth to a boy, and then a girl. he is such an amazing father, and with his werewolf abilities, is able to take their pain when they get hurt or aren’t feeling well. he wonders if they’re going to be wolves as well, and is more than prepared to teach them everything they need to know.

C - Certain (when did they realize they wanted to be with you)

when he realizes you are his anchor. he struggled to find his anchor for the longest time, but as soon as you came around, he noticed he was able to calm down easier and control himself quicker than before. he just figured it was something in the back of his mind, he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. until one day, when he flipped out on derek, did he realize. derek shouted at him to focus on you: what you smell like, what your touch feels like, the feeling he gets when you’re with him. it instantly turns him back to human and derek just smiles. that night, he asked you to be his girlfriend.

D - Doubt (what happens when you or him doubt your relationship/being together)

you both doubt it at different times. after a couple months of dating, isaac was dealing with being a werewolf, school, a relationship, and just his mental health. he is beyond tired of juggling everything and asked for you to take a small break. since he was important to you and you cared for him, you agreed to it. later on, when you get back together after a few weeks, he starts focusing more on the pack and supernatural world, resulting in you feeling neglected. he was of course upset with this and it resulted in a long night of talking your problems out so you wouldn’t break up again.

E - Emergency (how do they react to you being hurt/in danger, vice versa)

he panics terribly. if something happens to you or involves you, he is not okay. one time, while fighting ethan and aiden, you got caught in between him and aiden, which resulted in you getting clawed and thrown against the wall. scott took over handling aiden so isaac could get you. he takes you to the hospital and as you are taken in for surgery, he doesn’t stop pacing. he’s biting his nails, tugging at his hair, refusing to sit down. when you’re out and awake, he is in your room within seconds, crying into your hands and whispering how much he loves you and how he was so scared you were gone. he also takes your pain away too much for his own good.

F - Family (introducing each other to your families)

you were quick to introduce isaac to your family. he was more than happy to meet them and allow them to see that he’s not like what the town says. he got along with your parents very well, and your little sister had taken a liking to him, specifically. after dinner, your mother invited him to stay for the family movie night. he of course was glad to, and during the film, your sister fell asleep against his left side, you cuddled up to his right. in that moment, he feels at home for the first time in a long time, and he can’t wait to spend more time with them.

G - Grief (comforting one another in rough times)

being in a supernatural hotspot, you were bound to see death and sadness within the pack. when allison was killed, you and isaac took it the hardest next to scott. you and allison had been friends since she moved to beacon hills high. you two had a couple classes together and grew very close. when she started dating scott, she ended up introducing you to isaac. so it was her to thank that you were with the one you love. that night, the three of you talked and stayed up all night in scott’s living room, talking about memories, what you loved about her, what you’ll miss. isaac held you in his arms the entire time, his head resting on yours. his grip tightened every time you sobbed out, wanting to take your pain away more than anything.

H - Hold (holding each other/holding others/holding pets)

with how much trauma isaac has endured, holding him in your arms to calm him down from nightmares or just general flashbacks was normal. and it’s not something you minded one bit, but it did break your heart. you could feel every shake of his body, every cry, every whimper, the tears pooling on your skin or shirt. it was a horrible sight to witness, but you stayed strong for him and rubbed his back, underneath his shirt. your touch against his skin was calming, and his fingers were always attached to you while holding him, no matter what.

I - Insomnia (what you/they do when either of you can’t sleep)

when he can’t sleep, he tries to keep it from you. he doesn’t like waking you up, bothering you, as he puts it, to talk with him and ease his mind, so he tries some ways to calm down that you told him to do so. he tries reading, that doesn’t help. he tries writing his thoughts down, but that just makes things worse. he attempts to watch tv or listen to music, but still, nothing. finally, after going through everything, he wakes you up, apologizing and cuddling you close to him. he feels awful, but you let him know that it’s okay to wake you up if he’s having trouble sleeping and just needs someone to talk to.

J - Jewelry (gifts they give you, fancy or not)

he gets you certain gifts for anniversaries. like for your sixth month, he got you a big bouquet of flowers and took you out for a nice dinner. on your year anniversary, he got you a beautiful necklace. one on occasion he got you a simple ring, not for anything more than to show his love for you. he usually doesn’t know what kind of gifts to get you, so he doesn’t get you anything at all.

K - Kryptonite (their weaknesses)

isaac’s weakness is definitely your touch. it’s also his anchor. so when he’s raging on a full moon and close to losing control, you are always there to grab his face and make him look at you, instantly calming him. it’s something you do when he’s also close to wolfing out anytime. one touch to his cheek and his eyes are back to normal and his fangs are retracting back into his gums. it’s also a way to get him in the mood. if you’re feeling worked up, all you have to do is cup his chin to give him a kiss, maybe run your finger across his cheek, and he is putty in your hands.

L - Lingerie (their reactions to seeing you in fancy lingerie)

isaac is stunned silent. he didn’t know how to react, so he just stood there, staring, heavily breathing. as you stepped forward, he gulps nervously and you tenderly place his hands on your waist. he feels the lace against your skin, the color of the lingerie complimenting your skin tone perfectly. he couldn’t stop staring every second, and when you tried kissing him, he pulled away to finally compliment you, awkwardly giggling and pulling you back in for a sweet kiss.

M - Marriage (what a wedding is like with them/what married life is like)

i feel like getting married to isaac would just make him ten times softer. like dating is great, but marriage is a forever commitment, technically speaking. that means he has to ‘up’ his game to keep you, as he sees it. he’s much more loving and cuddly, so happy that you two made it to this point. every night before bed, he pulls you close to him and just gives you kisses all over your face and neck. after you two settle, he expresses how happy he is that you’re married and promises to make you happy for the rest of your life. the sincerity and love in his voice makes you cry every single time.

N - Nervous (were they nervous for any first times in your relationship: first meeting, first kiss, first time)

everything, basically. he’s nervous to kiss you, nervous to have sex, nervous to spend the night with you for the first time. he’s never felt this way about someone so he didn’t know what was right or wrong when it came to some things. he had to ask scott and derek, though the latter wasn’t much help, about how to go about these things. what should he do if he wants to kiss you? what should be the proper way to ask you to spend the night with him? all of these things, he was supposed to have learned from his dad, but he was happy that scott was willing to help.

O - Overreact (how often do you/they overreact and how bad does it get)

you sometimes overreact to him dealing with the supernatural world. obviously, you don’t know everything and oftentimes, you do your own research. so when you go to isaac and tell him he needs to be careful or to not mess with a certain creature, he tells you it’s fine. you’ll go on a big rant about how you hate that he is so careless with this stuff and he doesn’t really care about his own safety or even yours, but he is quick to silence you with a kiss. he assures you he knows what he’s doing, as scott and derek are pretty well trained with the supernatural and wouldn’t approach or attack something that they don’t have the power for.

P - Past (how does their/your past affect your relationship)

isaac’s past definitely makes some things hard in the beginning of your relationship. he has trust issues, problems with being in closed spaces, being spoken to in a different tone than usual, things you wouldn’t think are a problem. but when he flips out because you dragged him into a closet to steal a few minutes of a makeout session, you feel horrible. later that night, he cries in your arms and tells you everything about his past, things with his dad, how he was treated, and it made you be more careful with your words and actions around him.

Q - Quarrel (fighting with each other)

fighting with isaac is never a good time. he picks at the littlest of things in the beginning of your relationship, which is also when he’s still trying to come to terms with the fact that he’s a wolf. things like you not being able to hang out because of homework, hanging out with scott instead of him, making comments about the supernatural world. usually, they don’t last that long because you tell him he’s being ridiculous, when he is. when fights get more serious later on, though, you can spend days not talking to one another.

R - Romance (how your relationship has progressed over time)

at first, your relationship progresses slowly. he’s never been in a real relationship so everything is new to him. he’s scared of making the wrong move or saying the wrong thing, so he’s wary of taking things too far right off the bat. but when you get more and more comfortable with one another, things take off, and you fall in love very quickly. isaac is a great boyfriend, so it was easy to progress your relationship when the time came and feel at ease with each other.

S - Sorry (what happens after fights)

you let him calm down after fights. he’s usually close to wolfing out most times, so when you see his eyes begin to glow, you walk away, telling him to anchor himself and come back when he’s ready to talk things out as a human. it doesn’t take long before he’s trudging to wherever you are in the house/apartment and crying uncontrollably in your arms, whimpering that he’s sorry and he doesn’t want to lose you over a stupid fight. sometimes fights can last days. well, the silent treatment from both of you. but either you, him, or someone in the pack forces you to reconcile and resolve things.

T - Tender (how sweet they can be in different moments)

isaac has never had a loving family, so when you showed him what love is, he wanted to reciprocate. he is tender all the damn time. cuddling? he’s rubbing your back or shoulder soothingly, pressing kisses to your forehead and whispering how much he cares for you. the only time he’s not really affectionate is in public. he loves you and all, but he’s not one for much pda. holding hands, yeah, kissing, not really. unless he’s jealous and trying to prove a point.

U - Upset (what you do that upsets them/vice versa and how they react to it)

when you talk shit about certain pack members. you understand that they are practically his family, but some of them, in the beginning, didn’t treat him so well, including derek. sure, you didn’t know everything that went on behind the scenes, but you knew general things. at times, derek was taking advantage of isaac and his trauma, which is what you spoke out about. this led to a small fight with isaac defending his pack.

V - Violence (what you do when they turn to violence)

isaac can’t help but turn to violence, due to his werewolf nature. sometimes, you’re okay with it, knowing that he has to fight against other supernatural creatures and use his werewolf abilities. but when it comes to just randomly getting into fights because he was jealous or angry at one of the pack members just because, you anchor him to get him to stop. you don’t like seeing or hearing that he fought with someone. you know he’s used to using violence as a response to anger, but you don’t like seeing him so angry.

W - Wait (how long they wait to make a move or do something)

after allison introduced the two of you, he didn’t make a move for a while. you became friends first, and he got advice from scott, derek, boyd, and even stiles on how to make a move. he wanted to make it right, he wanted to make sure it was a memorable experience for both of you and an important moment. when he finally asks you out on a date, or to be his girlfriend, he explains why he waited so long. you admit that he could have asked you to be his girlfriend in a janitor’s closet and you would’ve been happy.

X - X-Rated (are they dirty in inappropriate times)

he usually prefers to keep dirty things for the bedroom. as mentioned, he’s not one for pda, so if you’re at a pack meeting, or at school, or even shopping, he doesn’t like whispering dirty things in your ear or being inappropriate. you’ve done it a couple times, but he voiced his opinion on it, so you stopped right away. he also is slightly embarrassed about the idea of sex, not having much experience, so it wasn’t something he wanted everyone to know.

Y - Year (what you do to celebrate one-year celebrations)

he takes you to paris, which is the main reason you end up moving there together after allison’s death. he surprised you with tickets the night before, and you spent the early hours of the morning packing excitedly and talking about what you wanted to do there. he got you two a very special, nice hotel room, equipped with a hot tub in the bathroom and everything. it was a very romantic week and it was nice to just take time away from the supernatural and focus on each other.

Z - Zzz (what it’s like to sleep with them, just sleep)

isaac is a cuddler. like he has to hold you in his arms otherwise he can’t sleep. you don’t mind one bit. you love cuddling close to him, nuzzling your face in his neck or sweater. there are times where he sleeps shirtless and you love it because you get to be really close to him, his warm skin keeping you cozy and comfortable. before he nods off, whether you’re awake or not, he always has to press a kiss to your forehead or cheek, whichever is easiest for him to reach; most times it’s your forehead. it’s such a sweet and intimate gesture that he started early on and continued to do for the rest of your relationship.

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagines #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey x reader #daniel sharman #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

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bored-storyteller · 3 years

Text

Thank you dear Anon for asking me Uta ☺️! I hope this can be okay. I always tend to aim for angst/comfort (instinctively I always look for the happy ending), but if you want angst really don't have a problem forcing me :3. That said, I hope I didn't disappoint you!🌸 (And sorry but it was natural for me to be a human reader, I only noticed at the end, scold me even if you want 😣)

57-Tokyo Ghoul, Uta x human!Reader (angst/comfort)

From the prompt list

4- “Do you know what it's like?”

Uta in truth cannot say that he is surprised at what is happening, he cannot deny the veil of resignation that had enveloped his heart when it all began.

In a way he still hoped he was living a dream, that what he had been waiting for hadn't really come true. He really hoped that everything would be okay with you, despite his fears. Somehow, despite his finding that the image of a peaceful life with you was just a utopia, he clung to the idea that you were able to perform the miracle. He has never felt so loved as by you, he has never questioned your love for him.

Yet now that he was standing in front of you with tears in your eyes desperately waiting for some answer, he wondered how you had actually fallen in love with him.

He's not just angry with you, he's mad, and hurt. Yet he still loves you, he really does, and for this reason that rational part of his person still clings to that affection so as not to allow it to scare you further.

"You have to calm down." He tells you in a firm voice. His body doesn't move, only his fists clench along his hips.

“Calm down ?! You have… ”Your voice is high, broken, desperate. You've never raised your voice against him before.

Yeah, he has what? He obviously did something that - in your opinion - he shouldn't have done, he had taken a life that he shouldn't have taken.

Innocent. You used that word, but he didn't understand what it meant, he just couldn't really hear you. He stopped doing it when he realized he was the problem you were crying about.

He must have hurt someone you knew, even though he wasn't sure how close he could be to you - he's pretty sure you stay away from doves. In any case, something has upset you. It's possible, he's been dealing with a lot of trouble lately, but whatever the reason for your tears ... they're useless.

Whatever happened, crying for someone he killed is absolutely useless.

You've never done this before, so did lives have a different value to you?

Was that life worth more to you than all the others he had devoured?

"Were they more important than me?"

Uta wanted to ask a question, but instead the realization led him to flatten the questioning tone into a cold statement.

He doesn't give up his gaze for a second in front of your wide eyes. He suddenly manages to get silence from you, and that scares him. It scares him to death.

You are dumb, dumb like the masks that surround you. When you speak, it is as if you light a fuse inside him: "How can you ask me such a thing?"

And the world ends for him.

His place in the world that he thought he had found was suddenly erased. You are like others, you think like others. You don't care about his situation, he's the culprit. You love him as long as he hides his being from you.

"Do you know what it's like?" A tremor in his voice. A tremor that you have never heard, and then what he had never done: "Do you know what it is like to be a ghoul in your world ?! Do you have any idea what people like me have to endure ?! "

Uta never raises his voice, never. Nor with you. Yet this time he has no way to stop the beast from roaring, and somehow he expects you to quiet down, to take his words to heart, to share his suffering, as you always do. Instead you don't leave a second of silence between you and him.

"And do you know what it is like to be a human ?!" You slam those words in his face like a slap, and for a moment he can't react, and he doesn't understand if the pain he feels is caused by his physical body or his troubled mind.

"The world must understand you, but you have never tried to understand the world!" Your hand tightens on your chest "It is you who can kill me here! It is you who can eat me! You are not the victim between us!"

"Are you the victim?" Uta's usually gentle voice echoes deep in his chest like an earthquake, and this time you can't deal with it. It is as if you are on the edge of an abyss, and you take a step back, hoping to avoid falling, but he is not of the same opinion.

"You are right."

He is no longer screaming, but that doesn't reassure you. Not at all. Not if he's smiling like that.

Where can you ever run away as he approaches you.

What do you want from him? Do you want the predator to regret having hunted? Do you want to condemn him to hell for this?

“Maybe I should have done it right away. I should have eaten your tender heart since I met it. " It would have been with him without so many problems.

"GO AWAY!"

The scream you throw is so desperate that it almost seems to have stuck in his heart.

Your hands are on his chest, where they often are, but this time they are trying to push him away with such weak force compared to his, yet so terrible for him.

You are in his arms, where you should be whenever you suffer, but they are no refuge for you now, and his hands are gripping your arms so tightly that he can imagine the bruises beneath them.

The devilish smile falls apart. He hadn't even realized that he had lost control of his emotions. This should never have happened, not with you.

"I-"

"Leave me."

He obeys your desperate sigh.

The tattooed hands fall to his sides and all he hears are your silent sobs as you curl up in a corner for protection.

Was he really that terrible? What have your eyes seen? Your delicate human eyes.

"Come on ... it's over ..." Uta's voice is warm again, calm, reassuring, as he is always with you. Instinctively his hand reaches out in search of your skin, as he always does when you feel bad. He moves to be on your level, to take you in his arms, yet again the crystal dream breaks. You break it again, when without even realizing you move away from his grasp, trying to escape his presence.

Uta remains there, motionless, to contemplate his work. To contemplate the fact that he is not enough.

And now the difference between the two of you was as heavy as a volcano's lava on both of you, because you are no longer in a fight with Uta, you are in a position of danger in front of a ghoul.

He's right, you don't know what it's like to be a ghoul. And you are right, he does not know what it is like to be human, to be you.

All he really knows is that his instincts tell him he has to take care of you, because you are afraid, you need protection, because he wants to see you happy, yet he is trapped in his place because it is he who hurts you, it is him the threat.

Uta closes his eyes slowly. He knows himself, he needs to calm down, to calm his heart which is beating fast and afraid. But he can't. He can't untangle the painful tangle inside him that is blocking his breath. It looks like a bomb, water that grows and prepares to overflow.

And then something moves, and his eyes go wide.

It's not something he's ever experienced before, but he's self-conscious enough to take precautions.

The faster pace than usual as he moves away from you is not enough to attract your attention, but the violent opening of the bathroom door does.

Uta's stomach never gave any problems, absolutely never. Yet now he finds himself bent over painfully emptying its contents. It's a horrible, almost upsetting feeling for him.

It seems that the human makes fun of him even when they are dead, bending the monster and leaving him exhausted by the efforts, moving him away from you, as if to want to protect you.

How did you get to that point? How can he go back?

You were his refuge, his anchor, his certainty, he wants you back. Yet for those like him, taking care of something seems impossible. His own body led him to crouch away, like a ground worm.

Your soft and uncertain steps stop when you reach the threshold that he didn't bother to close in his haste, your light and inviting scent penetrates his lungs and he still feels your breath trembling with tears.

Even in that situation Uta seems to be fully in control of himself, calm, only his head that leans towards his lap manifests an implicit attempt to silence the pain.

His fist lifts to lean against the toilet to flush out what you never want to see, because even though the harshness of reality has crushed on you, he still protects you.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." He's really sorry, and he'd eat his own tongue if it kept those words from you.

He can't say that he really feels guilty about what he did, but that he is sorry to hurt you and scare you, that is.

You do not answer him, nothing comes from your lips, and inside Uta fears he will never hear your voice again. But you don't go away.

In the following moments you too are curled up on the floor behind him, rubbing your cheek against his back for comfort, looking for the reassurance of his heart, tired from those frantic beats that he is not used to sustain.

Your weight on him is sweet, and maybe you two just hit a bottom that you needed to touch, in order to be strong again, for yourself.

And if doubts still linger between you, your whispered words give Uta the answer he thought he could never get again: "I still love you."

#tokyo ghoul #uta tokyo ghoul #uta x reader #angst #angst/comfort #tokyo ghoul x reader #tokyo ghoul oneshot

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somedrunkpirate · 3 years

Text

learn the dead | Arthur/Eames

Read here on ao3 or continue below Tags: Presumed Dead, First Time, Angst with a happy ending, pining Rating: T Wordcount: 5,4k

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

Everything checks out.

The hospital records, the police report, even the fucking local news because, to quote scruffy looking anchor, with a stutter no less, “There has— sn’t been an lethal acc—sident for over ten years on this s—street.”

The information is bare-bones, but that isn’t remarkable for an open and shut case like this: drunk driver meets tree trunk. Happens a thousand times a year, and will continue to happen whether you make a fuss out of it or not. Write down the licence plate, try (and fail) to inform relatives, do the paperwork and get home on time for dinner for once. Simple as pie.

Except. Except Arthur wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have driven drunk. His stick reaches too far up his ass to do something so utterly reckless in reality.

That thought is what had spurred Eames to begin his search— there had to be something, anything, that could explain the whole bullshit situation. Even if that something is a hit, covered up like an accident. Then at least Eames would have some to blame— Someone to kill.

But everything checks out.

Even that initial discrepancy. Arthur couldn’t have been drunk, but after many phone calls and bribes, Eames had learned what Arthur could have been.

He could have been high.

His last job had been an experimental trial. Not with a chemist Eames knew. An academic who had shit his pants when Eames barged in with a smile as sharp as a knife— and a knife in his hand, of course. Wouldn’t do to be less than intimidating in this case. The chemist had spluttered into a rant Eames had understood half of, so he’d called Yusuf and held the phone up without responding to the cursing at being awoken in the middle of the night. But he’d caught on quickly, started to ask questions Eames wouldn’t have thought to ask. Then more, sharper. With a hiss.

“What is he saying?” Eames had asked, after the chemist had run out of breath.

“Eames—“

The way Yusuf sounded, a sigh more than an utterance. The tone of his voice as it tried to fold in pity— badly. Yusuf was never quite made for compassion. Though the attempt had been enough to haunt Eames’ nightmares since.

“Eames. He’s dead.”

The confirmation had come without fanfare in the end. Eames didn’t even kill the chemist, after. It hadn’t been his fault that the mix Arthur had taken voluntarily turned out to suppress reflexes when tired. Not tired as they would call it— after a rush job, when exhaustion nipped at your heels. Just tired; about to drink a cup of coffee tired. Arthur probably hadn’t even felt any different until it was too late. But it had been raining, and he’d been driving for more than six hours. It was no one’s fault that Arthur had lost control over the vehicle just in front of the only tree in a three mile radius.There had been a rabbit flattened between the car and the bark. He’d probably been trying to save it.

A fucking rabbit.

Eames had hung up on Yusuf without a word. It had been the last time he’d spoken to anyone for a long time.

Except that isn’t quite true.

“Well, darling, you’ve gotten me in quite a pickle.”

The grave doesn’t respond. It never does.

— — — — —

If someone had told him that his reaction to Arthur’s death would be to stand before his grave every day for a month straight, he'd have laughed his lungs out of his chest.

It would’ve been sad, of course, to see such a talented colleague go. He might even have gone on a bender for a week— drinking away the sorrows that come with a lost acquaintance— maybe a friend. But he’d have better things to do than indulge himself for longer than that. He’d been indulging himself with Arthur for far too long, and death should have been the end to it.

Because he had been thinking about it, sometimes, when he was feeling fanciful. You would have had to be blind not to see the chemistry. The push and pull that led to delicious flirtation — as much as Arthur wanted to deny it — and even more delicious dreamsharing. They made each other better and that was honestly the only thing Eames ever looked for, when, if ever, he thought about that nebulous concept of ‘settling down’.

So yes, there would be something more to losing Arthur. Eames had known even then. It was losing that slight hint of potential. Though that is always a treacherous word.

Because he never truly believed he’d make it that far— not just with Arthur, who would’ve laughed even harder if Eames were ever to confess his vague future plans for them — but with life in general. Why plan for something that would be cut short anyway? Even if Arthur could be persuaded to make something out of the spark between them, it would’ve been cruel to do so. Eames knew himself well. He wouldn’t have stopped taking risks, stop wanting more-- craving freedom like a drug. The idea to set Arthur up for inevitable heartbreak had been enough to avoid thinking about practical steps. A fantasy was fine. Eames got paid to live in them. He didn’t get paid for reality.

So, Arthur’s death would of course be sad. But it shouldn’t have been more than another scar on his back— the punishment of the trade he chose, along with a whisper of nostalgia at losing a construct of his imagination. Even he wouldn’t have had the heart to keep the fantasy of a dead man alive for his own entertainment. A week, a few drinks, and it should’ve been over.

It shouldn’t have destroyed him.

“I just never thought I’d be the one left behind, darling,” Eames says to the wet dirt below him. It feels off to tell the headstone itself— the name is fake. Aaron Fister. Arthur had thrown a knife past his head when Eames had shown him the forged papers. To say he regrets the joke now is an understatement.

“In all fairness, it should’ve been you here, it would make more sense for you to fall in love with me, once I’m not there to bother you anymore. Absentia makes the heart go fonder, hmm?”

The dirt seems to be judging him. It’s good that some things never change.

“I know— I know it's hypocritical. I didn’t even— I didn’t even love you. It was just a game. A fun thing to theorise about when the goings got tough. Would you be as snappish if we lived together? Would you forgive me faster if I sucked you off? Would you kiss me goodbye in the airport?” Eames stops himself, and rubs a hand over his face, groaning. “It’s humiliating, darling. I should’ve just gotten off at the thought of you like half of the dreamshare community was doing. Hand on or in their whatever and imagine you moaning next to them. But I had to be pathetic about it. Though this is reaching new heights, I must say.”

He leaves, abruptly sick of himself. He comes back the next day, as always.

Some days, though, Eames doesn’t devolve into confessions that make the little old ladies passing by their lost friend’s grave raise their eyebrows and linger by a random grave to listen anyway.

Some days, Eames is angry.

The first time, he breaks his toe in the process.

“You bloody cunt!” He’s aware that he’s shouting, but he doesn’t stop. “Never experiment alone! Isn’t that what you fucking say to the newbies? You need someone to be a baseline. Someone who can bring you home safe. You fuck. Why didn’t you call me. Why didn’t you fucking—“

Kicking the gravestone had not been his best idea, but the pain of it brings a rush of satisfaction. There is— so much, inside of him. Eames is drowning in it, and the throb in his feet cuts right through it. Clarity. He kicks again.

“You fucking bastard.”

The old ladies have gone from curious to concerned now. Eames hobbles away, hissing, before he gets a restraining order on a grave.

The next day he’s back, a bottle of whiskey in hand, and finds himself apologising.

“I know— I never made it quite clear that you could call me, for stuff like that. That I would pick up. Maybe I wouldn’t have. Or no, I would have, but I might not have bothered for that. The jobs— I knew how to handle you on the job. But outside of that. I don’t think I would’ve had the courage. I wouldn��t think that way then, of course. Convince myself that I’m above errand runs like that. Throw you a bone recommending some up and coming kid I knew or something— intern type, for all that we have those here. But I don’t think I would’ve come. So it isn’t your fault. You made a mistake, not getting back-up, but it isn’t your fault. You didn’t know you had any. And I didn’t dare to believe I could be yours. That you would let me. That it wouldn’t end in disaster.”

Eames leans against the cold stone and sighs. “’Suppose it has, already. Would’ve been too good to have it end any other way.”

— — — — —

When Eames isn’t in a graveyard, or in a bar, he’s in the warehouse.

It had felt too… personal, to get a hotel room for this. To do his research in a living room, as opposed to the dreary, dusty and echoey spaces where most of their professional relationship had flourished. It’s too big for a one-man job, but Eames had managed to fill it up anyway. Boxes upon boxes of information, any trace of Arthur he could find. Every email, record, police report, college paper— printed and archived. Eames can find his way through the documents blind and drunk. Arthur has taken over every nook and cranny of the warehouse— and every nook and cranny of Eames’ mind. Eames has read everything, twice over.

If Arthur had been alive to know, he would’ve killed him.

Because Arthur had always been a private person, for all that he pries in the lives of clients and collaborators both. He was the one who asked the questions and rarely answered them. It had always been a luxury— a rare reward, to be thrown a scrap of information. He’d always said something with that slight subtle smile, like he knew the power his breadcrumbs of personal life held over others. Everyone ravenous for more intel on one of the greatest pointmen of their generation.

How horrible is it then to revel in the mountains of information that Eames had been able to gather after his death. He’d always known he’d had enough pull to find something, and after the inception job he’d had more than enough cash to buy the rest. But he’d never done it; at first because of the wrath that would quickly follow. Then because he’d known it would tarnish Arthur’s trust in him— something he’d wanted to protect at all costs. And then lastly — but maybe from the start — because it was so much more thrilling to learn bit by bit, piece by piece. To earn his knowledge of Arthur, and to ensure that his curiosity would never run out. He’d become slightly addicted to the feeling.

But now, with no one left to tell, it had only taken the excuse of the suspicious circumstances of his death for Eames to turn into the hoarder he’d always known he could be. It had gotten to a point where new packages arrived every so often— criminals even beyond dreamshare having caught wind of an individual willing to invest heavily on any information. Someone had even hacked the pentagon to get classified documents. From the message on the box, the hacker thought they were helping a spy of some kind. Eames had sent him enough bitcoin to blow wind in the direction of that particular fire hearth of urban legend. He’d rather have people think there is a whole network of people digging into this, than anyone realising it’s in truth only one pathetic man.

So Eames drinks. Eames talks to a grave. And Eames reads. It only takes him two boxes until Arthur makes him laugh for the first time since the car crash. It was due to a spirited essay on the importance of open source information that was clearly written to spite the professor leading the course, who’d been forced to give it an A+ regardless. Eames had chuckled, imagining the self-righteous satisfaction of this young Arthur as he got his grade back, and then began crying. Not to grieve the loss of a future he hadn’t realised how much he wanted, as is his wont, these days. But from the unfairness of it all. That a person like this, who had so much to say in this world, should’ve been taken so early, and in such a meaningless way.

Arthur would’ve denied it, but Eames knows he’d only be content with a death from sacrifice . He’d shown that side of him clearly when he jumped into Cobb’s mess headfirst and without hesitation. If Arthur had died from a bullet taken for Cobb, Ariadne, or maybe even Eames, he would’ve been at peace— or as much as you can while bleeding out.

Eames had known that, but as he learns more and more of Arthur, he realises how true it is. How, despite everything, Arthur cannot stop himself from being a silent hero. There are so many instances where Arthur, behind the screens, helps someone. Whether it was connecting the right people to each other under the mum of a potential project, or taking jobs way below his pay grade because he sympathised with the client, Arthur did not let their line of work destroy the possibility to be kind, every once in a while.

It’s not like he advertised it. He didn’t do it in a way people would recognize his actions— which was smart, as it could be seen as a weakness in their circles. But whenever the chance came along, even if it was to his own detriment, Arthur chose the rough road home if it would ease someone else’s way.

And this, Eames realises, is the secret to his competency. All other pointmen are expert researchers through and through, but no one had the reach Arthur had. Arthur knew everything, and if he didn’t know, he knew someone who knew— and most importantly, someone who would tell him. Eames doesn’t even know if Arthur ever realised that it was his kindesses, in and out the community, which led him into such a position of power. His actions are too random and inconsistent to be a strategic scheme to build an empire. Some of his biggest successes are results of a nicety five or ten years ago, something that he might have forgotten doing, but the people receiving it definitely haven’t.

On the surface Arthur had been known as cool and effective— someone with a distance to the rest of the world that resulted in a highly detailed overview of any situation, even if it brought a side of professionalism to even the most informal of interactions. The people who witnessed a more casual side of him were few and far in between, but even those came away with the impression that to Arthur, doing the job in the best way possible was the only drive to his actions.

No one had seen every little thing he did that had no other reason at all besides that he could do them for someone.

Eames maps out everything on the walls of the warehouse. And when he stands back to take it all in, he realises that more than anyone, the person Arthur had silently helped was him.

Everything he’d done for Cobb had been grand and obvious, but more out of loyalty to Mal and her children than kindness without any other motivation. And Ariadne’s training had been as much for the inception job than for herself— maybe introducing her to the life hadn’t been a kindness at all. Continuing after could be seen as one, even if you could argue that her honing her raw talent would directly result in better and more stable dreams in later jobs.

But Eames— what Arthur had done for Eames—

Eames can’t think of a single reason besides just being plain nice.

Because it hadn’t been like he needed to. Eames had made him very clear that he’d be down for almost any job Arthur put in front of him. Just him being himself had always been enough, he didn’t need to do him any favours to persuade him like everyone else did.

And maybe Arthur had gotten the memo, because he’d done Eames favours without ever telling him, and those you can’t pay back. Eames had no idea the reason he got out of that trouble in Chicago was because Arthur bailed him out— it was presented to him as a procedure mistake. And then there was the Telula job, with an extractor-architect team Eames had wanted to work with for ages, but the chemist they’d been looking to hire was someone from Eames’ not so smooth first years of dream-share and he’d almost cut out of the job to not be forced to confront that past. That was until the chemist suddenly dropped out with an offer he couldn’t refuse— an offer Arthur had been behind.

There were so many things like that. Little things, small things— warehouses next to Eames’ favourite restaurants; nuggets of information given anonymously through the channels of dreamshare gossip to hit Eames’ ears right on time before a betrayal; a job a week delayed because of Eames’ mother’s funeral.

It’s not like Eames had been the only one, but he was by far the most frequent of all of them. More and more so over the years, like Arthur had been finding more reasons to be nice to him, while Eames had still been stuck in his pathetic imaginations, blind to what was already in front of him.

A friendship.

He’d been so preoccupied with his own flights of fancy, that he only realises how close they had been all this time until it was too late to experience it. Too late to thank Arthur for everything he’s done.

The agony of it— the longing. His heart thundering with the sudden need to have Arthur in his arms, alive and real and—

“Oh god. I love him.”

Eames drinks until he can’t remember. He manages to avoid the grave for a little while, but he doesn’t last long. Inevitably he’s pulled back to the grave yard, whiskey in hand, ready to talk to the love he lost again.

— — — — —

His cemetery routine— because he has one of those now — is usually to be at the grave around noon. Late enough to roll out of bed reasonably comfortably after a long night of drinking and/or reading, but early enough for there to be time left to check the new documents coming along and pay the right people before they send thugs to his hideout.

But this time the afternoon light shines golden over the rows and rows of headstones and Eames shivers in the Autumn breeze. The old ladies are all dressed in fur coats. He recognizes some of them, and wonders if they noticed he was gone. None of them greet him as he passes, so he assumes not.

Eames takes another sip of his bottle, allowing his feet to lead him over the familiar path up the hill, and then he drops his bottle all together.

A man is standing before the grave.

Tall, hunched a little in the wind. Long coat and thick black beanie. Nondescript. Anonymous.

He does not turn as Eames nears.

“You’re late.”

Eames’ hand is on his gun at the first syllable, but before he can put it on his temple a leather gloved hand snatches it from his fingers. The clip ejects with a decisive click.

Arthur gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t be dramatic. We don’t need a scene.”

His face— a little gaunt. His eyes— tense, intent, darker than they should be. Eames doesn’t recognize the coat. But he’s there, pressed in close to hide the gun between their bodies. His breath— warm, hits Eames’ cheek. It isn’t— It can’t. He can’t be breathing because he’s—

Eames squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of metal against the palm of his hand, the smell of gunpowder.

A sigh falls between them. “It won’t work. This isn’t a dream, Eames.”

The hell it isn’t. “Experimental somacin, three levels.”

Raised eyebrows shouldn’t be audible only through speech. “Do you remember how you got here?”

Eames opens his eyes and says, “Deep immersion dream.”

Arthur huffs at that. “Do you really think they’ve been keeping you under for years? Fine. When have you last lost memories?”

Oh, that’s easy. “Two days ago.”

There is a pause, and Eames hates the fact that he can see the exact moment of tension in Arthur’s jaw that signals him suppressing a question. It’s too detailed, too precise, too re—

“Later,” Arthur murmurs under his breath, almost to himself. Like later is a given between them. He seems frustrated. His eyes keep flicking to the side and his hand hovers near Eames’ arm, like he’s trying to keep himself from hurrying Eames along and is annoyed that Eames is stalling them.

“I’m sorry darling,’” Eames drawls, “but in case it has escaped your notice: we are having this discussion on your fucking grave, so forgive me for being reasonably sceptical about the reality of this situation.”

Arthur breathes out a deep sigh, clenched teeth. “Eames, think about it, is there any forger you know capable of forging me in a way you can’t see through it? Or for that matter, is there anyone who would dare to try steal from the fucking person who invented the craft?”

No. The answer is no. It hits Eames with a muffled weight. He wonders what his face is doing, but whatever it is, Arthur responds to it with a curt nod. It suddenly strikes Eames as absurdly hilarious, in the way only the most traumatic experiences can.

“You know, complimenting me really doesn’t help with the reality argument. Never mind doing it twice. Death changed you, darling.”

Arthur stills in the middle of putting the clip back in Eames’ gun. There is the slightest flicker of his lips, and he huffs. “Maybe it did— can I trust you not to shoot yourself the moment I hand this back?”

“Come on now Arthur,” Eames says, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

And there— there it is. Arthur rolls his eyes as he presses the gun into Eames’ waiting hands, and a part of Eames’ breaks with it. Still muffled, still numb, but something is lumbering closer. He can almost hear its laboured breaths.

“There you are,” Eames says, smiling. “You don’t know how much I missed that.”

It is a miracle he doesn’t choke on the words.

“Glad to be remembered for something,” Arthur is saying, and now he’s pushing Eames— gently but with intent, away from the grave. “And I’d like to keep it that way, so we need to talk before your insatiable curiosity ruins everything I worked for.”

Eames doesn’t know if it's the words, or the press of Arthur’s hand against his back— barely sensable beneath all the layers but even the slightest hint of pressure sets him alight— but all at once everything falls into place.

“You faked your death.”

“Have you always been this slow on the uptake?”

Eames barely hears him. Reality is roaring and there is space for nothing else. Arthur isn’t dead. Arthur isn’t dead. They’re standing on Arthur’s grave— an empty grave. A lie. A trick. He’s been fooled because Arthur isn’t dead, he’s right here. He’s touching him because he isn’t—

Arthur isn’t. He isn’t.

He��s alive.

Eames doesn’t say anything the rest of the way to wherever. If Arthur speaks, he doesn’t strain to listen. Because Arthur isn’t dead and if he hears anything at all he’s either going to scream or kick the shit out of him just like he did on that stupid fucking grave— just to check that this one isn’t made of stone but flesh and blood and he is alive.

His fists hurt from clenching by the time they enter a hotel room. Something of the turmoil must have reached Arthur because he’s gone quiet. The roar lets off the very moment the door clicks closed and Arthur stands before it, uncertain, almost as if he regrets closing off his only exit. His expression is one Eames knows very well— preparing himself for a fight he saw coming too late. But he isn’t reaching for his gun. He just stands there.

He’s just waiting to take it.

Eames kisses him.

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s—

A heartbeat feels more real when it’s underneath your lips. A pulse against a jaw— up, up to feel breath against breath. To hear the rush of it— a hitch of— of surprise.

Strength— dead people don’t have strength and Arthur is pushing him so he can’t be dead.

“Eames—“

Alive, alive, alive.

“Eames! Wait!”

Eames pushes closer. He places his forehead against Arthur’s, presses them both against the door. Arthur isn’t pushing him away anymore but his hands are still on his chest. Eames wonders if he can feel the beat of his heart. He hopes, quietly insane for a moment, that Arthur will never forget to make his heart beat as long as he is feeling one. As long as he’s given an example on how to live.

“Eames,” Arthur says. A word, a question, a name. All in one. His eyes are wide. Breathing heavy— breathing, breathing, breathing— and he’s flushed. Sharp cheekbones stained red. Lips wet.

Eames’ hands move of their own accord and cradle each side of Arthur’s face.

“Let me, darling. Just let me.”

Arthur breathes again.

Eames trembles, trying to hold himself back. Trying to breathe. But one more moment and he will collapse and he can’t— he can’t risk it. He can’t risk losing another chance. He needs this as much as he needs Arthur to be alive. He needs to stop regretting not having done this when he could and now he can again and how can he let this undeserved second chance slip through his fingers. He has to. Please. He has to.

Arthur’s mouth falls open. “Eames. Eames, it’s okay. You don’t have to— You don’t have to beg. It’s okay.”

“Let me, Arthur,” Eames repeats, “Let me.”

Arthur lets him.

Arthur lets him do everything.

— — — — —

It’s after when Arthur whispers, “I didn’t know.”

His head is on Eames chest, moving ever so slightly when he breathes. In and out. Eames has his fingers tangled in his hair. The strands slip away when Arthur turns around to look up at him.

“I didn’t know,” he says again. There is a rasp in his voice and his eyes are wet. Eames has never been apologised to like this before. Arthur sounds as if he believes sorry would be an insult, the word too small to encompass his regret. There is guilt there, in the flush of his cheeks, and the way he can’t seem to hold eye contact. His pupils flickering, microscopic twitches of shame.

Sometimes he’d dream of this. Arthur’s return. A fantasy, a different one, yet still addictive like a drug. He’d expected to be angry, to want to spill his pain onto Arthur’s feet and watch him try and walk through it; burn in it. A stimulation of the magmatic life Eames has been living since his death.

But now, face to face with an Arthur who is alive, Eames doesn’t want any of it.

So he leans down, and kisses Arthur on the forehead, like a benediction, trying to extract the regret from his face. And he tells him, honest in a way he’s learned to be in the last scant weeks, “I didn’t either, darling.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but there is something about his misery that is easily pushed to the side for curiosity.

Eames smiles at him and continues. “You were— you were a fantasy. A what if. Something amusing to think of when I was bored, or something life saving to dive into when reality drew a knife and stabbed me with it— literally, sometimes. But it was always a fantasy. An escape. It— it couldn’t have become real, if you’d given it a chance back then.” Eames takes a breath, shakes his head.

Arthur reaches up with a hand, frowning, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“But the trouble is, darling, it is incredibly hard not to fall in love with you the more I learn about you.” Eames smiles under his finger tips. “That is what changed. You never let me learn you. But who is to stop anyone from learning the dead?”

Something flickers over Arthur’s face— guilt, again, but different. “I didn’t know you wanted to learn about me— I thought you only gave a fuck about what I could be for you.”

Eames lays his hand over Arthur’s. “You’re right. I was blind— too blinded by the possibilities and too selfish to do anything about it. Maybe I needed to lose you in order to learn how to see .”

“No— No I should’ve,” Arthur shakes his head sharply. “I should have told you. There would’ve been another way without— How long have you been drinking?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to darling.”

“Eames.”

Arthur takes his hand off and moves off of Eames’ chest, sitting up straight. Eames follows him, struck by a sudden vision of Arthur slipping out of bed— out of his life, dogged by misplaced guilt and regret. He curls his hands around Arthur’s wrists, as gently as he can. Don’t trap him. Don’t chase him away.

“No. It’s fine. We’re fine,” Eames hurries to say. “Why would you tell me? I was a colleague at best, bane of your existence at worst. I had— I have no right—“

“I should have told you because I did know you,” Arthur interrupts him. “I was supposed to know. You said possibilities? I am supposed to be the one who sees them— all of them. I’m the one who has to prepare for all scenarios, know the players, do the research and put the pieces together. That is what I do, Eames. And I missed something.” Arthur takes a shuddering breath, looking forlorn and tired. “I’m so sorry for missing the most important part.”

“You can’t apologise for missing something that wasn’t even really there yet.”

“Yes, I can. I’m sorry for missing our potential. For underestimating us. Underestimating you.” Arthur laughs. “I’m so fucking stupid. I thought you kept searching for me out of— curiosity. Or that I fucked up, left a trail somewhere and you wanted to prove to me that you found it, you figured it out. Fuck. I never thought it was because you missed me.”

“I did,” Eames says, and it almost chokes him. “Every day.”

Arthur looks at him then, eyes flicking to the side, his hair covering half of his face, but his smile is visible. “You know, I did too. That’s why I knew you were looking for me. Kept tabs on you, even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.”

Eames swallows at the sight— at the hope it instills in him. Arthur let him, yes. It could have been a kindness. But this smile, shy and bashful, and the words that follow it. Maybe potential comes in twos. “I didn’t keep looking because I missed you,” Eames tells him, because he has no time for secrets anymore, no time for regret, for either of them. “I kept looking because I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t bear it. Darling.” Eames slips his hands from Arthur’s wrists and puts them on either side of Arthur’s face instead, bracketing the smile. “You’re my future. You couldn’t be dead.”

“I’m not,” Arthur tells him, like a confession of his own. “I’m not dead, Eames.”

“Good.” Eames pulls him in closer, and Arthur lets him. He lets him trace the smile with his thumbs, lets him breathe close against his mouth and whisper, “Next time darling, when decide to you kill yourself. Kill me too.”

The grin that blooms doesn’t fit between Eames’ fingers, so he kisses Arthur instead. Deep, possessive. Loving. Arthur lets him, and he never stops.

#arthur/eames #fanfiction #fanfic #inception #inception fic #inception fic rec #arthur/eames fic #dreamhusbands #dreamhusbands fic #im back to writing?#honestly from all the wips and ideas that i have #no clue why this one ended up being the first #but i like how it turned out

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moinstar · 3 years

Text

Moin MC x Diavolo (self-indulgent fic)

The hallways echoed with the inconsistent sound of heels clopping against tiles. The young human slowed in her steps, leaning against the wall. Some of her reddish bangs had been plastered on her sweaty forehead and she had closed her eyes as she took another deep breath. She swallowed heavily and clutched at her chest. Her rapid heartbeat pounding on her ears: making the quiet hallway deafening to her. She tried to keep the tears from falling as she walked slowly towards the nearby restroom, her thoughts spiraled with a raging storm.

(I know that I wasn't like them. I have a lot to learn. Why does the professor need to single me out and make me feel dumb?)

(Mammon's also not listening, why am I the one getting all the laughs and mockery? Is it because I'm human?)

(I'm trying to study silently and just pass this year without any issues. I want to live peacefully. But I guess not all demons are actually good. I mean, they're demons for fuck's sake. I should've know better.)

(Why, of all people, did I get picked anyways? Solomon is a sorcerer, I'm not. I'm not special. I've always been a second option. Maybe they made a mistake and I'll just be brought back to the human realm soon. Or, maybe they'll eat me afterwards since I knew about the demon realm?)

(I'm just average. Lucifer will get disappointed. Lord Diavolo will be disappointed. Everyone thinks of me as a potential food. I just wish they'd just get over it and eat me now. I'm just a burden. I never wanted this. I don't know who to live for.)

As her knees buckled and her tears fell, a warm chest cushioned her fall. Fearing that her wish might've been heard, she gasped and struggled to get out of the person's hold. Through her blurry vision, everywhere was red and a bit of black and gold.

"-ay?" The voice was inaudible as she fought to regain her senses. However, the deafening sound of her heartbeat got too painful so she clutched her chest to try and regulate her breathing. The person stood in front of her and hesitantly patted her back, running his warm hands to her tensed shoulders.

"-in... -oin..."

(Please let me die. Please let me die. Please eat me. Please let me be. I want to disappear. I don't want to think about anything else.)

"Breathe." His firm hand rested by her left jaw. His large palm cradling her neck up to her jaw, fingers tangled to her wet red locks. He was letting her hold his other hand in a tight grip, providing an anchor.

He patiently waited as she tried to breathe normally. His hand left her face and massaged the one that was gripping at his, continuously speaking encouraging words.

As soon as she regained her normality, she recognized the young prince kneeling in front of her with a worrying look in his eyes. He was still massaging the hand that was gripping his.

"Have you calmed down, Moin?" His soothing voice made her alarmed.

"I-I-I... I'm s-sorry. I was... I'm sorry for the trouble, s-sir," she stuttered as she tried to stand up but her legs wouldn't move from the numbness that overtook while sitting by the hallway.

"What happened? Did someone hurt you?"

She shook her head. She wanted to explain more but the stuttering made her feel ridiculous. She slowly withdrew her hand and clutched it to the hem of her coat. The tingle of warmth subsides and she almost wanted to hold his hand again. Almost.

"Are you sure?" She nodded, looking away and hid her tear-streaked eyes behind her bangs.

Diavolo stood up and offered a hand. She took it but her body felt heavy and numb that she barely lifted herself.

"I... I..." Her face shifted to terror, afraid of being stuck sitting in the hallway in a weakened state, unable to protect herself from demons who would harm her.

"I'll take you to the infirmary. You're not well." Just as he was about to lift her up, she shook her head and leaned away from his arms. He was about to ask why but she beat him to it.

"Back... I look h-horrible so can you... carry me on your back?"

She didn't want anyone to look at her even more. Her anxiety of being seen by the prince himself in this weakened state doubled.

(What if Lord Diavolo thinks I'm not fit for this program anymore? Is he going to discard me somewhere?)

(Ahhh! I'm so embarrassed. I got tears and snot all over. I look ugly. The prince will definitely think I'm disgusting. Who breaksdown in the middle of classes anyway?)

He turned, his backside facing her, and said, "Can you manage?"

She wiped her tears and sniffed, nodding and crawled towards him. Grabbing his shoulders, she dragged herself towards his back and encircled her arms by his neck. He grabs her thighs and positioned it on his sides as he slowly stood carefully. She tightened her grip, feeling like she didn't properly situated herself on his back. Diavolo bounced her once to fix her position and she yelped as she buried her face to the soft cape connecting to the back of his collar.

"I apologize. You were falling." He looked over his shoulder to check to see if she was okay. Her face was still buried and she inhaled deeply at his comforting scent.

Receiving no response from her, he started walking down the hallway.

"Thank... you." She breathed as his rocking steps lulled her to slumber.

The prince smiled at that, glad to know he helped her in a way. As he rounded the corner, he almost bumped into Lucifer.

"Diavolo! Where have you-"

He shushed him before the black haired man could even yell more at him. Lucifer raised an eyebrow and shifted his look to the person he's carrying on his back.

"Moin? Why is she sleeping on your back?"

"She wasn't well when I saw her. I didn't know what happened but she was in distress. I got her to calm down and now I'm taking her to the infirmary to be checked up." He whispered as he continued to walk. Lucifer catching up to his side.

He studied her puffy eyes and sweaty face. It wasn't the composed girl he used to see in his day by day. The Moin he knew was always smiling and naive. Even amidst the chaotic banters and conversations that he and his brothers have, she's the only person who stood quietly, listening to each and every person's voice. To him, he thinks she's like a lighthouse among the raging storm by the sea. And now, looking at her weakened state, that image crumbled along with it. He wasn't disappointed, per se. He was surprised that he got to see a new side of her that she wouldn't normally show to them.

"Lucifer, can you put her to bed?"

Diavolo's voice snapped him out of his trance and immediately prepared the bed. As he turned to get her off of the prince's back, he took a moment to wipe her dried tears. Lucifer proceeded to hook his arms behind her head then under her thighs and carried her gently to the bed. This is the first time he held her close but, for some reason, it didn't feel comfortable.

At the back of his mind, a long lost memory began to nudge his thoughts.

"We still need to take care of things, Diavolo." He rose and reached for his phone. "I'll message Mammon so he can watch over Moin for the time being."

The man in the red uniform approached the sleeping human. Touching her forehead, he couldn't make out if she's feeling feverish but her sweat never ceased forming. He unbuttoned her coat and carefully removed it on her person. After hanging her coat, he proceeded to tuck the blanket just until under her chin. With one last look at her form, he went out of the room.

"She's very diligent, no?" It wasn't a question. Merely to compliment her in front of the stoic man while on their way.

Lucifer hummed in approval. "My brothers had taken a liking to her. I appreciate the extra hand in keeping them in line."

"And? Haven't you also taken a liking to her too? Whenever she's around, there's gentleness around you."

He huffed. "Do you want me to be harsh to them? What are you implying?"

Diavolo's golden eyes gaze upon his red ruby ones, as if searching for an answer. The momentary silence made Lucifer glance at his companion.

"She's tolerable. Aside from her ever wandering curiousity that puts her into trouble, I... don't really dislike her."

The young prince smiled, quite happy even with the curt reply.

(Quite the growing family.) He thought as he gazed at his left hand, indented with half moons on his ring finger.

#obey me diavolo #obey me mc #moin mc #obey me lucifer #self-indulgent shit #fanfic #so forgive my noob-ass fic writing #also thanks to Rei for proofreading #tw deppressive thoughts

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sumsebien · 3 years

Text

by design pt.1//Prince Friedrich

prologue // series masterlist

summary: the journey from london to sanssouci is long. what will y/n and friedrich do with all this free time?

word count: 3.4k

warnings: none

a/n: hello i am sorry for being so late with this one. the next ones will also be a little further apart than you’ve come to expect from my last series but i think this quality-wise will be improved (hopefully)

The carriage was spacious enough so that Friedrich could sit without bumping his knees against whoever sat in front of him. Right now, that was you. Heinrich was next to Friedrich, briefing him about the itinerary for the day. And Friedrich tried to pay attention. He really did but his eyes kept landing on you every couple of seconds.

You sat quietly. Your face turned away from them as you gazed out of the windows. But then, he heard the faintest of sniffles. He turned to Heinrich. His valet stopped talking.

And then, he heard it again. This time, Heinrich heard it as well, laying the map down in his lap. Their eyes directed towards you.

You were crying.

The two men gave each other a look.

Friedrich hadn’t a clue what to do. He could not recall the last time he had had to comfort someone in distress. He figured it was because a Prince was not the most ideal person for people to confide in.

Heinrich, on the other hand, had three little sisters. Therefore, he was way more knowledgeable. He nudged the Prince’s shoulder, tipping his head towards your figure and mouthed ‘Do something!’

Friedrich shrugged. ‘What?’

‘Just do something!’

The silent conversation and stern looks Heinrich threw him forced a few words out of his mouth. All of them formed without any forethought. “My lady, would you like a handkerchief?”

His voice startled you. You quickly wiped the back of your hand under your eyes and shook your head. “I’m alright. Just something in my eyes,” you said, a weak smile on your face.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, a little bit too quickly for someone who was actually telling the truth. “It’s just been a long day. That’s all.”

You thought they didn’t notice or perhaps at the least would ignore it if they did. You obviously thought wrong. How you wish you could swing the window open and flap away.

It was a completely normal thing that all girls must go through at one point. You should be thinking of yourself as lucky even. The ladies of the ton would happily die to be you right now, moving to Prussia with your husband, the Prince. That was what you kept telling yourself.

Tears began to prick at your eyes again as you thought about a life that was foreign in every sense of the word.

Maybe life in London was not all that bad. Sure there was a certain face you had to keep up at all times but at least there was your best friend Olivia. You never thought you could ever miss the horrible balls and tea parties, the cruel gossip and the contemptuous looks. But as London disappeared behind you, the thought of never returning frightened you.

You inhaled a shallow breath, afraid of alarming the Prince and his valet. They probably thought you weak and pitiful now.

“Shall I get you a blanket? We still have quite the journey,” said the Prince.

You shook your head, not even dreaming of requesting anything from him. “I will just admire the countryside for now. Don’t worry about me.”

You promised yourself that you would stay awake. One of the things your mother managed to say to you in the carriage ride to the abbey was to not fall asleep as “it might put your husband off” in her exact words. She always made it a point to tell you just how ungraceful you looked when you were sleeping. And perhaps you should take her advice. The last thing you would want is for your husband to find you ungraceful just after your wedding ceremony.

Of course, not long after that, you fell asleep.

When you woke up, everything was pitch black. The last thing you remembered was trying to keep your eyes open. But the repetitive sights and the quiet droning of the Prince’s valet made it too difficult to resist giving in to the heaviness weighing on your eyelids.

As you blinked and regained your vision, you noticed that you were alone in the carriage. The blinds had been drawn on all windows. You felt yourself panic. Was something wrong? Where was everyone?

As you began to think up millions of ways the trip could have gone wrong, the possibility of a raid came up.

You drew a shaky breath and moved. That was when you realized that you had someone’s coat covering you this whole time. You held it up to the little sliver of light peaking through the curtains and recognized the navy blue color. It was the Prince’s.

Just as you were holding the coat, the door was opened. You nearly froze when you saw Heinrich on the other side.

“Your Highness,” he bowed, “you’re awake.”

The title threw you in a bit of a loop in your drowsy state. It took you a moment longer to realize that he was referring to you. It was going to take a while to adjust.

You masked the initial shock by clearing your throat. “Yes. What time is it?”

“It’s 9 pm, ma’am. Would you like to board the ship now?”

You nodded, picking up your skirt and making your way down the steps. He took the coat for you and held your hand to help you.

“You should wear this, your Highness. It’s a little bit cold.”

The night breeze sent goosebumps up your arms and you carefully draped his coat back on, now noticing the citrusy scent clinging onto it. You held onto the lapels of the coat and followed Heinrich.

The sailing ship was anchored just by the dock, a couple of steps away from where the carriages stopped. It was an absolute beast with towering sails for wings, a strong body made of wood and a long pointy bow spirit as a fearsome horn. The sails flapped in the wind, wanting to stretch free of its frames and fly off into the night sky.

As you and Heinrich made your way up the stairs to the main deck, you could hear the commotion happening before you could see it. Thumping footsteps, shouts and grunts as the crew got ready to set sail.

They did not care that you were here and you liked that. Being invisible was nice. Heinrich, however, did not enjoy it as much. He seemed a bit anxious to have you witness all of this and quickly led you away from all the noises down one flight of stairs. You could still hear heavy footsteps but they were muffled, less prominent than before now that you were one floor below.

The air heavy with moisture and salt filled your lungs as you made your way down a lengthy and narrow hallway. Not too far away stood two ladies. Heinrich confirmed that it was in fact your room.

“These are your lady’s maids-Lea and Ilse. Should you need anything, they shall help you.”The girls curtsied at the sight of you and each nodded at the mention of their names.

You studied their faces, trying to cling to certain features so that you would not forget their names. Both of them had perfectly combed blonde hair, although instead of just a simple bun, Ilse’s hairdo was a little more intricate with the way she wrapped her hair. Lea was a little taller and seemed a little tougher than Ilse with her strong eyebrows and tall gait. Ilse, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and more youthful, reminding you of Olivia.

“Thank you, Heinrich.”

He nodded and bowed his head. But before he could walk away, you called him, prompting him to spin around again.

“May I ask where the Prince is?”

“His Royal Highness is speaking to the captain of the ship, ma’am. Should you like me to call for him?”

You shook your head firmly. “No, thank you.”

When he was out of sight, you suddenly remembered you were still wearing the Prince’s coat. But he had gone too far for you to call him back again now.

You sighed quietly, turning to face the door. Reaching out your hand, you were just about grab the doorknob but found that Lea was already there too.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you held your hands up to your chest, allowing her to open the door.

“It’s alright, your Highness,” she said with a smile.

You took a moment to admire the room before you. Almost everything was made from walnut wood-the walls, the floors, the furniture, covering the whole room in a rich chocolate brown color. The candles washed the room in a soft orange glow, accentuating the warm earthy tones and setting a completely different mood from the shivering wet deck.

You wandered inside, running your hand along the wall panels, delighting in the little crevices on the surface.

“I hope you don’t mind. We’ve drawn you a bath, your Highness,” Ilse said.

You shook your head. “No, of course not. Thank you.”

“Would you like us to assist you with your dress, ma’am?”

You shook your head. “I shall be quite fine. You can take your break now, ladies.”

You expected the two of them to leave right away. After all, it had been a very lengthy day and even though you intended on getting to know the both of them, now was simply not the time for sharing childhood tales. But they lingered on by the door, prompting a “Yes?” from you.

“Would you like supper brought to you, ma’am?” Lea asked.

“I can do that?”

Both of them nodded, probably finding you the oddest lady they had ever served.

“Well, if it is not too much trouble, I’d love it.”

The girls curtsied and left the room.

Now completely alone, you let out a long, tired sigh. It was a terrible habit of yours and you were well aware. You always thought too much whenever amd wherever you could, especially when you were left on your own. Your mind instantly ran over every little detail, picking out anything that might have left a bad impression on your new husband and staff members.

There were simply too many.

With a sigh, you shrugged the coat off of your shoulders, carefully placing it on the bed. If you must admit, you missed the comforting weight of it on your shoulders and the faint smell of orange and cinnamon. You then thought of him. The Prince.

For reasons unknown, you felt intimidated by him. So far he had been nothing but kind and he had done nothing that could warrant such a feeling.

Something inside you just wished you would not disappoint him like you did your parents. It was difficult because you had no idea what his expectations were of you. All you knew was that Miss Bridgerton was who he really wanted. And if that was the goal, you found yourself far from ever reaching it. You might have been born into a higher born family but you lacked the charm that she had. She was always the older ladies’ favorite when they were small. Even now, she had the favor of everyone she met.

You prepared different conversational topics for when he would come into the room eventually. There was nothing less attractive than a tone-deaf lady and you made sure political icebreakers were left far far away for the night. Maybe you could talk about the weather or music. They seemed to be perfectly proper matters of discussion for a lady. Far better than overly formal issues currently happening.

The bath you took wasn’t as relaxing as you had hoped for. Not even the slight sear of the water and the faint lavender scent could rid your mind of thoughts. You decided not to sit for long, your legs growing a bit restless in the water. Just as you finished tying your dress robes, you heard a knock and a voice from behind the door.

“Your Highness! We’ve brought you supper!”

“Yes. Come in!” you called.

At the sound of approval, your maids brought in a tray with silver dish covers on top. They opened the covers for you, revealing a piece of steaming roasted salmon and pudding. You then realized that you were starving. The piece of bread you managed to shove into your mouth earlier today was definitely long gone.

“Would you like some wine, your Highness?” Lea asked.

You shook your head. All you wanted was to sit down and eat everything. And as helpful as they had been, their questions at this moment was not. “No thank you. This shall be perfect.”

“Should we bring you more food?” Ilse added.

“No. I am happy with this. Thank you.”

They finally left. But you had barely sit down when there came another knock on the door. You groaned to yourself. Again?

“What?” you poked your head out, expecting your maids and more questions. But the last time you saw them they didn’t wear blue and there were certainly two of them.

Oh crap.

It was the Prince of Prussia.

Blush crept onto your cheeks as you became aware of your curtness. “Your Highness!”

He had his brows raised at the curious sight of you poking only your head out, leaning against the door rather inelegantly. He stepped away almost immediately. “Oh, am I interrupting you? I apologize-“

“No! I apologize, your Highness. Would-would you like to come in?” You stood up straight, opening the door a little wider. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, wishing to break free from your ribcage.

He shook his head. “I am just here to ask you if everything was alright.”

He didn’t want to come in?

“I am alright. Thank you for asking, your Highness.”

He cleared his voice. “Good. Well, it’s been a long day for you. You should get some rest. There will be a lot more traveling for tomorrow.”

“Oh thank you. So should you. Oh-and before I forget.”

You disappeared into the room. In the meantime, Friedrich managed to catch a quick glimpse of your room. He had assigned the largest one to you, his was half the size. But it did not matter where he was. After all, he wanted the best for his bride, no matter who she was.

You appeared again moments later, thanking him for lending the coat to you. He held his coat in the crook of his elbow. “Good night.”

You leaned against the door, your back landing on the surface with a dull thump. You were relieved that he didn’t come in because you were not ready at all. Yet, you could not help but feel the clouds of dread forming over you. Was he being thoughtful or did he want nothing to do with you?

...

The next morning when Lea and Ilse came into the room, you could practically hear their thoughts.

Lea was a bit better at hiding her surprise while Ilse had to look away, turning to the curtains for an escape. As they got you ready, they distracted you with their millions of questions about what you would like for your hair, your dress and your food. But what all three of you were thinking about was the reason why you were alone on your wedding night.

“Do you know where the Prince is?” you asked, finally tired of dancing around the topic.

Ilse gasped, no longer brushing your hair. “Your Highness, was he not here?”

“Ilse, I mean no offense but you are a terrible liar.”

Your comment made Lea choke back a laugh. Meanwhile, Ilse’s face grew bright red as she began to comb your hair again, laughing quietly. “I apologize, your Highness. I just cannot see why he wasn’t here with you. You’re beautiful!”

“Well, I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“I don’t think that is the case, your Highness. Maybe you just don’t know each other,” Lea added, putting on a diamond necklace for you. “You still have plenty of time for that until you arrive at the palace.”

Perhaps she was right. But whether right or wrong, you felt some weight lifted off your shoulders. You felt that way with Olivia too, back in London. It gave us great comfort to know that at the very least you and your lady’s maids would get along perfectly fine.

“Will you two be with me then?”

“Of course!” Ilse assured you, placing the comb down, happy with how your hair looked. “Right, Lea?”

“Yes and there will be another lady too. Your chief of staff.”

You had finished getting ready but your appearance was the last thing on your mind right now. You turned in your chair, curious as to how the Prussian court worked. “Oh?”

Ilse was more than glad to pass around the gossip. “Rumors have it that the King had someone in mind for you. But we left before he made the decision. I bet Heinrich knows.”

...

It was definitely not a good time to ask questions.

When you and your maids got off of the ship onto French soil by noon, there were new carriages that awaited you. Just as you were marveling at the beautiful paintings on the side of the carriages and the gold ornate trims on the wheels, your attention was quickly drawn to the people standing next to the largest carriage at the front.

It was the Prince and Heinrich.

They were in quite a heated discussion when they noticed you looking and promptly paused their conversation.

“Your Highness,” Heinrich bowed.

You looked between the two of them, sensing the tension but did not dare ask for the reason. The Prince offered his hand and helped you into the carriage wordlessly.

Outside of the window, Heinrich got on horse, charging away before your carriage even began to move. It was awfully curious.

“Did you sleep well?”

You tore your eyes away from the window, deciding to focus on him instead. Inside of the carriage, the Prince was a completely different person than he was a mere second ago. He was sighing, his brows knitted, his hands waving about as he spoke to his valet about very important matters surely. But now, he had a friendly grin on his lips, his gaze soft as he engaged in small talk with you.

“Yes. Thank you for asking, your Highness.”

That made him laugh. You did not know just what it was that he should be laughing about though. “You know, you do not have to call me that.”

“I-I don’t?”

He shook his head. “Call me Friedrich. We are husband and wife, after all.”

You nodded. “Well, then, please call me Y/N.”

“We have a deal.”

Silence fell on the two of you after that.

Friedrich looked out of the window, observing the French countryside in the distance, the sound of waves crashing ashore was mere memories now.

You had always been a little impatient in these awkward pauses, never quite sure what to do. You had been rehearsing for this moment in the bathroom yesterday. But perhaps going by a first-name basis gave you the boost of confidence you needed to be the one to break the silence, without the help of scripted conversations.

“Is Heinrich not joining us?”

Friedrich shook his head. “He will meet us at the train station. There was just a little something that needed to be checked.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it.

“Is there anything wrong?”

“Just a mix-up with the train schedules. No need to worry though. We will just have to switch the rooms around a bit.”

That was a lie. And you’d find out the truth eventually when you got to the train station. Heinrich seemed pale as a ghost when he saw you and Friedrich emerge from the carriages, rushing towards the both of you. He did not seem to mind that you were there to listen, frantically speaking. “Your Highness, the state train is not coming.”

“When did this happen?”

“I just checked. Apparently, they cancelled it from Potsdam.”

You had no idea what was happening but from the sigh leaving Friedrich’s lips you knew it was not good news at all.

“So we’ll take the standard then?”

“I am afraid so, sir.”

It was exactly what he had feared.

His father was mad and now that they were about to enter Prussia, there was no escaping his wrath. Friedrich did not mind, in particular. He was quite used to his father’s tantrums by now.

Whenever his father lost, he would make sure no one could win.

When Friedrich made the decision to marry you in England, he had prepared himself to face the King once they arrived at the Berlin Palace. He just felt bad for you having to get the wrong end of the stick because of him.

“I apologize,” he said, “I am afraid there is no other way.”

You waved your hand. “It is fine. I don’t think it is a big deal at all. I shall be good with anything.”

“Heinrich, see to it that you book her highness the room. I’ll sit where ever.”

You held up your hand. “Wait, excuse me?”

“There is only one room on the standard train, ma’am.”

“I-I will sit with my maids. I can’t-”

Heinrich looked to the Prince who was looking at you, his lips parted.

He shook his head furiously. “You are the Princess of Prussia. I will not allow you to sit in the back.”

There was only one solution.

Simple and straightforward to all of your current troubles. Friedrich did not want to suggest, he knew you were forced into this mess as much as he was. He was not going to make you do anything. And he was quite ready to sit with his staff, giving you your privacy when out of the blue...

“Then-then we’ll share the room.”

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danniburgh · 3 years

Text

Rushingly Bittersweet (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 18

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel’s operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn’t seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +3.8k

Chapter warnings: mentions of captivity, kidnapping and death, hints of misogyny, even more feels omg

A/N: This chapter is set in season three, episode eight. // look guys at this point its all plot lmao, so yeah... also, please, please get ready, next chapter is gonna be almost the double of words and feels so... just a heads up

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The time after that call went faster and faster.

You found yourself running through the embassy hallways along with Feistl to let the ambassador know Javier had Christina Jurado with him, then assuring him she would be safer staying in your house, making sure Feistl backed you up so Crosby wouldn’t be a pain in the ass and asked you if you could handle any strong situations that may concur while she was with you.

Then you went and made some arrangements to get another field agent to be your second as Feistl and Van Ness still had to fix their own shit. By the time you finished running around, Javier was back.

The office was almost empty, spare from Stoddard furiously typing into his computer, from the entrance you could see Javier standing in the middle of his office with his arms crossed on his chest and Christina Jurado sitting in front of him in the loveseat, both in complete silence.

You almost ran through the bullpen when you saw him, crossing the doorframe to his office and throwing yourself at him.

“Fuck, you’re okay,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck and fisting his shirt while he let out a soft oof. Javier let himself embrace you back, letting his arms down and around your waist, you shoved your head in the crook of his neck, not caring that he smelled like sweat and smoke and gunpowder and death.

You didn’t want to ask him what he had to do to bring back Christina, and you were sure he wouldn’t tell you.

Javier let out a heavy sigh when he felt you finally inside his arms again, for a moment he forgot where he was and let himself breathe you in and out, using you yet again as an anchor to the real world.

You broke the embrace and cupped his face, making double sure he was unscratched, making double sure he was whole, making double sure he was good, at least physically.

He didn’t hold your gaze; he was looking behind you and you turned around.

“Christina,” you muttered, she looked up at you quizzically and for some reason that you didn’t want to dive in at the moment, you wanted to hug her.

There she was, a gorgeous, brave woman who had spent days in a place you were sure was worse than hell, with people that didn’t care about her, sitting there in one of the safest places in Colombia, just waiting for her fate to happen.

You couldn’t stop your brain for comparing and making parallels of your life to hers; she was the wife of a narco accountant; she had been living under the radar for a long time and she seemed to hate it, she merely loathed it and everything that had to do with what her husband was doing; and you, unmarried, oddly loved and chasing down the guys that practically paid her bills. You were about the same age and yet your lives had taken deeply different paths. And both of those paths had brought you both there. To a shitty office in an american government facility in a country neither of you had been born in, looking into each other’s eyes, relating to each other on more than one level.

For a moment you let yourself think what would’ve happened if you would’ve been the one that talked to her instead of Javier. It was a horrible thought; it was terrible to think and utterly useless, but maybe, just maybe, some things wouldn’t have happened.

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice was deep and quite hoarse, she leaned to rest her hands on her legs and you stepped towards her.

“I’m agent Martín, I’m gonna be with you until your flight tomorrow morning,” you explained to her, and you saw her let out a sigh, as if she was more relieved with you there “I’m gonna take you to my house so you can clean up and get some sleep, if that’s okay with you,” you saw her look at you with precaution and pondered the answer, then she just nodded.

“Is Javier gonna come?” she asked, bewaringly, you looked at her attentively and she glanced at him behind you for less than a second. You knew she had seen what he did to get her out of the place she was in and you understood, with the way she was sitting and staring at everything but him, that she wasn’t really fond of the methods.

“No, he’s not,” you assured her, feeling the deep stare of Javier in your back. Christina deflated slowly and breathed in, as if relieved, you stretched your hand to her. She looked at it and then looked at you for a few seconds, deciding if she would trust you or not, you tried to give her a reassuring smile and she took your hand, standing up, “have you eaten?”

“No,” she looked at the floor as you guided her to the door. You turned to look at Javier and he was frowning at the way you were managing the situation. You didn’t need to read his expression or his body language to know he just felt guilty because he didn’t have the same rapport in him. At least not anymore.

He wanted to ask you what the hell were you thinking to take Christina out of the building, but instead just looked at you, trusting you would at least read in his face how insecure about it he was feeling. You shook your head once and gave him a hard stare. He stiffened, and tightened his jaw, then mimicking you and nodding as well, knowing he had to let you do your part.

“Let’s get you some food as well,” you muttered to Christina, who turned to look at Javier one last time.

“Thank you,”

“Don’t thank me, let’s go, someone is waiting for us downstairs and you have a flight early in the morning,” you said, pulling her softly a bit closer to you, as you both walked out of the office.

The next morning came by. You and Christina were sitting in the backseat of Javier’s suv, him driving and another agent sitting next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. Christina was looking through the window, watching Bogotá waking up with her arm curled around yours.

The drive was quiet but tense, and while you felt Javier’s staring at you through the rearview mirror, you remembered the conversation you had with Christina when you arrived at your place the night before.

“Are you Javier’s girlfriend?” she had asked you, sitting on the couch, waiting for you to finish talking with the other agent that had to spend the night at your door and settle next to her. By the way she had asked you could notice it had no double meaning, she was genuinely curious.

“You… could say that,” you replied, biting your lip to stop yourself from smiling, “we don’t really have a name for… this,” for some reason you didn’t know you found Christina really trustworthy. You reasoned that it was maybe because she was trusting you to take care of her safety until she could be in her own country, so it was the logical thing to trust her back. She sighed at your reply.

“I don’t think you really need a tag, y’know,” she had said, and you nodded. She kept quiet for a moment and then grabbed your hand, her skin was cold and her hands were shaking, “I also fell in love with a dangerous man,” she said, making your breath hitch.

“Christina…”

“Don’t let him do to you what being married to Franklin did to me,” she muttered, almost as in secrecy. You looked at her and wished you could just take away all the shit she had lived in all the time she was captive.

The sentence lingered in your mind and settled itself in that nagging part of your brain that made you overthink things. You didn’t know exactly if she was referring to the inevitability of danger into the jobs her husband and your… Javier had, or maybe something else.

She tightened the grip on your hand, bringing you back to the moment, and for a second she lost herself, staring at everything and nothing at the same time. You wanted to ask her so many things and make sure she was okay. You didn’t find the strength in you to take her out of her trance, knowing maybe that was just her way to cope with… everything.

“I didn’t know if I was going to get out of there,”

“Christina,” you called her and she looked at you, still absentminded “I’m sorry, I have to ask, did they… do anything to you?” the question took her by surprise and her eyes watered. You could see she was already tired of crying and by that point she was past feeling sad. You watched her take her time to answer with expectation, and she shook her head, provoking your chest to fill with air, contented that at least they had spared her that one horror.

“No, they didn’t, but they wanted to,” she had muttered, making you shiver.

It amazed you how receptive your body was being to what she said. And yet again, you realized that you couldn’t avoid comparing yourself to her.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Christina,” you told her, putting your other hand on top of hers that was gripping you. She looked at you and narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Are you really?” her question caught you off guard more than you would’ve expected, she was asking again, genuinely, still having some barrier that wasn’t thrown for you, and you couldn’t blame her for that. You could see she still was scared of something or someone and you could also see that she was angry, not exactly directly at you, but angry.

“Of course I am, I was supposed to bring you to a safe place when you were… when they took you,” her trembling hands moved awkwardly and she stared at you “after Javi arrested your husband, he told me to go to your house and get you to safety, but when I got there, you called him and told him you saw cops and left,” you remembered the call Javier had given you after that, you still recalled the tone of his voice, desperate and frustrated, similar to the one Franklin Jurado had in one of his calls with Christina. You wondered if that could be taken as a parallel of your relationship, but decided not to go there, wasn’t really useful to keep comparing.

“That’s when he told me to go to the embassy,” Christina muttered and you nodded, her gaze got lost again and once again, you saw something inside her eyes that screamed and shouted even though she was sitting in front of you in almost utter silence. She was angry, so, so angry. And you couldn’t blame her for that either.

“I was actually waiting for you,” you told her, she sighed and you bit your lip again, “and when you didn’t arrive I just… I’m just really glad you’re safe, you didn’t deserve any of that,”

Christina shook her head a few times and took a deep breath.

“No, I didn’t” her reply confirmed what you were just seeing. You wanted to tell her so many things, you wanted to tell her that she wasn’t alone, that she was going to get through all the shit, that she was going to see her husband and that even though he was in jail, he was protected and she would be able to rebuild her life, no longer in the shadows, you wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay… But you didn’t, because you didn’t know that. “what’s gonna happen to me now?” she asked, and for the first time since you’d been talking, you heard a tremble in her voice, hesitation, insecurity, and it didn’t suit her.

“He’s gonna fly you home, you’re gonna see your husband” you had said, trying to make things at least a little more bearable, but she just let out a huff and turned to you.

“Are you coming?” Christina asked, her eyes set in you. You weren’t sure if you had that kind of power.

“Do you want me to?”

“Please”

After that you showed her the bathroom, gave her some of your clothes and almost forced her to sleep in your bed. Then, when you were sure she was at least more comfortable than she was when she arrived, you had called Javier to tell him she wanted you in the plane with her.

You arrived at the airport and Christina was escorted by you, Javier, the other agent that had spent the night at your place’s door, and two police officers. You got settled in a private waiting room and Javier made sure the only ones inside it were Christina, you and him.

“I’m really sorry for taking away your clothes,” Christina said, still grabbing your arm, you were watching Javier looking through the window of the room and turned to her, shaking your head.

“Don’t be, they look better on you,” you reassured her, feeling quite better with yourself for having her smiling at you, a female voice talks through the speakers and Javier turns to you, he captures back your attention and you give him a small smile.

“In less than an hour, we’re on that plane,” he says to Christina and walks to sit behind the two of you “your husband knows, he’ll be waiting for ya,”

Christina said nothing, she just squeezed your hand and you for once tried to be silent, not wanting to meddle in whatever they had, as the mood inside the room had changed and apparently you were the only one that could feel and almost see the palpable tension they had with each other.

“It’s all behind you now, Christina,” Javier muttered, you turned to see him with narrowed eyes and a quirk in your face that asked him if he really just said that.

“And you think I should thank you for that?” Christina rhetored bitterly at him, not even bothering to look at him, you turned to see her and realized who her anger was directed to. And you… understood.

“No, no I don’t” Javier deepened his voice at her.

“No, you think you’re a hero because you, what, executed a bunch of farmers to get me out so that my husband would testify for you?” Christina’s hand gripped yours harder and you tried to keep your calm. You could feel Javier’s gaze glued to your face and you didn’t turn to see him. Not ready to see in his face what you thought you had heard in his voice.

“I did what I had to do and I’m sorry for what happened to you,” your head snapped almost involuntarily at him, your eyes wide and your mouth parted in surprise. He tried to remain serious but he knew you almost completely and you knew him as well. You saw in his face that he really didn’t mean it, you saw in his face that he was only saying it because his ego was hurt. And you noticed in the way he was avoiding your eyes that he knew you already knew. Un fucking believable.

“No,” Christina looked at him and made a quirk that told you she really didn’t believe him, and you couldn’t help but notice the difference at the gesture her face made the night before, when you told her the same thing. You bit your lip to avoid popping out and ask her why she did believe you but didn’t believe him, but you were pretty sure you already knew why. “no you’re not, and you know it,” your gaze stayed in Javier’s face, in his thumb brushing his lower lip, in how his eyes looked at everything but you or her or himself, on how he had stretched his legs to the sides and left his hand hanging, and you saw it, one of his many faces but not the one you were expecting to see, not the one you wanted to see. The agent face. The police enforcement mask, one that showed, maybe even unconsciously, that he only cared about the operative, about the mission, about the main goal. Not about the woman that had lived through hell and he had pulled her out of there himself “you’re a piece of shit.”

Christina turned to the front, still holding your hand and your eyes were trying to get Javier to look at you.

Javier knew himself, he couldn’t bear to look at you because he knew you already had a pretty clear idea of what was going through his head and he was embarrassed. Because he knew you cared, he knew you cared deeply and he felt guilty that he didn’t care as much as you did, he felt embarrassed at the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to, he really did, but he was just so damn tired.

Exhausted didn’t convey exactly how he felt, he didn't even know if there was a word that could fully express how he was feeling sitting there in the middle of an almost empty waiting room in an airport waiting to take a woman he had promised himself to take care of to convince her husband to risk his life and betray his employers.

Javier thought Christina was right, he was a piece of shit. A piece of shit that didn't deserve to look at your beautiful, ever understanding eyes.

Javier didn’t look at you, and you didn’t like the way he was acting. And for a brief moment you saw a flash of something running through his face. It was anger but wasn’t, it was sadness but not quite, it looked like pride. Was his… ego, hurt?

The time to board the flight came and you felt Christina relax besides you. The whole convoy of police enforcement was escorting Christina to the gate when Javier’s phone rang.

“Yeah,” Javier answered the call and you turned to look at him next to you, “yeah, we’re about to get on the plane, we’ll be in Miam–” he was suddenly cut off, he stopped walking and you did too, Christina saw you and turned to see what was going on “when?” he asked into the phone and a shiver went down your spine, the woman beside you felt your body stiffen as Javier finally looked into your eyes and with one single glance told you everything, “let me call you back.”

“What happened?” Christina asked, trembling next to you, as if she already knew the answer.

“He’s dead” you murmured, still looking into Javier’s eyes. You felt a heavy pull next to you and suddenly a pair of officers were next to you. Christina was collapsing on the floor.

Javier’s eyes fell to Christina as yours filled with unwanted tears. Why were you crying? you quickly tried to analyze what you were feeling and learned that it wasn’t really because of the case, the case and the trial and the testimony was all shit anyway, you knew it, but he didn’t.

It was because your mind was playing with the parallels. You related to Christina even if she didn’t relate to you, and now she lost her husband, while Javier was standing in front of you feeling guilty for all the pain he thought he had caused. You could see the irony, then the question was if you were about to lose Javier as well.

“She needs to go to Miami anyway,” Javier said to you a few moments later. You nodded. His eyes were in yours and he stole a handgrip from you “let’s go,” he said, aiming to walk away from the gate, you frowned at him, giving him a look that asked him if he was out of his mind. He felt a tug in his chest, knowing already you would fight his plea.

“Don’t leave,” Christina was being helped to stand and she grabbed your other hand, making Javier drop the one he had taken, you could see the hesitancy in his face.

“She’s gonna be escorted all the way back to Miami,” Javier’s tone was dubious, the way you were looking at him made him doubt himself for the briefest of moments.

“I’m gonna go with her and make sure she gets to safety” you said. Javier sighed at your willful tone of voice.

“Florencia,” he called and you tightened your jaw, you knew he knew better than to try and contradict you right there and then.

“I’m going,” your voice softened slightly and you turned to Christina “can you go ahead and board? I’ll be right behind you,” you reassured her, she nodded slowly and one of your partners helped her get to the gate, you turned back to look at Javier, noticing how much he was struggling to come up with something to say. “whatever that was, back in the waiting room, I need space from that,” you blinked your unshed tears away and he just nodded back at you, knowing exactly what you were talking about and understanding, begrudgingly, why you wanted to be away from him for a while “I’ll be back tonight and maybe we can talk,”

“I don't thin–”

“Javier,” you cut him off, shaking your head softly to stop him “I’ll see you when I get back.”

Your hand reached to his wrist and you gripped it as strongly as you could for a few seconds, his eyes seemed a bit lost and even though you knew he was having a thousand and one reasons to not let you go, to keep you in Bogotá with him, to need you with him, you had one strong reason to get away from him at least for a day.

One that made you feel hypocritical and traitorous; if he reacted with little empathy and pride to what Christina had told him, how the fuck would he react when you told him the truth?

So you let go of him, gave him a last stare and turned around to walk to the gate, board the plane and take Christina home. For the first time, while flying through the Gulf of Mexico, you had plenty of time to think about all the mess that you had gotten into. And your mind came to one conclusion: there was no way on earth that Javier would forgive you for what you were doing to him.

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maddiwrites · 3 years

Text

Secrets of the Shore (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Pogues x OC, Eventually JJ x OC

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister.

Note: Changed my update schedule to two times a week (probably Sunday and Wednesdays) because three days was kind of overwhelming hahah. Again, thank you for all the wonderful reviews and feedback!! I appreciate every single one!!!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Being shot at?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

The Pogues come over later to hang out like usual. No one mentions last night's party. I don't know whether its because they don't want to talk about it or we're pretending like it never happened. I'm fine with either.

I sit next to Kie who taps her fingers on a bongo and bobs her head to her own beat. Pope's shuffling a deck of cards to my right and JJ sips on another beer across from me. It's hard to concentrate on what they're talking about. I'm too busy locked in my own head, thinking about what Peterkin said - foster care - what life would be like if we were taken away. Would I ever see my friends again? Would John B and I be in the same foster home? The thought of being separated makes me sick.

"Look, I'm calling it off. All right?" John B pulls me out of my thoughts. JJ rolls his eyes at my brother and glances at me. "Peterkin said if we stay out of the marsh, she'll help us with DCS."

"And you believed her?" JJ asks. "An actual cop, John B. You believed a cop."

John B sighs. "All I gotta do is stay out of the marsh for a couple days, and she'll help me out. It doesn't help that your ass was the one shooting a gun."

Here we go.

"You know what I should have done? Just let Topper drown your ass."

"Topper was gonna drown me?"

"Sure looked like it."

"Funny," John B deadpans.

"Have you looked in a mirror?"

"Tell me some more. Come on." I can tell by the look on John B's face that he's getting annoyed. It's pinched and he keeps rolling his eyes.

JJ steps closer to him. "They always win, don't they, man? Kooks versus Pogues. They always, always win!" He turns around and punches one of the small volleyballs we have tied in a string like a decoration.

"Look, it's okay!" Kie tries to calm him down.

"No, it's not okay! It's not! They don't want us to go down into the marsh." JJ comes back. "That means there's something valuable down there, and you know it." He turns to me and points. "I know you do." Then he looks at Pope. "I know you do. And I understand why you don't wanna go. You're the golden boy. You got way too much to risk. And you -" He turns to Kie. "I mean, you're already rich as fuck anyway. Why would you bother? But you and me, and Marleigh, man, we got nothing to lose! We really don't all right?"

"JJ -" I sigh.

"And I know it didn't use to be that way for you -"

John B shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to talk about it!"

"So that's it?"

John B shoves past JJ. "Just get out of my way, bro."

"John B, listen to me. I have a plan." Well thats never good. "You got the key to Cameron's big boat right?"

"No," John B says, already knowing where JJ's head is at.

"There's scuba gear. We borrow that, and then we go down to the wreck this afternoon, and that is what's gonna save you, man. You don't see rich kids going into foster care, do you?"

Here's the thing about JJ. He can be really convincing, which is usually the reason he and I get into the most trouble. Because I always fall for what he's saying. He gives me hope when I don't think there is any. He can be surprisingly optimistic sometimes. And when he is, I fall for his charm and agree with everything he says. If he told me to jump off a bridge, I probably would.

When he looks at me, my lips tug upwards into a smile. This creates a domino effect, and soon the other Pogues get excited. John B looks at me, trying to look disapproving but I shrug in response. I mean, JJ's right. What do we have to lose?

~ ~ ~

I light a match and ignite my gas stove to make myself lunch. A can of chicken noodle soup that's been in my food closet for who knows how long. John B left to grab the tanks from the Cameron's boat, so the rest of us are waiting here until he comes to pick us up.

"You're eating soup? Its like a hundred degrees outside." JJ walks into the kitchen and lifts himself up on the counter next to the stove.

I stir the liquid around with a wooden spoon and smirk. "Do you see any other edible food around here?" JJ chuckles at that. He knows better than anyone how horrible John B and I are at food shopping. "I meant to go to the store today but..." I sigh. "I've been busy."

JJ pauses, causing me to look up at him. He's usually so quick with his wit and humor. Something I admire and love about him. How he always manages to put a smile on my face with some dumb remark or a sarcastic reply. Only now he's staring at me with curiosity. "Are you okay?"

"You mean other than the impending doom that is foster care that's going to hit me and John B in the near future?" I say sarcastically. I turn the stove off and grab two bowls out of the cabinet behind JJ's head. He ducks for me and my waist presses against his thigh. I pour half the soup in each bowl and hand him one with a spoon.

"Yeah, I mean other than that," JJ says. I blow on the liquid on my spoon to cool it down. The steam that comes up from my bowl already makes me feel hot.

"I'm fine," I tell him.

He gives me a look that says he's doesn't believe me, but I ignore it and he doesn't press me on it. Truth is, I am fine. I just have a lot of my mind but I'm going to do my best not to let it ruin my summer. JJ got me excited again. He's promising an adventure and possibly a fortune. He's right. John B and I have nothing to lose. If we don't go on the marsh today, DCS will find another reason to snatch us. So why hold ourselves back?

"Mar, JJ, he's back!" Kie calls out to us from my yard.

JJ sips the last of his broth out of the bowl and I shovel in the last couple of scoops into my mouth. We throw the bowls in the sink and run to the dock where John B and the others are waiting for us.

Pope directs John B to the part of the marsh where we found the wreck. I sit next to Kie in the front of the boat. She's looking at the two tanks that John B was able to snag off the Cameron's boat. Her brows are furrowed in confusion as she studies the gear.

"This is empty," Kie says, looking up at my brother who stops the boat when we find the sunken Grady-White. "You took empty tanks?"

"I..." John B says slowly. He definitely didn't look at it before he took it.

"Okay, this one's a quarter full," Kie says, pulling the tank to her left closer to her. "Its enough for one of us."

"Love it when a plan comes together," I say sarcastically and pass a look to JJ who rolls his eyes.

"Does anybody know how to dive?" Kie asks.

I purse my lips and look around at my friends and brother. None of them speak up.

"Uh..."

"Anybody?" Kie asks.

"It's kind of a Kook sport," I say.

Pope raises his hand. "I...read about it."

"Great, Pope read about it so someone's gonna die," Kie says.

JJ walks towards us and picks up the mouth piece and shrugs his shoulders. "Look, you put the thing in your mouth and breathe. How hard could it be?"

Pope answers, "If you come up too fast, nitrogen gets into your blood, and you get the bends."

JJ glances between Pope and the rest of us. "Bends like..." JJ bends forward, purposely sticking his butt out, "bend over and..."

Pope cuts him off. "The bends kill you."

JJ snaps straight up. "Right."

I roll my eyes and stand up. "I'll do it."

"Uh, I don't think..." JJ starts to say but my brother cuts him off.

"No. I'll do it."

"What, why?" I turn to my brother and send him a glare.

"Because Pope just said it can kill you and you don't listen to instructions very well." My brother glares back at me. I roll my eyes. He does have a point and evidence to prove it. I usually follow my own gut and ignore others' directions. And because I don't want him to bring up past events, I decide not to fight him on it.

"He has a point," JJ says, earning a punch in the bicep from me. He looks at my brother. "You can dive. I'm cool with that."

"Since when can you dive?" Kie says not liking the idea any more than me.

He shrugs. "I'll do it. It's fine."

"Let me do some calculations real quick," Pope says as John B starts putting on the scuba gear.

"You serious?" JJ asks.

"That boat's about thirty feet down. Okay? So it'll take twenty five minutes at that depth. Twenty five. Which means you need to make your safety stop at about...ten feet."

Contrary to popular belief, I do the actual listening to instructions, I just don't always follow through. But I process everything Pope just said and think of a way to make this easier for John B.

I shimmy out of my jean shorts and pull my top over my head, leaving me in a purple and white striped bikini. Without saying anything, I jump into the water with my shirt.

"Uh..." Pope says, looking into the water where I just disappeared. "What was that about?"

"I don't know. But I liked it. A lot," JJ says, staring at the same spot. John B slaps the back JJ's head and glares daggers in his direction. JJ pretends to clear his throat and turns away from John B. "Uh, so..."

Pope pretends to focus on his calculations again, not wanting to get caught by John B for staring at his sister too. "Yeah. Uh, when you uh, when you're down there, you look for the cargo hold. You stick this thing inside and twist and pull, okay?"

I guesstimate how deep ten feet is and tie my shirt around the chain attached to our anchor. I look one last time at the blurry image of the sunken boat and pull myself back up.

"Hey," I say to grab their attention. They all look at me. "I tied my T-shirt to the anchor chain about ten feet down. It's where you need to do your safety stop."

John B nods. "Cool."

I stay in the water, loving how the water feels around me like a protective blanket. I listen to Pope explain the important parts of diving. There's some kind of meter he has to pay attention to to keep track of time.

"Okay, how much do I need?" John B asks.

"Unclear," Pope answers. "Breathe as little as possible."

JJ slaps John B on the shoulder. "Zen. Think zen, you know?"

John B turns to the water, preparing to jump in next to me. "Yeah. Got it."

"Hey," Pope says, stopping him. "If we get caught in the marsh, we're basically screwed, so better get a move on."

"No pressure or anything," I add.

"Copy that," John B says.

Kie approaches my brother and stands in front of him. She's really close to him, almost inches away from his face. Then she leans in and kisses his cheek slowly. Way more intimate than usual. My eyes widen in surprise and I look at Pope and JJ to see their reaction. They mirror mine.

"Diver down?" Kie says softly.

"Diver down." John B says just as softly.

"See ya, dude," JJ says.

John B jumps in the water and sinks down below me. I lay on my back in the water and bathe in the warmth of the sun above me. I even close my eyes, letting relaxation overcome me. I could probably sleep here if I wanted too.

"Shit, JJ," Pope curses, catching my attention.

"Guys, that's the police," Kie says.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," JJ says, glancing at me.

My eyes go wide with anxiety. I swim closer to the boat and look up at JJ. "JJ, they can't know I'm here. If they find me-"

"Hey, hey, hey. It's gonna be okay. They're not going to, just stay there."

I nod and press myself tighter against the boat.

"Just act freaking normal," Kie says through clenched teeth.

I can hear the sirens coming closer until I feel their boat bump against ours. I flinch against it and kick my feet faster to stay afloat. I look down at the water, but I can't see John B. My heart races at the thought of him running out of air.

"Evening," I hear one of the cops greet my friends.

"JJ, tie it off," Pope says.

"How you kids doing? You know the marsh is closed?" The officer asks them.

"No."

"No. Wow."

My friends play dumb. I look up, finding comfort in seeing JJ's long hair. I can tell he's trying hard not to look down at me.

"Why - why is it closed?" Pope asks.

"Well, we're conducting a search out here. Boat went down." The officer explains.

"Oh."

"See anything?"

"No." JJ purses his lips and shrugs.

"No boats," Kie says. "No."

There's a pause and for a split second I think he's gonna call their bluff. But he doesn't. "Where are the other two kids you always hang with? The twins? They here?"

I bite my bottom lip hard in anticipation for what's to come. He knows we're here. He has to. I can tell by how suspicious he sounds. I look back down in the water, John B still invisible to me. I don't know how much time he has left, but he's definitely running out of it.

"They both had to work," I hear Kie answer.

"Hm," The officer hums. "I'm gonna check your little boat out."

Shit, shit, shit, shit. I look around for a place to hide, but the only thing surrounding me is water. I'm going to have to go under.

"Yeah." JJ coughs, risking one last look at me before pretending to help the officer into the boat. "Yeah, hop aboard."

I push myself under the water and swim directly underneath the boat. I open my eyes, ignoring the sting of the salt water. I can see John B's silhouette by my T-shirt and the blurry light of his timer.

Thirty more seconds pass. I swing my arms upwards, pushing myself deeper into the water. The shadow of the cops' boat is still next to ours. My lungs are screaming at me for for air like they're tearing into my chest. Just like John B, I don't know how long I'm going to be able to last down here.

My body reactively gulps for air, forcing myself to swallow the salt water. It feels like a stab in my chest, my throat on fire. I've got to pop back up to the surface or I'm going to drown.

Just as I'm about to reveal myself, the shadow of the boat drives off. I push myself up, coughing up the water I swallowed and gasping for air. Less than a second later, John B pops up next to me.

"Oh, god! Jesus Christ," Kie says with her eyes closed and her head looking up.

"Don't scare us like that!" Pope says.

JJ watches me instead of John B, concern laced into his features. As I feel my heart go back to its normal pace, I smile at him and laugh the anxiety off. "You good?" He asks me. I nod and let him help me back up to the boat. "How'd it go down there?" He asks my brother. "Did you find anything?"

"Did I find anything?" John B scoffs and holds up a dark velvet bag.

"Yeah, there we go!" JJ claps his shoulders. "That's my boy!"

"Jeez, dude," Pope sighs.

"You okay?" Kie asks John B.

John B pants as he swims closer to the boat. "Yeah, I ran out of air."

"You and me both," I tell him.

John B pulls himself up. When he stands, he's met face to face with Kie who shoves him back playfully. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Yeah, the cops were up here, but, uh...we took care of 'em." Pope says, trying to act like he wasn't going to piss his pants the entire time he was talking to them.

"My bad," John B laughs.

"You're all good."

"Yeah, you kinda missed the show, brother," JJ says.

I move to the back of the boat to ring my wet hair out when something catches me eye. Its another boat, but it doesn't look like the one the cops were just using.

"Hey, guys? Guys!" I call louder to grab their attention. "Bogey, two o'clock."

"What?" JJ comes up next to me and eyes the boat that's making its way closer to us.

"Do you recognize the boat?" Pope asks.

"I've never seen it," I answer.

A bad feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I can make out two people, I think men, standing in the front. They keep their eyes straight on us. No laughing or talking like a couple of buds would on a boat day in the marsh.

"What are they doing here? The marsh is closed," Kie says.

"Let's not stick around and find out." JJ places his hands on my bare waist and pulls me to the side so he can pull up the anchor.

"JJ get the bowline," John B says, not realizing that JJ was already on it.

"Yeah."

"Should we wait on 'em?" Pope asks.

"No. No. We should leave now. Right now," Kie says, looking directly at John B.

"Go get the stern," John B tells me. "Go!"

I kneel next to JJ and help him. Similar to how I felt in the water, my heart beats violently against my chest and my breathing becomes static. I try not to think of the fear that creeps through my veins as I help release the boat from it's hold in the marsh.

"Guys, don't wait for us! Go!" JJ yells.

"Go!" Kie says.

"Pull out the stern!" Pope yells at us.

I yank the chain hard, revealing the slimy anchor covered in seaweed and moss.

"I don't like this," I mutter to JJ between clenched teeth.

John B pulls away from the wreck. JJ looks between me and the boat that still driving in our direction. "Are they coming for us?"

"Maybe they're fishing," Pope says.

"Go, go, go, go!"

"Go into the marsh," I tell my brother, constantly glancing between him and the other boat.

"Let's go," Kie says. I can hear fear creep into her voice and her hands shake around the drivers seat she's holding with a death grip.

"I'm going. Act natural!" John B hisses and revs the engine of the boat.

He takes a left turn into the marsh. I watch anxiously for the people in the other boat to make its move.

They turn left.

"Guys, they're following us!" Kie says.

"This can't be good," Pope says.

"Dude, you gotta go faster!" JJ says.

"I'm going!" John B yells back.

"Gun it!"

I look behind the boat. They're getting closer. Too close. Can't say I'm surprised. The HMS Pogue is no match for their boat that looks more expensive than my house. However, something catches my eye. Something long the guy in the passenger seat is holding and pointing right at us.

"Is that..." I mutter before I'm cut off by exactly what I was going to say.

The gun shot rings through my ears as if the person who shot it was standing next to me. Before I can react, JJ pulls me down to the floor of our boat by my waist and covers me with his own body. I gotta say, this isn't how I pictured him being on top of me. His left arm outlines my head, keeping me face down while other bullets pass our boat. The cries of my friends are dull through the blood pounding in my ears and my heart inching its way up my throat.

"Holy shit!" Kie shouts.

"John B, get down!" JJ yells.

I try looking up at my brother but JJ's hold is strong. John B's still behind the wheel, trying his best to duck from bullets without crashing the boat.

"We're gonna die!" Pope yells.

I try looking around the boat for anything we can use against these guys. Of course JJ decides to leave the gun he stole at my house for the day, leaving us practically useless against these two strangers.

My eyes find a net pooling in front of Kie's face as she keeps her head down. I try crawling out of JJ's embrace which only makes him tighten his arms around me.

"Kie!" I shout. She looks up at me with wide eyes. "The net!"

Immediately she understands what I'm trying to tell her. She pulls herself away from Pope and army crawls to the wide net. This only makes my friends yell at her, telling her to get down, but she doesn't listen.

"Get down, Kie!" John B shouts.

Another gun shot echoes through the air, making me flinch closer into JJ.

Kie throws the net overboard towards their boat and drops back down to her knees. The sound of the other boat's engine clanging against the net gets my head to perk up and I watch Kie's reaction. She's surprisingly smiling. When she looks at me, she lets out a breathy laugh and shakes her head in disbelief because that just worked. Their boats gets stuck.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go," Pope says.

One last gun shot rings through my ears before we make our getaway. I pull myself off the floor and look back at the boat one last time. We severely underestimated how important finding that boat was. Whatever John B found was worth killing us for.

A couple minutes later, John B pulls the boat up to the Chateau and docks it by the wooden slacks that I used as a bed last night. My friends cheer and actually smile after what just happened.

"That was insane!" Kie says.

"Whoo!"

I look at my brother with adrenaline rushing straight to me head. I feel giddy about finding out what JB found - what must be so important. "What do you think it is?"

"Gotta be money, right?" He asks, looking at me.

"That or a couple of keys with street value to the low-to-mid-mills," JJ says, leisurely danglingly his arm around my shoulders.

"Can we please just open the bag?" Pope says loudly, forcing everyone's attention at him who now looks at us sheepishly.

"Wow, Pope," John B laughs. "That's a rare outburst of emotion."

"Okay, you guys are literally killing me with anticipation," He says. "Open the bag!"

"Jeez." JJ whistles.

"We almost died over this," Pope says like its an explanation. But he's right. We did almost die for this, which is why I need to know what's in it now.

John B opens the velvet bag. Something heavier than money falls out of it with a thunk. Its round and metal. Dirty and dented. Physically ugly and maybe priceless, but it looks familiar. I narrow my eyes at it, trying to study it and rack my brain through where I've seen it before.

"Oh, wow. Yup. That's about right," Pope sighs at the sight of our treasure. "Good job, everybody. We found a compass."

The word compass hits me like a train and my body goes slack like my limbs just turned into jell-o. John B is already looking at me, shocked at the real meaning of what we just found. I push myself in front of JJ and look down at the object he's holding. Priceless maybe true to the others but not to me. Not to John B. This means everything.

JJ looks between John B and I and laughs nervously at our reactions. "Dude, what? It's not worth anything."

My brows furrow together in confusion as I try to wrap my head around how we just found our dad's possession on another man's boat. A dead man's boat. But I feel blank. Like someone just wiped all my thoughts and memories.

"This was our father's compass," I say emotionless, keeping my eyes on JB who looks equally as terrified.

Tag List: @notyourcupofteax @acvross-the-universe @jjmaybankzz @jeeperky @realistic-breadstick @moniamaybank @urbinoutfiters @brebear121 @x-lulu

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