#My lungs hurt from sobbing and hyperventilating

[batfamfixation]

Does anyone else have a crackling/popping sensation in their nose when they cry? I couldn't find anything about it on Google, so I'm wondering if it's just me and why. Also, my ears keep going back and forth between feeling blocked and popping when hyperventilating. It's really painful. Why is my body like this

[wwooyology]

The Murder House | Pt. One

𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕/𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 | 𝒑𝒕. 𝒐𝒏𝒆 | 𝒑𝒕. 𝒕𝒘𝒐 | 𝒑𝒕. 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 | 𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆

「synopsis」 : after waking up trapped in a room with a dead body, you are saved by none other than heeseung, but you're still left with questions. why were you and your friends trapped there, and who is behind it all? though it would seem that you won't be getting your answers very easily and definitely not without a few losses.

「word count」 : 10.2k

「genre」 : horror/thriller, gore, angst, psychological thriller, mystery

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, blood, dead bodies, cussing, mentions of muder, mind games, drugging, mentions of mental health disorders (anxiety, panic attacks, etc...), jungwon is kinda reckless, lmk if I missed anything!

It felt like time had slowed down, your fist starting to hurt from how hard you were banging on the wooden surface of the door. Tears were streaming down your face, and the bile in your stomach still threatened to arise at any given chance. You knew you should have never agreed to this stupid thing. You knew that something would happen, that it all wasn't just in the movies.

You just knew.

And now you were stuck in a place only god knows where with a dead man that you didn’t even know. The door seemed to be sealed shut, with no sign of opening. Your throat was starting to hurt from the yells you had been screaming for the past few moments, as well as the sobs that were racking your lungs.

Just as hope seems to dwindle, the knob suddenly twists, and the door flies open, causing you to stumble forward right into the person's chest. Quickly pulling away, your head tilts up to see who your savior has been.

“Oh my god, y/n?” Heeseung’s eyes grow wide as he quickly grabs your biceps, looking down at you with worry. He had been woken up by your banging, finding himself sprawled out on the couch that was in the lounge. 

“Heeseung? Where’s everyone else? Where’s Riki? What are we doing here?” You start shooting off questions left and right, not even leaving Heeseung a chance to answer anything. It was when you started to hyperventilate that he started to panic and tried to calm you down.

“Hey, y/n, calm down; you’re going to cause yourself to have a panic attack!” He tried to coax you into looking at him, but your eyes were everywhere but his.

“I… where… we—” You were starting to babble nonsense, fear clouding your pupils, and Heeseung was worried that if he let this continue, you would really have a panic attack. To be quite frank, he had no clue what to do if that happened. It was always Riki or Jay who dealt with your panic attacks, so he was completely in the dark.

Having you pass out from practically not breathing was not something he wanted to deal with, not on top of whatever the hell else there was in the rooms with them. Without too much of another thought, he grabbed your face, forcing your attention on him.

“Breathe, please.” He whispered softly, his warm breath fanning your face. Fresh tears prick at your eyes as you inhale deeply through your nose before letting out a shaky breath. Heeseung nodded before he finally took note of the crimson liquid that your pants and arms were covered in. 

“Are you hurt?” He tried to keep his voice steady despite the frantic worry that pooled in his gut. He had never in his life seen so much blood on a person before since that time that Jake sliced his hand open, trying to cut carrots in their dorm a few years back.

Your eyes followed him down to your hands hanging at your sides. The blood was starting to dry, turning it a rust color. Seeing it covering your skin makes your stomach turn once more, and you bite your tongue to keep the urge to throw up everything in your stomach at bay. Looking back up to meet Heeseung’s worry-filled one, you just shook your head, lips curling inward before pointing behind you. Your eyes stayed averted.

“There’s a…” You inhaled sharply when your eyes landed on the poor man’s body once more, bile creeping up your throat. Heeseung’s eyes grew wide once more as his own eyes sat upon the mutilated body that lay in the middle of the room.

Alarms were starting to sound in the older male's brain. This wasn’t some kind of twisted prank. No, there was something seriously wrong here. 

He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around your smaller frame. His hold was enough to ease your mind a tiny bit, so for that, you were thankful, but there were still so many questions that haunted your thoughts.

Heeseung's brain wasn’t too far off from yours; questions clouded his thoughts. However, one prominent question outweighed all of the others.

What the hell was happening?

~

After Heeseung shut the door and pulled you away from the door, you felt like you could finally breathe a little bit better. You had found a discarded rag that you deemed clean enough to wipe some of the blood from your skin.

You managed to get a pretty good amount off, but there was still some stuck in the creases of your knuckles and neck that you didn’t even know was there. There was even some blood stuck underneath your fingernails. How? You weren’t too sure.

The air around the two of you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was not entirely comfortable, either. Tension was thick in the air, thick enough that you were sure you could cut it with a knife. You need to break it before it starts to drive you further into insanity.

However, before you could open your mouth to speak, Heeseung beat you to it. “Do you know who that is?”

You automatically shake your head, “No, I have no clue who that is.” 

“This has to be some kind of sick joke; I mean, why the hell would they lock us in here?” Heeseung scoffed, running his fingers through his hair. He knew deep down that this wasn’t a joke, that they were in actual danger.

“Wait,” Your ears perked at his words, hearts dropping to your stomach once more, “what do you mean lock? Are we locked in here?” 

“Yeah, there’s some weird ass pattern lock on the door,” Heeseung says as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Panic started to arise in your gut once more, and you shot out of your seat, making a beeline for the door. Your eyes landed on the weird keypad that displayed a pattern lock, just as Heeseung had said. Your hands wrap around the door knob hoping by some miracle that the door would just open, but it didn’t budge. Of course, it didn’t budge.

Your heart started racing as you ditched your attempts at opening the door and started banging on the wooden surface, much like you did with the other room. The sound of your fist hitting the door reverberated around the room and Heeseung stood from his seat with a sigh.

“Jay! Riki! Is anyone out there? We’re locked in here and need help!” You started shouting, hoping that anyone on the other side would hear you and come help. Though there was no one out there to hear you, let alone help you.

Heeseung walked over to you and grabbed your wrist just as you were about to hit the door once again. " You need to calm down. There isn’t anyone out there, and you’re just wasting time.” He didn’t necessarily mean for his words to come out harsh, but he knew that your senseless screaming wasn’t going to help them in any way, shape, or form.

“Wasting my time? My fucking brother is out there, probably just as confused, not to mention our friends. How can you just sit here and do nothing?” You shouted at the taller male, and he took a half step back, shocked by your outburst. 

However, his eyes narrowed into slits, “Nothing? I’m not doing nothing, y/n; we are fucking trapped in here without a fucking clue as to what we need to do. Yet you’re banging on the damn door, hoping someone will come and help us, but guess what? The only person that will save us is ourselves, there is no one out there!” He seethed causing you to flinch slightly. Noticing this Heeseung let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “we just need to calm down and look around for any clues, okay?”

You knew he was right, there wasn’t going to be some knight in shining armor that would swoop in and save you. No, it was just you and Heeseung.

“This is so fucked up.” You grumbled, arms wrapping around your body.

And it was all fucked up. You were in some unknown house with your little brother and friends. You were all clueless; nothing was making any kind of sense to you, and it was making your head hurt. What you do know though that whoever is behind this is some sick and twisted douchebag who was probably enjoying watching them all struggle.

“It is.” Heeseung agrees before looking over the room. Why don’t you go look through that cabinet, and I’ll search the bookshelf over there?” You nod, agreeing.

So that’s what you both spent the next few moments searching through a multitude of different papers and anything else that had been shoved in the cabinet. Frustration then started to bubble in your chest when you realized that you weren’t getting anywhere. The only thing you found that was any sort of ‘good’ was a background check on the dead guy in the other room.

Seo Wonsik – a twenty-seven-year-old male who was on the government's blacklist because of the countless times he tried and succeeded in hacking their system. 

‘What the hell was a hacker doing here? And what did he do to be killed so brutally?’ Your eyebrows scrunched together as you tried to piece together any of the pieces you had but were left with nothing.

Heeseung had practically stripped the bookcase bare, books scattered all across the floor as well as the decor that was sitting on the shelves. He bit the inside of his cheek, his jaw clenching about, ready to move on to the next area. That’s when he saw something peeking from the ledge of the top shelf. 

Reaching up, his fingertips brushed against the object, trying to move it so he could get a good grip on it. He kicked the books by his feet away, standing flush with the shelf before reaching up once more. This time, he was able to grab it enough to pull it down.

Once he had it in his hands, he took a step away from the bookshelf before looking down to see what it was. His brow furrows in confusion once he sees that it is an envelope, much like the one that was on the coffee table when they first got inside. He then looks over at you, watching as you throw yet another useless file on the ground. 

Hitting the envelope against his palm, he starts walking over to you, “Have you found anything?”

His voice pulled you out of your head, and you stopped moving papers to look over at him. You shook your head with a sigh before pointing to the one paper you had set aside.

“Not really, but I found out who that guy is.” You then explained all of the information that you had found out, and Heeseung just nodded, trying to think of why a hacker would be here, of all places.

“Maybe he helped set this whole thing up?” Heeseung suggested but quickly shook his head, “but why would they kill him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they got what they needed?” It wasn't completely illogical; you had seen it happen on multiple crime shows. Then you noticed the envelope in his hand. " Did you find something?”

“Yeah, this was on top of the bookshelf.” He holds the envelope up, letting you see the wax seal on the front. " It’s just like the one from the lounge.”

You agreed before looking over at the shelf that Heeseung was just at, seeing that he had taken almost every book off. Just then, you noticed something on the ceiling, and rage burned bright in your veins.

A small camera, almost invisible, was stuck in the far corner of the room. They were watching you, just like you had thought they would. Moving past Heeseung, you started shouting curses at the device, nearly tripping over the scattered books.

“You’re getting a kick out of this, aren’t you, you sick fuck!” You shouted, pointing at the camera, anger blinding you, “I hope you rot in fucking hell, asshole!”

“Y/n! Focus, please.” Heeseung groaned, wrapping a hand around your arm to pull you away. You looked over at him before turning back to the camera one last time to flip the device the middle finger.

The two of you move over to the couch once more, but neither of you takes a seat. Heeseung breaks the wax seal and pulls the paper out of it. Tossing the envelope to the ground he unfolds the paper before moving over so the both of you could read it.

Welcome to your first room! The first room is always the easiest so you shouldn’t have too hard of a time getting out, but be careful, you could still bite the dust! Let’s get the ball rollin’, shall we? Here’s your first clue! — ‘What lies still and silent, yet whispers the answer you seek?’

You blink a few times, trying to process what you have just read. A sense of dread hits you like frigid water has just been splashed on you. It was a riddle and a weird one at that. Biting at your nails, you look around the room, seeing another cabinet.

Though you were sure that wasn’t what the riddle was leading to, you needed to find something, so you made a beeline for the cabinet. Swinging the drawers open, you rummaged through all of the papers.

Heeseung stands in the same spot, repeating the riddle to himself in a quiet whisper, trying to make sense of it.

“Lies still and silent, yet whispers the answer you seek…” His eyes search around the room, “still and silent. Still and silent. Still and-” That’s when it hit him. Could it be talking about the body in the other room? It was something that would normally be mobile yet lies still and silent.

Heeseung laid the paper down on the table before calling out your name, catching your attention. You tear your gaze away from some contract paper, eyes meeting Heeseung’s.

“The riddle, it’s talking about the body.” He points towards the door that holds the dead man. Your stomach instantly turned, and the bile returned to creep up your throat.

“No. Nuh-uh. No way. I am not going anywhere near that.” You started to freak out once more, shaking your head violently. Heeseung took quick strides towards you, his annoyance was evident in his features.

“God dammit, y/n!” He grabbed your arms, fingers digging softly into your skin as he shook you slightly, “do you want to get out here?” You looked up at him with wide eyes, nodding, “then suck it the fuck up and help me find the damn clues.”

Tears involuntarily pooled in your eyes. Heeseung had never shouted at you, never. He didn’t want to be mean, but if it was the only way to get you to listen, then that’s what he was going to do, and he would apologize later.

“All of this is so inhumane.” You spoke with a shaky voice, trying to keep the tears from spilling over.

“Yeah, and that’s why we’re going to get out of here. Alive.” Heeseung ran his fingers through his hair as he backed away from you, “come on.” He held his hand out to you, and with some hesitation, you placed your smaller hand into his.

Heeseung took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours before pulling you towards the door. As the distance grew shorter, your heart started to race, and a cold chill ran down your spine.

Pushing the door open, the older male pulled you behind him until you were standing before the body once again. You averted your eyes just as quickly as you looked at him, bile burning in the back of your throat and tears stinging in the corner of your eyes.

Heeseung pulled his hand out of yours and crouched down, his hand covering his nose as the putrid smell engulfed his senses.

“Oh god…” He groaned as he reached forward to move the jacket; tears started to brim his eyes from the smell. His hands shook as he started to search for any kind of clue, praying that he was right and you guys weren’t doing this for nothing.

You stood there shell-shocked as you watched Heeseung search the man, blood slowly staining his skin. It took all of your willpower to keep your feet planted and not make a run for the other room, wanting to be anywhere but here. Heeseung notices you still standing in the same spot from the corner of his eye.

“Check his pockets.” He motions to the man’s pants, his eyes flickering over to you for a moment before going back to patting the man’s upper half down.

You slowly move down to your knees, staining your pants in blood once more. Tears were flowing down your cheeks silently as you reached for the man’s pockets, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

The room grew silent. The only sound was clothes rustling and your quiet sniffles. You had searched the man’s pockets but came up with nothing, so you moved on to just checking his legs and shoes. The putrid smell was starting to make both of you dizzy, and you were sure you would have thrown up your stomach contents if there was anything there.

“Found it!” Heeseung exclaimed, holding up a piece of paper he had found in a secret pocket of the man's jacket. His outburst made you nearly jump out of your skin, eyes wide as you looked over at him.

He started unfolding it so he could read it, but then you noticed something in the man’s hand. As he starts to read, you reach over, pulling the object from his clasped fingers.

“Heeseung…” You called out the boy’s name, terror shaking your voice. Holding up the bracelet, you looked over to meet Heeseung’s eyes, and by the look on his face, he recognized it. You knew who this belonged to, seeing as it was a handmade gift from Jake.

Heeseung takes the piece of jewelry with wide eyes, inspecting it closely. — “This is Sunghoon’s.”

Jay’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and a groan fell from his lips. The bright overhead light burned his eyes as he tried to let his vision focus. He could have sworn that the electric buzzing of the lights would cause him to go deaf from how loud it was. 

Blinking a few times, he looked around the room with scrunched eyebrows. Where was he because this definitely was not his bedroom or any other room he recognizes. 

Then, all of the previous events hit him like a ton of bricks. The scene of all of his friends slowly passing out until his own vision went black. 

Sitting up quickly, he groaned, his head pounding from the sudden movement. Once the pain dulled down, he further inspected the room before he found Jungwon sprawled out in the recliner off to his right. His mouth was parted slightly as drool dribbled from the corner of his lips, causing Jay to cringe at the sight.

“Jungwon,” Jay calls out, nudging the boy’s knee, but he shows no response. Rolling his eyes, Jay stands to his feet, allowing himself to catch his balance before walking over to the sleeping boy. Jay reached out and shook Jungwon’s shoulders, but the only kind of response that he got was gibberish, and the boy moved away from Jay’s hands. 

“Of all people to get stuck with, it was him.” He grumbled, breathing through his nose, and his jaw tightened before he hit the side of Jungwon’s thigh with a firm smack, causing the boy to wake up with a yelp. He looks up at Jay with wide eyes, a mixture of confusion and shock clouding his pupils. Jungwon sat up, asking Jay what he had done that for, and Jay just scoffed.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty, we don’t have all day,” Jay told him, annoyance evident in his tone.

“What do you mean? What’s going on?” Jungwon asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his mind still very much in a daze. For whatever reason, the events leading up to now were foggy; he couldn’t quite place what had happened besides that they were going to some haunted escape room.

“Well, for starters, I’m pretty sure we were drugged,” Jay explains as his eyes search the room, missing the expression that settled on Jungwon’s face.

Jungwon blinked a few times, trying to process what had just been said to him. He thought that Jay must have gone insane, or this was all just some huge prank they were pulling on him because there was no way that they all had been drugged. Yeah, that had to be it. This was all just a screwed-up joke.

“Ha ha ha, very funny, you almost had me. Where’s the cameras?” Jungwon burst out laughing, wiping fake tears from the corner of his eyes. His eyes scanned the room, trying to find any kind of hidden camera, waiting for the others to pop out at any moment.

Jay looks at him with a pointed gaze, completely unamused, and arms crossed over his chest. Not a single word left his lips, but the expression on his face was enough to tell Jungwon that he was, in fact, not joking around. His amused laughter slowly died down into a nervous chuckle as he realized the severity of the situation.

A cold chill ran down his spine at the thought of all of them being drugged, but he couldn't figure out why. They hadn’t done anything to upset anyone. You all did your own thing but none of them warnented for someone to do this.

Jungwon then remembered that he had his phone in his pocket. “Wait, we can just call the others!” he exclaimed, standing abruptly while the older of the two rolled his eyes.

While Jungwon started to pat down his pockets, searching for his phone, Jay made his way over to the door. He took note of the keypad that sat underneath the doorknob; the numbers lit dimly, but what really caught his attention was the outlines ‘x’s, which probably meant that they only had three tries to get the correct answer.

“Where’s my phone? I swear it was in my pocket.” Jungwon started to freak out, stripping the recliner in search of the device. He started to feel his heart racing underneath his ribcage; there was no way that his phone was just gone.

Jay pinches the bridge of his nose, stands straight, and turns towards the younger male, explaining that whoever drugged them probably took their phones, too. Jungwon, however, just stands there like a clueless cat.

“Have you never seen any horror movies?” Jay asked, raising an eyebrow, his annoyance level gradually rising.

“No, they're too scary.”

Jay scoffs, “again, of all people to stick with me.” He ran his fingers through his hair, eyes trained on the ceiling. “Alright, listen, the door is locked with a keypad. However, I think we only get three chances to guess it correctly.”

“What happens if we guess wrong all three times?” Jungwon asks wearily, not entirely sure he wants to know the answer, though deep down, he knows what it means.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’ll be anything good, and I definitely don’t wanna find out either.” Jay was sure that it didn’t mean anything good for them, but then again, this whole situation wasn’t good.

The room then grew silent, both boys lost in their own thoughts, trying to make sense of anything. Jay continued to search the room with his eyes, trying to see if anything stood out. There were a few paintings hanging on the walls; the only one that stood out the most was one with a tree, but the leaves were four different colors, almost like an abstract ombre. Brushing it off as a weird taste in art, he moved on. Then a small red flash in the corner of the room caught his eye, looking over he saw a small camera hidden in the far corner of the room.

“They’re watching us,” Jay stated, catching Jungwon’s attention, who had just picked up an envelope that he saw stashed under some paper on the coffee table.

A chill ran down the younger’s spine at the revelation that someone was just watching them as if they were in some kind of TV show. With shaky hands, he tore the envelope open, which only grabbed Jay’s attention. Looking over, he saw the paper and snatched it out of the boy's hands because he wasn’t sure he could trust Jungwon to comprehend any of what had been written inside.

“Hey!” Jungwon jumps, looking at the older male with wide eyes. "You can’t just snatch things out of people's hands!” He complains, but Jay ignores him. Seeing as Jay is going to ignore him, Jungwon watches as Jay fully unfolds the page before his eyes scan over the words. His anxiety levels spike the longer Jay stays quiet.

Finishing reading, Jay could only scoff, eyes flickering away from the page. He could feel his heartbeat ringing in his ears, dread flooding his veins. Jungwon steps closer, worried that something was completely wrong as if the whole situation wasn’t wrong. Trying to look at the paper, Jungwon’s eyes flickered up to Jay’s, asking what was wrong.

“We’re trapped in here.”

“Obviously,” Jungwon said nonchalantly, his hands stuffed in the front pocket of his hoodie. Jay, however, sent a deadly glare at the younger boy, causing him to chuckle nervously. Averting his gaze, he said, “Sorry.”

“Pretty much this is the first room, and the severity will only grow as we go.” Jay started to explain, both boys growing uneasy, “It also says that if we guess the code wrong three times, we’re out.”

Jungwon’s blood ran cold, and fear clouded his senses. The words were far too cryptic for his liking. Everything about this was cryptic, and it only left him questioning things more.

“What does that even mean?” Jungwon’s brow scrunched together, thinking of the multiple possibilities it could mean. Not a single one of them was very good.

“I have no idea, I’m just as clueless as you, and this is literally the most cryptic shit I’ve ever read in my life.” Jay seethed, tossing the paper down on the coffee table, irritated. “We need to look for clues.”

“Did it at least give us any leads?” Jungwon asked, pulling his hands out of his pockets and pointing back at the paper that Jay had just thrown down.

“Let the colors guide you. Whatever the hell that means,” Jay told him, stepping away from the table. Let’s just look around the room and see if we find anything.” Jungwon nodded before moving to the side of the room where a shelf stood.

~

The two of them then spent the next few grueling moments searching through all the cabinets and shelves for anything that might be useful. Neither of them seemed to have found anything, though, which only further fed their irritation.

Searching through yet another filing cabinet, Jungwon opened the bottom drawer and was met with four big numbers on a page. His eyes lit up as he made a loud noise of excitement, scaring Jay, who stood on the other side of the room.

“I found it!” He shouted before scrambling to his feet and making a beeline for the door. Jay’s eyes went wide as he watched the boy start typing in numbers before he could even get a chance to stop him.

Jay rushed over to the younger male, pulling him away from the door just as a loud buzzer sounded in the room.

“Incorrect code. Two chances remaining.”

“What the hell, dude?! You can’t just fucking throw numbers on there and hope they work!” Jay hissed, eyes narrowed into slits, “We don’t have all the chance in the world, so stop being so reckless.”

A small pout adorns Jungwon’s lips as he stares up at Jay, “I was sure it would work, look.” He holds the newspaper up, and Jay’s ears start to burn a bright red before he snatches the paper out of his hands.

“This is the fucking year, you dumbass!” Jay reprimanded the poor boy and turned the paper back around so Jungwon was looking at it. However, on the back of the page Jay noticed that something was highlighted in blue ink. Upon closer inspection he realized that it was a number highlighted. Jay then quickly turned around, looking for a piece of paper that he could write on, confusing Jungwon.

“What are you doing?”

Jay stopped his movements to look at the boy, “I'm trying to find something to write on. Stop lollygagging, and help me find a pen or something.”

Remembering that, he saw a pen in one of the filing cabinets, so he moved back over to them, searching through the drawers once more. Once the pen was in hand, he walked over to Jay, who had found a stray notepad. Jungwon watched the man in confusion as Jay took the pen and wrote down the number.

‘Five’

He then set the notepad and pen down on the coffee table next to the newspaper before standing straight. Jungwon glanced down at the table before his eyes flickered back over to Jay, waiting for him to say something.

“Look for anything with a highlighted number. My guess is there are three other numbers.” Jay instructed Jungwon, who was softly chewing on the skin of his lip but nodded nonetheless.

While Jay returned to his original side of the room, Jungwon went back to the filing cabinets to recheck everything in case he had overlooked any highlighted numbers.

Once he deemed the filing cabinets clear, Jungwon moved to the dresser in the far corner of the room. Pulling open the first drawer, he felt his stomach turn, and bile crept up the back of his throat. There, sitting on top of another paper, was a photograph, one he was sure he had seen before.

“Jay…” Jungwon called out to the older male. Swallowing thickly, he turned to meet Jay’s awaiting gaze. He then held up the photo with a shaky hand, “Isn’t this y/n and Riki?”

Heeseung swallows thickly, trying to get the lump that had formed in his throat to go down before pocketing the bracelet. You just watched him, not sure what to make of it all. Did Sunghoon have anything to do with this? Was he the one who killed this man? Questions started to arise, but Heeseung quickly snapped you out of it with a cough.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions right now, okay?” His voice was soft, almost as if he was trying more to convince himself than you, but you nodded slowly nonetheless. " Let’s just focus on getting out of here for right now.”

He stood up and made his way back into the other room, leaving you sitting there staring at the spot he had once been. Even though you knew he was right and you shouldn’t jump to conclusions, you couldn’t help but try to think if Sunghoon showed any suspicious behavior, but the only thing you could think of was that he had started to distance himself from the rest of the group. You had thought that it was just because he had a competition coming up and it wasn’t anything new if he did distance himself, claiming that he needed to keep his head clear.

“Y/n.” Heeseung called out to you causing your head to snap in his direction, breaking your thoughts. He motions for you to come join him, so you slowly climb to your feet, ignoring the way your knees groaned in protest or how you left bloody footprints in your wake.

The both of you take a seat on the couch, looking at the paper that Heeseung had found. Your eyebrows scrunched together as you looked at the dots. However, the bottom left dot was drawn in red. Then you remember that Heeseung had said that the lock on the door was some kind of pattern, so this is probably one of the spots.

“You said the lock was one of those pattern locks, right?” You asked, causing the older male to look at you before looking over at the door and nodding.

“Yeah, and we only get three tries.”

You looked up from the paper in your hand, mouth suddenly dry, “what happens if we guess wrong all three times?” The first thought that popped into your head was that the two of you would die.

“I don’t know, but I doubt that it’ll be anything good.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He was sure he had a good idea of what would happen, but he wasn’t going to tell you and run the risk of you freaking out again.

“We’d die, wouldn’t we?” you asked, your voice quivering slightly as fear washed over your body once more. Heeseung didn’t say a word, nor did he meet your eyes, which gave you your answer, one that you already knew but dreaded to hear. The air around you both grew silent and tense. It made you uneasy. You were not entirely sure why, but you needed to break it. “Do you think the others got similar puzzles or whatever?”

Heeseung looked over at you as if you had just pulled him from his thoughts. He let out a breath, “I wouldn’t doubt it.” The male then abruptly stood to his feet, causing you to jump slightly. " Come on, we still have more pieces to find.”

So that’s exactly what the two of you go back to doing, tearing the room apart from top to bottom, finding the rest of the pattern. Following the riddles that had been written on the back of each one before too long, you were working on finding the last one.

Neither of you was sure how much time had passed since you had woken up, but that didn’t linger in your minds for very long as Heeseung called for you once again. Looking over, he showed you the paper with the same dots once more.

“Are we sure that this is the last one?” You asked hesitantly, sitting down next to the dark-haired male.

Heeseung laid all of the pages out on the coffee table before looking over at you. "It has to be; there is nothing written on the back like the others.”

“Okay.” You bite your bottom lip before looking down at the pages. Do you think the pattern would be the order we found them in?” 

“That’s too easy.” Heeseung shook his head before covering the lower half of his face with his hand, deep in thought. He wasn’t even sure where to begin looking for the order. Was there some kind of indicator? A number, maybe? No, that’d be too easy. Maybe it was the order that they found them in, but he wasn’t going to risk trying that, and it would be wrong.

You then suddenly sat up straight, causing Heeseung to jump slightly, his eyes flickering over to you. It took you a few moments, but you noticed that there were shapes in the bottom corner of the pages, each shape different.

“There’s a different shape at the bottom of each page.” You started to explain, pointing to each shape. Heeseung, however, looked like a deer caught in the headlights, confused and completely lost as to where you were going. Noticing that you had lost him, you let out a sigh before scooting closer to the edge of the couch. “The number of sides on the shape is probably the order that they go in; see, the lowest is the line because it really only has one side, obviously.” You point to the page that had the line on it before pointing to the page with a hexagon, “Then this one would be the last one because there are only six pages.”

Heeseung made an ‘oh’ face when he finally understood what you were trying to say. He then leaned forward, grabbing the page with a triangle on it. " So this would be the third one?”

You nodded, leaning forward to see all of the shapes that had been put on the pages. Digon, hexagon, line, pentagon, triangle, and square. The two of you took the next few moments to put them all in the correct order.

A smile tugged on your lips as Heeseung laid the last page in its correct place. You had figured it out, and you were going to get out of here. Heeseung met your smile with one of his own before the two of you stood and made a beeline for the door. Eager to get out, Heeseung drops down to his knees in front of the lock, tapping the screen and causing it to light up. He reaches out to start the pattern but stops short and looks back at you with a sheepish smile.

“I forgot…” He chuckles, and you roll your eyes, telling him to move out of the way, which he quickly does.

Taking his place, you inhale deeply, trying to calm your nerves. You were 99% sure that you had the correct code but couldn’t help but feel worried. Shaking your head softly, you reach out and enter the pattern, just like the sheets laid out.

When you were finished, you moved back, a bit worried that it was wrong because nothing had happened. A cold chill ran down your spine at the thought of having to backtrack and figure out the code once more. Then the screen turned bright green, and the sound of the lock turning allowed a sense of relief to wash over you.

“We did it!” You jump up with a wide smile, throwing your arms around Heeseung, which surprised the boy, but he returned it nonetheless. He was relieved to finally be out of the room, ready to go find the other so you all could make it out of this hellhole. Alive.

“Come on,” Heeseung pulled away, looking down at you with a soft smile, “let’s go find the others.”

Between Jay and Jungwon, they had managed to find three out of the four numbers. Jay was surprised that they even made it this far. He was sure that if the room didn’t kill them, Jungwon would with how reckless he was. He kept trying to just enter whatever code he thought was correct, but thankfully, Jay had stopped him every time. It just didn’t seem to click in his head that they could die if they ran out of chances.

“I found it!” Jungwon exclaimed, and Jay quickly turned around just in case he needed to grab the younger boy once more. However, Jungwon didn’t make a move towards the door but rather walked over to Jay.

“Lemme see that.” Jay held a hand out and Jungwon placed the paper in his hand, watching as the older male inspected the paper. Jay’s eyes caught the number at the bottom of the page, highlighted in purple.

‘One.’

They walked over to the coffee table, and Jay sat the paper with the others, jotting down the number on the notepad. He then sat down, comparing the numbers, trying to figure out if they correlated with anything. Then, the dilemma of their order popped into his head, and he groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

“What’s wrong?” Jungwon asked, moving over to take the empty seat next to the silver-haired male. Jay tosses the notepad down on the table before looking over at Jungwon telling him that they still have to figure out what order they go in.

“And before you ask, no, we can not just randomly guess.” Jay quips, glaring at the younger boy, who raises his hands in defense. 

Jungwon then grabbed the papers with the highlighted numbers, spreading them out. His eyes went wide, and he grabbed Jay’s attention by hitting his arm: “Hey, the colors are different!”

“What are you talking about?” Jay rolls his eyes before leaning forward to look at the papers.

“Look, each number is highlighted with a different color.” He pointed to each page, and they were, in fact, highlighted in different colors.

Jay’s eyebrows scrunch together as he tries to make sense of it. Why colors and what order do they go in? The rainbow, maybe? Or was it lightest to darkest? There were far too many possibilities, and Jay wasn’t going to risk entering the wrong code. They only had two tries left after Jungwon screwed up the first time.

“This might be a stretch, but don't the trees' leaves match the colors?” Jungwon voiced out, snapping Jay out of his thoughts. He looked at what Jungwon had been pointing to, seeing the strange painting that he had seen earlier, and weirdly enough… the colors did match.

Without saying a word Jay grabbed the papers, placing them in the same order as the tree leaves. Jungwon just sat there quietly, eyes scanning the numbers when Jay finished.

‘8501’

The two of them looked at each other for a moment before standing and quickly walking over to the door. Jay crouched down so he was face-to-face with the keypad, tapping it so the screen lit up. Jungwon leaned over Jay’s shoulder, watching him intently, not realizing just how close he was. His warm breath washed over the back of Jay’s neck, distracting him.

Jay closed his eyes, letting out a huff, before turning his head to glare at the other boy. Jungwon’s breath hitched in his throat, so he backed away and gave Jay a quick apology.

Once he was sure that the distraction was gone, Jay turned back to the keypad and entered the numbers in the order of the colors. After he finished, the screen just turned black, causing both boys’ hearts to drop.

Just as Jay was about to back up and suggest they look for another solution, the keypad flashed green, and the lock turned. Standing quickly, the silver-haired male looked back at Jungwon with wide eyes, who looked just as shocked.

Reaching out, Jay grabbed the doorknob, turned it, and pulled the door open. Once the door was fully open, he turned back towards Jungwon, “Now let’s go find our friends.”

Walking down the dimly lit hallway made you wish that you had grabbed a candle or something from the room. It wasn’t that it was too dark to see anything because you could. No, it was because it left an eerie feeling in your gut. Like there was something lurking in the shadows, and to be honest, you wouldn’t be too surprised if there was.

Between you and Heeseung, you have checked just about every door that was in the conspicuously long hallway, but every single one of them was locked. No sound was heard except for the occasional rattle of a doorknob and your footsteps that seemed to echo in the empty hall. When you got to the end of the hall, you noticed that it turned, but there was still another door to check.

“You check that door, I'mma go look down this hall.” You whispered, and Heeseung nodded before turning and walking towards the door. You then turned your head back around just as you rounded the corner, but not quick enough to stop yourself from running into something.

A scream erupted from your lungs as you scrambled to get back, almost tripping over your own feet. Heeseung nearly jumped out of his skin when your scream echoed down the hall, and he was quick to rush over to make sure you were okay.

“Hey, hey, y/n, it's just me.” You looked up with wide eyes, seeing that what you had run into wasn't something but rather someone. Heeseung let out a relieved sigh when he caught sight of Sunghoon.

Letting out a groan, you reach forward, smacking the male’s arm, “good god Sunghoon, you scared the shit outta me!” You exclaimed, running your fingers through your hair trying to will your heart to slow so it wouldn’t burst right out of your chest.

Heeseung laid his hand on your upper back, asking if you were okay, and you nodded, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He kept his hand there as he looked back over at Sunghoon, whose eyes were narrowed in on you, and for some reason, it left the older male feeling uneasy.

“Is it just you?” Heeseung asked, pulling the younger's attention away from you.

Sunghoon shook his head, pointing over his shoulder. “No, Sunoo is in a room we found back there.” His eyes flickered back to you as you straightened your body, eyes meeting his. Come on, I’ll take you. Is it just you guys?”

You nod, following after the taller male Heeseung not too far behind you, “yeah, we haven’t found anyone else yet.”

Sunghoon nods before stopping in front of a door, opening it, and letting you and Heeseung walk in. Inside, Sunoo is standing at the desk, looking down at some papers that were left, trying to see if they have anything worth it. Of course, they are useless, much like any other paper they have found. The sigh he had started to let out is caught in his throat as soon as he hears the door opening.

Turning around, the fear and tension in his shoulders dissipated, and a bright smile formed on his lips as he watched you and Heeseung walk into the room. You returned his smile with one of your own before walking over to join him while Heeseung stayed back, looking over at Sunghoon.

“Was it just the two of you?” Heeseung crossed his arms over his chest as the question slipped past his lips, his eyes staying on you and Sunoo.

Sunghoon glances at the older male, not missing the unease that was written all over his face, his jaw tight. “Yeah, it was just us.” Sunghoon starts, his gaze flickering over to you and Sunoo, watching as Sunoo points to something on one of the papers. “We woke up in a room that was on the complete opposite side of where I found you guys.”

Heeseung glanced at Sunghoon for a moment before he heard a gasp from Sunoo, his head whipping back around, worried something was wrong.

“Oh my god, are you bleeding?!” Sunoo exclaims as he grabs ahold of your arms to check you over for any injuries.

You stood there confused for a moment before looking down and catching a glimpse of your blood-stained clothes. During the commotion of getting out of the room, you had forgotten that you were covered in blood. A shiver runs through your body as you recall the dead man from the other room, and your stomach turns once more.

“No, it’s…” You swallow thickly, heat rushing up your neck to paint your face a deep shade of red, “it’s not mine.” Sunoo just looked at you, puzzled, until you started to explain how you woke up in a room with a dead body and how you’ve come to be covered in his blood.

Sunoo’s eyes went wide. He asked if you were okay, and you just gave me a soft smile, reassuring him that besides being traumatized, you were fine. Sunghoon then asked if you had known the man as he and Heeseung walked over to the two of you.

“No, I have no idea who he is, but I found a background check on him, and I think he worked for whoever is behind all of this.” You explain, eyes flickering over to the taller male recalling the bracelet that they had found, “We did find-”

You were cut short by the sound of a doorknob rattling on the other side of the room. Heeseung quickly grabbed you, pulling you behind him as his eyes shot to the door. Your heart dropped as fear slithered its way into your mind, once more scared that something bad was going to happen.

The door swung open, revealing Jay and Jake, who looked at the other four in the room with wide eyes. They weren’t sure what to expect on the other side of the door, but seeing their friends was definitely not on top of their list. However, they were happy to see you guys nonetheless. 

You peeked around Heeseung, trying to see who it was, and your eyes went wide. Before Heeseung even had the chance to stop you, you darted from your spot, latching yourself right onto Jay, arms encasing his waist.

“Y/n? Oh, thank god.” Jay breathed out, wrapping his arms around your smaller frame, missing the cold glare the two of you were receiving.

You then pull away, looking up at him, worry etched in your features. “Where’s Riki?” The fear fuels the thoughts in your head that your brother isn’t with them and is still out there somewhere. Noticing the look in your eyes, Jay flashes you a small smile, his hand resting on top of your head.

However, before he could open his mouth to tell you that your brother was just behind them, the boy walked through the door, looking around. You detach yourself from Jay and rush over to Riki, grabbing his arms and causing him to jump slightly.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” You started throwing questions at the boy left and right as you checked him over. Riki smiles at you, grabbing your hands and squeezing slightly.

“Y/n, I’m fine, I promise.” He reassures you, his eyes racking over your body, noticing the blood stains all over your clothes. “Are you okay though?” 

You miss the slight twitch of a smirk on the younger boy's lips as you look down at yourself. “I’m fine, just shaken up. Are you sure you’re okay?” You look back up at him, eyes gleaming with worry. “I was so worried.” You place your hand on his cheek, and he grabs your wrist, pulling it away with a small grimace, telling you once more that he is okay.

“Hate to break up this cute sibling moment, but Sunoo found another letter or whatever.” Sunghoon clears his throat, catching all of your attention, pointing over to the blonde who was holding up an envelope. Everyone then moved to the center of the room, where an armchair and a small table sat. Once everyone was pretty much huddled in a small circle, Sunoo unfolded the paper and started reading it aloud.

‘Congratulations! You’ve survived the first room, not that it was too hard right? Now, don’t get too hopeful, as the next room you’ll be in won’t be as forgiving. Enjoy your small break and good luck on making it out alive!’

No one says a word, the tension in the room growing thicker as the words sink in. A chill ran down your spine at the thought of one of your friends or even your brother not making it out. Jay puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, thoughts of his own flooding his mind. 

“Shouldn’t we like look for any kind of clues while we’re in here?” Jungwon spoke up, pulling his hand away from his lips seeing as he had been chewing on the loose skin around his nails.

Everyone agrees before doing exactly that, splitting off either on their own or in pairs. Jungwon and Sunoo make their way back to the desk where the blonde had been moments ago. You walk over to one of the bookshelves on the far side of the room, skimming through the books. Jay follows Heeseung to another bookshelf that isn’t too far from where you are. Riki and Jake move to the far corner of the room, talking amongst themselves, eyes flickering over to the others for a moment before turning back. Sunghoon then sits down in the armchair, his chin resting on his fist as he props it up on the armrest. His eyes looked distant, as if he wasn’t fully there, lost in his own little world.

Looking through the bookshelf, you couldn’t help but notice how Sunghoon hadn’t moved from the chair, his eyes now flickering from group to group, watching them all with an unreadable expression. Your mind then trailed back to the bracelet that you had found on the body. You didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but he wasn’t helping ease your mind, not even a little bit. You wanted to believe that he had nothing to do with this, that it was all just one huge misunderstanding, but the bracelet was one of a kind; there was no way someone could just get another one.

Glancing at the dark-haired male once more, you let out a sigh before making your way over to Sunoo and Jungwon. As you got closer, the two boys noticed you and nodded in acknowledgment.

“Hey, Sunoo, quick question.” You speak quietly, not wanting to alert the male who is sitting not even five feet away. “Was Sunghoon like that in the other room?”

Sunoo glances over at Sunghoon, whose eyes are currently on Jay and Heeseung, “I mean, he was pretty standoffish, but he still helped look around for the clues.” He looked back at you, his eyebrows scrunched together.

Nodding your head slowly, you then look down at the papers he was holding, “Have you guys found anything?”

“Besides a bunch of useless documents, no.” He sighs, tossing the pages back down on the desk causing Jungwon to look over for a moment. You give him a tight smile before patting his shoulder and turning to walk away.

Making your way over to Jay and Heeseung, you felt eyes on you. Looking over, you caught Jake staring. Realizing that he got caught, he flashed you a smile, which you returned before walking over to Jay. The smile that adorned the male's face dropped once he saw how close you were standing to Jay. His jaw clenched tightly before looking back at Riki, who had asked him something.

You stood between Jay and Heeseung, listening to them talk about a book title that they had seen before you tapped both of their arms, causing them both to jump slightly. Seeing that it was you, Jay subconsciously moved closer to you while Heeseung turned his attention to you.

“I really don’t want to jump to conclusions, but Sunghoon has been acting weird.” You spoke softly, biting your bottom lip, and both boys peeked over at the younger male.

“A lot has happened in such a short amount of time,” Jay told you as he turned back towards you, “I’m surprised that the rest of us are even looking; this is supposedly our ‘break time,’ evidently.”

You purse your lips slightly before looking over at Heeseung for a second, who just turned away from Sunghoon. You had known Sunghoon almost as long as you’d known the others, so it didn’t feel right to accuse him of anything without any actual proof, but finding the bracelet and the way he was acting now only left a bad taste in your mouth.

“Jay, we found his bracelet on the body in our room,” Your voice shook as you looked up at him, and Heeseung pulled the piece of jewelry out.

Jay’s eyes grow wide as he instantly recognizes it; even with the blood soaking one half, he knew that the bracelet was the one Jake had made specifically for Sunghoon. His eyes quickly shifted over to Sunghoon, who was sitting in the chair, looking at his arms and seeing that the bracelet was, in fact, not on his wrist anymore. Turning back to the two of you, he covers Heeseung’s hand and the bracelet with his hand, pushing Heeseung’s down, making sure no one else is looking over at the three of you.

“Let’s just keep this between us, ya? I don’t want to cause panic with the others.” He spoke quietly, looking between you and Heeseung who nodded his head, shoving the bracelet back into his pocket. “But y/n…” Jay looked down at you, “I think this might have something to do with you.”

You looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes, “Me? You’re telling me that I’m the reason that this is happening?” Your heart started to race as your voice shook, and a mixture of fear and anger filled your veins, “That’s a pretty fucked up thing to assume, Jay.”

“No, listen, Jungwon found this picture of you and Riki in our room.” Jay reached for his pocket to pull the photograph out, “but your face had been scratched out.” He holds the photo out to you, and you quickly grab it, eyes wide and your ears ringing as your stomach drops.

“I thought I had lost this a while ago.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, turning the photo over and seeing your handwriting on the back.

‘The love between siblings knows no boundaries.’ - Y/n & Riki

Your hands started to shake as fear etched itself into your soul. Had this all really been your fault? Noticing the tears in your eyes, Jay pulled your smaller frame into his, wrapping his arms around you while Heeseung put his hand on your head.

“We’ll get out of here,” Jay whispered, hands rubbing the small of your back. His eyes flickered up to Heeseung. “Together.”

Just then, a loud bang reverberated around the room as the doors slammed shut, and the sound of the locks turned right after. Everyone jumped, their eyes went to either of the doors, fear and terror written on everyone's faces. Jungwon was the first to move, walking to the door and trying to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Is this the next puzzle?” You asked, stepping away from Jay and looking over at Jungwon, who looked at you with wide eyes.

The room started to fill with a smell that you couldn’t quite place, but it was starting to make your head woozy. Blinking a few times, you tried to clear the fog, but to no avail. Sunoo then dropped to the ground, making you gasp. You started to make your way to him, but your head started to spin.

Jay quickly grabs you, shouting at everyone to cover their mouths and noses with their shirts. However, it was too late. You collapsed in Jay’s arms, unconscious, while Heeseung stumbled before dropping to the ground as well. Before too long, everyone had succumbed to the gas and collapsed to the ground.

The ringing in your ears was like an alarm, pulling you back to consciousness. Your eyes fluttered open, blinking hard to adjust to bright overhead lights. Once your eyes adjusted and the ringing dulled down, you looked around your surroundings. Your heart started racing the moment you saw Jungwon lying on the ground a few feet away from you.

You scramble to get to your feet, almost slipping and falling in the process, but you catch yourself before rushing to Jungwon’s side.

“Jungwon! Wake up!” You shake him roughly, hoping to get him to open his eyes, which he does after a few moments, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the bright lights.

“Y/n? What’s going on? Where are we?” Jungwon slowly sat up, blinking a few times to clear his vision.

Before you could open your mouth to say anything, the sound of your name being called caught your attention. Turning around, a loud gasp fell from your lips when you found Sunoo standing in a clear cage of sorts. Three locks adoring the door, trapping him inside. Your stomach dropped as you stood to your feet, ready to go over to him. However, you then saw Jake on the other side of the case, standing up with wide eyes. “Rise and shine! The early bird gets the worm as they say” A robotic voice came through the speakers, echoing around the room scaring you. Jungwon stands by your side as a large screen turns on, displaying a countdown, and all of your hearts sink. “Welcome to game number two! You may have gotten out of the first room with no trouble at all, but I can’t promise the same for this one.” Jungwon grabs your hand, causing you to look over at him before looking at Sunoo, who looks horrified, hands pressed against the glass. “Here, you will have a very limited time to complete all three puzzles to collect the key to let your dear friend out. However, if you can’t find them all within the time given to you, well…” The sound of water running, followed by a gasp, caused your head to snap in Sunoo’s direction, eyes growing wide. “He’ll be swimming with the fishes.”

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[ninyard]

I don't know if you've taken this into account for your trial posts, but if the prosecution requested Kevin's/the house's phone record that day they could found out he called Wymack before the police. And that could not look Good especially with his deadpan 911 call

i had thought about this and i don’t think i’m going to mention it but it’s SUCH a striking point i actually love it. i wasn’t going to bring it up purely because i’m not putting kevin on the stand, but it’s such a good reason as to why i could put him on the stand. like perfect kevin day trying to explain why he’d seen a dead body and called wymack before anything else? and how that phone call went as well? what if they played it?

-

“Take a breath and spit it out, kid.” Wymack’s voice is getting more and more strained with every second that passes and Kevin just can't get the words dislodged from his throat. How could he, when all he could smell was blood, and alcohol, when all he could hear was Andrew’s voice in his head saying tell me again how I'm too unbalanced to understand normal brotherly affection and love.

“Something happened.” Kevin tries not to watch as Nicky’s parents pass him, faces pale and hands shaking. He can’t hold himself together, when he opens his mouth to explain, all that falls out is a muted sob accompanied by, “Oh, fuck, Coach, it’s really fucking bad.”

Kevin winced as he heard Nicky start to sob somewhere upstairs, and David must have heard it too, because his voice was much more serious when he asked, "Who's hurt?"

It's the perfect question, almost, but that doesn't make it easier to answer.

"Andrew."

“How hurt are we talking?”

“I don’t know.” Kevin’s chest is getting tight. Not right now. Not now. He takes in a shaky deep breath, as much air as he can muster. He continues, “Somebody’s dead.”

“Fuck, Kevin, who’s fucking dead?” He sounds angry. No, he’s worried, he’s terrified. Which one of my foxes is it?

“I don’t know.” He repeats. He watches as Nicky’s parent fuss over something in the kitchen. “I don't know, I don’t know.”

“Dead, how?” David says, before he says something, presumably to Abby. Kevin's breath comes in and out of his lungs in painful, jagged intervals. This is too much, he can't do this, he can't do this. “Kevin, I need you to talk to me.”

“Aaron.” He cant say the words. “Somebody was- oh my god.” He feels his chest tighten, and tighten, and tighten. A twisting stomach accompanied by a pounding chest and fuck, the smell of blood, and alcohol, and-

“Breathe.” David says again, like it’s really that simple. “You have to tell me what’s going on so I can help you, kid.”

“Call Betsy.” It’s the only thing he can think to say. But when he thinks of Bee, he thinks of Andrew, he thinks of the body lying upstairs. He thinks of- “I don’t know what to do, David.”

There’s a moment of silence, and David is forced to listen to Kevin’s quiet hyperventilating. “Is Aaron dead?”

Kevin almost laughs. “No.”

Wymack's sigh is gentle, but louder than anything else, the sound weighing on Kevin's shoulders like the secret he felt like he was keeping, the secret he felt like he couldn't share. It's not exasperation, no, his annoyance is not directed at Kevin's panic or inability to find the words. It's worry, it's fear, it's being too used to those kinds of phone calls. It's too soon after Allison's Seth is dead, Coach, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do.

“Is Andrew? Is Neil?”

“No.” He says. The words are right there, he tries to swallow them down hard, but they keep getting stuck in his throat. Just say it. Just say it.

"Nicky?" He's getting impatient. But Kevin knows it's not directed at him. It can't be. "Work with me, Kev. Just say it."

"Andrew's been...r-" The tears that threaten to spill out swell in his eyes, the tightness at the back of his throat manifesting in a sigh, an exhale of breath that he had been holding for far too long. Kevin shut his eyes so he couldn't look at Nicky's parents, and following a deep breath that he hoped would fix everything, he says, "Andrew's been raped, and Aaron killed the guy that did it."

The silence that follows goes on for hours, for far too long. For long enough that Kevin has to check that David hasn't hung up on him, for long enough that he starts to think about it all, all over again.

"Jesus Christ, Kevin." is all that David can muster, in this voice Kevin has only heard once before, as he sat sobbing in his hotel room with no plan and no reason to live. He stumbles through a hundred different questions until he lands on, "Have you called the cops yet?"

"No." Kevin admits with a guttural sob. He hasn't even thought about it. Well, he did, in some way, but his fingers hadn't even hesitated over David's contact number. It hurts so badly, all of these feelings, the image of Andrew, the image of Andrew, the image of Andrew. His protector. The person who kept him safe. This was never supposed to happen to him. This can't have happened. Not to him.

"Jesus fucking Christ, kid, get off the fucking phone," David's yell snaps him out of it. "Get it together, take a real deep breath, and call 911. Then call me back afterwards. Fuck, Kevin."

"Okay, Coach." Kevin says, as seriously as he can manage. Call 911 - An order, something to follow. Something to do. Something to be good at, to pretend for, a reason to shove his panic behind a plastic mask for a couple of minutes.

"Okay." Coach agrees and lets out another deep, hurt sigh. Another second or two pass, but Kevin feels frozen in place. The phone is stuck to his ear, the electronic hum and buzz the only thing keeping him from going back to the reality of Nicky's parent's house.

"Are you okay?" Coach asks, and Kevin shuts his eyes to inhale, before exhaling out anything that hurts. He's switched off, untouchable, numb and unfeeling. Kevin isn't there, inside of himself anymore. He can come back later.

"No," Kevin says, but it doesn't feel like the truth anymore, his voice flat, the back of his free hand wiping away a tear that had found its way out of his eyes. "But I'll call you back."

"Okay," Coach says again. "You better."

The phone call ends with three consecutive beeps. Kevin pulls it away from his ear, and stares for too long at the 911 he's typed into the keypad.

Do what you have to do.

Be who they need you to be.

"Hello, 911, what's your emergency?"

[leighsartworks216]

I love how you write for Astarion, my request is (as long as your comfortable with it) Tav tends to have nightmares from a past sexual assault, one that they've opened up and told Astarion about once their relationship became more official and he opened up. One night, Tav wakes up with a scream bolt upright in their bedroll, hyperventilating. Everyone comes to check on them, but it's Astarion who realizes what's going on immediately coming to their aid and comforting them.

I did not really reference what the dream was about, but I did imply it was about somebody who hurt Tav/Reader in a few lines

This is also my first time writing any of the companions besides Astarion so I hope I did okay with them lol

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: panic attack, ugly crying, protective Astarion

Word Count: 704

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The scream shatters the quiet of the night. Everyone rushes toward the sound, weapons drawn and spells at the tip of their tongues. They find no monster, no animal, no criminal - only their leader, sitting up in their bedroll, sobbing uncontrollably.

Astarion is the first to recognize what’s happened. He rushes from his tent to your side, hands held in front of him though not touching you. His face is serious, eyes focused on you with an intensity he shared with no one else.

“It’s alright, darling,” he coos as calmly as he can. “Do you hear me? You’re safe.”

Your whole body shakes. A cold sweat soaks your sleep clothes and sticks your hair to your head. Your breaths come in rapid, shallow. You don’t look at him. The spawn isn’t even sure you see him. Perhaps all you perceive him as is the monster of your past.

He slowly takes your hand in his, loose enough that you could pull away with no resistance. You almost do - until your eyes, wide and teary and fearful, meet his. Whether it is fear of the monster you see in his face or a desperate plea for help, he can’t tell. “Can you hear me, dove? You’re alright. You’re safe.”

Gale dashes over with a canteen of water. Karlach drops her battle axe in favor of rushing to your side. Shadowheart starts kneeling by your side, hoping she can provide any help. Wyll is just starting to approach when Astarion nearly growls and waves them all away with a hand. “Go away! Give them space!”

“They’re-!”

“Not physically injured,” he barked at the cleric. “They’re panicking. Back. Up.”

Shadowheart frowns, but she gets up and backs a few paces away. Gale drops the water by Astarion and retreats. Karlach has to be stopped by Wyll - too blinded by her worry to register how angry Astarion is. Lae’zel watches on, weapon still drawn.

Your eyes have been fixed on him the whole time. The sneer drops once they’re far enough away from you.

“It’s alright, dear, just breathe.” He pulls your hand to his chest. There’s no heartbeat, but, though he doesn’t need to, he makes a show of breathing deeply. His lungs and chest expand with each breath. “Come on, love, breathe with me. You’re safe.”

His words finally seem to reach you. You wheeze and choke as you force your breathing to slow down and follow his. He’s sure his heart would have stuttered with relief if it still beat. “That’s it. That’s it.”

The entire camp is anxious as they watch on. It takes much too long before you’re beginning to breathe normally. Your face is red and wet and snotty from crying, but you don’t have the energy or presence to care. Nobody else does, either.

“You’re safe,” Astarion repeats for the up-teenth time. He squeezed your hand gently. “Nobody is going to hurt you. Alright?”

You shakily nod. The fact you could answer eased his concern immensely. The haze of your nightmare finally lifted. You were now all-too-aware of your sweat-drenched body, of the tears on your face, and of everyone else watching your breakdown. You sighed, sapped of energy. “I’m sorry,” you croaked.

“Don’t you dare,” he chastises immediately.

You sniff as you lean forward, dropping your head against his shoulder. He’s not wholly comforted with the knowledge that snot was getting on his shirt, but, he supposed, it was better than leaving you to suffer. He’d be cleaning it first light, though. He wraps an arm around your back and tangles his other hand in your hair. Your hand falls from his chest and around his waist, where you weakly hang on to the fabric of his shirt.

Over your shoulder, Astarion nods to the others. They’re reluctant to leave, but if they stay they risk being yelled at by him again. Karlach is the last to leave. She gives him a pointed look - silently telling him that she demands answers in the morning - and he nods, if only to get her to leave you alone.

“You’re alright, dear. I’m here.”

“Don’t leave,” you whimpered into his shoulder.

He stroked your hair. “I won’t,” he promised. “I’m right here.”

---

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[jumpywhumpywriter]

Whumpee & His Collar part 1

Warnings: tight collar around Whumpee's neck, severely restricted breathing, mentions of beating and past torture & conditioning, panic attack and choking

Finally got around to writing the story from THIS ask I received awhile ago (sorry Anon that it took so long!)

Whumpee had messed up. He had seriously messed up. But the problem was, he had no idea how. Everything had been going so well -- Caretaker was much nicer to him than Whumper ever was, helping him slowly heal and become more confident as a person.

But today, Caretaker tried to take off his collar. The leather collar wrapped tight around his neck that only barely gave him enough room to breathe.

When Caretaker had asked if she could touch his collar, he hadn't realized she meant take it off. Taking it off always meant horrific agony awaited him back when he was in Whumper's hands.

The collar was everything to Whumpee. It was the only way he had of knowing his old master's mood, and if he had been a good Whumpee. Whumper had put the collar on as a gift, so he could know when he had done something wrong or right. The only times Whumper took it off were when he was about to brutally tortured Whumpee to within an inch of death, because Whumper didn't want him to pass out as fast from lack of oxygen if he hyperventilated, and also so he could hear every scream, howl, and wail of pain that left Whumpee during punishments.

Sometimes Whumper would loosen the collar, just a little, to cause Whumpee a bit of anxiety, as a silent warning that he wasn't living up to his impossibly high standards. Somehow, Whumpee was never good enough for him, and many days ended with the collar coming off, followed by a vicious beating. The looser the collar by the end of the day, the worse it would be for him.

Whumper always reminded him that when the collar came off, it meant he was unwanted, unlovable, worthless. It meant that Whumper could choose to kill Whumpee and abandon him like an unwanted dog on the street, but was graciously letting him live by putting the collar back on as a symbol of ownership.

Whumpee had learned to respect the collar with life-or-death urgency, do anything to keep it on and avoid the living hell that awaited him if it ever came off. Even though it constantly hurt to breathe, it was a small price to pay for being allowed to stay alive. It was only a minor inconvenience, really, and he would never complain about such a thing. Even if it meant he could never do any physically strenuous work or activities without ending up panting and wheezing and gasping for air.

He didn't want to breathe without the restrictive collar on. Because being able to breath right always meant PAIN. He was terrified of being able to breathe freely. And now he'd done something terrible to anger Caretaker, and he didn't even know what he'd done wrong. But Caretaker was trying to take the collar off, which meant she was going to hurt and torture him for hours on end and making him scream his throat and lungs raw and--

Whumpee recoiled away from Caretaker's hands so hard he ended up sprawled across the floor, desperately scooting away from her with hands raised placatingly, pleading and desperate.

"Please!" Whumpee rasped past the collar choking his throat, "whatever I did, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Tell me what I can do to fix it and I will! Please don't take my collar off, please--" a hiccupping sob escaped him, and then he burst into tears, body trembling and shaking violently with all-consuming terror. "Please don't stop loving me!" He wailed frantically. "I'll be so good for you! I'll never make another mistake, if you show me how to be perfect again! You don't have to torture me to get me to obey! Please--"

Caretaker looked worried and confused and also horrified by Whumpee's intense reaction. "What are you talking about? Whumpee, what's going on?" She took a few steps toward him to comfort him, but Whumpee scrambled backwards across the floor, flattening himself against the nearest wall, frightened tears streaming freely down his face.

He was cornered, unable to escape whatever punishment Caretaker planned to carry out once his collar was off. He should have known better. Known better than to believe Caretakers false promises never to hurt him. It was only a matter of time before Whumpee messed it all up, and now he'd pay the price for his insolence.

Caretaker didn't stop coming closer, and Whumpee's throat felt like it was closing up the harder he cried, each breathing coming harder than before until he was gasping raggedly, unable to get a full breath in before the collar choked him and he let out another helpless sob.

Stupid, stupid Whumpee, he told himself. It was all his fault -- he deserved whatever Caretaker was going to do to him. And now he was digging his own grave deeper by flinching away from her -- he wasn't supposed to move away from Whumper when he wanted to touch and adjust his collar, or the consequences would be that much worse.

Whumpee cried even harder at remembering that. He couldn't do anything right, it seemed. He'd let himself get too comfortable, forgot the most important rules beaten into him every day of his life for four solid years by Whumper.

Caretaker slowly sat down in front of his shivering form and scooted close, inches away from where Whumpee had pulled his knees to his chest and was sobbing wretchedly, panicking.

"Sweetheart, I don't know what's happening right now," Caretaker said worriedly. "I was only trying to take off your collar so you could breathe better, it looked so uncomfortable to wear, and you've been here for three weeks without removing it yourself. I only wanted to help -- I didn't mean to startle you. Don't you want to be able to breathe normally again...?

"I don't want to breathe, it's fine, I don't want to breathe," Whumpee wheezed over and over again, like a desperate mantra. But his crying was making it even harder than usual to draw air through his compressed throat, and it felt a lot like he was suffocating. Or like the times when Whumper had lashed out in a fit of rage and choked him out repeatedly. The collar was tight around his neck, digging into his skin with every strained breath he took.

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[lethalchiralium]

I Will Think Of You As I Surely Drown | Happiness Series

a/n: a huge thank you to my lovely editor, @as-is-above-so-below

warnings: mentions of trauma, therapy

summary: Healing is a journey and you're finding your footing on what seems to be a frozen lake, while Simon deals with what it means to break promises.

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When you woke up in the hospital, you felt frozen. Time moved around you, things happened quickly, and words were exchanged faster than currency. The IV in your arm hurt, pulsated with every heartbeat, and your hands sizzled with a faraway pain. Your head felt like a block of ice, and your belly and back pulsated with a dull ache; your throat throbbed, the air being sucked out of your lungs and forced in, and then the sight of Lloyd’s face. Or rather, what you thought was Lloyd. You couldn’t help it–he was all you saw in your head while you slept. God, how long were you sleeping? It didn’t matter, your not-so-heavy hand found the bed remote and pressed the call button more times than you could count.

The figure beside you stood quickly, ducking away from the bed and some breed of fear clawed its way out of your stomach to bash its way into your chest. The shock had left as fast as it came when a squeal escaped you, the red-hot, constricting discomfort of fear encompassing your chest. You could feel your body fighting the breathing tube in your throat, so you could take in more air, hyperventilate. Because, how could he be here? He’s dead, you killed him, his face bashed in for everything he fucking did to you and could have done to your baby and everything you–

The overhead fixture flooded the room with harsh, fluorescent light, and that’s when you could see the perpetrator - but it wasn’t him at all. In a thin sweatshirt, an old pair of sweatpants, and a heavy set of eye bags, was Simon. Not Lloyd. He was dead. It was your husband, your Simon, your protector. 

Tears fell from your eyes, and even as new bodies invaded your view, your beat-up hand reached for him instinctively. The ringing in your ears forced you to rely on your whines as the nurses tended to you, taking the breathing and feeding tubes out, and checking your pulse and blood pressure. Your eyes stayed on Simon. His face looked sunken in, hair greasy, almost plastered down to his scalp. He was paler than usual, his eyes red, hands fidgeting as he cried. Your beating heart cried out for him; the second your mouth was free from the tubes, you tried to speak, but only a broken squeak escaped. The nurse moved out of the way and he was back at your side in a second, hands hovering over where they’d usually hold your face. The heave in your chest as you cried only made him shy away more. 

I need you. I need you to hold me and tell me everything's gonna be okay.  

But he doesn’t. He had no words. Not in his heart or his brain. Nothing but sobs and kisses to your unmarred cheek, and his nose pressed into your hair. 

How your brother looked at you when Simon brought him in made tears roll faster than ever. It was a look you’ve only seen once - when you broke your arm playing soccer as an eight-year-old. It wasn’t your fault; a girl had shoved you and another trampled over you, breaking it just a few inches from your wrist. Any closer and it would’ve fucked your ability to write. Jake sprinted across the field and picked you up, telling you it would be okay, even though his eyes were full of tears that matched yours. 

He settled in a chair beside you, opposite Simon, petted your head, and wiped your tears away with his thumb. In all of your years of following him around, always worried about getting in trouble or getting hurt, nothing had ever changed - he was still your comfort, the person you trust to take care of you when you’re hurt, and you knew that he would protect you with everything he had.

That comfort did nothing to lessen the guilt that plagued you once you realized you were happier to see him than Simon. 

“Didn’t mean to be late. I didn’t know you were awake.” He rubbed the bed just parallel to your arm. “How are you?”

“She can’t talk much,” Simon spoke quietly. You looked over at him. His eyes were irritated, his hair disheveled, and he held your finger left out of the cast. At least he was saving you from having to speak, talking hurt more than you cared to admit. You couldn’t tell them how you felt, what happened, or describe the flood of broken pieces on the shore that was your mind. 

Jake hummed in acknowledgment, your eyes fell on him. “Well, I’m glad you’re awake, and that you’re okay.” The feeling of Simon’s head against your thigh was normal to you now, the crown nestled just beside your knee, and you couldn’t help but raise your hand then lay it on the back of his neck. Jake watched with a tired gaze before he spoke your name. “I’m staying to help you as long as I can. With the kids, and you. Just until you don’t need me.” 

“Price is staying too,” Simon rumbled, and your heart stung again. Something akin to anger nestled there at the mention of the captain. Not at him, but more towards Simon - all you wanted to see when staring up at that cloudy sky, wounded and bleeding, was Simon, but you got John instead. 

“Thank you.” The whisper left your lips before you looked back at the TV, desperately fighting the disappointment in Simon. Jake nodded to himself in the corner of your eye, and Simon’s chest slowed to steady breaths as he finally found sleep for the first time since you woke up. 

You wished you were little again, back when you could pretend everything was okay by just forgetting about the pain; lying about whether you cried or not. Pretending you didn’t have nightmares. Lie and pretend. Lie and pretend. 

Easier said than done.

“I don’t want to be here.”

“But, you need to be.”

“You aren’t even a normal civilian therapist. All you’re gonna do is parrot everything I say straight to Price and get Simon in trouble.”

The woman took her glasses off, then moved the plastic clipboard from her lap before she leaned forward toward you. The blanket on your lap barely did anything to keep you warm. Curled as much as you could on your wheelchair, you watched the therapist in her blouse and slacks as she examined you like an organism on a petri dish beneath a microscope. 

“This is a safe space for you. It doesn’t seem like it, but it is. Kate Laswell specifically made sure you could meet with me right away. These appointments fall under HIPPA.”

“But you’re still military. This is for their record of what happened, so they can play accountant for the money they spent to save me.”

“This is your third appointment, and you just now have an issue.”

“I’m only here because it makes Simon feel better.”

Marli - the kind, indifferent therapist - looked at you with such…you couldn’t place it. It wasn’t sympathy, it wasn’t anger or bitterness or disgust, it was…your foggy mind couldn’t produce the word. 

“You’re not here because you want to be.” A statement. A correct one, but it stung to hear. 

“No.”

“And you’ve said multiple times that you don’t want Simon to hear or read the transcripts. Or Captain Price, or Sergeant MacTavish.“

“Only Gaz. If you have to give someone the report, Gaz.” 

“Only Sergeant Garrick, because he’s not as close to Simon.” 

“He’s close, just…” You sighed. “Kyle keeps secrets just fine. Soap’s a blab and Price…I don’t want his best friends to hear what happened and tell him. I don’t even…I don’t-” Your hand moved slowly to rest on your chest, below your collarbone, and above your heart. You applied pressure there with your fingertips. A comforting touch, something to stop the pain you get in your lungs when you start to think about what happened. “I know it’s our third session, I know they were to get adjusted to you from the last girl, but today’s not the day to talk about it. It’s just not.”

She crossed her leg over her knee and adjusted the blanket on her lap, her clipboard still in her tight grasp as she leaned back in her comfortable chair. “That’s fine. We can start slow, and build up to some things. The original retelling we have from you is-”

“I am not doing that again. I’m not–I’m not telling another one of you what happened, okay? It’s not fucking happening today. I just want to sit here and answer your stupid fucking boring questions so I can pretend I’m not a victim! For one fucking hour!” Your free hand hit the armrest of your wheelchair, emphasizing your position, before you tugged your blanket up to cover more of your stomach. “I want to leave. I want Simon. Tell him to come get me, I want to go home.”

Marli sighed, nodded, and placed her blanket and clipboard on the low side table beside her. She looked at you, as you looked away from her, focusing on the small fish tank again. “You won’t be leaving a session early after this. In our next session, we will be talking about the event. Prepare yourself.”

You waved her off as you watched the blue fish slowly peck at the glass that enclosed it. 

Everything is normal in your house. In your bathroom. Your husband washed your hair and ducked out to get your clothes, but you still needed to brush your teeth.

Normal. Normal things for the Riley household. 

The sound of clicking in your subconscious seemed to scratch at a wiry pocket in your brain, digging with dirty fingernails, the itch so deep that the sensation made you nauseous. You reached for your toothbrush with your dominant hand, your bad hand, but you shook your head and grabbed it with your sore, uninjured hand. Pinky and ring finger curled, grasp so flimsy that a breeze could throw your yellow toothbrush from your palm. A sharp pain radiated in your index finger, pulsing at the same rate as the click in your head. Click, click, click, click, click. Your eyes finally fell upon your task, seeing your swollen hand; stitch holes, and jagged, healing scabs from where you shredded the top of your hand on the stone and Lloyd’s face.

Lloyd. 

Your eyes stayed open, stung with every short breath of air from the fan and tears. If you blinked, you would be back in that basement, the sound of the sink running to hide Mellie’s crying, and your screams for Lloyd to get away. 

Click, click, click, click, click. 

A short rap at the bathroom door made your head snap to the left. Your heart stammered when you saw Simon, your clothes in one hand and a worried look on his face. He wasn’t good at hiding his emotions, but he tried. You wanted to let yourself fall into the overwhelming fear, let yourself scramble away and scream until he left you alone. You wanted to scream and cry until you couldn’t anymore, like you did two days before. You wanted to wallow in silence; sit in your bathtub, press your broken cheekbone to the cool porcelain, and knees to chest until you disappeared under the lip of the tub. 

In your need for solitude and overwhelming misery, only anger answered the haunting clicking in your head. Click, click, click, and your toothbrush was thrown to the floor, tears welled in your eyes. Unwavering rage climbed out of that stringy, tangled pocket of your mind and filled your body with a buzz. Simon was quick to stay in your sight and keep his hands near himself. 

“What do you need?”

A shovel and a baseball bat. One to dig Lloyd up, and the other to beat the shit out of his fucking corpse, because he deserved more of a beating than he got. He deserved to have his skull crushed even more, messy chunks splattered across the ground like a pumpkin. Lloyd has to be rotting in Hell, that is what you need to hear. You need his face to stop morphing onto Simon’s, and stop being plastered on random faces. You need the nightmares to stop, or something to escape them. Maybe a cigarette. Or an edible. Or a bottle of tequila. Or a large bottle of wine, or three. Escape reality for just a minute, a time when you’re not bordering on a panic attack in the bathroom where you miscarried your son, or being pitied by your brother and your husband, or unable to hold your children. All you need is to tuck their heads of curls into your chest. Take the jagged pieces of yourself and hide them away from the clicks and anger, just to save them from the flood. 

You’ll have to find the words sometime. It’s easier to conjure them for a stupid therapist that you don’t know than it is to scavenge them for Simon. There’s not much to say to your husband and nothing to say to the son of your…attacker.

Attacker. Let’s go with that. 

“Honey, what do you need?”

A breath rattled your pain-wrapped chest. “A cigarette.”

He huffed a chuckle, and his left hand grabbed your sleep shirt. An old, worn shirt of his with a faded Metallica logo on the front, well-loved by him, and then you. You’ve worn it for two years, the majority of your relationship, and it’s one of your favorites. Holes in the sleeve, and threads loose at the bottom so the hem is a little fucked; you weren’t sure why, but you pushed it away. With your bruised and swollen hand, not the cast one. 

Why not the cast? You pushed everything away with it—the stuffed animals, the blankets, the physical contact from anyone but your children. Why the sudden change? Did something turn in your brain when you saw the black t-shirt, the comfort of it? Did it no longer serve its purpose as a comfort item? Your bruised hand shoved at the pants and the underwear, and your stomach finally caught up to your brain - nausea settled in your cheeks like magma. The feeling of anything on your skin felt like a death sentence, the feeling of the bathtub against naked skin sounded like a grace of the angels, and why did you keep crying when the anger seemed to disperse like mice?

None of it made sense. 

You hated the look in Simon’s eyes. The look of confusion, of worry. He doesn’t need to be confused about this. You can do what you want. You’re allowed to be angry and upset and push away clothes that make you want to puke your guts out into the sink. 

Click, click, click.

If he could stomach leaving you, abandoning you, then he’d have to stomach this too. Him not being there, having broken his promise to keep you and your children safe. 

Your eyes followed Simon as he kneeled, picked up every article of clothing, then placed them back on the sink. His eyes observed your face, your eyes, and he took a half step back. “M’gonna change Mellie. Yell f’me if you need help getting dressed.” He was gone the moment after, the bathroom door pressed into its latch with a deafening click, and you were left alone again. 

Click, click, click. 

A warm sensation started in your chest, nestled deep in your sternum and came on as suddenly as it moved around your body, enveloping you. It made you want to remember, but you could not place the sound from where-

You had observed the basement door’s lock had to be jiggled around to be unlocked. There were usually three clicks when unlocking the door, followed by the henchmen talking or Lloyd appearing at your bedside. He would sit, hand on your knee as he spoke with an even tone about your life, his intent for you and your infant. The life you’d live as a trafficked woman, and how Mellie would be sold off to a wealthy family. The way he crooned about how you’d never see Winnie or Simon again, how he constricted your body to the bed with that fucking smile and-

A thud came as you fell to your knees, a warbled cry escaping your lips as your plastered hand settled on the rim of the sink - the free fingers curled around the edge. The soft cotton of what was once your favorite shirt grazed your fingertip, and disgust roared its nasty head in your stomach. 

What do you need?

Click. 

Your shaking lungs finally freed a breath you didn’t know you were holding, as you allowed yourself to melt onto the white tile floor. You don’t remember the last time you mopped - or much of anything - but it didn’t matter. There wasn’t an inch of you now that could care about germs, about the grime growing in the corners and crevices; only about how soothing the cool surface of the tiles felt. 

Half of your forehead pressed against the floor, you exhaled, and exhaustion sunk its claws deep.

Simon returned only a couple minutes later, his warm hands covering you with the softest blanket he could find before he settled himself in the doorway. When you woke up from your nap, he planned to help you back to bed. It was easier to keep an eye on you and his babies from the threshold. Winnie was still sleeping peacefully on an air mattress, covered in blankets at the foot of his bed, and Mellie finally nestled into a corner of her pack-and-play; Simon watched her nod off before he looked back at you. 

He wanted to reach out, stroke your face, fix your hair, but he didn’t. His hand sat limply on his lap.

Coward. Coward, coward, coward.

The nightmares only get worse as the days go on. Comforting you is easy.

But comforting Mellie? If Simon were a softer man he would’ve crumbled into dust. Holding his infant as she screamed, little fists hitting his face and chest, the endless wailing - feet kicking his stomach; he was sure that if he had eaten anything yesterday, her kicking would’ve made him sick. He gently rubbed her back, his cheek against her temple as she thrashed, exhausted and scared. It made Simon want to combust. 

He hasn’t been able to get close to her in days; see her little brown eyes, button nose, her three little bottom teeth when she smiles. All he wanted was to comfort his child, but she wanted nothing to do with him.

A sudden touch to his shoulder and Simon jolted. Mellie’s cries intensified as he turned to see Price - a tired look in his eye but his arms out. That was the routine now; Mellie would wake up from a nightmare, and Simon would try to help, but ultimately hand her to Price, who offered to be their live-in aid until you and the girls got back on your feet. Simon didn’t waste a second handing his child off to her godfather, who calmed her in the time it took Simon to wipe his face and sit in the rocking chair. Anger simmered like a pot to boil, hot water scalding Simon’s body with burns he’d never heal.

He had faith in, trust, and love for his brother-in-arms. But that didn’t ease the burn of watching how easy it was for him to fix what Simon should have had the balls to. 

It was so easy for a man who had nothing to repair Simon’s broken family, the family he disassembled, and it made Simon want to throw punches at a brick wall.

He had everything and he threw it all away for the job.

He found solace in the punching bag at the base gym, wrapped hands, and a tense stance.

One, two.

One, two.

The bag swayed with every punch. No headphones this time; the gym was abnormally quiet in this corner. Everyone decided that Lieutenant Riley needed his space, especially since every rookie who even breathed near him got to clean latrines with their toothbrush. Or paint all of the gravel on base a nice, thick coat of white. There was peace in this corner - a man and a quiet sack of sand to keep him on his toes. 

One, two, a deep breath, and Simon sent another two punches, harder than the last. His eyes narrowed, balanced on the balls of his feet, core tensioned to hell, he was full of rage, guilt, and a sick feeling of shame. With every punch, his knuckles felt fire, and his soul didn’t feel any lighter. He tried to stay out of his head and punch the bag, but all he could see was his father, bloodied and on the floor after Simon’s punch put him there. One two. He could feel how punching Lloyd felt again, so hard that he thought he had broken his fingers. With every punch to the bag, he tried to figure out how you broke your hand. By a certain point, he understood. He also wanted to beat Lloyd’s face in until he couldn’t move, and wouldn’t again.

“LT.”

Simon punched the bag again. “She done?”

“Twenty more minutes.” 

“Then why the fuck are you botherin’ me?” One two.

Soap stood off to the side, hands in his pockets as he watched his friend. Simon ignored his presence briefly and threw harder punches, making the bag sway like a leaf in the wind. His stance was tense, and completely closed off; the man was ready to rip a hole in the bag. Soap approached him, but only to be in his field of vision. 

“Widen yer feet, LT.” 

“Fuck off.” One two.

“Widen yer feet. Ye'r too tense. Ye'r gonnae break yer hand.”

“This is not the time to be my fuckin’ friend, Soap.”

“Th' babies are cryin’ fur ye. So, finish up 'ere 'n'-”

The bag suddenly swung toward Soap. He pushed it back. Simon punched it again, harder, and Soap pushed it back again. 

“Brother, we’re gonnae help whether ye lik' it or nae, but th' girls want ye. And ye need nae goosed hands to take care of yer babies.”

Simon punched the bag with all his might, throwing his full weight into it. The bag hit Soap before he turned away, his fists and teeth clenched. He hustled into the locker room, grabbed his bag from the locker in the corner, and threw a sweatshirt over his sweaty t-shirt. He was prepared for Winnie to comment on his stench, for Mellie to cry the second he picked her up, and to see your full expression before he wheeled you to the car.

The therapy sessions were daily now. Jake had returned to the U.S. a couple days ago, and Simon had no one to watch the kids at home. The daycare on base was the only option. Winnie was too old for it, but he refused to let her go back to school, at least for another few days. She wasn’t ready yet. He just needed enough time for you to get on your feet, into a new normal, then Winnie could go back to school and be the social butterfly she always was.

He’s glad the daycare is nearby, he was silent when he signed out the girls, keeping Mellie close to his chest and a firm and gentle grip on Winnie’s hand. He was early, but he didn’t want to talk to Soap. He didn’t want to talk to anyone about this. The carefully wrapped bandage holding his anger together was close to ripping, the pain and shame of not being the one to protect you, to save you and Mellie was destroying him. A sick part of him didn’t want to fix it; let himself feel your pain and suffering as punishment. He was already riddled with guilt that he couldn’t protect you going forward, not from your mind; and ashamed that his teammates were living in his house, taking care of his kids while Simon focused on your care. 

He should be able to do this alone. He’d lost a lover and raised their baby alone, he’d suffered years of abuse alone, and he was sure he’d die alone too. 

Mellie’s whimpers softened when you’re wheeled out to him, her little hand reaching out for you, and you stretched to meet her. Simon placed your daughter in your lap like always, and your bruised arms wrapped around her. Winnie squeezed Simon’s hand. He looked at her, the messy ponytail and worried look on her face, and felt nothing but gut-wrenching shame in his belly.

“Let’s go, girls,” he said softly, letting go of Winnie to push your wheelchair. “We’ll pick up dinner on the way home.”

It’s the middle of the night and Simon hasn’t left your side in hours. Your fingers curled in his hair as you finally slept peacefully, his head cradled against your chest. The TV hummed with the sound of an action movie you put on for him, which he ignored in favor of laying beside you, just…being in your presence, feeling your chest expand, listening to your heartbeat. He rested his hand on your belly, hoping to feel some sort of moving from your newest addition.

That peace was all he wanted.

He hasn’t allowed himself that comfort since he sat beside you in the hospital for two weeks straight. Then, you were like crumbling paper, any unplanned touch would destroy you. 

Yet, here he was. Head on your heart, sleep nudging at his eyes – but he fought it off. He was conscious of his weight, only his shoulder and arm on you. It had taken two more weeks to get to the point where Simon could sleep with you. The air mattress fucked with his hip, but he refused to complain. Both of you danced around what happened, but he knew that what you went through was worse than he could ever imagine. He thumbed your belly as he daydreamed about the normal conversations you should be having. Names for the baby, suspicions about what the sex could be, what you wanted to do differently, what color to paint the nursery. 

He wouldn’t tell you, but he wanted another girl. He wanted to keep the nursery yellow and move his office into the basement so Mellie could have that room. He’d been eyeing a nice floor bed for her to transition to. He had so many plans, so many things he wanted to do, but he needed your approval. Craved it. Wanted you to get better, mentally and physically, so you could enjoy a pregnancy together, for the first time.

He wanted Mellie’s upcoming first birthday to be exciting for you, marking the end of your first year raising a baby. He wanted you to see Mellie without vicious memories attached, her cries whisking you away to a place in your mind that he couldn’t save you from. He wanted you to look at Winnie without fear of losing her. He wanted you to stop looking at him like he destroyed you, not his father. He wanted you to stop finding safety in Price and Alejandro and Rudy, the men who located and saved you. He wanted to be the person who rescued you; he wanted that closure, the ability to unload his magazine into his father’s head.

Simon wanted many things. Yet, he kept them in his head like all of his opinions about the situation - it’s shit. He hated seeing you and the girls in pain, and he hated Price and Laswell for keeping the kidnapping from him.

He wanted to toss and turn. He wanted to throw off the blanket, go out to the garage, and have a go with the punching bag for an hour. No gloves, no wrap; just knuckles, and canvas - sure, some tears, anything for the escape. There’s selfishness in want, craving so insatiable at times that he had to give pause. A silent moment to breathe, let his mind wander, and define his needs - you and the girls. Those were his only needs. His “wants” could fill a thousand pages, all ready to fire away with the strike of a match. 

A fingernail scraped against his scalp and a low sigh escaped his chest. His cheek nudged your chest before he mumbled, “G’back t’sleep.”

“Off.”

He was instantly detached from you, little bubbles of darkness edging his vision from the dizziness as he flipped onto his back. His arm was still settled under your back, unsure if taking it back was the right move until you let out a whine of pain, and then-

A sigh of contentment as your cheek nestled on his shoulder, good arm settled on his chest, your hand gripping his ID tags. His arm curled around your back and he kissed your hair as you grew drowsy again.

“Love you, my missus.”

A weak hum left you. “Love you, Si.”

Simon’s head dug deeper into his pillow, and his eyes fell on the TV for just a moment before they moved to you. He almost didn’t want to look, out of fear of spooking you away. Voluntary touch was nonexistent until this moment, and he didn’t want to risk its end. Simon watched the delicate movements of your chest as you breathed, the blanket still tangled in your bodies, and reveled in your cold toes pressed into the side of his calf. He kissed your hair again before his nose found residency there, and his eyes finally closed. If there was a sense of bliss to be found, it would be right there in that bedroom, with a husband holding his wife as she slept peacefully. 

“…concerning behavior from her, and we’re not quite sure what could have brought it on.” 

He gazed at his daughter’s face, the tears and snot that ran down it, and the shame that covered it. She was a Riley, facing danger head-on - she didn’t break her father’s eye contact. If he were his father, her ass would’ve been bruised the second he walked into the office. 

But he wasn’t his father. Instead, Simon’s child stood in front of him, crying, but not scared of him. She felt safe to do so, and it made Simon feel confused. He was proud yet ashamed of his child’s actions and the thought made his stomach twist. 

“We know you and your wife have had a difficult month. Winnie has been fine the last few days, but we just can’t get her to stop…”

Crying. Bursting into tears in the middle of a lesson, and hiding in the corner with the stuffed animals. 

Simon let his hand gently brush her hair from her face, her little body trembling as she cried harder. He was quick to pull her into his lap, let her tears drench his sweatshirt, and her little hands hold onto him for dear life. He kissed her hair before looking at the headmaster, softly saying, “I’ll be keeping her home for the rest of the week.”

The woman nodded. “I understand.” She waved a little at the five-year-old, “Have a good week, Ms. Winnie.”

Simon grabbed her princess backpack, put it on his free shoulder, and kept her close to his chest. He weaved through the front office, out of the building, through the front gate, and started their walk home.  Winnie’s forehead was pressed to his neck as he looked both ways on the street before he crossed, even when the crosswalk light was green. The occasional thought rattled around in his head, but nothing of substance. He bristled when the breeze whipped against her hair and his face. 

The winter was letting up, getting warmer the closer it got to Mellie’s birthday, but Simon couldn’t find cause for excitement. Not when his daughter was sobbing and whimpering on his shoulder, and not when his baby wailed so hard that she turned blue in the face, not when his wife was fighting a battle he could not see.

He is the lone light atop a rocky cliff, guiding the boats taking on water to shore. And the house that holds the light is burning to the ground.

“Daddy.”

A few more streets to cross and they’ll be home. Simon felt Winnie shiver a little, and he huddled closer to her. “Yes, duckling.”

Her teeth chattering made his heart break. Even with her warmest coat on, she was still freezing. “Is Mama - a bad person?”

Under the snow-topped trees of the park, Simon Riley stopped mid-step. He had been cataloging every person they walked past, every pram that bustled by, every tree that crackled with the sound of ice thawing. He threw caution to the wind, pulled Winnie’s head from his neck, and looked her in the eye, “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

She tried to tuck her head back down, but he made her look at him. She wiped the snot on her face with her sleeve. “You always say that good things happen to good people.”

Dammit. Good parenting, always biting him in the ass. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little proud of himself, but he couldn’t deny how his heart burned with agony. 

“And bad things happen to bad people. Is Mama bad?”

“No. No, never in a million years is Mama a bad person.” His icy hand brushed her tears away, pushing down his fear, and spoke, “I am the bad person.”

“…You?”

He didn’t expect his nose to prickle, or his eyes to burn. “I’m the bad person that bad things happen to. My choices. I save the world, yes, but I have to do bad things to do it.”

“So…the bad people who took Mama and Mellie… did you-”

“No. I didn’t tell anyone to take them away. The people that I stop…they did that because they don’t like me.”

“But, Daddy, I think you’re a good person.”

Simon’s hand curled around the back of Winnie’s head, cradling it as he spoke even softer, “I know you do. Daddy is a good person. But when I wear the mask, when I’m Ghost…”

“Ghost isn’t a good person.”

“No, he isn’t, love. The bad guys made choices that hurt Mama and Mellie. And I’m trying to fix what they hurt.”

“So Mama’s not bad.”

He shook his head. “No. Just me.”

“No, Daddy’s good.” Her cold little hands settled on Simon’s cheeks, and his bleeding heart warmed just a little. “Ghost is bad.”

“Okay, duckling.” He pushed her hair from her face and some feeling of sickly sweet warmth nestled in his head as he memorized his daughter’s little face for the nth time. His smile, his eyes, his curly hair, everything he took from his own mother. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Winnie’s forehead before he rested his cheek there, eyes closed, “I believe you.”

[luveline]

could you do one with aaron or spencer?

maybe reader and hotch/reid are on a case together and end up being taken hostage by the perp and then reader has a panic attack while they’re stuck, just them two and the perp in the room, and hotch/reid comforts her??

💕💕

ty for ur request ♡ —hotch calms you down when you panic while being held prisoner. fem!reader, 1.1k

cw criminal minds typical gore and violence, reader having a panic attack

The floor is spotted with blood spots like black mould, a fine spray of dark red interrupted by the place where you'd been kneeling. Pulled back now, the unsub has you handcuffed to a pipe under a snug sink, short, your neck bent to fit. You think I won't fucking kill you? Sit still.

You're trapped. Tied and trapped, waiting for the unsub to snap. And the worst part is that Hotch is here to watch it happen. 

Hotch tried to de-escalate the situation, and for the most part it worked, but the unsub has yet to let you go. He stands panting and lilting from side to side, barrel of a gun tapping bruises into his temple. Every thwack makes you jump, sure that this will be the moment he turns his pistol on you. You're trained for this, you know what to do, but training can't prepare you for the reality of a hopeless situation. 

You're going to die here. Hotch is going to die here. 

You can't breathe. Legs crossed, you're slouched into yourself, the flat of your chest tight like the air has been suctioned from your lungs. The room is dark, shadows bouncing in the corners. The only light comes from a yellow strip above the sink mirror. 

"Fucking stupid," the unsub mutters, his voice choked with tears. "Stupid, stupid." He sounds agonised. 

You've all the raw panic of a bear trapped in metal maws, sharp pain at your wrist like certain death. You've given up on breaking free, rivulets of blood streaking from the broken skin ringing your arm down to your elbow. Every breath teases another drop. 

"Breathe," Hotch says, the metal on his cuff rattling. It's the first time he's moved since he woke up, a picture of calm while you'd been ragging yourself raw. "Y/N, listen to me… Take a nice, deep breath." 

"Shut up! Did I say you could talk?" the unsub seethes.

"My talking won't affect how this situation ends," Hotch says, with the gentle tone he uses while speaking to victims. "But if she panics, you won't be able to control her. I can calm her down." 

"Shut up shut up! Make her shut up!" 

Hotch's handcuffs rattle again. "Y/N, give me your hand. Reach out for me." You shake your head, your one free hand wedged between your legs. "Reach out for me. Please." 

You try to keep your gasping contained, that pushing, pulling war for air, a pervasive ache all the way to your fingers. You slide your hand across the floor. Hotch can't reach you fully, but he can lay his fingertips on top of yours. They're cold for once.

The unsub changes his mind, irate, a hacking cough of a voice as he grabs you by the back of the head and forces you up, ripping your hand away from Hotch's. "Fucking useless bitch. Keep your head up or I'll kill you. I'll kill you." 

You bite back a sob. You truly can't breathe, the panic attack twisting and twisting like a hand between your ribs, a corkscrew opener, your hyperventilating a white hot heat that eats up your throat. 

"You have to let me calm her down," Hotch says.

The unsub grabs you by the hair and turns to Hotch with fury on his face. You frown at Hotch through tears in a plea for help, knowing there's nothing he can do and wanting it desperately anyways. His eyes set, the line between his brows deepening, and his voice hardens. 

"I promise you that if you keep hurting her, I'll pay it back tenfold," Hotch says. 

The unsub lets you go, but his voice is dripping with smarm as he drawls, "Opposed to the gentle care I'd receive otherwise." 

Hotch pulls at his cuff, the radiator pipe it clings to buckling but not breaking under his strength. The unsub doesn't like this, doesn't like anything, and his splitting personality shifts away from cruelty and toward regret once again. He retreats to his corner. 

"You're okay," Hotch whispers, ignoring the other body in the room. "Honey, you're alright." He has a talent for surprising you, the pet name he uses like a soft touch even while your hands are bound and you're held apart. "It's going to be okay. I promise you that." 

"I'm– I can't breathe," you force out.

"Yes you can. I'll do it with you." 

Hotch looks at you steadily. "Breathe," he mouths, his face relaxing. He forms an 'o' with his lips and demonstrates a slow exhale, a bigger inhale. 

You follow his command. Hotch holds your gaze for what feels like hours but is more like ten minutes. He breathes in and out with a reassuring look about him, as though the unsub isn't there, as though you aren't both covered in blood and sitting in the gore of a dead calf. 

Your terrified panting turns to sorry sobs and then to gutted sniffles. Later, you'll feel embarrassed for losing your cool at a time that was so high stakes. Now, you unfold your legs and stretch them out, pressing the side of your shoe to Hotch's. He presses back

Morgan finds you, of course. You never should've doubted him. He floods the building with SWAT and takes your unsub alive personally. He's an amazing agent, a better friend —when he uncuffs you, he pretends not to see the way you crawl toward Hotch. 

Emily uncuffs Hotch at the same time, his big hand quick to hold your face. Then, in the same second, he wraps his arms around your shaking shoulders. 

"I'm sorry," you say, remorse thick on your tongue, apology squeezed out like a scared little kid's.

"Careful of your hand, your wrist. Don't hurt yourself worse." His voice drops to a murmur, for your ears alone. "Don't panic yourself again. Everything's okay." His hand moves down your back slowly, firmer now, "I got you." 

"Actually, I've got you," Morgan says. "Can you guys walk, or should I call in the EMTs?" 

Emily scoffs. "Morgan." 

Hotch drops his head back against the wall and sighs a long-suffering sigh. You can't see the relieved slouch of his shoulders, or the daunted look he sends Morgan. Your panic took more out of him than he's willing to show you. 

"I'll call them in," Morgan says decisively. 

[lomlhwa]

i sleep so i can see you (c.yj)

pairing: dead gf!reader x mourning bf!yeonjun

preview: what is yeonjun supposed to do when his highschool sweetheart dies suddenly, leaving him all alone.

tags/warnings: non-idol au, fem pronouns reader, taehyun's sister!reader, lots of crying, rain for dramatic effect, yeonjun is mourning and angry, mentions of the other txt members, descriptions of reader's death, alcohol abuse, reminiscing (italics are dreams/memories), eventual yeonjun death

trigger warnings: death, alcoholism, suicidal ideation, suicide

wc: 2.7k

song recs for this fic: sailor song by gigi perez

a/n: had to take a break from the intern fic series to write something out of my comfort zone

yeonjun’s vision started to get blurry and every sound around him began to sound muffled. he felt like he was floating, his feet only barely brushing the floor. the room around him was spinning, threatening to close in on him. taehyun stood in front of him with a dark expression, waiting for yeonjun to respond to what he had just said. yeonjun’s senses became overwhelmed with the need to scream at the top of his lungs. he felt like he was drowning in his own body.

dead? 

that couldn’t be possible. he had seen you only a couple hours ago. you were perfectly healthy and happy. you were excited for the dinner date you had planned for later that day. you can’t be dead. “you’re fucking lying,” yeonjun finally replies, staring through taehyun. “you’re a liar and you’re not fucking funny, kang taehyun,” he says again, his voice raising in volume, rage filling him. taehyun shakes his head, staring at the ground and stifling sobs.

yeonjun whips his phone out from his back pocket, opening his contacts. he presses on your contact, adorned with a beautiful photo he had taken of you only a couple weeks ago. his beautiful y/n. he presses the call button and holds his phone to his ear. it rings and rings until he gets to your voicemail. overcome with anger, he lets out a scream. it draws the other members out of their rooms, running to see what all the commotion is about. 

huening kai gives both yeonjun and taehyun worried glances, seeing the anger on yeonjun and sadness on taehyun. “what happened?” beomgyu asks from behind kai, worry filling the air between the unsuspecting members. “y/n is dead. she got into an accident. they said it looks like she died on impact,” taehyun answers, his voice shaking. silence fills the room. yeonjun’s knees give out, hearing taehyun say that his beloved is dead once again. he collapses to the floor, slamming his elbows on the hardwood floor so aggressively that he was guaranteed bruises.

yeonjun feels like he can’t breathe. there’s not enough oxygen in this room for him to inhale properly. he begins hyperventilating, his chest heaving at an inhuman rate. “jjun, don’t do that. come on buddy,” soobin says, crouching down to try and get him off the floor. yeonjun claws at his hair and his eyes with his nails, sobbing and screaming incoherently. “she’s not dead, she can’t be. she was just here,” he says between sobs. he can see beomgyu sliding down the wall with a dead expression on his face, trying to process. 

the idea of your horrific and tragic death sends yeonjun into a frenzy. he grips soobin’s arm and screams until his lungs hurt. he cries until his face swells and his head hurts. he hyperventilates so hard he passes out, suddenly going limp in his leader’s hold.

he’s met with a memory of the two of you. you sit in a park, basking in the evening sunlight. he always found you so gorgeous. he walked over to you slowly, taking in how perfect you looked. “jjunie!” you cried out once you noticed him, jumping up from your picnic blanket. your cute sundress flowed around you as you jumped into his arms. you never stopped being excited to see him, despite having been together for years. it always felt like the first time over and over to you. “i’ve been waiting for you. i brought all your favorite snacks so we can watch the sunset,” you smile so warmly before gesturing to the basket you had brought with you. you drag him by his hand to sit on the blanket. he smiles at you with so much love before leaning in to kiss you. just before your lips meet, he’s awoken from his episode.

he’s hit with the dark blue coldness of his current reality. you’re dead. all the members sit around him, a mix of numbness and sorrow fill the room. none of them even react to him regaining consciousness after who knows how long. taehyun paces around the kitchen just off the living room, speaking in hushed tones. “no, i don’t think you understand, i have to see her. no, no, i don’t care if she’s mangled.” yeonjun’s blood ran cold. you? mangled?

“fuck you!” taehyun cried out before pressing the ‘end call’ button and slamming his phone onto the counter. yeonjun wanders into the kitchen to speak to taehyun. “taehyun…” he starts, taehyun turning to look at him. a lump forms in his throat seeing how disheveled and distraught his beloved bandmate looks. he says nothing and wraps his arms around him, bringing him to crash against his body and hold him there. finally, taehyun breaks again, gripping yeonjun’s shirt for dear life. 

“why her, jjun? my perfect baby sister, of all people?” taehyun speaks into yeonjun’s chest, his voice muffled and cracking with every word. grief had taken over the air of the house, sucking the life out of everyone and everything. yeonjun heard the front door open and close before peering back into the living room, finding that the other members had left him and taehyun alone. 

taehyun eventually grew tired of screaming and crying and went to his room to try and sleep. yeonjun followed suit, disappearing into his own desolate loneliness. much to his dismay, his room is covered in reminders of you. photos, gifts, your scent, everything is a reminder of you. his chest heaves as he makes his final strides to his bed, laying down to face the one wall that isn't adorned with you. he gets lucky in his attempt to sleep, falling into slumber quite quickly.

yeonjun’s heart pounds in his chest as he knocks on your door, holding a bouquet of flowers. you open the door a few seconds later, your face lighting up when your eyes meet his. “hi jjunie! i didn’t know you were coming, come in,” you say, getting out of the way to let him walk into your house. he takes his shoes off and walks into your kitchen, grabbing a vase and filling it for the flowers. “so, what is the occasion for the flowers?” you ask, staring at your best friend. the look in your eyes is exactly what had made yeonjun fall for you, you just didn’t know it yet. “well, there’s something we need to talk about,” he responds, guiding you into your living room to sit on your couch together. he admires you for a moment before taking a deep breath to admit his feelings to you. “i like you. not even just like, i think i love you.” he watches as your face turns from shock to what seems like relief. “oh jjun, i feel the exact same.” he sighs in absolute relief before smiling ear to ear. you reach out your hands to hold his face and bring his mouth to yours, proving that you really did feel the same.

yeonjun is awoken to someone pounding on his bedroom door. “yeah?” he says, rolling over to see beomgyu walking into his room. “taehyun is going to see y/n at the coroner's office and wants to know if you’ll accompany him,” he says, the tone of his voice is unreadable. yeonjun shoots out of bed, not even answering him. he finds taehyun standing at the front door, fidgeting with his keys. yeonjun throws on some slides and gestures to the door. “let’s go. i’m not letting you see your little sister by yourself.” 

the drive there is eerily silent, the only noise around them is coming from the car and the people walking outside. once taehyun pulls into the parking lot, they both just sit there for a moment. “this is solely for identification purposes. they need to make sure it’s her because they said there wasn’t much left of her… uh,” taehyun gestures to his head, not having the strength to explain the state of your beautiful face. yeonjun nods, understanding taehyun’s explanation. they exit the car and enter the one place they never thought they’d have to go at their age.

they’re greeted by a secretary who pages the coroner to the lobby. “hello gentlemen. may i ask your relationship to the deceased?” he says, just wanting to make sure they weren’t strangers to you in your life. “i’m her older brother and he’s her boyfriend,” taehyun responds. the coroner nods before opening the door he had come through originally, taehyun and yeonjun following swiftly behind. 

“we have ms. kang covered from the collarbones up. i would prefer if you didn’t see the state of her neck and skull,” he pauses at the door of the room where you’re being kept. “just check her clothes, jewelry, nail polish, whatever, to see if they match what she was wearing.” he pushes the door open and yeonjun is the first to walk into the chilled room. yeonjun’s ears ring loudly as he recognizes your outfit immediately. your favorite sweater is blood stained, your pants are ripped and appear to be fused to your legs. your pretty pink manicure sits on your limp, pale fingers. 

yeonjun collapses to his knees on the floor, unable to take his eyes off of you. he can hear the muted voices of taehyun telling the coroner that it’s definitely you and the coroner apologizing for the loss. “can i see her head?” yeonjun asks, his gaze flickering to the coroner. his face contorts in concern, a look of ‘are you sure?’ yeonjun nods, rising from the floor. “no, jjun. we’re leaving. i want you to remember her as beautiful as she was,” taehyun says as he drags yeonjun all the way out of the office.

yeonjun rips his arm out of taehyun’s grip once they’re outside, anger running through his veins. “you’re a bastard, you know that? using the excuse of wanting me to remember her being beautiful because you’re scared?” taehyun’s eyes are watery and full of hurt. “you think i like being here and seeing my sister dead on a fucking table? you think i want to have to identify her based on her clothes because her head is unrecognizable? i don’t think you understand what this is doing to me,” taehyun responds, his voice expressing his true and raw misery. “i don’t want to be here either, taehyun! i wanted to marry that girl. i’ve never known the love of anyone but her and now i have to figure out how to fucking move on.” 

yeonjun stares at taehyun with an empty gaze, his brain filling with negativity. “i might as well just kill myself at this point,” he says. the words stab taehyun in the heart. he can do nothing but stare in shock at those words. taehyun clenches his fists, seemingly fighting the urge to throw punches. “get in the fucking car,” taehyun says, getting the keys from his pocket and unlocking the car. 

_________________________________________

a week has passed since your death and no one is doing well, understandably. no one can agree on anything to do with your funeral or burial. taehyun and yeonjun can barely speak to each other without fighting. it’s a constant dilemma between them about who is being more affected. 

yeonjun can barely keep himself sober for longer than a few hours. he tells himself he prefers the blurry, unforgiving feeling of drinking himself into oblivion. besides, the more he drinks, the more he sleeps, the more he sees you. that’s all he really wants, you know? his only outlet for hearing your voice and feeling your touch is through dreams. 

“jjun, you gotta stop drinking so much,” soobin says as he walks into yeonjun’s bedroom. he grabs the tequila bottle out of his hands, earning a drunken glare from yeonjun. soobin is the only member who has the strength to confront yeonjun about his drinking problem. lately, his drunken state had made him violent. no one wanted to catch his punches or have appliances thrown at them. 

yeonjun rose from his bed, stumbling a little before shoving past soobin, their shoulders colliding. “i’m going for a walk.” he leans down to put on his shoes and walks out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. it’s pouring rain when he leaves, but nothing really phasing him. in his intoxicated state, he doesn’t really know where he’s going. he doesn’t even have his phone on him for anyone to know where he’s going either.

eventually, he wanders into the forest. it’s dense and the smell of dead leaves mixed with rain is strong. his clothes stick to him disgustingly, the rain drenching him. he wipes droplets off his nose and eyelashes, struggling to see clearly through the downpour. he steps over branches and acorns, wanting to avoid slipping.

finally, yeonjun finds himself at a cliff. the waves of the water below him crash loudly. he looks out at the vast water, the storm making it look so much scarier. the isolation of the woods has yeonjun overcome by his emotions. he begins sobbing, his salty tears mixing with the rain water running down his face. he wipes his face with his damp sweater sleeve, to no avail. 

he crouches down and hugs his knees to his chest. “y/n… my beautiful y/n…” he whispers to himself. he rocks back and forth in an attempt to self-soothe. “how could you leave me like that? it’s not fucking fair that you left me behind,” he continues, the volume of his voice raising. as if the gods are listening, the storm worsens. “do you know what it feels like to live with this emptiness? i can’t function without you. all i do is drink and wish i was dead.”

 he rises from his crouched position and walks closer to the edge of the cliff. he stares down at the long drop, his stomach sinking. “i could join you right now, you know. one jump and i’m gone. is that what you want, my love? do you miss me up there?” he shivers, the wind cutting through him like ice. he stares up at the dark sky, the clouds covering the sun completely.

yeonjun makes the decision that he’s going to jump. it’s his only option. he can’t keep torturing his members like this. it has to end now. a sense of peacefulness comes over him when he decides to end his suffering. “i’m coming to see you, y/n. we’ll be together at last.”

he takes one last big breath as he backs up so he can get a running start. he charges at the edge of the cliff, his heart racing. he almost changes his mind, but it’s too late. he pushes off the edge, plummeting towards the water. as he plummets he thinks of you.

“how many babies do you think we’ll have?” he asked you, playing with your hair as you lay your head on his chest. you tapped your chin as if you were thinking. “i think two? one boy, one girl,” you smiled. you had always wanted kids and yeonjun knew you’d make the perfect mother. he nodded in agreement with you. “i think that’s perfect,” he tucked your hair behind your ear to get a better look at you. “our children will be beautiful, considering they’ll have your genes,” he complimented you. you smacked his chest, blushing profusely. “you have to put a ring on my finger before you can talk about our babies having my gorgeous genes,” you joked, holding out your left hand. little did you know that he did have a ring for you, he was just waiting for the right time.

yeonjun’s body smashed into the cold water, the wind getting knocked out of him immediately. the freezing temperatures had his body feeling like it was on fire. he struggles in the water, his lungs begging for oxygen. he can’t keep his head above water for long enough to breathe. the waves overtake him, pulling him under. his lungs fill with water, his vision going blurry. he loses consciousness for the final time, his body going limp, submitting to the tide. finally, he found peace. 

© lomlhwa 2024

[in-som-niyah]

soft/domestic!Jason with an overstimulated!reader where he just squashes her in a hug until she calms down???????/

GIVE US THISSSS PLSSS

i keep my promises <3

"These arms are always yours, love"

soft!Jason Todd x overstimulated!fem!Reader

WARNINGS: graphic description of skin picking?? (not self-harm)

Today was going to be a shitty day.

The moment your eyes cracked open to an absence of sun peeking through the window, you knew outside was going to be gloomy.

You turned your head to face your nightstand, but in doing so, increase your awareness on how the sheets feel on your body. Were they always this rough? Surely the fabric softener did its job, right?

Groaning, you made your way out of bed, your feet planting themselves on the small rug on your side of the bed. It was a soft contrast from your now-cold, rough sheets.

As you took a step toward your dresser, you felt a crunch beneath your left foot. Though it was dark, you could make out the leftover potato chip crumbs from the bag Jason was eating before he went on patrol for the night.

You asked him not to eat it there to prevent this exact scenario, but here you fucking are.

Now, you were annoyed at not only the fact that the sun in Gotham is apparently having the same shitty day as you, but now you also have to clean up something that shouldn't be there in the first place.

Thankfully, it was a Sunday, meaning you had Jason all day to make more fucking messes. Yay.

Your spitefulness wasn't warranted, but in the moment, you didn't care.

As you carried on picking the remains of the food off of your foot, Jason stirs on the bed, scanning the other half of the bed with his arms. Seeing that he can't find what he's looking for, he relents and opens his eyes.

Jason knows something is up.

But, he won't push. Not yet.

"why're you s'far away?" he slurs, half awake and starting to shiver since he flung the covers off looking for you.

You wanted to answer him, you wanted to jump back in his arms and hold onto the scent of his skin forever, but you were too annoyed and anxious to say anything.

"No reason." you quip. Far too snappy for such a groggy early morning. Jason knows you've been up for a while now.

Before any more words could potentially be exchanged, you tugged on a pair of clean sweatpants and one of your own shirts. Usually, you would wear one of Jason's to the point where you genuinely forgot you had your own drawer full of clothes.

You storm your way out of the room quickly and go straight to the bathroom to take off your bonnet and fix your hair.

Lo and behold, the twist out didn't work out as intended, and now your hair didn't look as you wanted. The curls were wonky, there was almost no volume, and the back was still wet.

Your frustrated eyes land on Jason's clippers. Through and impulsive rage, you wanted to take it to your head and juts be done with it. This was not the first time your hair didn't work out, nor the first time you wanted to cut all of it off.

Suddenly back in reality, you begin to feel guilty for snapping at Jason earlier, and thinking so badly of him.

God, is this who I am?

All you wanted to do was burst back in there and hug him and tell him that you didn't mean it and that you were sorry and-

Hot tears began streaming down your face, burning rivers into your sullen face. Above all, you craved Jason, but he deserved the sleep and peace on the rare occasions he has to relax. Why couldn't you be peaceful?

You covered your sobs, which only made your feelings worse. The bathroom tile was too cold, but you were too warm at the same time.

It was so dark but too bright. Your skin felt hot but frigid at the same time.

Every quick expansion of your lungs pushing against your ribcage hurt badly. It didn't help that you were beginning to hyperventilate.

Speaking of hyperventilation, you soon realized that even though you weren't sobbing anymore , you couldn't breathe.

Your lungs were taking in all the air around you but also none at all, and you felt lightheaded.

At the same time, your skin began to itch from the beads of sweat surfacing, and your sharp nails began to dig into your skin to scratch it.

Drag after drag of nails on your skin caused it to feel raw and exposed.

While you were caught in your own whirlwind, you didn't hear Jason call out to you. Or his frantic footsteps when you didn't respond. Or his pleas for you to open your eyes and pay attention to him.

Jason was beyond worried when he saw you, panicked and frightened, digging into your skin and rushed to stop you.

He gently pried your fingers from your skin and made a mental note to talk to you about it later.

"Hey shhh baby, no more of that...it hurt's doesn't it?" he cooed as he began to hold your sharp fingers in his hands.

You nod tentatively, still trying to will air to stay in your lungs for longer than half a second.

"Alright princess, you're gonna breathe with me, okay?" Jason says as he tries to hide how concerned he was in effort to keep you as calm as possible.

"Okay breathe in" he begins, eyes trained on your eyes and hands massaging your palms.

You follow his prompts to the best of your abilities, trying to control your breaths the way he does.

After a few cycles of calm breathing, the guilt has nested itself fully in the pits of your stomach.

How could he be so kind after you thought so ill of him juts a few moments ago?

Surely you didn't deserve this.

Surely, he was playing a sick joke on you.

There's no way that he could actually lo-

"Princess? You here with me?" Jason's calm voice cutting through your thoughts.

You look up at him, shame set deep in your eyes.

"I'm so-"

"Nope." he quips with practices ease.

"But I-" you try again, this time determined.

"No. You will not apologize to me for being human." He insists as he rests his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes at the contact, a stark contrast to the sickly feeling your skin had moments ago.

Your eyes begin to sting once more as thoughts of being undeserving of such kindness resurface. You turn your head away from him and haul yourself up from the floor in effort to avoid him seeing you cry again.

As you turn away to step out the door, barely holding back a sob, Jason's warm, soft hand catches your wrist. Gently, he pulls you back into him and wraps his strong arms around you.

Careful not to crush you, he squeezes, physically pressing all his love for you into the hug as you continued to cry softly.

"'m not upset baby, I promise i'm not" Jason reassures as he rocks you in his arms.

He is all too familiar with the guilt you're feeling and so desperately wishes he could make it go away. He knows what it's like to say and think hurtful things you don't necessarily mean about the people you love.

His arms begin to rub at your back, soothing your inner hurt. You felt safe, calm and protected in his embrace.

Slowly, you calmed and your sobs were reduced to sniffles.

Jason tried to let go and move you, but you clung to his tighter in silent refusal.

He chuckles at you gripping his shirt and barely shaking your head that was buried in his chest.

"Alright, alright. These arms are always yours, love."

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

i'm so sorry its taking me so long to finish these requests my chronic pain is making it hard to be a human rn

[a-midnight-smoke]

Keep him from breaking

___

Miguel O'Hara x m!reader

___

content: angst, hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff

trigger warnings: panic attack (not overly described but it's there), self-harm connected with said panic attack (scratching, pulling hair), mention of skipping meals

words: ~1 800

___

So, I finally wrote something again, and who would have thought that the thing breaking my 2 year writer's block would be fucking Miguel O'hara (it was predictable).

I don't agree with writers who characterize him as this suave flirt. Like, that is a broken, emotionally constipated, traumatized man, he would NOT make you call him papi, but then again, to each their own, write and read what you want, idc that much.

Miguel is a pathetic, wet cat, and so I wrote him breaking down in tears because he thought something happened to you. Call it emotional diarrhea after weeks of constipation. And that's my truth.

It's my first time posting a fic anywhere, I wrote this in one evening and then kept tweaking it for like 2 months and debating if I should post this cause I'm an anxious bitch, but finally said fuck it we ball.

Also, I'm a trans guy, and so my reader character will also be. I may write a gender-neutral reader, but not a female one. It's not really important in this particular story, but just so you know.

Also, also, english isn't my first language, so sorry for any mistakes. I appreciate feedback !

Anyway, if you like it you should like and reblog !! Thanks and have fun reading !!

___

Miguel's lungs were burning, but he couldn't stop. Not when he didn't know if you were safe. He needed to get to you. Make sure you're fine.

He crashed into your bedroom window, almost breaking it in the process. His red eyes darted to your bed, where you were not. You weren't in your bed. He called out your name but was only met with deafening silence.

He ran to the door, yanking it off the hinges in the process. Miguel could feel panic building in his chest, heart hammering in his ears.

He was in a trance, looking in every empty space in your apartment, calling for you, begging for you, and thrashing it when he didn't find you. He was breathing faster and harder by the seconds, his hands flying to his head to grab and pull at the strands harshly. Where were you? Someone must have kidnapped you, right? Why else would the apartment be empty?

The slight burn in his scalp didn't help to ease his rising panic, so he started clawing at his arms with his talons as he tried to think of what to do. He couldn't lose you, he couldn't. He needed you, more than life itself. He would tear the city apart to find you and had half a mind to do it already. He was heading for the window when-

The quiet janking of keys stopped him in place, staring at the front door, holding his breath. When he saw you enter, safe, sound and humming to yourself, something broke in him. Weeks of tension and stress finally catching up with him.

He pulled you into his arms, hiding his face in your neck as he started crying and hyperventilating, broken sobs escaping him, interrupted with occasional coughs as you stood still, stunned. His broad body enveloping yours, feeling you. He had to make sure he hadn't completely lost his mind, that you were really here.

As you got over your initial shock, you brought one hand to cradle Miguel's head, scratching slightly at his scalp and the other to trace soothing circles across his back, muttering soft reassurances.

But he couldn't stop hyperventilating, so you gently tried to pry him off of yourself, to no avail.

"Miguel? I need you to look at me, sweetheart." You cooed at him, and after some more coaxing, he pulled away, making sure you were holding his hands. Sobs wrecked through his body, face covered in tears and snot, bloodshot eyes accentuating the redness of his irises. He couldn't look away from you, couldn't stop touching you, afraid that you would disappear if he did.

You brought his hands to your chest, making it a point to breathe deeply and evenly.

"Breathe with me, Mig. Can you do that for me?" you spoke softly and slowly, trying to calm him down. He took a shaky breath that was interrupted by a coughing fit.

"Take it easy, sweetie. Just breathe with me."

It took some time, but his breathing started to finally even out, his sobs now just hiccups. His legs gave out, and you both tumbled to the floor, Miguel quickly wrapping you in his arms once again, listening and feeling your heartbeat. You hugged him back, resuming your earlier ministrations until he stopped crying completely. You stayed like that, on the floor of your trashed apartment, until Miguel spoke in a shaky, raspy from crying voice.

"I thought something… that something happened to you. When I couldn't find you here. That somebody took you from me." He grabbed onto you harder, digging his talonless fingers into your waist when you started to pull away, but you persisted, wanting to see his face. He reluctantly pulled away again, still holding your waist.

"Why would something happen to me? Why would somebody take me?" You would be lying if you said that seeing your, normally emotionally constipated, boyfriend in such a state of disarray didn't make you feel a bit anxious.

"T'was just this guy I was interrogating, let 'im get into my head." he mumbled. In hindsight, the guy was just a pawn, probably didn't know anything and was bluffing to get a rise out of Miguel. Which, combined with his high stress levels and deteriorating mental health, led to the situation at hand.

He tensed when he heard you sigh. Were you annoyed with him? Were you mad at him? You should be, he destroyed your apartment. You should just throw him out, really. He was good for nothing and did not deserve you. It would be better for everyone if he-

"Hey," your voice was still so soft, "get out of your head, Miguel." he slowly looked up to see you staring at him with a worried, but not angry, expression. You cradled his face, Miguel leaning into it instinctively and closing his eyes. You looked over him, over his bruised face, bloody lips and bloodshot eyes with dark bags underneath. He looked thinner than the last time you saw him, with his sunken cheeks. You scrunched your eyebrows.

"When was the last time you slept? And ate?" Well, that's embarrassing. Miguel looked away, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"Miguel..."

"Like four days ago? " He wished he hadn't said anything, he usually didn't, he would insist he was fine, but he was just so tired the words slipped from him without much thought. "Food's making me feel nauseas, so I started skipping meals."

The look on your face was something he didn't want to see ever again.

"Miguel, you can't keep doing this. You should have told me, or Gabriel, or anyone really. It's not healthy," you tried to catch his eyes, which he was expertly avoiding. He grimaced.

"You all have enough on your plate as it is. I make sure the multiverse won't collapse in on itself, I should be able to take care of myself. I'm a grown man." He withdrew his hands completely, ignoring the part of his brain screaming at him to not let go of you, going back to scratching at himself, which caused you to look down. Your breath caught in your throat. His forearms were completely covered in blood, which was still seeping from some of the deeper wounds where he tore his suit. You tried to take his hands into yours, but he crossed his arms over his chest, continuing to avoid your gaze.

"Miguel," you started, voice firm, but with a soft note, "you are not a burden. You never could be, not to me. I love you so much, it pains me to see you hurt yourself like this. It doesn't matter that you're a grown man, you shouldn't feel like you have to keep everything to yourself, like you can't reach out to me, or anybody, for help. Let me take care of you. You deserve to be taken care of, no matter what you brain is telling you." You sighed, calming your racing heart.

"I'm sorry, Miguel," he snapped his eyes to you.

"Why are you sorry?" His voice was quiet and hoarse.

"I'm sorry that I didn't see you struggling sooner, that you felt like you couldn't talk with me about it. Four days? Without sleep and food? You have to be exhausted, even with your mutations. How are you even thinking clearly right now?" He doesn't, that's why your apartment is trashed. He looks around the destroyed room, feeling his anxiety creep back up. He opened his mouth to talk, but you beat him to it.

"Don't worry, you'll help me clean up after you get some sleep and eat." You pulled both of you up, struggling a little with Miguel, who had gone quiet again. He let himself be guided to the bathroom, just now starting to feel the burning from his arms.

You undress the bigger man and move him around, all fight having completely sucked out of him. You wash his wounds carefully before stitching the deeper ones and starting to prepare a bath. Now, in the space of your bathroom, the only room that wasn't a complete mess, Miguel realized how exhausted he really was. Guess you really can't sustain yourself on pure spite and adrenaline.

When the water is ready, you guide him into the tub before getting in yourself. You were never more grateful for the big bathtub, fitting Miguel's bruised and tired body, and you straddling him. The water is amazingly hot, already working magic on his tense muscles. You start washing his face with a soft washcloth, careful of his split lip, cleaning him of snot and leftover tears and Miguel's cheeks are heating up, his hands gripping your waist harder at being handled so delicately. He still couldn't get used to your attentiveness. Your hands are gentle on his skin, moving down to his neck and chest, washing away the sweat and grime, mindful of his bruises and leaving soft pecks after washing them and working through the knots in his muscles.

He's finally starting to relax as you move yourself to wash his hair. Your fingers carding through tangled hair, starting to unknot it. You're humming a calming tune, while Miguel sits with closed eyes. Finally letting himself be taken care of. Letting himself be vulnerable. He makes a noise low in his throat, making his chest vibrate a bit before stopping abruptly. You don't pay it any mind, not wanting to draw him out of his relaxed state.

You finish washing Miguel, drain the water, and dry him off, wrapping the towel around his waist and grabbing another to dry his hair. You wrap up all remaining cuts and then guide him to your bedroom, thankful that he at least didn't flip the whole bed upside down. Among the chaos, you find his clothes that he left, helping him dress, since he was practically already asleep, and laying him down on the bed. After getting him under the covers picked up from the floor, you pull away to get ready for bed when he grabs your wrist and looks at you sleepily, but still a little panicked.

"I'll just get ready for bed quickly and get back, okay, sweetheart?" After a moment, he nods slightly and lets go of you, still reluctantly, but he doesn't let himself fall asleep while you're not with him.

When you come back, Miguel is laying with his eyes barely open, fighting off sleep. You smile at the sight and go lay down beside him. He immediately brings you closer, pulling you on top of him, but you just tangle your hand into his locks and listen to his slowing heartbeat.

"You okay, now?" You whisper into the dark but are only met with Miguel's quiet snores. You press one more kiss to his chest, right over his heart.

Sleep never came as easy as tonight.

___

Yes, Miguel stopped himself from purring.

I'm thinking of making a second part that's just pure domesticity and fluff, we'll see.

Anyway, my dog puked on my carpet while I was making final edits to this just now.

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 38 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Hey guys big tigger warning on this chapter! Please be very aware, I do not want anyone to feel triggered or uncomfortable by my writing. I write a lot of things from my own experience, and it does sound weird to say but writing this chapter helped me express a lot of feelings I didn't know I had. If you do not want to read this chapter I totally understand, I have tried to make the graphic scene less so. I hope anyone who has ever experienced SA or worse has been able to heal. Love you all truly, if you want to talk about anything my messages are always open, I am so happy to chat!!

TW- R*pe, SA, Violence, talks of assault, (please let me know if I missed any).

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, not hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @imusicaddict, @b00ks1ut , @mstiemountainhop, @awaterfalls, @lovememadly92 @lucyfromtheoldhouse @blueberry-ovaries anyone else please let me know.

The man had dragged me into the jeep, the cold barrel of the gun pressed into my side. The replacements didn’t get to me in time, I watched them stand over Grant’s body as the soldier pulled away from the scene. Tears streamed down my face as I tried to muffle my sobs, the man kept the gun pressed into my side. 

I glanced over to him, the purple smudges under his eyes from when Don had struck him in the face. He drove erratically swerving from side to side on the road. I gripped the side of the car, nervous that I was going to fly out the side. I thought about hurling myself from the vehicle, but the thought of being crushed under the wheels and then losing the ability to get away made bile rise in my throat. 

“What do you want?” I yelled over the whip of the wind. 

The man looked towards me, the glare in his eyes made my chest clench, he looked as if he wanted to kill me. He raised his gun, I bit my lip regretting my words, squeezing my eyelids shut, I didn’t want him to be the last face I saw. The butt of the gun smashed down into my cheek, I yelped out in pain reaching up to cradle my now throbbing face. I flinched away from the man trying to crawl into the farthest reaches of the car. But it was no use, I was trapped. 

With every passing second we were getting further away from the base, if we kept going any longer I wouldn’t be able to find my way back. 

“I killed him.” The man uttered, I cautiously set my eyes back on the driver. “Your fucking boyfriend, I killed him. He got what he deserved y’know, no one fucking hits me and gets away with it.” 

My eyes widened, he thought Grant was Don. I didn’t point out the fact that he had actually gotten the wrong man. I didn’t need to give him incentive to go back to base and hurt anymore people. 

I sat as still as humanly possible, hoping that my silence would make me invisible. My hyperventilating made me feel faint. I dragged in deep breaths trying to stop the shake in my hands, but it was no use. The adrenaline that surged through my veins had me set on edge like a live wire.         

The jeep slowed, my eyes frantically searched the surrounding area. I didn’t know where I was anymore. My brain had blacked out the drive we had taken, time had lost all meaning. I didn’t know how long I had been in the car, or if we had turned along the way. 

But there didn’t seem to be anything of note for him to be stopping. So why were we? 

Unfortunately my question had been answered all too quickly. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the man surging towards me, my arms came up to protect my face, but his hungry hands latched onto me. 

“No, please.” I uttered terrified. But it was no use the man tugged me down, until I was laying flat against the car seat.  

He hovered above me a sickening slimy grin shone in the dark. He eyed me like a wolf eyed its prey, I was a piece of meat and he hadn’t eaten in weeks. 

“You’re so pretty.” He muttered into my ear. By this point I was gasping for air, nothing was making its way into my lungs. My eyes burned, the places his filthy hands touched felt like acid on my skin.  

I swallowed, his gun was on the dash. I could reach out and grab it. But what if I wasn’t quick enough, or he won it off me before I could even shoot. I didn’t know where I was, if he shot me and left me out here I was surely going to die. But I didn’t want to be unconscious, not around him, I wanted to know my fate, even if it was dreadful. I couldn’t have the unknown, I didn’t want to wonder what he had done to my dead body. 

His hand clamped around my chin forcing me to look him in the eye. I felt vomit rising in my mouth. His greasy hair hung down limp and lifeless as his bloodshot eyes roamed my body. I squirmed under him as he straddled my waist. 

There was no way of getting out of this. If I wanted to live I would have to endure what was going to come. 

His fingers dug into the open wound on my cheek, a cry of pain crawled from my throat. 

“I said, you look so pretty.” The drunk man’s lips brushed my skin with every word. 

Tears streamed down the sides of my face and into my ears muffling my surroundings. I choked back sobs. My body was pinned under his, my arms by my sides. I was stuck, his body weight didn’t even give me wiggle room. 

He flashed me a wicked smile as he pulled back, his eyes were pitch black, the sound of his lips curling up around his teeth had me shaking. 

“Thank you.” I uttered, my voice breaking. 

I love you Don, please forgive me.

“Relax Emily. We’re just going to have some fun.” The man’s voice was hoarse and croaky, his breath smelt of stale liquor.

My name in his mouth made me want to scream, but we were so far away from anyone no one would hear my pleas for help.  

His hands found the tops of my thighs dragging me down further so I lay more flat in the passenger seat. My heart hammered into my chest, so hard that it physically hurt. 

The sound of his zip sliding down the track filled the silence of the night. It wasn’t long till his hands found mine, I felt his fingers brush down my crotch. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to wake up from this nightmare. I had fallen asleep on Don’s chest, I would wake up back in the room, the sound of the men’s voices would fill my senses along with the warm fire. 

But reality hit me like a tonne of bricks as the man yanked my pants down exposing me to the cold night. 

I know what I must do.

The man’s hot breath fanned across my face, making my eyes water more than they already were. 

He pulled down my pants, to just above my knees. I forced myself to relax, I knew it would be more painful if I resisted. 

I heard him grunt, the sound of my clothes ripping deafened my surroundings. I looked up to the night sky, just past his head. Thousands of tiny flickering lights filled the black void. This wasn’t my body anymore, the stars were my home. I felt myself floating up towards the sky, high above the scatter of thin clouds and into the atmosphere. 

He forced himself into me, dragging me back down to earth. I plummeted back into my body, jolting in pain and gasping for air that never gave me the satisfaction of filling my lungs. 

I focussed back on the sky, trying to not hear his moans and grunts. 

The dark void of the night pulled me up again. So high I could see all of Austria. The lake shone in the pale moonlight, the thick forest was like a black hole pulling all of the light into its vacuum. The mountains stood like tall giants against the night, looking like they were watching over the small town, its yellow flickering lights glowed warm.    

My body was a tiny spec down below, in a vacant street hidden in the trees. That body wasn’t mine, that wasn’t me down there being violated, I was up here in the heavens so far away from earth it was nothing but a crumb. 

But I could still hear her, even from so far away. I could hear her stifling sobs and her ragged breath that misted in the cold night air. I could see the shimmer of tears sliding down her cheeks and into her hair that haloed around her head. I could see her blood stained hands curled into fists as she lay perfectly still.  

The man hovered above her, the muscles of his back tensing, then shaking with release. I could see him pull back, leaving the young girl bare and lifeless as she stared up at me. Her cold eyes held no life, they glazed over not present with reality. 

Suddenly I crashed back down to earth, back into the body that wasn’t mine. I gasped for air, the sensation of my skin prickled and tingeld, I wanted it off, I wanted out again. To not be here staring up at the bright moon that tauntingly hung in the night sky. 

But my suffering wasn’t over, the man’s hands latched around my neck. I wasn’t even present enough to jump at his touch, my eyes bulged as he squeezed, cutting off my oxygen supply. I could feel the blood vessels bursting in my sclera, my temples throbbed from the pressure. I clawed at his hands as my vision started to blur. No, no, no! I needed to be conscious. I bucked against him trying to throw his weight, but the crushing sensation of my windpipe never ceased. His grip was strong. 

So I gave up, my body grew slack and heavy. I let my eyes flutter shut and my head loll back. 

I fought the urge to gulp in air as his hands released from my throat. I didn’t dare breathe until I knew I was safe.        

The man’s weight fell from my body, my eyes clamped shut. I used my other senses to try and figure out what he was doing. I dragged in short shallow breaths as I heard his side door open and the jostle of the jeep as he got out of the car. Gravel crunched under his feet, I could hear him walk away and then closer again. 

I stalled my breathing when the door behind me opened. I let my body tumble out of the car as he cursed wildly under his breath. His hands grasped under my armpits as he dragged me off the road. I could feel the texture of the ground change from small sharp rocks to soft grass. 

He grunted as he tossed me, my body rolling down into the ditch on the side of the road. I kept my body as floppy as possible so that he wouldn't suspect I was still alive.  

I lay face up, my arms thrown to the sides of my body as my legs had tangled with each other. I heard him walk back to the car but not get in. I begged silently for him to leave, but his footsteps arrived back to the edge of the bank again. 

Time stood still as I heard the mechanical cock of the gun. 

Five shots rang out in the silence. 

I was surprised I was able to choke back the scream of pain, I clamped my lips shut and prayed. Prayed that he hadn’t seen the jerk of my body as one of the bullets drove into my shoulder. 

I played dead, lying as still as possible, not knowing if he had left or not due to the ringing in my ears. I counted to 100 ten times before I cracked open my eyes. The jeep wasn’t on the side of the road anymore. 

Whimpering in pain I dragged myself up the bank, staying low to the floor. Tire marks imprinted on the gravel road he had left. I finally let myself break down, sobbing hysterically until my voice grew hoarse and the pounding behind my eyes became unbearable. 

Clutching my shoulder I rose to my feet, I fixed my pants and shirt. I gave a humourless laugh, unsure at why I was trying to make myself look presentable after all I had been through.

Hobbling down the road where we had come, I hoped I wouldn’t bleed out before I found someone.     

Malarkey POV:

       

After losing miserably at poker, I had made my way back to the barracks. I didn’t check on Em, knowing she would be tucked up in bed fast asleep by now. 

I had just drifted off to sleep when a pounding on my door caused me to sit bolt right up in bed. I lazily wandered to the door cursing under my breath at whoever it was making such a racket in the middle of the night. 

Swinging open the door I found Bull, and the rest of Easy company half awake and half dressed flowing through the corridor with urgency. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, peering out from my door.  

“When need to go, grab your things.” Bull ushered me out of the room before I could ask anymore questions. “Replacement shot Grant in the head, Speirs has given orders to track him down.” 

I looked at Bull horror on my face, he gave a grim nod confirming my question. This was real and not a sick joke.  

Tab led the men down the hall giving orders to the men. 

“Hey Lieb, he wants a noncom guarding each roadblock and at least two men watching every road out of town.” Tab strode down the hall.

Bull and I fell into stride behind him. 

“Bull, Malark, you each take a squad and one of these witnesses on a house-to-house search.” Tab explained as we followed. 

“Can we shoot this bastard on sight?” I asked. I was ready to beat the shit out of this no good son of a bitch. How dare he shoot Grant in the head. I was ready for a fight. 

“Try and take him alive.” Tab said. 

“Where’s Grant now?” Bull asked from behind me. 

“They took him to a Kraut hospital to see if they could drum up any good doctors.” Tab replied to Bull. 

We each took off to do our respective tasks. I wanted to be the one who found that fucker. 

Maybe say my hand slipped and accidentally shot him in the leg.

But with all the men we had out searching my group didn’t find him first, just my luck. 

They dragged him back to base, gathering in the main lounge. The same lounge we were all in hours before playing poker and laughing. Now the room made my head spin. By the time my men and I arrived the replacement was barely recognisable. 

Tied to a chair in the middle of the room surrounded by angry men, the soldier took a beating. I watched the man’s head snap back as blood poured from his mouth. Easy men were pissed to say the least, they took charge of the beatings. Their fists collided with the man’s face, each with gruesome crunches, as they beat the ever loving shit out of the fucker.  

I stood and watched, there was no need for me to step in, so I watched from the back of the ground with a sick satisfaction as each punch landed. 

The man’s head hung low, too weak to hold it up on his own accord. He spat on the ground, clearing his mouth of the blood. The man only groaned in pain, he didn’t utter a word otherwise. 

The men cheered with each hit. 

The doors swung open, a stoic Captain Speirs stood in the doorway. Taking in the scene before him. I could see under his calm facade the man was raging like the rest of us. The room fell silent as his footfalls hit the soft rug.  

“This him?” He asked, strolling in.

“That’s him.” Bull confirmed. The soldiers surrounding the man stepped back, letting Speirs have room to stand in front of him. 

The man coughed and gagged on his own blood. The room collectively held their breath, unsure of what Speirs was going to do. 

“Replacement. ‘I’ company.” Bull informed the Captain. 

“Where’s the weapon?” Speirs asked calmly. 

“What weapon?” The man replied in a snide tone. I scoffed, how could this person have so little respect. 

Speirs didn’t hesitate, bringing down the butt of his gun and smashing it into the jaw of the man. The replacement's head whipped to the side as blood sprayed from his mouth. 

“When you talk to an officer you say ‘sir’.” Speirs growled in a menacing tone. 

The man chuckled, hanging his head. “Maybe I left it with that whore, Sir.” 

Silence filled the room for a beat, I could feel the tension becoming thicker. I glanced at Martin who shrugged, sharing the same questioning look as me.  

“What whore?” Speirs spat, picking up the man’s head by his hair, getting into his face. The man only flashed a bloodied grin at him. 

“You know, that girl. The pretty medic. What was her name, ah, that’s right Lane. Emily Lane.” The replacement grinned sadistically. 

The room swirled as the air left my lungs. I felt as if I had been slapped in the face.  

That couldn’t be right. Emily was in bed, she was sleeping. Grant had walked her back to- hadn’t he? Or was she with him when it happened. Disbelief clouded my vision, I felt like I could barf. He was wrong, she was safe in bed. 

My heart was pounding in my ears, surely he had to be mistaken. But he said her name, he knew who she was. 

Martin’s hand clamped on my shoulder as he leaned into my vision. I shook with rage and fear. There was no way this was true. Martin’s gaze fixed with mine, he was mouthing something, or he was saying it, I couldn’t understand it either way. My white knuckles clamped at my sides. I waited for someone to speak. 

“What did you do to Emily?” Speirs snarled, the room was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

“She just lay there and took it, like a good little slut.” 

Another blow came from Speirs as he struck him again across the face this time with his fist. I hadn’t realised but I had surged forward, both Bull and Martin held me still. 

“Wait boy, we don’t know it’s true yet.” Bull whispered beside me. 

“What did you do to her?” Ron snapped in the man’s face. As he laughed. 

“I had my way with her and then disposed of the evidence.” 

What did he mean by disposing of the evidence? My skin felt like it was on fire, the only thing I could really hear was my erratic heart rate pounding in my ears. I only saw red. Rage shook my body. 

“I’ll fucking kill you!” I roared, surging forward to get to the man. I was held back though, Johnny had a firm grip around me. I looked around the room, the men all looked horrified and disgusted. Their stares could kill. It was silent, as the man coughed up blood. I hoped he would choke on it. I was still trying to fight Martin’s grip. Why was no one doing anything! 

“Get the replacements in here now!” Speirs demanded. Someone left the room and arrived back with two skinny looking men. 

“Who was with you in the car?” Speirs boomed. The two boys shied away from the furious Captain. 

“Answer me!”

“It was us, Sergeant Grant and-” The replacement stalled looking around the room. 

“Who else, private?” Ron seethed with rage, “Who else?” Speirs' voice echoed around the room. 

“The female medic, she said her name was Em.” 

So it was true.

*****************************

Chapter 39

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (2)

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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling, crying, bb got traumaaa! ambiguous relationship. panic attack this chapter, as well as discussions of death/canon typical (offscreen) violence

Word Count: 3,431

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

The slide of your living room balcony door lets you know he's there. You're on your own Earth, in your own apartment. The hour is impossibly late, your night out as the city's Spider having only recently ended. Everything had been going just fine.

Until, of course, it hadn't.

You barely register the sound of your bedroom door creaking open.

If you’d just been a few seconds faster, reacted to your spidey-senses quicker, that woman would still be–

“What happened?” His voice is right next to you.

Just like the first time he’d found you amongst rubble, you curl further in on yourself, your back against your dresser in your upright fetal position. You squeeze into yourself so hard it feels like the first stages of a core-collapse supernova. But the inward pressure doesn't stop the sobs from escaping.

“Hey,” Miguel says in his softest voice. “Hey. Breathe.”

You try, but it comes out in that sort of mutilated-dying-dinosaur stuttering and scraping gasp way that seems to bookend hyperventilation.

“Hey, look at me,” he says again. “I’m gonna—Can I put my hand on your shoulder?”

You shake your head furiously, you know touch will only send you into fight or flight right now.

“Okay, okay,” he reassures. “No touch. Can you look at me?”

A deep shuddering breath, and you look up from where your head had been buried against your knees. Miguel is kneeling in front of you, and when his frame is this close to you it takes up your whole field of vision. He's in his suit, unmasked, the luminescence of the red paneling casting a soft glow reminiscent of a neighboring house fire through cotton curtains.

“Okay, good, good job,” he praises. “Eyes on me. In,” he breathes in, exaggerating the movement of it in his body, moving his hand up to show in.

You follow along, vision blurry and face twisted and wet. You manage to breathe in, though not as smooth as him. You pull the air in, shaky, interrupted by a cracked sob you try to cut off.

“It's okay,” he says at your mid-breath sob, and then; “Now breathe out, like me,” and he blows the air out through his rounded lips.

You follow suit, breathing out shakily, before a short barking laugh escapes at a sudden realization, the self consciousness at a strange discordance with the rest of your emotions.

His brow twitches in confusion, but he continues on.

“I’m not wearing a shirt,” you laugh hysterically, face and stomach scrunching with the abruptness of it.

It's true—you had gotten out of your suit and into pajama bottoms before you had broken down in the midst of getting out a sleep shirt, which you have been pressing against your face and sobbing into and is now probably about 25% saltwater.

“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles, glancing away then meeting your eyes again. “Just breathe, we'll worry about your shirt later. Come on,” he begins his outward breath over again, gently moving his hand down through the air as a guide for the pace.

“Your lungs are way too big,” you dissolve into laughter at the length of his breaths, still trying to breathe out through your mouth. You laugh even more when he finishes his outward breath, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

A few more rounds of breathing in and out (“Come on, stop it,” a chuckling Miguel says at one point, failing not to laugh too, when you burst into hysterical giggles a third time. “Try to focus on breathing.”) and soon you’ve calmed down just enough, your tears still falling though now they're coming slower and gentler.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

You shake your head a little too fast, and it hurts your dried out skull. “Shirt first.”

He blinks, looking up over your head. “Right.” Then he stands, leaning over you to pull open the drawer above your crouched form with your sleep shirts. When he crouches down again he hands you your biggest, softest shirt. One he knows you like.

Miguel offers an outstretched hand, red palm up. You cling both shirts—salt soaked and otherwise—to your body in one hand out of some combination of comfort and modesty, then you put your other hand in his and let him pull you up. As soon as you're on your feet he gives you a quick look over, before turning his back and moving to the door. You see now that he's holding the stack of clothes you keep for him.

After he’s left the room and you hear the soft click of the bathroom door down the hall you drop the wet shirt on the floor and pull on the new dry one, sliding into your unmade bed and doing your best to straighten out the blankets over your body.

You’re still struggling with the blanket when your bedroom door cracks open, Miguel returning quietly. He’s carrying his folded suit, so when he slips through the door he stops and sets it on your chair with your own suit and jacket. He starts to take a step from the chair towards you, pauses, and then grabs your bloody suit and leaves again. You hear the sound of the kitchen sink, and then he’s back empty handed.

You’re still wrestling with the blanket.

“Dios mio, it’s like you’ve never encountered a goddamn blanket,” he mumbles, taking it from your hands and going to straighten it out.

You look up at him. He pauses.

“What did you do to this thing?” He asks, brow furrowing as he struggles to untangle the blanket. You stifle a laugh, but it builds, eventually bursting out like an overflow of bubblebath over the side of a tub.

Eventually he figures the blanket out, mumbling under his breath as he lays it across you and sliding into the bed.

“Shit, I should have some water,” you mumble and start to get up.

A gentle hand on your upper arm stops you, and Miguel rises from the mattress as the soft press of his hand compels you to lay back down. He leaves, you hear water being poured, and then he’s back.

“I meant to get a cup for you after I changed,” he says quietly, handing it over and standing over you with hands on his hips until you’ve gulped down at least half the cup. Satisfied, he gets back under the blanket with you as you set the water on a bedside table. When you turn around, he has an arm open for you, an invitation you can freely accept or deny. It's not always holding one another and comforting embraces when he visits—sometimes the other persono just needs to be near another living thing.

But you accept, this time. It's your turn to bury your face into his chest for comfort.

“Now do you want to talk about it?” He asks, and despite his hesitant tone, you know he cares enough to listen if you do.

You press your forehead further into his sternum, just below his clavicle.

“A mugging,” you whisper, but you know he can still hear you. “I was seconds too late. Bullet wound. She bled out.”

His arms tighten around you as your body tenses, fighting back a fresh wave of tears.

“I waited too long, I should have–”

“You’re still human,” he interrupts you. “Stop that.”

“Miguel–”

He interrupts you again, saying your name. “No. Don’t do that to yourself.”

You fall quiet, stiff in his arms. He sighs, running a hand up and down your spine.

“The guilt is normal. It’s never easy, not when you feel you could have done something else…” his hand on your back stops for a moment as he trails off, and he sighs yet again, resting his cheek on your head as he holds you. His hand resumes its soothing touches. “But it doesn’t do any good to beat yourself up. We just try to do better next time.”

Your body relaxes, slowly.

“She was so scared,” you whisper. “I couldn’t do anything, and she was so scared.” The tears start to come again. The salt burns your already raw, dry eyes, the hot and thick drops flowing freely as you bury your face in his shirt.

Then Miguel does something he’s never done before, hesitating before taking the leap.

He kisses the top of your head.

Again, it isn't always crying and comfort. It’s usually business and the busyness of trying to balance your triple-life; work and the few friends you still have along with Spider duties on your own earth, and then helping other Spider-People on other earths capture anomalies and bringing them back to Miguel and Margo to be sent home.

And Miguel isn't the only visitor. Sometimes Gwen crashes at your place when she’s not with Hobie, who’s also visited once or twice with her. Eleven years her senior, it feels more like having a much younger, cooler sister come to visit from out of town so your parents can go on vacation to a swingers cruise. Or something.

“I don’t have a lot of groceries, so first things first: I’m dragging you to the store with me,” you say to Gwen as you step through the portal into your living room, pulling off your mask. She follows through right behind you.

“Fine by me. I’ve been craving those weird cookies from last time. Hobie doesn’t have them in his dimension, and they definitely don’t have them in Nueva York.”

You chuckle, heading toward your room. “We’ll make sure to get some extras for you then. And I’ve got your duffle bag from last time stashed in here. I washed everything, since last time we got kinda crazy with the balcony plants.”

Gwen follows you and leans on the door frame, giving a cursory glance over your room as you crouch to pull out her duffle bag from your closet. When you stand and turn to hand her the strap of the bag, she quickly straightens up and her eyes snap towards you—you know her well enough to recognize the sparkle of curious glee in her eyes, the careful poker-faced smile covering up a grin.

“Thanks!” she says, ignoring your suspicious look, taking the duffle bag and disappearing to change in the bathroom.

You turn and look around your room, searching for what might have prompted that reaction. Your eyes land on Miguel’s sleep-over clothes from that night nearly a week ago when he had found you crying, still hanging loosely over the back of the armchair.

“Jesus,” you mumble, taking them and stuffing them in the dirty laundry hamper, face hot.

An hour or more later, you’ve gone and returned from the grocery store with Gwen. Music plays on your apartment speakers, and golden sunset light streams in through windows and the sliding glass doors of the balcony. You’ve made stir-fry with Gwen, serving it on mismatched thrift store dishes, and now the two of you make your way to the small table on your tiny balcony to eat outside while the music from indoors drifts out to mingle with the ambience of the city.

“Thanks for letting me crash here again,” Gwen says, putting her feet up in the third empty chair.

“Of course,” you smile at her, setting your glass of water on the tiny coffee table.

You both eat for a moment in silence, enjoying the warmth of the slowly fading light and the sounds of the city. Somewhere someone is practicing violin.

“Sooooo,” Gwen rolls her head to look at you. “Who’s the guy?”

You nearly choke on the rice.

“Jesus,” you finally say, washing it down with water and thumping your chest. “What guy?”

“You know,” she says, looking at you sidelong with a raised eyebrow. “The one who left a t-shirt and sweatpants in your room?”

You shake your head, taking in a breath and looking off into the peachy sky. God help me. “There’s no guy, it’s not like that. He just stays here sometimes—”

“Wait, so is it ‘no guy’ or there is but it’s not like…?” she drops her feet off the extra seat and leans towards you, “You said he stays here sometimes, though? So there’s something.”

“Oh my god, Gwen, no,” you can feel your face getting hot. “No, it’s not like that.”

“You said that already,” she kicks her feet back up, grinning. “Do I get to meet him?”

“No. Eat your vegetables,” you roll your eyes and kick the leg of her chair, making her wobble and catch her balance with her spider reflexes.

“Okay, okay! Touchy,” she says, no real venom or irritability in her voice. You both resume eating, small smiles on your faces.

Gwen joins you on patrol that night, helping you stop a convenience store robbery and web up a guy trying to break into his ex-girlfriend's apartment. You’re done and home by one in the morning, and by one-forty-five, she’s asleep on your couch with the soft light and sound of the tv still playing.

There’s no real reason for Miguel to be here tonight, in this dimension. He knows this, he’s told himself this, and he’s ignored it. It’s just that… he’s having trouble sleeping. Jess, Lyla, and even Peter B. Parker all told him he should sleep more, that he should take care of himself.

There’s other ways he could try to deal with his insomnia, of course. It’s not like there aren’t sleep-aids on Earth-928 (Would those even work the same on me still? he wonders). He tells himself he mostly wants to check in on you after last week. You’ve seemed alright when you’ve passed at Spider Society HQ, when he’s seen you on the security cams laughing with Peter B. Parker and his daughter, May. But if there’s one consistent feature across the multiverse it’s that Spider-People like to hide whatever’s going on under the surface, like house cats and wild animals afraid to show weakness for fear of predators. Better to ask you in private, in person.

Miguel sees the faint glow of your television through the balcony doors of your apartment as he swings closer. You’ve told him once that you try to avoid blue light this late since it affects sleep quality, so the fact that you’re watching tv at this hour reads to him as a sure sign that he’s made the right decision to come check in on you.

Miguel engages the light byte cloth to soften his landing on your balcony, straightening up from a crouch to stand, sliding open the glass doors—

Thwip!

His hand is webbed to the jam.

And that’s definitely not you on your couch, sitting up from under one of your spare blankets, with your pillow on one end.

“...Miguel?”

Shit.

Gwen glances at your bedroom door. “Are you two…?” She trails off into awkward silence.

Miguel doesn’t know what to say, though he suspects he knows what Gwen is asking.

“...No.” He turns his head to look down the darkened hallway of your apartment—now noticing the sound of your shower—then looks back at Gwen, tearing his hand free from her webbing.

Gwen stares at him.

Miguel stares at her. A small seed of unease plants itself in his chest.

“This is weird,” she says.

“You’re not on Earth-138,” he replies.

The sound of your shower stops.

“I uh, I crash here sometimes.”

“I can see that.”

Silence. Gwen glances once between the hallway and Miguel when the sound of the bathroom door clicking open carries down the hall.

Miguel turns his masked head towards your approach, his body still facing Gwen. He’s already looking at your eyes the moment you stop in your tracks, your eyes snapping to where his are underneath his mask.

“Miguel,” you hiss, eyes wide, sweeping your arm out towards the couch. “Gwen’s sleepi–”

He also sees the way your brain seems to freeze when your gaze moves to the couch and sees Gwen is sitting, wide awake, and looking right back at you. He sees some unspoken conversation between the two of you, Gwen’s eyes widening at you as if to say I was so absolutely right about something, yours widening as if to say Whatever you’re thinking is so absolutely incorrect, please believe me.

“Lyla said your watch needs maintenance.”

Both your heads whip to look at him. The seed of unease wobbles.

“Oh,” you say, and Miguel gets the distinct impression that you’re trying not to look at Gwen, trying to play it casual. “So you came to pick it up…?”

“Figured that would be best. In case something was really wrong, and you tried to use it. And got turned into a shocked up Cronenberg creature.”

“A what?”

“It’s an Earth-616 media reference,” you explain quickly, still looking at Miguel. “Uh, I’ll just grab the watch really quick.”

He inclines his head, and watches you disappear into your room. Would it be weird if he followed you in? There’s no way he’s going to get to talk to you tonight with Gwen here, much less stay over—

“Here it is,” you reemerge, holding the watch. “Uh, how long will it take to…?”

Miguel steps closer, taking the watch from you. “I can do it now, but you’re getting ready for bed so maybe I’ll just bring it back in the mo–”

“I don’t mind,” Gwen says. “If it’s only gonna be a little bit, why bother leaving and then coming back?”

You both look at Gwen, Miguel turning to look at you again while you stare at Gwen. He tries not to shift on his feet while the two of you stare silently at one another.

“Yeah, uh, you can use my desk in here,” you finally turn to face Miguel, nodding your head towards your room. “So Gwen here can go back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired–”

“I’m making you catch up on homeschool shit tomorrow, while you’re here,” you raise an eyebrow at her. “I know you’re behind.” Gwen groans. “So get some rest.”

“Alright, alright,” Gwen flops back down on the couch.

Miguel watches this exchange, the tight, pitted feeling in his chest disappearing inside a warm cocoon. You catch his attention again, nodding towards your open bedroom door for him to go in. He goes past you, letting his mask dissolve back into the body of his suit. The bedroom door clicks shut, and he turns to face you, mouth open with a ready apology, only to find you with your head buried in your hands.

“Oh my god,” you say. “Now Gwen thinks we’re fucking.”

Oh.

“I haven’t done laundry, haven’t needed to since you washed my suit for me after… After that woman died,” your voice catches, but you continue on. “So your sleepover clothes were just on the chair, and Gwen saw and assumed I’d been having a guy over, and then you show up at like two in the morning,” you drag your hands down your face, finally meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t realize she stayed here sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, she can’t just move in with Hobie, and HQ is no place for a kid to live full time. It’s too busy.”

He doesn’t disagree. HQ is hardly a home. Maybe that has something to do with–

“The watch maintenance isn’t real though, right?”

“No,” he says, tossing it back to you with a gentle underhand throw. “I just…”

“Yeah,” you catch it effortlessly, nodding. He watches your hands turn it over and fidget with it, watches you checking the screen.

“I wanted to see how you are. After last week.”

Your hands still. He watches you swallow, your shoulders freezing.

Nope, there it is—the pit wasn’t in the warm cocoon, it was just sneaking down into his gut.

“I’m alright, just... Y’know.”

He nods. He knows.

“If you need anything…”

You nod.

“...I should go.”

You nod again, and he feels the knot in his stomach start to grow, before only the size of an olive pit, now swelling to a peach stone.

“Just… With Gwen here,” you say. “I don’t…”

He nods again too. “I know.”

And then he’s opening a portal, filling your room with brilliant orange light, the objects in your room flickering and starting to move. He steps through with a quick glance back at you, and then the portal closes on your apologetic face and he’s alone in the dim light of his lab.

He doesn't sleep very well that night.

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[a-killer-obsession]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 38 - Hea-T Go Home

Heat helps you with a painful problem, and Kid pulls his head out of his ass

Word Count: ~3.5k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @iggy5055 @eyes-ofhell

A/N: uh.. had to add lactation kink to the tags cos of this one. Sorry/you're welcome?? Also don't deal with mastitis this way lmao, it's an old wives tale, some people swear by it but new research suggests other methods are safer. Probably just see a dr, tbh.

You could see the body of Dawn's mother laying on the rocks, red pouring from her body, limbs in unnatural positions, her eyes staring straight at you, boring into your very soul, making your blood run cold. The waves lapped at her misshapen body, her blonde hair almost glowing against the dark water under the half moon. “THIEF!” she suddenly screamed up at you, making you almost fall to meet her as you lost your footing for a moment, dirt and stone falling from the tall cliff and dusting her body. “YOU TOOK MY BABY! YOU STOLE HER, YOU KILLED ME AND YOU STOLE HER! YOU'LL NEVER BE HER REAL MOTHER! BARREN WHORE, NO WONDER HE DOESN'T WANT YOU!”

Her body flickered, as though it was hologram, and suddenly you were looking down at your own body, lilac strands stained scarlet as they bobbed in the rise and fall of the ocean. “It should have been you,” you spoke, cold pink-grey eyes filled with fury, “you should have died, they're all better without you”

Heat hovered over you as your eyes opened, a strained gasp escaping you as you struggled to catch breath. He was straddling your waist, careful not to put any weight on it, your wrists held firmly against your chest by his warm hands. The skin on your chest under them stung like you'd been clawed by a feral cat, your lungs heaving with every inhale and exhale that came hard and fast. You were hyperventilating, you realised. Heat made exaggerated movements with his mouth, trying to get you to follow his breathing pattern, trying to get you to slow your rapid breaths. You focused on his perpetually sad face, his dark eyes full of concern as they stared down at you, his expression relaxing as you finally synced your breathing with his. He let go of your wrists, flopping back to lay beside you and pulling you in close to his chest as a sob wracked through you, followed by more as tears began to spill. He held you close throughout, pressing kisses into your hair and rubbing soothing strokes up your back till you found the strength to calm down.

“You're okay now, Yin,” he soothed, “I'm right here. You're safe, you're loved, you're held”

You nodded in affirmation against his chest, his skin bare but wet with your tears. Your chest was burning, not just from what you realised were self inflicted scratches, but from the sheer pressure of milk in your breasts.

“Heat, it hurts,” you whimpered. He let you fall back a little so he could examine you. Your chest was red with grazes, but you hadn't drawn blood. Your tits were another problem on their own though, the left one entirely swollen and inflamed, almost solid under the pressure. He pressed the back of his hand to your breast and pulled it away quickly.

“You're burning up,” he replied, full of worry, “fuck, hang on”

He practically leapt from the bed, taking one moment to glance at Dawn and check she was still soundly asleep, before rummaging through his shopping bags. It'd only been a few hours since he'd gotten back, you'd barely both been asleep before your pained whines had woken Heat, finding you clawing at yourself and weeping in your sleep as the nightmare plagued you.

He found a book he'd been searching for and started flicking through it as he returned to the bed, brows furrowed in concentration as his finger ran down the index page in search of a relevant term before turning to the indicated page. “I think it's mastitis,” he told you after a moment of silent reading, still scanning the page, “it says it could happen if you didn't fully drain the milk or uh bacteria from baby's mouth or stress, there's other causes but I think those are most likely. It says we should drain it to relieve the pressure but you probably need antibiotics.” He sighed and put down the book, pinching the bridge of his nose, “we're gonna have to go see Mohawk. We can't just go back to the hospital here, the sudden baby is too suspicious and you can't walk there on your own while I stay with her, you're too delicate right now. It'll have to be Mohawk”

“Maybe we just start with draining and then see how it goes?” You suggested. You didn't want to go back to the ship till at least Kid apologised, maybe you could wait it out and he'd crack before you absolutely needed to see Mohawk.

“Okay,” he said nervously, “um… it says the best way to drain is with a pump or baby, but uh..”

“We don't have a pump, and baby is asleep and not hungry,” you realised, finishing his train of thought.

“Well, we do have a pump, the store clerk told me you'd need it,” Heat explained, “but it has to be charged, and all the parts need sterilising”

“I can't wait any longer,” you whined, “it hurts so much”

Heat could see the pain all over your face, and it broke his heart. He had to help you. Was it something he desperately wanted to do anyway? Perhaps, but he wasn't going to just steal from a starving kid. But you needed it, so he was allowed, right? Anxiously, and doing his best to not seem overeager, he brought his mouth down to your breast. You let out a gasp as he took it in his mouth, groaning around it as he suckled and the first warm spurts of sweet, thin milk coated his tongue. With a hand on the back of your head, he guided you to lay flat, the hand moving to caress your other breast, just breezing over it, he didn't want any of your milk to escape unless it was for his consumption.

He felt suddenly possessive of you, making small satisfied growls as he suckled, his hips rolling against the bed almost on their own as his erection grew. His eyes had fluttered closed as he drank you, hand sliding down your front over your bandages, running over the front of your panties. He knew he couldn't enter you, but fuck did he want to. He wanted to be deep inside you, pistoning you with his throbbing cock and feeling your cunt squeeze around him while you came, all the while drinking down your warm life giving liquid. You'd made it for him, he thought greedily, only him. Killer hadn't tasted you like this, it was all for Heat. You whined as his hand ran under the waistband of your panties, touching you with every bit of care he could manage, you back arching as his tongue lathered your breast and nipple, pulling every drop of milk you had. He wondered if this feeling was why you were always so keen to swallow his cum, the lewd and arousing notion of consuming fluid made by another. No wonder he loved eating you out. Fuck, that made him wonder what other kinks he didn't realise he had.

He almost choked as a thick glob of solidified milk hit his tongue, his eyes growing wide as you let out a whine, and suddenly it was like a dam wall had broken, your milk practically gushing into his mouth now that the clogged milk duct was open, milk escaping the corner of his mouth and dribbling down his chin as he greedily suckled. He ground his cock hard against the mattress, his peak so close, but you quickly found a way to break him, running your hand through his hair and moaning “good boy”.

He came with a deep groan, mouth unlatching from your breast to take a heavy breath, face pressed to your collarbone as his hips rolled and he rode out his high. All he could manage were stuttered curses, his pants soiled and sticky with cum. You pulled his hand from your pants, it'd felt nice but the doctor had told you strictly no sexual activity, warning that the strain of an orgasm on your muscles could cause injury. Quietly he returned his mouth to your breast, draining you completely before moving to the other. It wasn't swollen like the first, but what kind of man would he be if he didn't drain it anyway, just to be sure, for the good of your health of course. You happily let him continue, laying sleepily against the pillow as he suckled, your eyes heavy with sleep thanks to your nightmare and the contented feeling of Heat's mouth lavishing your chest. At some point you drifted off, Heat still fondling and suckling from you, a far more pleasant dream taking you this time.

Hours had past when you woke, and you sat up with a startle, on one part immediately concerned that you'd neglected Dawn, on the other confused that Heat was no longer beside you. Soft splashes of water and singing in a deep, scratchy voice caught your attention, coming from the bathroom where the light was on and the door was open. You didn't recognise the song, but you recognised Heat's voice. You'd only ever heard him sing a few times, when he was drunk enough to not care how hoarse he sounded, but it was definitely him.

You quietly slipped out of bed, taking wobbly steps to the bathroom door where a soothingly domestic scene was unfolding. Heat had some sort of pop up bucket thing setup on the bathroom counter, holding Dawn carefully in it with one hand so she wouldn't slip below the water, the other hand carefully tipping water over her hair with a cup to wash away soapy suds, the blonde tuft of hair slicking down with the water. Dawn was content trying to eat her fist, Heat's singing pausing for a moment so he could giggle at her and say “is that a tasty widdle hand?”

“You two look the picture of a family,” you said softly as you walked up behind them, wrapping your arms around Heat's waist.

“I didn't know you were awake,” he blushed, doing his best to finish washing Dawn but entirely distracted by the way you were nuzzling your cheek against his back. It was still bare, you guessed that was probably by design so he wouldn't get his shirt wet, though there was a small towel slung over his shoulder.

“Mmm, thanks for letting me sleep,” you mumbled, “does she need feeding?”

“Nah, gave her a bottle of formula,” he replied, “I hope that's okay, I was gonna ask but you looked so exhausted and the book said the mastitis was probably making you even more so. How are you feeling?”

“A little tender, but mostly okay,” you replied, “formula is fine, I never had much chance to think about it anyway, I just went straight to breastfeeding cos it's all I had”

“I got everything washed and sterilised, and the pump should be charged by the time you next feed,” he reported as he opened the towel a little and lifted Dawn to his chest, wrapping her in the soft white fabric. You let his waist go so he could move and giggled as he turned and revealed the towel was in fact hooded, with a tiny embroidered animal face and little bear ears.

“Cute!” You squeaked, absolutely overcome by how sweet Dawn looked with the little ears and her little wide eyes.

“She should be awake a little longer if you wanted to spend time with her,” Heat said as he moved back to the main bedroom where you saw now he'd laid out a padded changing pad on the dresser, nappy and clothes already set next to it, “She's been awake for a little bit. I fed her and changed her nappy, and we had some tummy time, the book said she needs a few minutes on her tummy a couple times a day, and then she did possibly the most explosive shit I've ever seen in my entire life, so we had a bath didn't we Dawn?”

“Ah, the infamous blow out,” you laughed, getting comfortable back in bed so Heat could hand her to you when he was done dressing her. You weren't supposed to lift anything, baby included, for another week or so. “Thanks for dealing with it, baby”

Heat blushed almost neon pink at the pet name, quickly finishing dressing Dawn and bringing her over to you. He was still pink as you took her, and you squinted playfully at him. “You okay babe?”

“Yup! I'm great!” He quickly replied, fleeing to the bathroom before the pink on his face could spread any further. You heard water draining as he emptied the little collapsible baby bath, and you realised from where you were that you could see his reflection in the mirror. You couldn't help but smile fondly at the goofy grin he had on his face, before his eyes flicked up to the mirror and met with yours. You stayed like that for a moment, just staring at each other, and it made you feel warm. You could feel his love, even from there, even through a reflection, and it made your smile grow even wider, his own grin reflecting yours.

A knock at the door ruined the moment, Heat's head perking up and looking at the door suspiciously as he approached it.

“Heat, I know you're in there, open up,” a gruff, frustrated voice came from the other side. Heat looked at you with a scowl, the sour expression not for you but for the man on the other side of the door. “I'm not here to fight, I just wanna talk” the voice continued.

“Unless you're here to apologise, you can get fucked,” Heat spat back. The uncharacteristic reply caught you off guard.

There was a heavy sigh from the other side, and a small thunk like a forehead was being rested against the door. “I am,” the voice replied, “I fucked up, please let me in. I can't just sail out of here without you, you're family, both of you. All of you, I mean”

Heat let out a sigh of his own and looked to you for confirmation. You gave him a short nod and readjusted your hold on Dawn, making sure she was held firmly in case the temper of your visitor changed. He threw on a shirt, and there was a click as Heat unlocked the door, opening it slowly to reveal Kid, his head hung in shame as he looked back at the firebreather.

“Package deal, Kid,” Heat reminded him as he stepped aside for the captain to enter, “her and the baby come with us, or I don't come back at all”

“I know,” Kid replied softly, “please come back. I know I said some fucked up shit, but I was just angry, I didn't mean it. I'm- I'm sorry Yin. I failed you as a captain. It's my job to keep you safe, nobody should be hurting you, not even the first mate, certainly not yourself. I should have been there too. I know I'm not your boyfriend or whatever but I'm your captain and your friend and I should have been there to support you when you were hurting. If you want this baby, I'm not gonna fight you on it. I know it's… I know it's not his but she's still yours so I'm still gonna treat her like any uncle should. If you can forgive me, and come home. The ship doesn't feel right without you guys”

You stared blankly at him for a moment. You hadn't honestly expected him to apologise, you were prepared to leave the ship for good. He had his soft side, you knew that, but he was also stubborn and arrogant and pig headed. It shook you a little, to hear him be so genuine and forlorn.

“And… Killer?” You asked hesitantly.

“He wants you back, needs you back,” Kid sighed, “but he knows it's not gonna happen overnight. He knows he fucked up, he's doing what he can right now to make things right for when, if you come home”

“He pulled his head out of his ass then?” Heat tsk'd.

“I think you did a pretty good job of pulling it out for him,” Kid replied, “he told me what you said. It was all true, and he needed to hear it”

“You talked to him?” You asked Heat.

“More like chewed him out,” Heat sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you, “I bumped into him when I went for your mask”

“I know it means fuck all coming from me, Yin,” Kid continued, “but he's sorry, he really is. He probably would have come here with me but he's busy moving all his shit to your old room so you and the baby can have his”

Now that surprised you. “He's… giving me his room?” You asked, confused as to why he would do that.

“You can't fit a cot in that shoe closet,” Kid shrugged, “he said he's gonna keep good on his promise to turn that cupboard in the nav room to a nursery but for now you need the space his room offers. Wire already picked up a crib and he and Double are putting it together. We're just waiting for you three to come home. Mohawk managed to snag an eternal pose to the next island, so we can raise anchor whenever we want, but we didn't want to leave without you all”

It touched your heart to hear they could have already sailed away, but had chosen to stay. That in itself spoke volumes about the situation when you knew Kid was always eager to move along. Every day wasted was just another delay on his plans, and he was a highly impatient man.

Kid stood quietly while you thought about it, awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet. Heat looked at you discerningly, waiting to hear your decision. He would follow you to the end of the earth, he knew that now, so whatever you wanted would be what he went with, even if it meant abandoning the men he'd known as family for the last decade and a half. He'd leave them, for you, such was his love. His eyes widened hopefully though as you took his hand.

“Let's go home,” you smiled softly. He smiled and nodded back, relief washing over him. Kid let out a heavy, relieved breath.

“Thank fucking god, I thought I was gonna have to knock you both out and drag you back to the ship,” he admitted.

“You know you're no match for me,” you tutted. Heat was already up, packing all your things. He looked at the pile, then at you, then he forcibly pulled Kid's metal arm away from his body and started threading shopping back handles over it.

“Oi!” He protested.

“You want us home or not?” Heat scowled, continuing to pile bags up on Kid's arms, “she can't walk that far, she's still recovering from surgery. One of has to carry her, and it ain't gonna be you, you're not gentle enough”

Kid huffed indignantly but stopped his protesting, letting Heat load him up with bags till his arms were at capacity and he had to hold the last few against his chest. Heat really had bought a lot of baby shit.

He did one last check of the room before helping you into some loose pants, sticking your mask on your head and picking you up bridal style, Dawn held securely in your arms. Kid stared awkwardly at Dawn as Heat approached, seeing her in daylight for the first time, her blonde hair now dry and fluffy, her blue eyes wide and alert.

“Why does she look like him?” He asked, almost too quietly to hear, but you heard, and your face turned to anger.

“Do not say that again,” you growled, “she is not his”

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, using his devil fruit to unlatch the door and opening it with his foot so Heat could carry you past. He followed behind you, staring at Heat's back, his mind swimming and busy but at least a little lighter with the promise of bringing you all home.

Killer was on deck as you all returned, watching silently from the sidelines as Heat carried you to his your room, followed by Kid carrying mountains of bags. Just another way he felt he'd failed you, Heat had even had to provide for your baby, that should have been Killer's job. He sighed as he sunk back underdeck, returning to his room, still decorated in purples and yellows as you'd left it, and collapsing onto the dusty, long unused mattress with a heavy sigh.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[thesandsofelsweyr]

AN APPLE A DAY

《 READ ON AO3 》

Joker teaches Jason some manners.

《RATING》 Mature 《WORDS》 839

《CHARACTERS》 Jason Todd/Robin, Joker, Harley Quinn, Bruce Wayne (mentioned)

《TROPES》 Hurt No Comfort, Whump

《WARNINGS》 Graphic Depictions of Violence, Underage, Teeth Pulling, Torture, Blood and Gore

《SERIES》 Part 1 of My Arkhamverse, Part 1 of Ruined

《TAGLIST》 @aaliyah-wayne @ladytauria @betty-1880 @deans-spinster-witch @hlg8 @plantixst

《NOTES》

If you enjoy the read, please consider reblogging 💚

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are much appreciated!)

When the pliers clamp down around his front tooth, Jason shatters.

“Thank you sir! THANK YOU SIR!” he screams a blood-sputtering scream, his words slurring around the cold, pitiless metal that’s shoved into his pried-open jaws. His heart’s pounding fists against the cage of his chest, pumping fear through his veins. He prays that’s enough as he shakes like a puppy on the fourth of July. He gave the psycho what he wanted: he called the man “sir,” like some fucked-up sex roleplay. 

Joker has been punishing him for running his mouth. Again. For laughing in his pasty white face when the Party City Clown informed him that he’d be calling the freak “sir” from now on. “You can take your ‘sir’ and shove it up your ass,” were his exact words. The old Jason may not have regretted those words—that kid probably would’ve thought this agony was worth it. But that kid’s gone now, murdered by a photo. Batman had bitched at him many times for his loud mouth while on patrol. Probably yet another reason why Bruce picked a new kid for the job; why the rejected kid now has eight throbbing holes in his swollen gums.

Warm, coppery blood dribbles from the corners of his mouth, coating his busted lower lip in crimson gore. His breath’s coming in frantic pants, on the edge of hyperventilating. His armored chest full of broken ribs heaves beneath the heavy braided ropes that bind him to the wooden chair, ropes that squeeze his lungs like a giant’s fist. Nailless fingers dig into the material of his gloved palms as he balls his fists behind his back. No more, he silently prays yet another useless prayer as tears roll down his scarred cheeks. Please no more…

He’s a dumbass for holding out so long. Ten teeth—at least—gone from his mouth now. Two from the fucking crowbar, eight from the Clown’s pliers. And for what? To impress the man who left him here to rot? The man he considered his father. His partner who picked a new kid rather than bother finding the old one.

The gloved fist twisted into his matted black hair tightens, tearing at his scalp, then wrenches his head back even further, so those slime-colored eyes can bore down into his pale blue ones. “Be more specific,” Joker says casually, as if they were discussing the weather over a cup of coffee and not the eight bloody teeth scattered on the table in front of him.

“Thank you for…” His shattered mind races in circles, groping for the right words through the immense drumbeat of agony that’s consuming him.

“I think the patient needs another extraction, Doctor J,” Harley suggests in that screechy voice of hers that’s like a cheese grater over his ear drums. He cuts his eyes at her, bent in half with her elbows on the table, chin in her hands, grinning from ear to ear like some sadistic schoolgirl.

“Excellent diagnosis, nurse!” Joker exclaims, tightening his grip on the pliers.

Jason's heart drops out of his chest as molten panic engulfs him. He sucks down a gasp of air. “Thank you for torturing me!” he wails desperately, words tumbling free of his raw throat. “Thank you for yanking my teeth out!”

A heavy silence settles over the room, smothering him. He can feel his eyes snapping back and forth in his skull, futilely searching for an escape. Seconds pass like hours as he waits, terror mounting with each whimpery wheeze. Then Joker pulls the pliers free of his bloody mouth, releasing his fistful of hair.

Jason chokes out a sob as the panic loosens its grip; as relief floods in, carrying the awful pain back with it. He blinks away the stars that whitewash his vision. His jaw aches from being forced open for so long, his neck aches as he straightens. He coughs up the blood pooled in the back of his throat.

“See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it pumpkin?” Joker croons, mussing his sweat-soaked hair before stepping in front of him. Blood red lips skin back from rotten yellow teeth. “Such a well-mannered boy deserves a nice reward, doncha think?”

No, please no… His insides twist into tight knots, dreading this “nice reward,” which probably includes more torture. He sucks in a fearful gasp as Joker pulls something from his coat, tosses it in the air once, then plops it down in front of him. His reward? An apple. The freshest, reddest, juiciest, crispiest looking apple he’s ever laid eyes on. Drool mixes with blood and trickles down his cracked lips. His hollow stomach growls and aches. After months of being fed nothing but rotten, sometimes maggot-infested food, the Clown’s giving him an apple. And the thought of biting into that delicious apple with his broken teeth and throbbing gums is enough to tear a miserable sob from his throat. 

Jason bows his head as helpless tears stream from his red-rimmed eyes. “Thank you, sir,” he whimpers.

[sarahsmi13s]

This Is How It Feels

whumptober day 5: hostage / kidnapping / held at gunpoint

pairing: beau 'cyclone' simpson x daughter!reader

characters: beau simpson, y/n simpson, reagan simpson, ncis: new orleans team, the squad breifly, hayden and frankie, everett north (oc villian), cameron north (deceased)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, kidnapping, torture, guns, blood, waterboarding, loss of will to live, oc character death, revenge killing, if i missed any please tell me!

word count: ~3.2k

a/n: this is for whumptober! please please please proceed with caution and use discretion, protect your peace

also if you are on the whump taglist but are not familiar with a character, you can skip it will not hurt my feelings!

also also, i do want to apologize for getting this up late got distracted while writing it so i finished it later than i had hoped

whumptober 2023 masterlist

summary: a parent's grief is strong and powerful and it can make you crazy, if the opportunity presents itself to get revenge... you take it

“Simpson!”

You turned at the call of your name, spotting your friends waving to you from the front of a bar. “C’mon! We’re starving!”

Shaking your head, you jogged over. “You two, my goodness,” you laughed before you all walked in. “Are you sure we can even eat here? It’s a bar.” “We’ve eaten at the Hard Deck before,” your friend, Hayden, said as she walked over to a table.

“Okay okay, you have a point there. Just don’t try anything stupid, we’re all repping the school, but I’m also repping the Navy and my dad. So if any of you try to pull-”

“Relax, Simpson, I left my fake ID in California,” Frankie, your best friend said as she nudged you playfully.

“Simpson?” 

You looked up to see an older gentleman standing there with an apron around his waist. 

“As in Beau Simpson?” He asked, looking over your face quizzically.

You nodded, “Yes sir, he’s my dad.” The man chuckled, “Yeah, I know your dad, grew up down the street from my mama. I’m sure he hasn’t talked about me much, I’m Dwayne Pride – folks around here call me King.”

“Oh! Yeah, Dad did tell me about you,” you said with a smile and stood up to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” Dwayne chuckled, “You can call me Dwayne…” He trailed off, brow arched as he silently prompted you to fill in the blank. “Y/N, I’m Y/N.” He smiled and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You sat back down, but looked up at him. “Now, is your mama Reagan Autry?” You nodded, “Sure is!” He chuckles, “I knew they’d last. Anyhow, what can I get y’all to drink?”

Back in North Island, the squad was at Cyclone’s house for a little get together.

“Where’s Y/N?” Mav asked, sipping his drink as Beau sat down. “Oh her culture club is visiting New Orleans for Mardi Gras week,” Reagan said as she sat down on the arm on Beau’s chair.

“Now y’all are from NOLA, right?” Jake asked, relaxing back on the couch. They nodded, “Sure are. High school sweethearts at that.” He nodded, “That’s impressive.” “It is, because of all the hours and missed dates over the years because he’s such a hard worker,” she said, kissing the side of Beau’s head.

“I made up for it though,” he chuckled and squeezed her hip. “Yeah, you d-”

Reagan’s statement was cut off by Beau’s phone ringing.

He furrowed his brow and picked it up, checking the caller ID to see that it was Frankie.

“I better take this, excuse me,” he sat his drink down and stood before going out on the back patio.

He closed the door as he answered, “Frankie? What’s-” 

“Y/N’s been taken!” 

Beau froze, the breath being pulled from his lungs. “W-what?” Frankie was hyperventilating on the other end, “W-we were get-getting something fr-from the vending machine and-and-and some guy c-came up and t-took her. I tried to he-help b-but she-she told me to run.” 

Frankie sobbed, even though he couldn’t see her he knew she was pacing the hotel room 

“I-I’m sorry…” 

He had to remain calm, knowing that she would freak out if he did. “Frankie, Frankie, you need to breathe sweetheart. I know you’re scared, but I need you to listen to me. There’s a bar, it’s called the Tri-Tone, you need to go there and find Dwayne Pride.”

She sniffed, “W-Why Dwayne Pride?” “He’s an NCIS Agent, he’s the team leader down there and he can help.” She coughed a little, “O-okay…” He took a breath and glanced back inside, seeing his wife leaning on the wall and watching him carefully. “Frankie, I’ll try to be down there soon. Stay safe and be on alert.” “Y-yes sir.” 

He hung up and ran a hand over his face before turning to go back inside.

His eyes stayed on the floor as he closed the door behind him and leaned on it. “Beau… Honey, is everything okay? Is Y/N okay?” 

The concern in Reagan’s voice grabbed the squad’s attention and they looked over concerned.

“Uh.. She.. She was taken… Y/N and Frankie were getting something from the vending machine.. and–and some guy took her…” Beau looked up and met her eyes, tears filling his, “Someone took her…”

Reagan collapsed, Beau catching her just before she could hit the floor. “No! No! Not her, not our baby girl! Please,” she sobbed, her manicured nails biting at his shoulder as she clung to his shirt.

Beau couldn’t say anything as he held up his wife, trying to be strong for her and not break down in front of the squad.

But it was hard. 

I mean of course it was. 

You, his baby girl, in the hands of some stranger. It was his worst nightmare come to life.

Cold. Damp. Dark. 

Those were the words you would have used to describe the room you were in. The only light on in the room was a yellow bulb swinging in its cage above your head. The chill nipped at your exposed skin, having been stripped of the clothes you were in when you were taken. The room smelled of mildew, and you knew that any water ride you ever went on would remind you of this room.

Your arms were tied above your head, spread in a ‘Y’ to keep you from attempting to free yourself despite being in chains. Your bare feet scraped the rough concrete, your toenail polish being scraped off and leaving red, pink, and white streaks on the floor.

If you had to guess, you’d been there about 12 hours, if not a whole day.

The man that took you had only been in the room one other time and it was to tighten the gag in your mouth. It was a relief that was all, but you had a sinking gut feeling that he had something in store for you.

Your view of the room was awful, you could only see the staircase in front of you, the small window at the top of the wall letting in the moonlight and illuminating the assortment of instruments on the workbench underneath it. If there were worse things behind you, you couldn’t see it. But if what you could see was any indication, there was a reason you were here.

All you could do was pray that Frankie got help and that someone was on their way to save you.

“What do we know?” Dwayne asked as he came in, Beau and Reagan following behind him. “Any updates?” 

Chris and Tammy turned, heads tilted in confusion as to why they were there. But they continued when Pride nodded.

“We were just sent this photo anonymously, Patton’s tracing it now.” Sebastian put the photo on the plasma.

The photo was a newspaper being held by cracked manicured nails but the face in the background was too covered to be enhanced effectively. 

“However, there’s no way to determine-”

“That’s her,” Reagan spoke up, tears gathering in her eyes. “That’s my baby girl…” 

Dwayne looked from her and up to Beau, “Are you sure?” She nodded and held up her own hand, “We got a matching manicure before she left…” Reagan turned and sobbed into Beau’s shoulder.

“She was playing with her brothers when she was young and scraped her left hand on the brick wall, the scar never went away,” Beau added for more confirmation that the hand in the photo did belong to you.

Dwayne nodded, “Then there’s hope, it’s a proof of life photo.” 

All the Admiral could do was nod before holding his wife close and silently cry with her.

It had been 5 days since you had been abducted. 

5 agonizing days.

Beau was a wreck, he was falling apart with worry. With fear. Anything awful that came to Beau’s mind, it’s what they were doing to you. And it wasn’t getting better.

Because they hadn’t heard anything else from your abductor. Patton’s trace led them to a library computer, where they were able to obtain security footage but no one in the film looked suspicious. All the team could do was tell the library staff to keep a lookout for anything or anyone sketchy.

But other than that, they had nothing.

And they were running out of time.

“Please, stop!” You sobbed as the hot knife ran across your skin. 

The past four days have been non-stop pain. Even when you were given a break so your capture could do whatever, you were in pain. 

You felt like you had zero hope of getting out, of ever seeing your family again. You could only think of your dad, how he must feel. That he may never see you again, his only daughter, taken from him.

“No! He has to know the pain! The suffering I went through because of him!” 

Him.

That was all he ever referred to this mystery man as. Never said a name or anything other than ‘him’ or ‘he’.

“Who?! Who are you talking about?” You screamed before a fist collided with your stomach, the slick slap of his fist on your wet, bloody skin making you sick to your stomach. 

Your skin was littered with cuts, all ranging in depths and lengths but none deep enough to be immediately fatal. 

No.

It had to be slow.

Whomever this ‘he’ was had to experience the same pain your capture felt.

The man hit you again, smearing your own blood across your face and bruising your swollen skin. 

You cried out, begging for him to stop and to let you go as he walked away. Your voice was raw and broken, cracking as you desperately pleaded. 

“Let me go! Please! I just wanna go home…”

“My daughter never came home, why should I let his?” 

You blinked, not sure what he meant by that. 

“I’m sorry about your daughter… I am… but why inflict this on someone else? Why take someone else’s daughter away?”

He didn’t answer you and released the tension on your chains, sending you to your knees harshly and reopening the wounds on your knees. 

Grunting, he took long strides back over to you. 

You knew what he was after and you tried to crawl away, scraping your palms on the concrete. But you could only crawl so far and so fast. 

Your entire body throbbed and your blood made the floor slick. Your capture was faster than you were in your weak state. He grabbed your hair, yanked you back and grabbed you by the throat. Your yelp was cut short as he applied pressure, cutting off your air flow.

Weakly, you tried to claw at him, get him to let go, but he wouldn’t. He squeezed until your eyes rolled back and you passed out.

Beau paced the living room of his childhood home, waiting on Pride to arrive.

Dwayne had called, telling him they needed his help identifying a man and that they had a lead, a promising one.

He wasn’t given any other details, but even that was enough to give him some hope. It had been over a week, so this was gold to them.

The normally calm and collected admiral nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a knock at the door. He raced over and pulled it open, revealing the two agents behind it.

“King, Agent Gregorio,” he greeted, stepping to the side to let them both in. They nodded their thanks to him before they went to the kitchen.

“We’re gonna get right into this, Admiral, you and your wife have waited over a week for something like this,” Tammy said, with sympathy in her voice as she held the evidence bag and a printed photo up. 

Dwayne took the evidence bag, “This was in a book returned to the library early this morning.” He turned it to show the folded up notebook paper, the words, “FROM ONE FATHER TO ANOTHER THIS IS HOW IT FEELS” scrawled sloppily across the page in red ink and what looked to be blood droplets and a bloody fingerprint on the paper. 

“The blood is fresh, as old as this mornin’...” Beau didn’t have to ask, there was no other person whose blood it could be. But he needed the confirmation, no matter how sick it made him feel. “Is-Is it…” Both agents nodded, Tammy speaking, “Sebastian ran the print… it’s Y/N’s. The blood is her’s as well…”

Beau gripped the back of the chair to keep him from falling, Dwayne coming to his side to help him sit down.

“Do-do you know who sent it?” 

Tammy sat the photo down, “We were hoping you might.” He picked up the print and looked at it, recognizing the face instantly. “Yeah, yeah, that’s Everett North… His daughter, Cameron, was under my command a few years ago. She died on a mission.”

They nodded looking at each other, Tammy stepping out to call Chris and tell him to look up Cameron’s name. 

Beau runs a hand down his face, “He blames me for Forest’s death and is taking it out on my daughter…”

Everett sat in a chair, fiddling with a hose waiting for you to wake up. 

You were laying on the freezing floor, the only warmth being the pool of blood you were laying in. You weren’t sleeping so much as laying unconscious, passing out from the previous day's torment. You knew what today held, the same as yesterday. 

That’s what it was, a routine. Torture of all kinds day in and day out. Pain and suffering, that’s all it ever was.

You didn’t want to open your eyes, wake up to another day of this. You were sick, coughing and shivering as the cold basement plus your wet skin plagued you. Your wounds were infected. Your throat was raw from screaming, but Everett managed to pull them from you still. 

And you knew what was in store for you today… but keeping your eyes closed would only delay the inevitable.

You cracked your swollen eyes open, weakly trying to push yourself up. 

“They’re she is,” he gruffed out before getting up and turning the hose on. He puts his thumb over the opening on the hose, spraying you in the face with the freezing water. 

You could only weakly yelp before he was coming over and pulling you to your feet and dragging you to the table on the back wall.

“No, no, no, please, please don’t…” You protest weakly, still trying to fight him. 

“Stop fightin’, you know it's no use,” he said coldly before putting you on the table and strapping you down before running the cold water over your cuts and burns.

You whimpered, squirming to get away despite it being futile. 

He just laughed before covering your face with a towel and soaking it with the hose.

“Everett North, his daughter was Cameron North. Cameron was killed after her plane crashed and she was taken by the enemy. She was held and tortured for two weeks before her body was dumped back at the wreckage for search and rescue to find,” Gregorio started.

Chris was next, “After seeing her at the Tri-Tone and following her to her hotel, North abducted Y/N. She has been with him for a little over a week. But she isn’t trained like military personnel is, she’s only 18 and what Lieutenant North went through was intense and extensive. We don’t know if Y/N can handle it.”

“Okay, do we know where he lives?”

“Sebastian is–”

“I found it! I’ve got his address!” Sebastian shouted as he stood up.

With that the team jumped up and got their gear.

The moment the towel was yanked off your face you started coughing up the water you inhaled, lifting your head so you don’t choke on it again.

Everett started and ended with the same method. That's how you knew your day was over.

He unstrapped you from the table and watched you weakly roll until you fell onto the ground limply.

“Please… just kill me…” 

Your plea was weak as you continued to cough up water. You hated that you had gotten to that point so soon. That you could pull through for just a little longer. But you were in agony, body broken and bloody. You didn’t want your parents to see you like this.

“Oh no no no, your dad has to feel the same pain I felt.”

You look over your shoulder, “M-My dad? What did my dad do to you?” Everett reaches down and grabs your hair, pulling you up to your knees.

“He killed my daughter, I’m only returning the favor,” he hissed, yanking down to put you on your back.

You yelped, your head making contact with the ground. “My dad would never do that!” He kicked you across the face, “Shut up! You don’t know!”

You went to retort but you could hear movement upstairs.

And that’s when you felt your will to live enter your body again. 

“Help! I’m down here, help me!”

You could hear the flurry of footsteps to the basement door and Everett pulled you to your feet.

He held most of your weight and pointed a gun at your neck as the door flew open and agents ran down the stairs.

“Everett North! NCIS put your weapon down!”

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot her!”

Everything suddenly became blurry, the voices around you muddling together. You didn’t know exactly what was happening but you could only assume it was shock or your body finally letting go and relaxing because you had a chance of living.

But before you learned the answer, everything went black as a gunshot rang out.

The first thing you noticed as you woke up was the incessant beeping of a heart monitor. Next was the fact that the lights were off. Then it was the weight of a large, calloused hand in yours.

“D-Daddy?” You rasped out, attempting to squeeze his hand. 

Beau’s head whipped up, “Oh, baby…” “Daddy, I-I’m so sorry,” you nearly sobbed out. “Shhh shh baby girl, no, it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault.”

All you could do was nod before you started coughing. 

He was quick to react, getting you a cup of water and offering it for you to take, afraid that if he tried to help he’d send you into a panic.

You take it and sip it carefully before giving it back to him. He grabbed your hand, “I’m so glad you’re okay, sweetheart. I’m so sorry this happened.” You shake your head, “Not your fault… he-he blamed you… but it’s not your fault.”

He smiled gently at you before pushing hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead and you sent him an identical smile. “What matters is that I’m okay… well that I will be okay.” He nodded and kissed your hand, “Yeah, you’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

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[luigixfanxayjay]

NEW ONE-SHOT FIC EVERYONE!!!!! NEW MARIO ONE-SHOT FOR YOU ANGST FANS TO ENJOY!!!

I made this short Mario writing as a bit of a vent about personal stuff and a movie au/theory. Beware if you read, this will get angsty. 😃

TW tags: violent depections of severe seperation anxiety, trauma, psychogenic pain, panic attack, hyperventilation, and self-blame/self-hatred.

As Mario watched as Luigi left through the door, it was agonizingly slow. Mario was just standing there and filled with worry, unable to do anything.. not even speak or reach out. Suddenly, he felt as if a knife stabbed into his chest. And then another. More and more stab him with more and more force. This wasn't physical, he thought. It was his anxiety. Mario calls out his twin brother's name but he has already been long gone. At that moment he realizes something.. he couldn't breath. He got to focused on his thoughts that he lost contol of his rapid breathing. He starts yelping, screaming, whining and starts pacing at a rapid rate. He steps back and catches his leg on the rug, falling back to the floor. He sits up in terror and starts crawling back with his legs until he hits the bottom of the couch in the living room. Tears well up in his eyes. It felt as if the world was shattering like glass upon his very feet, and all that was left was the very small platform he sat on. He curls himself up into a ball, darting his eyes down to the floor. His chest hurt immensely from such lung overexersion, and he presses both of his hands against his chest as a reflex. He screams, screeching for help at the top of his lungs. He missed his brother and didn't want him hur.. wait, that thought. He was the one who didn't look out for his brother and got him lost anyway. Now he's gonna get hurt without Mario. This was all Mario's fault. His fault, his fault his fault. Suddenly he felt and saw as his arms went limp to his sides. His vision grows blinder. No. No no no no no no no-

"Mario!", a familiar voice screams. "Oh my stars! Breath! Calm down, please!". It was Luigi.

Mario opens his eyes as though it felt like forever. Luigi was sitting down, next to Mario, pressing his gloved hand on Mario's chest. He seemed to have came home in a panic. Mario wasn't sure why, or even why he was doing like this all of a sudden. What caused him to wake up like this? "Shh shh shhhhh..." Luigi consoles. "L-" Mario painfilly hesitates. He couldn't speak either, he still couldn't breath fully. It took a few minutes of silence until Mario could finally breath well again and Luigi finally explains. "I was only gone for 3 minutes! Right when I was about to enter the store, the princess called me to report to me that the neighbor Toads heard you screaming and that she was worr.." Luigi pauses his shaky voice to wipe away the tears that had already started forming, "I.. I thought you were getting killed!". Mario remembers now. Well damn, he scared his brother yet again. You know what?.. he deserves this pain. All of it. "I-.. I hate my-.. se-" Mario mumbles, but is interrupted by Luigi's hugging embrace. "NO! DON'T YOU DARE!", Luigi shrieks. "I do.", Mario achingly denies. "I don't ca-ha-hare! I love you! I-hit's not your fault~!" Luigi sobs. It didn't matter at this point to Mario. He was just so glad Luigi was okay. In the silence broken by Luigi's occasional soft sobs of grief, Mario wondered: Why did he panic? Wasn't he the perfect goody two-shoes? Was something.. wrong?