#and was like in agony but told nobody about it but it was a way to reclaim some part of his body by ending his line

[worldbeyondtheworld]

The Shifting Mound says this about the Fury:

“This one is desecration. She placed the weight of her agony on you, yet it is she who is unwound herself. There is passion and empathy under her unfeeling skin. She will make for a weathered heart.”

(The bolded part is from me.)

And thinking about it longer...

The Voice of the Broken and the Voice of the Cold, the only Voices capable of outlasting her, are the equivalent of the Fury to the Long Quiet.

The Narrator desecrated TLQ by proxy by setting up the Construct and sending him to kill the Princess. Likely over hundreds of previous loops nobody remembers, but which impressions linger if we go by the ending "You are on a path in the woods..."

If he does everything as told by him, if he obeys, he finds there's no reward. The reward the Narrator intends for him is empty, just like he's feeling left empty after he killed the Princess, although he did everything as told. Hurting her hurt him; they lost part of themselves. The Narrator even tells him that it's normal to feel bad after killing somebody, which doesn't change that he pushed him to do it. And then he abandons him, leaving him to deal with those feelings entirely alone.

Voice of the Cold is the shield, ignoring the hurt, and also incapable of understanding when he's still hurting. Because the emptiness seems normal. He's arrogant about his unflinchingness at killing, believing it makes him special in some way. He perceives no meaning in pain.

He can inflict more by following his impulses to find something that makes him feel (meaning), because he won't consciously let it reach him, while it still can reach TLQ. He still wants to hurt the Narrator, to make him go through what he did to him (TLQ). To make him go through what he (TLQ) experienced. He finally understands his own agony comes from his emptiness - losing part of himself - by experiencing that the Princess feels empty because she lost part of herself when killing TLQ before and was left alone. Just like he felt empty after successfully killing the Princess and was left alone.

Whether or not he obeys, all loops leave TLQ traumatized because he a) always dies and b) something harrowing happens connected to how he dies.

All of the Voices are coping mechanisms. Only Voice of the Broken acknowledges the depths of their shared agony; the pain of losing part of them. He believes that they were brought below, that they are inferior after the pain inflicted on them. This makes him feel bitter and hopeless. He perceives no meaning in their pain.

He can inflict further hurt on everybody by following the Tower's orders, because he wants to find meaning in his agony. At his best, pain doesn't change him because they've gone through worse before and he understands why the person hurting them (the Cage, the Fury - both who are feeling bitter and hopeless) is doing so. The very person they hurt before; when hurting her hurt them in return.

[joogios]

There’s a lot to be explored in Zeke’s character and backstory both within the context of being a soldier growing up in what seems to be a very racist military dictatorship but also within like—every aspect of his character being a walking checklist of someone who’s been abused/+ dehumsnised; him willing to use his literal spinal fluid (not exactly something Zeke can obtain on his own….) for plans, the entire forced euthanasia plan that he came up with as a teenager , the numerous times he’s seen shirtless when most if not all characters rarely are clearly implying he’s a lot more comfortable with it, the way he was chained in the Paths, him being unable to scream lest he creates monsters. So many things that he’s willing to do feel so invasive, it’s really morbid once you seriously start reading between the lines and it raises up a hullva lot of questions, especially in relation to both Grisha who first and foremost used Zeke as a mole and Tom Ksaver who both had no queries on the forced euthanasia plan and who was the prior holder of the Beast Titan that built up a connection with Zeke for years before Zeke became the Beast Titan via eating Ksaver.

The fact that even long after a decade he’s so dead set on the belief that Grisha abused Eren to the point where he’s willing to kidnap Eren raises questions for me, the fact that he stiffened up when Grisha hugged him in the Paths is Something and the fact that his death is literally him prompting Levi to kill him to cut the connection between Ymir and the Jaeger blood becomes a lot more skeevey once you start putting the whole picture together.

Obviously I don’t believe Isayama intended anything serious by it or we would’ve seen something when Eren and Zeke were going through the man’s memories but irl to me it reads like some seriously fucked up long-term conditioning and childhood abuse.

[ridingthatd]

◕◔ RYOMEN TWINS I

◔◕ itadorixfem!reader, sukunaxfem!reader, nsfw, heavy smut, twins breeding you, possessive, kinky asf part 1

the ryomen twins were known around the whole kingdom- more like they were feared by the whole kingdom, they hold a power no one could compare to, no one as much as dares to make eye contact with them- fearing for their life, they could destroy an entire nation just by lifting a finger- and nobody want to experience the agony of disobeying or displeasing them in anyway.

even though the twins look identically alike- they're the complete opposite of each other, after working for such a long time for them- the longest anyone worked under them without "suddenly" dying or got brutally killed. you learned to tell the difference between them.

sukuna ryomen. such a heartless man, who you can barely get a reaction out of- at first you always thought how can someone be so psychotic, how can someone hold so much evil in them, but you learned to accept it by time, you learned to live with seeing him take a bath- soaking in a solution of cursed energy formed from crushing and straining venemous creatures.

sukuna ryomen. was rough with the way he treated you, rough in a way he wouldn't care to ask about your opinion or care to open his mouth and tell you what he pleased- he would simply harshly pick you up by his lower four arms, make you sit uncomfortably with him in the disgusting of a bath- watching your every move as you gently scrub on his rough skin, and what always seem to leave you fascinated was the vibration that always leaves from his chest everytime you scrub him- purring like a huge beast. resting his huge face on the swollen of your breast as he breaths you in.

itadori yuji. he was the complete opposite of his brother, he held such a nice energy around him, he was never harsh nor aggressive in anyway towards you, he had such a gentle soul- that's at least how you felt, he would treat you like a delicate flower with so much gentility, you loved having silly little conversations with him, you loved the small walks he would walk with you- even as much as help you with laundry that he knew nothing about.

itadori yuji. he would always yell at his brother as soon as he takes a look at the finger marks he left behind from picking you up here and then, like a ragdoll- you could be doing dishes, sukuna make his way toward hold you 7 feets up the ground sniff you then place you down with a thud. itadori seems to hate it as he frowns at the marks rubbing them gently, he even goes as far as placing a kiss on them letting his lips linger there while his pink warm tongue peak out licking wetly- he makes an unbearable eye contact with you.

your heart pounds in your chest, as you hear yelling coming from itadoris office- you never ever heard itadori yelling the way he's yelling right now and it made you feel so uneasy, it made you wanna run and hide far away. you flinch once you hear the door open and loud footsteps echos in the hallway- the hallway you were in, mopping the floor.

from the shadow that's coming your way- you can tell it was sukuna with his two extra arms that his brother didn't have- or as they say he didn't wanna show. you tightly shut your eyes, holding the wooden mop praying to goddess that he would just to go his room.

but even the goddess couldn't save you from sukunas shadow that now tour over you- you can feel his warm breath on your neck as he leans in, sniffing you as always- but this time he didn't hold you nor pick you up.

you flinch again as you hear itadoris office door slam open and fast heavy foot steps comes directly your way. it was itadori- you couldn't recognize him, he look furious like a beast who was set out of the cage for the first time. glaring at sukuna.

" I fucking told you to stay away from her." he growls out, fuming at the mouth, sukuna rolls his eyes as he steps away from you and continue his way toward his bedroom yelling out a-

"I didn't touch her brother, have it however you want" that makes itadoris eyes snap to you- grabbing your arms harshly for the first time- scanning you for any marks that his brother could have left behind.

it looks like he wasn't satisfied as he picks you, holding you to tightly- to close to your liking you can feel his hard chest pressed harshly against your soft boobs- hard nipples, as he makes his way toward his bedroom closing the door loudly behind him.

he throws you on his bed, making you gasp- as you bounce, not letting you have enough time to process what's happening as he continues his scan- roughly holding your hips, pressing hard against the bed, not letting you move.

you were confused why, when was he this harsh, his soft touch were long forgotten as he hold you so painfully that you couldn't help but choke out a-

"it hurts" that seems to snap him out of it, as his eyes look at you gently and his touch loosen up a bit- looking at you worriedly but whatever his next thought was, it made his eyes darken again, his grip harden, fingers squeezing your hips, earning a pained groan from you.

"why? don't you like that" he whispers harshly against your ear as he leans in, you frown confused on what does he mean by that, you feel his warm breath against your sensitive neck, making you move your hips, trying to escape whatever is going on.

itadori trail his nose slowly down your ear taking deep breaths in, feeling his lips brush against your neck as he do, your heart is pounding as he settle one of his thick legs between your thigh, while the other is outside- caging you in.

"I don't think I quite understand what you mean, my lord." you gasp out, feeling him place his lips on the sensitive part of your neck, while his nose rub gently making it ticklish. itadori lean back to look you in the eyes- his eyes were dark, pupils expanded, staring at you hazely, as if he got drunk on your scent that he was sniffing in.

his eyes trails to your lips, your heart thumps-thumps as he leans in brushing his nose against yours still maintaining eye contact- his mouth half-open just like yours.

"I will show you" he growls out before he fully leans in and take your lips between his teeth- tugging them into his mouth, to meet his warm tongue that peak out to cares your lips, wetting them with his spit- before he fully take your lower lip in, and start sucking on it, making a hot loud wet sound,

this doesn't seem to be enough for him as he leans more in, pushing his knee into your sensitive cunt, making you moan into his mouth which only seems to drive him even more crazy, pushing his knee deeper just like his tongue that makes its way in your mouth just to meet yours.

circling wetly around it, it made you feel so light headed, the way he sucked your tongue into his mouth lapping on it likes he's a new born baby, you whimper into his mouth not realizing that you starting to arch your already dripping cunt into his knee.

"wanna breed you" itadori rasps out, as he break his tongue away from yours staring at the wet string that still connect your mouth together, he grinds his knee into your aching cunt, breathing hard against your lips.

"wanna fuck you" you whimper, your fingers tugging on his hair, letting your tongue out- in intention to tell him that you want his tongue inside your mouth again.

this move of yours drived him crazy, making him groan as he harshly gives you his tongue again swirling it around yours, while he line his throbbing cock against your leaking cunt, grabbing the hem of your dress and pulling it up- grinding against your panties only.

yours lips disconnect again with a wet pop sound, as yuji trail his rough large hands under your dress making their way toward your aching nipples- twisting them against his fingers.

"wanna be inside of you now" he moans out more like to himself- his hips thrusting crazily against yours, it was to much force- to inhuman, it made you bounce hard against the bed, you couldn't do anything but grab on his hair for support- which only seemed to make yuji go even more psychotic.

"fuck, want to feel your wet cunt on my face" he growls out, flipping you so fast- that he was laying down as you straddle his face, your panties was ripped into half by itadoris teeth- like it offended him for hiding your cunt from him.

he slapped your ass so hard- you were sure it was going to leave a purple mark, you cry out, "fuck sorry won't do it again" he coo at you rubbing the spot- but he lied, he does it again and again and again, your pussy was so wet, dripping, drenched as you ride your lords face, you can slide on his face from how wet it was with your juice.

slap, slap, slap, your ass was covered with purple hand marks "more-" he laps on your 5th orgasm, "I want fucking more of this sweet little cunt" he growls out eating your cunt up eagerly, your body was limp on top of his face, your full body weight was set on his face- but he only seemed to enjoy it.

"please no more i can't-" he slurps on your clit holding your thighs hard against his face, you choke on your sobs, "I can't please- please".

he gently stroke your ass, as he mutters out "one more", and you give him exactly what he asked for, squirting all over your lords face- it was to much pleasure, you were trying to move your hips away, but he held your thighs locked into his face not freeing you till he licked every single last drop.

you thought it was over as he place you down on the bed- but you judged to quick as you take a look at his ragging cock that was covered with his own cum, seeds leaking out cumming just from eating your delicious cunt out.

your cunt clench once itadori reveals his huge cock, wanting to be filled by it, "please please" you pathetically spread your thighs, showing him your puffy red pussy from being sucked by him.

"you want me to fuck you? you want to be fucked by your lord?" he darkly questions out as he lines his cock, pushing fully in before you got time to answer.

dark, all you can see is dark, pleasure, all you can feel is pleasure, as you open your eyes gasping for air, to see itadori thrusting his hips inside of you, so fast- so hard, chanting to himself.

"fuck you're so tight, so tight" he moans out drool drips from his mouth to yours, it was to hot, to hot, "I'm going to fill with my cum, you want it? you want it?" he crazily questions as he lock his hips with yours, hovering over you, grabbing your chin just to shove his tongue deep inside your mouth, fucking it just like he's fucking your pussy.

"fuck fuck gonna fill you fuuuuuck" he growls as you feel hot cum hit your womb, you twitch underneath him, it was all to much for you- for you little human body.

itadori didn't pull out his cock was spilling since forever, still spilling even as it leaks out into his bed sheets- you whimper, as you feel him rock his hips, fucking his cum into you.

he coo at you, kissing your sweaty forehead before he pulls out, and spread your thighs just to grin crazily as he looks at the way your red puffy pussy was dripping with his cum.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ to be continued?₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ

: ̗̀➛ part 2 is 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

[unknownplane]

The Court Jester Part 1

Yandere Batfam x GN Reader

Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4

"How did this happen?" the man who claimed to be my father asked.

"It started when I was young. My mother was close friends with Bruce Wayne. So when she died, he decided to take me in. Looking back on it now, I can tell it was just so he could have a piece of her even though she was gone. He, like many other men were infatuated with the idea of her and what could happen if they had her. That is how I came along. Someone couldn't keep their hands to themselves. Nobody, but my father knows that they are my father. We have tried finding him before, but there has been no luck.

I was 4 when I was brought to the manor. Bruce, overwhelmed with anguish, couldn't even look at me as I had my mother's features. Alfred showed me around. I even got to meet my new brother Richard, better known as Dick. An accurate nickname because as soon as he met me, he decided he did not want to be around me. That was fine. I was still dealing with the loss of my mother. As time went on, I felt as if I was forgotten. Bruce was busy throwing himself into "work" and he only needed Dicks help. It didn't take me long to figure out who he was. With all the bruises and tension around the house when things got bad in Gotham anyone living in that house could tell he was Batman. He had claimed he didn't want me to get hurt that's why he never asked for help but I knew it was because I looked like mom. I had her (h/c) (h/t) hair and her (e/c) eyes.

A couple of years later, a new boy came into the mix. His name was Jason Todd. He was okay. He didn't really know when to stop, though. I heard a lot of fights between him and Bruce. He talked to me sometimes when we had time. I was in school getting good grades and he was a Robin so we didn't have much time for each other. But then he died, and I had no one again. Even when he did come back, he came back changed he no longer cared for me. He was harsh. Ruined.

Then there was Tim Drake. He was really nice at the beginning, but he got busy and sleep deprived, so I stopped reaching out. I didn't want to take up his time as he had an actual job.

Then Stephanie Brown came, and I realized that there was a pattern. These people were too busy for me. I should stay out of their way and not be a burden as I have proven to be before.

It was like that until Damian came. He was unlike all the other Robins. He was mean and brutal. It was around this time that I started to reach out to the family. I had realized I had severe depression and self esteem issue from being the only one in this family that did not excel at anything. When I reached out, he was the one who but me back in my place. He was the one who told me to stay in the background where I belonged. And I might have if I was still the child that came here unwillingly at 3 years old, but I am no longer that child. I am an adult who has a degree in psychology and has a stable job. So I left.

When I first moved out, the first person I told was my online friend. I had been in contact with him since I was 5. He was like a father to me. He was very happy for me and told me, "You are finally free from that dreadful house!" and I couldn't agree more. I stayed in contact with him over the years, and our bond strengthened.

Then, one day, not even a month after I left the manor, he asked to meet up. I agreed. We met up at an abandoned wearhouse. He had told me he was a wanted man, so I did not mind. When I saw him, my face lit up as did his. We talked about a lot of things that night. One of which was if I wanted to help him in his endeavor. Chaos. And I gladly agreed as I would do anything for him as he was my father.

He soon started training me. Making sure I could deal with pain and know how to fight. The first week was agony, but then we both realized something. No matter how badly I was injured, it never had reproductions as the injuries would heal almost supernaturally. So soon, we started experimenting. Of course, I still felt pain, but anything for my dad. We found that no matter what happened to me, I couldn't die.

Then, I became strong enough to take part in one of his acts. Which leads us to now. Dies that answer your question?" I say, looking into the desperate eyes of The Batman with an elongated smile. Glee shined in my eyes as I finally had his attention.

"But SHHHH dad doesn't want to know your secret identity! Says it would ruin all the fun!" I proclaim. My teeth are fully showing as I giggle.

"What did I do wrong?" Bruce whispers to himself. As if he didn't already know. This was all his fault, and now the last piece he had of (M/N) was out of reach.

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

Hello!! This is my first time writing on Tumbler and just wanted to say Hi. Please let me know if you want this to continue. If it does, updates would probably be slow as I am in college and am using this as an artistic outlet. Thank you so much for reading!!

[klausysworld]

reader and klaus just had an massive argument and he kicks her out the house and invites cami over , reader ends up getting attacked badly in the middle of the night by one of klaus enemies and she calls him and he ignores all the calls until he listens to the voicemail in the morning only to find yn but it’s too late

The Ache Of Agony

Everything had been blown out of proportion. Y/N was a mess of tears and yelling whilst Klaus's paranoia was flaring. Within seconds Klaus had stopped thinking with his heart, looking at her like an enemy instead of his lover. Something to fight not fight for.

He had to get her out of that house before he hurt her; killed her.

However even once she was gone his mind was spinning. She hadn't meant to but she had caused a small sum of pain to him, put his family in danger and for that his mind told him to make her hurt.

Which was how Camille ended up at his house, lashes batting prettily as she sat beside him, leaning into him gradually. One of his hands was tense against the back of her neck, his body unsure how to respond between the battle of his head and heart as his lips neared the blonde's.

Their mouths finally met with a lack of passion on his end meanwhile she relished in finally having what she desired. His eyes only closed for a second before they were open, the look in them distant as he pulled away and let her rest her forehead against his.

The buzz of his phone vibrated against the table making him glance to see Y/N's name. Guilt crawled up his throat like a thousand tiny legs and he felt his arm reach out to grab the device but Cami's beat him to it. She clicked the button on the side and turned the phone face-down, pushing it to be forgotten.

Camille didn't stay as long as she'd hoped, Klaus couldn't go through with what his irrational mind had originally conjured up and he wound up back alone on the couch with his head in his hands.

Drink and drugs filled his body in an attempt to gorget his mistakes but in doing so he forgot her. The phone call and the dozen more that followed.

Morning had long passed before Klaus woke up face down, fully clothed against his bed. Elijah had been the one to drag Klaus downstairs, lecturing about his behaviour. One brief mention of Y/N's name was enough to spark a memory, the faint vision of his phone lighting up for the tenth time whilst his head was spinning a hundred different ways.

Klaus stood up fast, too fast. His body ached to throw up as the blood rushed up but he fought against it and ran for his phone, ignoring Elijah's impatient calling.

"No, no, no, no." He muttered, panic finally setting in as he clicked on the list of voicemails left from her only to be flooded with pure and utter dread when the haunting echo of her screams left the speaker.

Elijah's voice died down and the brother stood in a deathly silence as he pressed the next one. The familiar voice of a couple witches they had been antagonised by were laughing, mocking Y/N's agony as they tortured those cries from her one smiling lips.

"We need Davina, now." Klaus announced though the crack in his voice wasn't missed and Elijah was moving immediately.

Y/N had been looked at fondly by the vampires of New Orleans, wolves too via Hayley. There wasn't a bad word to say about her, so when hearing she was missing and most likely stung up in stitches, everyone was there to bring her home.

Five broken barriers and a covens worth of witches later and they finally had her within reach and yet nobody moved to pull her free of those chains.

Not when her throat was already slit, her body torn open down to her navel. Blood painting her skin, dripping down to the floor in a platter of abstract.

Klaus's heart ached so much he'd rather have had it torn out a hundred times over.

His steps were hollow against the ground as his trembling hands raised to tear apart the shackles that held her wrists up, dangling her from the ceiling like a butcher would a pig.

His arms caught her body with a broken cry, knees giving out but he didn't dare let her touch the floor. She was still warm against him, although that could have just been the blood, still her limbs were still soft and he could still curl her body against his and pretend for just a second longer that she was alive and snuggled up to him in bed like she should have been that night before.

Rebekah's hand touched his shoulder but the whimper that left his throat made Elijah pull her away. "Not yet." He uttered, his own voice struggling to maintain the usual stoicism it held. The other vampires hung their heads in grief, listening to the sobs Klaus Mikaelson whilst Marcel encouraged them to step away and let the family grieve.

Only a few had began to move when a sharp gasp reached each corner of the room.

A sound of terror leaving both Klaus and Y/N when her body lurched to some sort of life. She pushed him off, screaming with fear and confusion. Klaus's hands flew up in an attempt to show no harm and the other vampires were forcefully removed from the building to give her a moment.

Eventually her mind recognised her wrists were free, her insides were intact and the physical torture was gone; only psychological left.

Coming to the realisation she was a vampire hit her too hard after everything else she had gone through in the past hours. All her senses were running too high, causing her to spiral erratically.

Nobody could touch her, talking to her was proving just as difficult and it was eating Klaus up.

Hours dragged by but every minute was another minute closer to truly losing her forever. Klaus was given a glimpse of what her death would do to him and he knew that he couldn't let her go. He would give anything to go back and just let her yell at him, to have just forgiven her and make it up to each other. Or to at least have been the one to leave so that she could have remained safe at home. Instead he threw her out to fend for herself, an angel in a land of monsters.

Exhaustion wrapped its way back around Y/N as her end started to sink in. As her last grains of strength crumbled down the drain, Klaus was finally able to get close enough to hold her red-stained hand. He could feel her inner conflict to pull away or accept his comfort, she was scared and he understood that but he couldn't hold her lifeless body for the second time in 24 hours.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, careful not to speak too loud and irritate her heightened senses. Y/N's eyes were full of such a sadness he had never seen in her before. "Please let me bring you home, if you won't transition, at least be somewhere safe? Somewhere that's not here." He pleaded with her, hoping that of he got her home he could sway her decision.

Lucky for him, she didn't want to see that room for a minute longer than necessary. She couldn't have those walls be the last walls she ever see.

Being back in their bed, her bloody body staining the sheets as she shook worse than a leave on an autumn's night, was so much better than that floor.

The gentle touch of his fingertips on the side of her arm was the most amount of comfort she would accept so it was what he would give. The mere mention of turning shut her down but when her skin started greying, desiccating, Klaus couldn't just watch.

She whimpered a cry when the beautiful taste slipped down her throat, her vision blocked by tears as the hunger vampires had always described to her devoured her whole.

Klaus was finally able to get his arms around her as he felt her submit to the urges and drain blood bag after blood bag that he handed to her.

Klaus had to push the guilt down, he would have to survive her resentment, he would live with her hating him just so long as he never had to hear or see her in that kind of pain again.

He would never be the cause of that, not ever again.

[inkskinned]

they keep the silverware in the same place. you forget about it a little bit when you move out, but during the holidays, it comes back. the way you smooth over your life for them, a gentle reckoning.

for a while, you tried to find yourself by being wild. throwing your body at the emergency exit. finding comfort in the sharpness of a held breath. you used to write wake up on the inside of your wrist. you couldn't calculate the weight of your own sorrow, only that nobody was looking at the anchor of it. you tried maladaptive coping mechanisms like catnip. got caught half-in half-out of them. felt, weirdly, like you should be embarrassed of all of it.

but it does get better. mostly it's just that you become a priority to yourself. it turns out that lending yourself the ragged edge is just cutting open more marrow. for a while, it felt good to see a physical representation of inward agony. but who was that punishing? you learned, slowly (so slowly it was almost invisible sometimes) that you could put love into the wound instead. that the floor was comfortable because it was certain - but it was cold, and unwanting. instead there is a warm bed. you learn to treat yourself like a kid again. gentle-parent yourself into the shower and over breakfast and into laughing without effort. you do wake up.

but then you come home again, and it is like everything is a strange kaleidoscope of childhood moments. here is how you inherited your mother's anxiety. there is the same music playing, and you can't sit down without worrying you forgot to do something. your mother's clipped words and hovering hands - are you sure? are you sure? birdlike, you find yourself seeing unwell and still end up repeating.

here is your father's anger. you are 16 again. there was a moment where you remember thinking - holy shit. i am so much more emotionally mature than you. how you have to talk him down from minor inconveniences, how you parent him like an errant and spoiled toddler who can't be told no, and i mean it. you feel the warp of you. why you can't be in the same room as people having a completely normal conflict. why your skin crawls if there's ever a hint of a fight. why you live with your hands up, placating. and god forbid you get angry. you feel that little spoiled kid rage against the iron will of you. not you, not your hands. you would rather cut your own tongue out of your head, no matter how valid her argument is.

and you're so fucking far from where you were as a kid. you've done so much healing. and there's this little sad part of you that can see the shadow of your past, and your hands wrapped into each other so tightly you made your knuckles white. and how much your parents are just people, and haven't changed much, and still keep the spoons in the drawer to the right.

there is a long dark tunnel here, and it has a name, but you haven't learned how to process that kind of speech yet. close the cabinet. make a note to go get more oat milk. close your eyes.

this place was never home, was it.

[leaawrites]

Silence and Peace

Percy Jackson x fem!reader

Summary: Y/n doesn't like Percy very much, until one quiet night changes everything.

Warnings: use of Y/n, female reader, kinda suggestive, no specific cabin,

Wordcount: 1.8k

I'm back! If you have any requests or whatever, send them in! Though I might need a while to finish stuff right now :(

Btw, thinking of making a part 2 of this? What do you think?

Masterlist

In the quiet hours of Camp Half Blood, when all campers were asleep and nobody could disturb her peace, Y/n sat on the beach. Watching the waves crash against the shore longingly like they were her second home. She watched the ocean come and go. She watched the sand cover her feet and making her sink deeper every time a wave came to her. For her, that was freedom. Long hours of silence. A peace so immaculate nobody could blame her for it. Nobody could make her drown in agony in those moments.

Not even Percy Jackson, Son of Poseidon. The boy who watched her from afar one night and couldn’t look away ever since. He watched her helping other campers with a mesmerizing look in his eyes. One that screamed at everyone walking past, “that is gonna be my girl.”

And if she loved the ocean so much, she would love him the same, right? Wrong. She wasn’t his girl. She never even though about being his girl. He was always just Percy Jackson. The boy who bullied her for being older but still smaller than him. It wasn’t even that much of time between them. Seven months. Seven months was enough for him to make fun of her. Because Percy had no idea how to get a girls attention otherwise.

So that was his plan. Make her hate him if that was the only way for him to talk to her. Stupid boy.

Percy was stupid; you could ask about a dozen people and they would agree. He wasn’t dumb, but stupid. That kind of stupid that would get defeated by Annabeth after being distracted by a girl walking by. That kind of stupid that would stumble over his own feet when she approached him to complete her duties at camp. That kind of stupid that walked over to her one night and sat down next to her with nothing but static silence and the rapid sound of his heartbeat in his head. He was stupid in love.

“Why do you always watch the ocean but never go in?” He asked, scaring the girl and making her look at him wide eyed.

“I-” she began talking before shutting up. Every time she saw him, she prepared herself to get a snarky remark out of his mouth instead of a civil conversation. Though now he talked to her like a normal person. He talked to her like they were friends. “What are you doing here?”

Percy chuckled, averting his eyes from the moon towards her. Eyes sparkling, a kind of tiredness filling his face. “I don’t think you should be the one asking.”

It wasn’t meant mean. It wasn’t meant harmful in any way. However Y/n received enough comments with the same tone to roll her eyes and look away from him in annoyance. In her head, he wasn’t there to keep her company or even - dare I say - comfort. He was only there to annoy and tease her.

“Look, Percy, I was really enjoying my peace before you came, so maybe, would you be so kind, and leave me alone. Just this once. In the morning you can say whatever you wanna say to me, just not tonight,” she said, pulling her knees to her chest and letting her head rest on them, her voice tired and stifled.

Percy looked at the girl like she was going insane. Like somehow she murdered three people and wasn’t afraid for him to be the next. Which, Percy assumed, probably was one thought in her head at the moment. Even when he could never imagine her doing harm to anyone or anything. She was the smart, kind, classy girl in camp. The sweet, blooming field of flowers that everyone adored. Him included. He adored her.

“You know, when I’m seeking peace at night, I also visit the ocean,” he told her, making her look up at him. She was surprised he was still sat next to her, talking in tranquility. It felt foreign, yet normal in a fascinating sense to her. A person can be so different at night. Or was it only because he was at peace now? “Lately it felt like I visited a girl as well.”

It took her a moment, but then she understood what he meant. This wasn’t the first time he came here. It was, however, the first time he made himself known, which surprised her. When you think of Percy Jackson the first adjectives would be sarcastic, extroverted and brave not shy, calm and soft. At least not to her.

“You were watching me?” She asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and, what Percy assumed to be disgust, but actually it was surprise. Y/n was surprised that he seemed interested in her.

“I also like to swim, but that wasn’t possible since you occupied the ocean’s attention for most of the time,” he told her, sighing in acted sadness.

Y/n laughed at his terrible performance, making him smile in return. “You should’ve just walked past. I would’ve been gone in a second if I knew it was you.”

Something in that sentence made Percy’s heart drop. Maybe it was the face that she would’ve been gone. Or maybe it was because she would’ve been gone because it was him. Anyway, something about it made him uncomfortable in his own skin.

“You also could’ve stayed,” he told her, not looking at her, missing the soft smile and tender look dancing in her eyes. “Bet you wouldn’t have minded seeing me without a shirt.” There it was. The comment she waited for, combined with the smirk she knew all too well. Percy was terrible at flirting and she wouldn’t have said what she eventually did if they hadn’t been all alone at this hour.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have.”

Percy’s mouth stood open with surprise, while she shrugged nonchalant and bit her lower lip to suppress a laugh that wanted to escape her so badly. The boy wasn’t used to her actually jump on the joke and tease him back, though he couldn’t deny that he somehow liked it.

After a moment of thinking, he took his chance. Pulling his shirt over his head and making his way towards the water, he turned to her with a smirk. “Well, if that’s the case.”

Y/n wanted to watch the beach, she came specifically to this place to do just that. Watch the waves and the shore and the sky and the moon. Though now her eyes were focusing on something else. She watched Percy dip in the water, breaking the surface, with such gentleness, she wanted him to touch her just the same. She watched him swim for a bit. Watched him look at her and act like he was being attacked to get a laugh out of her. His head sticking out of the water to watch her reaction. When he saw her enjoying his company for once, he smiled back. It was nice knowing to be the reason for one’s happiness. Especially someone you wanted to make happy every day.

As he came back, Y/n tried to keep her focus on the moon, only betraying her quest when Percy sat down next to her again. Shirt still laying next to him.

Percy turned his head, only in time to catch her eyes traveling over his now shivering body. The night air hitting his skin with discomfort.

“You should put your shirt back on or you’re gonna get sick,” she said, looking at him. Her eyes catching a water drop sliding down his face and following it. He ignored her comment but still put his shirt back on.

“When you said that you would’ve gone if I was to just walk past and into the water, was that only because of me or would you have gone if any other person would’ve been in my position?” He asked her, making her look away from him again. She didn’t answer though Percy knew the answer now. “You don’t like me very much.”

“It’s hard to like you, when you constantly try to embarrass me,” she said, finally. Finally she didn’t just walk past him, ignoring his comments like they weren’t meant for her. Though it was obvious to everyone.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” Percy admitted. Grover was right, he thought.

After he finally told someone about his crush on the girl, Grover was quick to educate him that that wasn’t the way to get a girlfriend. “I was just trying to get your attention,” he admitted quietly.

Y/n laughed at that, her hand over her mouth. “Why would you want my attention?” She asked him.

“What?” Percy didn’t understand how that seemed so impossible to the girl next to him.

“Percy, be serious. You couldn’t possibly want my attention so bad. I mean, why would you? You have the attention of all the girls, why mine?”

Percy had never been so mad at himself and at her too. He wanted to tell her that he was just joking. He wanted to tell her that he had no idea why he wanted her. But the truth was he knew. He laid awake enough nights asking himself the same question. Then again, he was mad at her for thinking that. He was mad again at her that she couldn’t see all what he saw in her in herself.

“I like you, okay? I really do. I like the way you talk kindly to everyone and I like your smile and your cleverness. I like that you’re always there for everyone and that you listen to me even though I’ve been horrible to you,” he told her it all. Everything that he thought about he told her. “I like your bubbly personality and how you can’t seem to stand normal after staying up for a moment. I like how messy you are and yet put together. I like your face and your eyes and you. I like you for how you are.”

“Well, Jackson, your strategy isn’t really good. I mean, teasing a girl to get her attention usually just works in books,” she told him.

Percy couldn’t believe it. He just poured her a cup of his heart and she decides to dump it into the ocean.

“But this is nice,” she eventually added. “I like this side of you. The quite and vulnerable one. The one who’s flirty and sarcastic in a lovable way. The one who fakes his death to make me laugh.”

“What does that mean now?” Maybe she didn’t dump it all in the ocean. Only a part of it. The part she didn’t like.

“It means that if you show me more of that side, I could eventually start liking you too. Would that be alright?” She asked hoping for a yes and a agreement from him.

She got more though. She got a relieved ‘yes’, a promise and a smiling and blushing boy.

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

time traveling ballpit: "into the pit." don't you fuckin tell me it wasn't time travel, they call it the "time-traveling ballpit" IN the ultimate guide that is a CANON descriptor

spring bonnie replaces some kid's dad in real life: "into the pit." we dont talk about that enough that's the REAL funny part of the short

plushtrap gets hit by a train: "out of stock." pretty self-explanatory. also had human eyes and teeth

funtime foxy taxi driver: "room for one more." it's the first nightmare this dude has and so you're not even expecting it and suddenly funtime foxy is just THERE

never explaining what the FUCK "the new kid" ending was about: if you've read it you know what i mean

springtrap mpreg: "in the flesh." i know the proper fandom term is matpat mpreg but the man's retiring let's cut him a little bit of slack

afton fuckin explodes: "the man in room 1280." i was noooot fucking expecting THAT

fazgoo: "he told me everything." i think the name speaks for itself

PUPPET FORKLIFT RAMMING INTO 15FT AGONY AFTON MECH: "the cliffs epilogue." why did nobody warn me about that one. everyone warned me about the mpreg and the ballpit and nobody about charlie being strapped to a forklift in the attempt to push the giant 15ft afton mech screaming "I AM AGONY" like an edgy teenager into a fucking lake to drown him. this one's my favorite personally. charlie forklift certified

9yo burns "just say no" onto drug dealer's forehead for kicks: "gumdrop angel epilogue." they set that shit up like jake was gonna kill the guy but instead he took the WAY funnier option

sea bonnies: "sea bonnies." sea bonnies.

michael in the bushes: "you're the band." michael loses animatronic freddy's possessed head and stalks the person who bought it, digs through her attic and hides in her bushes, and then follows her to a new house and hides in her bushes AGAIN. then when her kid is kidnapped he drives her down to freddy's in an awkwardly silent car ride, saves her kid from puppet tentacles, and explains nothing

[sundaycentric]

⌢  ⌢ yandere gojo x gn reader

␥ content — yandere, drabble, sfw, predator/prey ?, forced proximity, forced dependency, gojo is a bitch, gojo gets someone to (attempt to) hurt you, gojo treats you like a naive pet ... 760 words

Your feet ache. It feels like they are bleeding, and each time your heel hits the ground, you swear you can feel your skin tear and blister. Despite the pain, your desperation and adrenaline kept you running. You kept scurrying away, as your current agony was far, far more light compared to what awaited you if you stopped. Deep down, though, you knew you would suffer the same fate. All you were doing was delaying the inevitable: when he caught you.

Gojo never cared much for your pathetic attempts at escaping. You'd normally never get far, as he would always be able to you before you could truly begin running. Gojo would let you feel like you finally were about to do it, before shattering your dreams and taking you in his arms once more. He only laughed as you cried, and paid no mind to your weak hands hitting his chest. You were nothing compared to his strength, and no amount of fighting could get him away.

That is until you slipped away this morning. Somehow, Gojo didn't know that you were running away. Miraculously, his attention was elsewhere, and you could tell it was something serious. At least, more serious than you, since he hadn't been pestering you as much. You took your chances, and you ran. You could actually make it this time.

You didn't doubt that Gojo noticed your absence within a few minutes of you being gone, so you had to waste no time. You quickly stumbled around the buildings, taking you to the outskirts where only forest and sparse houses remained. You had left no trace of your direction, as far as you could tell, so there was no way he'd be able to trace you down. You wouldn't run into him.

But you would run into other people. Your aching feet forced you to slow down slightly. You panted slightly, making sure to survey the surroundings around you. That's when you spot someone. It wasn't Gojo. They turned around and noticed you pretty quickly. You softly smiled: perhaps they'd help you. You stumbled closer to them, desperate for some sort of shelter to hide in temporarily.

They smiled back as you came closer. You opened your mouth to speak before falling silent. They had a knife and had brought it up to you. It rested on your shoulder, the blade staring at your neck. They tightly gripped onto your weak, exhausted body. You couldn't move: you were overpowered, tired, and in shock. The person spoke up, "Has nobody ever told you to not trust strangers? You shouldn't be wandering around this late, especially looking so vulnerable. Don't worry, I'll make this quick."

Their smile grew wider as the knife grew closer. The tip caressed your skin. You shut your eyes, knowing you couldn't do anything as it came closer. Closer. Closer. And then it stopped.

You paused for a moment before opening your eyes. There was a hand around the person's throat. The one behind quickly through them to the ground and scooped you up. He caressed your neck, where a small, shallow cut lay. You recognized his hands, his touch. Gojo had found you. Part of you wished you had just died by the stranger, while another part of you was actually happy to see him.

Gojo hugged you to his chest before looking at the person on the ground. Gojo's hands that were comforting you gently cupped your ears, blocking your hearing for a moment. He said to the person, "You weren't supposed to cut them, idiot. Leave before I change my mind about staying true to my end of the deal." His voice was slightly mocking. He watched with a smile as the person left, before redirecting his attention to you.

Gojo moved his hands to your cheeks as he stared at you. He kissed the tip of your forehead. His voice was soft, but in a faux, manipulative way, "You shouldn't have run away. Do you see how dangerous it is out there? You're lucky to be with me, where I won't hurt you, yeah? It's okay, I forgive you. It was my fault for leaving a dumb pet alone without a caretaker." You only cried. You didn't know if it was from the fear of being killed, the slightly sting on your neck, or the fact that you'd been caught. But he was right, wasn't he? He didn't hurt you. Gojo loved you.

"You ran away because I wasn't giving you enough attention," He said. It was less of a question and more of a statement, trying to convince you that that was the reason you ran. He smiled wider.

"Let's go home now."

[mayearies]

ꨄ BONCHINCHE HOUR .. miles g. morales ⟡

󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠 “my ma can be really chatty sometimes. she talks her own ear off.”

✦ synopsis you never took rio for someone who would talk a lot. she seemed pretty closeted and quiet around everyone else but her son. well, i guess today you saw that side of her for the first time

✦ genre giggles

✦ disclaimer possible innacurate spanish, possible rio ooc, lazy maye alert ALSO CREDITS TO DALIA FOR THE NAME SORRY SORRY

✦ translations ¿me estás culpando por esto? / are you blaming me for this?

“seriously? she doesn’t seem like one to talk much.” miles’ soft and relaxed expression remained as he was focused on the movie you two were supposed to be watching, “trust me. once you know her like i do, that’ll change.”

you didn’t believe him a whole lot. she wasn’t hostile or anything towards you—a few how are you’s and you would go your separate ways. “mhm.”

“hey! don’t doubt me.” he pouted, tickling your stomach making you squirm. “now go get us some popcorn so we can watch this movie.” you raised an eyebrow and nodded with a laugh under your breath.

walking into the kitchen, ms. morales was leaning against the counter drinking some tea. she looked like he had just gotten off of a shift. well, this would be a little awkward. “oh! hi, ms. morales. sorry i didnt- i didnt expect you to be back home this early.”

“hm? oh no, they let me leave early tonight,” she chucked under her breath as she sipped, “needed that break anyway. what’re you and miles doing up so late?”

“just planning to watch a movie. i picked out a horror movie and he hesitated. yet, he tryna pick fights with random people sometimes. odd, right?” you chuckled as you grabbed the bag of popcorn out the pantry. you heard her laugh, too.

“he’s always been odd—believe it or not.” you mouthed the word ‘seriously?’ and she nodded with her eyes wide. “this little boy would do the weirdest things when he was younger. ay dios mio, he was such a hassle.”

“this one time—he was doing some arts and crafts with scissors and all, i walk out of the room for five minutes. there he is. with half of his hair on the floor. now you know the reason why one of his braids is shorter.”

you snorted, and you’re pretty sure miles grew suspicious. that and you were gone a little too long to just be getting popcorn, “he told me it was his barber!”

“his barber??? nobody else is touching that damn head of his. you know what-” rio snapped her fingers and there he was. “¿me estás culpando por esto?” miles hummed in confusion until she gestured his braids.

“you did not tell her about that story.” she raised her eyebrows, “oh, i did tell her about that story.” miles groaned as if he was in agony, and he probably was.

despite his overrall character coming off as cold and stoic, he was just like any other teenage boy your age. dramatic and sassy for no apparent reason. “oh! did i tell you the time i caught him singing once?”

“mom.”

“or the time i first found out about him and his obsession for comics-con?”

“mom..!”

“or when i found him putting cat hairclips in his ha-”

“alright, conversation over!” he shoved the bag of popcorn into your hands and pushed you down the hallway towards his room, giving his mom a bothered stare. “they’re in his top drawer!”

“MOM.”

@ mayearies , no swiping!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

i'm begging you for some Keegan angst🙏🏼 like perhaps he and his s/o get split up during an ambush; their s/o goes MIA and when they're finally found, they're badly injured,,, something like that. maybe some fluff/comfort at the end

happy holidays!🎊

Laughing Poets

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

Synopsis: It was poetic the way the bullet ripped through your flesh – the spray of blood that exploded from you with high velocity. How will Keegan react when he realizes that he has to leave you behind?

Word Count: 10.8k

Warning: Angst, fluff, blood & gore, torture, Keegan calls you 'Kid' a lot, happy ending

A/N: This was supposed to be done about two days ago but I decided I hated it so I re-wrote the last half (might have switched a few things around). Enjoy, Anon, and thanks for the request. Also, not quite sure on the exact characterization of Keegan yet but I'm getting there. Slowly.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

It was poetic the way the bullet ripped through your flesh – the spray of blood that exploded from you with high velocity; so much so that it splattered the far wall of the decrepit house. At that moment, as you felt all the air being expelled from your lungs in a shuttering gasp, you could see poets from the long-gone Romantic Era scratching at thin paper with an ink-stained quill, laughing. Their charcoal-stained fingers would twitch as they write out your life with a furrowed brow, bathed in candlelight, and would smile as they slashed their signature at the bottom.

Would the poem of your life end so quickly?

Your head slams to the ground, white light erupting from behind your eyes as you try and suck back enough air just enough to be able to scream in agony. Molten heat is tearing you apart, peeling back nerves; breaking bone, and slashing past muscle with an inexhaustible surety. Dropping the modified AX-50 from your grip, the black and grey metal slams to the ground with a defining clatter as your ears ring with lightning. In the back of your mind, you hear the glass of its Thermal Duel Power Scope shatter into a million tiny pieces.

Shit, you had just gotten that from Kick a week ago. 

It was strange – the repercussions of your actions were happening all around you, but it felt like it was a world away as realization set in. You’d gotten shot? How? You got shot?! 

You wished your pitiful existence was worthy of a poem, truth be told; that it was worth more than the crimson that leaks from your left shoulder to the old, cracked, wooden ground. But that was never the case. 

Your body writhes and you wail out, head jerking back and forth in a primal display. 

You had chosen this life, whether by your own need for revenge or the sense of duty…you knew not. And now you would pay for it. 

Nobody knew you were hit, because you hadn’t told anyone through the comms, but there was also the fact that you were never meant to be this far out anyways. Merrick had fucking warned you this would happen if you stalked off on your own again, but as always, you had chosen the stubborn route. When you had seen this run-down shack of a house with a perfect vantage point, it made that predatory part of your brain sing with a need to hike to it – nestled right in between an outcropping of trees and overgrown vines atop a hill. With the threat of Federation soldiers in the war-torn town below, it was a God-send. You controlled it. You were master here.

Like a bird, Keegan would tell you, striding past, you just can’t resist a good perch, can you, Kid? 

The thing is, your Ghost Team shouldn't know you’re injured out here, but soon enough as you frantically try and grasp at your decimated shoulder with burning tears in your eyes and a gaping mouth, a stiff voice wavers through the static of your radio. The blood pools from you like an overturned ink well and your face pulls back in a desperate snarl.

The sound of gunfire was still raging hundreds of miles down into the remains of what was once the outskirts of San Diego but is now known as No Man’s Land. 

“Kid,” Keegan’s voice plays along your ears, but you’re too busy trying to force yourself up, blood hacked up from your mouth as you let out a strangled, no, “Where’d your scope go? Ajax needs cover fire two clicks to the west. Eyes up. No time for foolin’ around.”

Your skin is peeled back, and your flesh is infected with bits of your shirt and padded vest fabric inside the wound itself – like bugs crawling all over. You don’t want to think about the exit wound. The bullet had come from another sniper farther in the city, and, you knew, you were lucky you had survived the shot at all just on that fact alone. In your case, when you pulled the trigger, you rarely missed a killing blow. 

That was probably why Elias Walker had approached you in the first place – your kill count for Federation soldiers was off the charts, even with how young you were. Not quite a Ghost in full, but something in the middle; nearly there but not quite. You had to earn the mask first. Ajax liked to call you Greenhorn, but Merrick was more prone to Rookie. Kick was rarely out of his lab, so he didn’t call you much of anything. But Keegan…

“Blue Jay?” Keegan’s voice once more wafts out into the burning air, “Sitrep. Now.” 

“Keegan, push forward,” Merrick cuts through the channel and his heavy tone fills the house just as you begin to drag yourself across the floor. The echoes of the gun battle reverberate over the hills, “They’re boxing us in! Move, move, move!”  

You collapse against an overturned and broken coffee table with shaking limbs and tear-stained cheeks, struggling to find a good enough hold to press down on the wound as crimson leaks from between your fingers. A lung-shuttering gasp exits the flesh of your lips right before a burning makes itself known in the back of your throat. Not able to stop yourself, bile is forced all the way from your stomach, making a trail up your esophagus and finally pooling in your mouth. Gagging, you reel forward onto one hand and release the contents of Keegan’s ration bar from lunch back into the earth, watching the liquid concoction pool onto the ground that has grass whisps sneaking in from between the floorboards. Seeing that, and barking out another wail as long ropes of crimson drip down from your limp arm, you throw up once more. Everything is on fire. 

“When…when Ajax said getting shot felt like your skin was being flayed,” You groan, head starting to feel light-headed, “I thought he was just joking.” 

The sound of your agony-drowned voice brought a sense of urgency into your rapidly fading psyche. 

“Apply pressure,” Merrick’s imaginary voice in your head makes you straighten your spine – like he was a little angel on your shoulder hitting you with a newspaper. You call-back the memory of the Ghost as he was going over medical procedures a month back, “If your hand slips, you die, and I'm not carrying your limp body back to the Fort like a fucken’ sack of potatoes. No one can respond better than yourself in this type of high-risk situation, you understand? Panic is not an option in No Man's Land and if you think it is, you have no right being here...Make a tourniquet; tie it off, and wait for backup. Here, Rookie, practice on Keegan.” 

Doing the best you can with only one functioning arm, your fingers twitch as you card them clumsily over the pouches on your chest. Finding the velcro of your medical bag, you whine as you rip it open, flesh so sensitive that even the rough fabric of your own property is grating to feel. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you tell yourself, you most likely would have already passed out.

Ripping out the roll of medical gauze and praying you had enough, your shaking hand travels to your right shoulder, not even noticing the hurried conversations and screaming orders over the comms. 

Make a tourniquet, You think to yourself, grunting out into the air when you have to move your arm into position. The entire limb was stained red, liquid dripping off your nonresponsive fingers to the floor. What if you never regained the function of your arm again? Your thoughts were running. What if you could never shoot your rifle all because you felt the need to go too far on your own? To prove yourself?

The thoughts scared you more than you liked to admit. This life was everything to you – pushing back against the Federation, who had taken so much from you, and being alongside the Ghosts. It was what you had worked so hard for. 

Then fight for it, You don’t know why Keegan’s smooth voice comes to you at that moment, but as you pull the gauze so tight around your open wound you scream and see stars; nearly keeling over as well, it brings forward a steely determination, Don’t expect everything on a silver platter, Kid. But then again, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know that.

“Fucking hell,” Face contorted with unmatched distress, you suck down breaths and let the gauze soak up your life; blood in deep puddles already seeping through, “I need to move – t-tell the others…”

“Blue Jay’s not responding,” Keegan speaks over the static of the comms channel, “I’m doubling back.” 

Your functioning hand latches onto the radio, weak fingers slipping for a moment as your body sways forward. Struggling, you stumble to your feet and steady yourself on the termite-eaten wall near the window. You peak out and try to spot the enemy sniper with wheezing breath and a sweat-flooded forehead. 

Pressing down on the radio to speak, you’re appalled by how hard the simple act was. 

Am I dying? 

“Don’t Keegan – in order to break the line you’ll need everyone to be there,” You have to blink away the blurriness of your eyes, “I’m spotting twelve tangos near the storage facility. Merrick, I’d suggest taking a left and circling the flank.”

Merrick responds, “Good eyes, Rookie. Ajax, on my six!”

Your vision swirls, forcing you to suck in a sharp breath and splay your legs shoulder length apart so you don’t fall forwards. You pointedly avoid look at your wound.

“You want to explain why you weren’t responding?” Keegan’s voice is stern, hiding an edge somewhere in its tone that you choose not to acknowledge, “This isn’t a game!” On a far-off building, you spy a glint, making your attention snap to it like a cat and a mouse—sniper scope. 

There’s that Bastard, Your fingers twitch with hatred, glossy and tear-clogged eyes narrowing. If you had the ability to shoot right now…

A bullet nearly takes your head off, splintering the frame of the window before lodging into the floor.

“Shit!” You yell, reeling back; forgetting for a moment you were on the open channel.

“Greenhorn, what’s going on over there?” Ajax finally graces the line, “You doing something stupid again?” You don’t know why you hesitate…why you’re so cautious to reveal to them that–

“That’s it,” Keegan snarls, “I’m going to your position.”

You shake your head, your mind so jostled that you don’t say anything for a moment until you realize that no one can see you.

“I took a bullet to my right shoulder.” You concede, voice low with self-hatred, “Clean through, nothing to worry about, just won’t be able to cover anyone…C-can’t feel my arm.” 

The line goes dark for a moment, and as you listen to your own ragged breathing that leaves you more hunched over the longer you stand up, it suddenly explodes. A cold shiver travels down your spine; sweat drips from your nose. Your eyelashes flutter.

“What the hell do you mean you got hit!?”

“Son of a Bitch, Rookie, give us your position, now. We’re pulling back.”

“No!” You yell, growling, and shaking your head, “This is a key location to taking back San Diego – there are vantage points, cover, hell, even weapons caches left over from before the war in one of the military bases. We need to secure this town. I’m fine!” But they weren’t listening, even if everything you were saying made sense. 

They can’t ruin the operation over one person, You told yourself, heart pumping a mile-a-minute, No one I’ve worked with has ever done that before and the Ghosts sure as Hell shouldn’t be the first. These guys were Special Operations before ODIN destroyed half the US – they know better.

But you were forgetting one critical detail. The Ghosts aren’t just any other team; they care about their own perhaps even more than the missions they get sent on. 

But I’m not one of them, You grunt to yourself, letting your eyes close and knocking your head back into the wall behind you. The fact makes you want to cry, but you’re forced to acknowledge the sore spot later. 

God, your arm felt like it was being burned to a crisp. You grunt and grit your teeth as another wave goes through you.

“How long ago did you get hit!?” Keegan barks and the sound of shouting from below your perch momentarily increases.

“I..” You try and think. How long had it been? More than seven minutes couldn’t have passed. 

“Answer me!” 

“F-fuck, I don’t know! Four-five minutes ago!” Yelling makes your head throb, a deep booming that echoes like a drum in your consciousness. 

The door to the house squeaks as it opens. 

Eyes snapping to the wall that separates the living room from the foyer, your voice cuts out immediately. Keegan was fast – lethally fast – but the town below your perch was at least a few miles, this was because your AX-50 was specialized at long-distance shots. It would be no good in the heat of an ongoing ground battle. I mean, hell, it only held seven shots; even with the modifications you had added on by yourself. 

The person who had opened the door wasn’t a Ghost.

And that meant they were your enemy.

Doing the best you can to move stealthily, you unclip the combat knife from your belt and listen with bated breath as you slink over to the doorway. You hate the way your hand shakes as it holds the hilt but revel in the fact that your left arm is numb enough to not cause you to bellow out. Holding your breath, you lean against the barrier on your good shoulder and bring the blade up near your chin. 

There are hesitant footsteps that shake the fragile frame of the building, and you feel the reverberations travel up your feet and make your skin shiver. Goosebumps form along your arms. 

Creeeek, crack-clack

The floorboards squeal like a stuck pig, the old boards splintering off as an unseen assailant’s feet cautiously move through the house. The sound of heavy breathing comes closer, nearing the doorway to the room you say stone-still in. 

Your radio flares to life.

“Rookie–” It only takes a moment, but Merrick’s voice is the signature at the end of your poem; whatever you would have heard from the man was lost. 

A Federation soldier dressed in camo and grasping a shotgun rampages around the corner. 

—

Keegan knows he’s too late when he sees the run-down visage of the shack with its front door open.

I taught her never to leave the doors behind her ajar. 

The Ghost had been training you for months – taking you somewhat under his wing, albeit reluctantly. Elias was clear when he gathered everyone together, train her to be like us. And they had all done just that, Keegan more harshly than anyone, but that wasn’t to say you were untalented. 

The stoic Ghost had yet to see a more talented sniper than himself, but you came in as a close second. You were the perfect asset, able to stay back when everyone else went in. You were the cover, the master behind the curtain that clears a path with a pull of a trigger. The Ghosts owed many missed nicks and scrapes to you and your calls. So when Keegan had heard you stop answering over the comms; not responding to Ajax’s hurried quips…

Keegan’s heart hammers as he ascends the front steps overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, the Honey Badger Assault Rifle held white-knuckled in his grip. As if on autopilot, the man switches the safety off and enters, face behind the fabric of his balaclava. The contorted visage of the white paint over the front created quite the nightmare and paired with the black eyepaint Keegan could only be compared to a beast. 

The slight clinking of the rope hook tied to his waist and the metallic bit and bobs in his vest was the only sounds he made, the years upon years of perfection ingrained into the way he breathed; the press of his feet to the floor. Keegan would only allow someone to hear him if he wanted them to, even if he was the size of a boar.

His cerulean eyes flicker down the hallway, but nothing moved beside the stale wind – smelling only dirt and…

Blood, Keegan’s nose twitches, eyes narrowing. The man tries to ignore the way his heart picks up pace.  

Had he really grown so attached to you that he would forsake his teammates to come and check on your situation? Perhaps the stupidest thing he could do to himself was begin to enjoy your presence. But that didn’t change the fact that you were his responsibility, and in the back of his mind there was a nagging concern. 

He had grown to care for you, and that was unexceptable.  

Keegan enters the living room with his rifle held ahead of him, scanning the room for tangos before he lowers it. Empty. 

And then he sees the remnants of a struggle. Head going back and forth the Ghost follows a trail of gore along the floor, an explosion of crimson over the wall behind him, and feels his chest rumble in a growl over the image of a broken AX-50. His breath stills.

The metal was dented, and the scope shattered, leaving glass over the ground like marbles. Keegan felt a dangerous heat enter his blood, eyes flashing; a specific type of rage growing in his gut and twisting his intestines. 

“Where are you, Kid?” He mutters, fingers flexing over the trigger of his weapon. Where did you go? His throat tightens, lips thin. Merrick’s voice comes over the radio with a hard edge.

“Keegan, sitrep. How’s our girl doing? Evac is on its way and we’re pulling back. Getn’ pretty hot over here.” Keegan takes a moment before rushing over to your signature weapon, letting his own fall against his chest and bounce off his vest. Grasping the gun you worshiped by the blue strap, his eyes go along its long body, spying the custom modifications and intricate detailing over the stock. Tiny Blue Jays are scratched and covered in crimson; the colors faded.

You had painted it yourself when Keegan had taken a liking to referring to you by the callsign, and he had never really had the chance to look at it until now. Staring at it for a moment longer, his thumb lightly swipes away a droplet of blood, letting one of the birds once more be visible. Keegan swings the rifle over his back and feels the heaviness of it – the weight of the customizations and the top-grade material. This was your pride and joy along his back, moving with every flex of his shoulders with the barrel hitting the back of his knee. 

He carried it was a sort of reverence; a delicateness that was never connected to his name.

She’d never leave this behind without a fight. 

Keegan’s tense fingers go to his radio, eyebrows pulling in and eyes emotionless. But the stubble shake of his hand makes him want to punch someone. Whoever had done this to you would pay.

“Blue Jay’s gone.” He states, monotone, “House is empty with signs of a struggle.” 

The man turns back to the doorway, glass crunching under his feet, and walks back out into the hallway. 

“What do you mean ‘gone,’ man?” Ajax butts in, and over the comms the sound of bullets hitting metal creates a ringing sound, “She’ll bleed out!” 

“Move!” Merrick’s voice sizzles out as a grenade goes off, and the line cuts for a moment as Keegan nonchalantly comments, 

“All good?” 

“We’re taking heavy fire. Without the girl’s backup, we can’t stay here – Ajax and I are heading to the Evac point and’ll draw their attention into the woods. Find that damn kid, Sergeant.” 

“On it, Sir.” Keegan releases the device on his vest and turns his hidden head. He sweeps the rest of the shack with a heavy weight on his shoulders, taking notice of a constant trail of blood throughout the hallway. With every moment passing the weight of the situation settles in his gut.

“C’mon Kid,” He whispers, voice gruff, until he finally goes to the busted-down back door and finds the body. 

It was laying face down in a bed of wild grass, a thin breeze moving its shirt sleeves. A shotgun lays a few feet from the corpse, surrounded by old rubble and a small downed treetrunk; it was still smoking, dark metal caressed by dirt. Keegan rushes over, taking in the motionless branches of the forest and the knife still lodged in the Federation soldier’s head. 

Tapping the man with his foot, the Ghost goes to grab the blade by the hilt and rip it out. Hearing the shink of metal separating from flesh and feeling the spray of blood over his tactical glove. 

Just as he feared, the knife belonged to him. His body coils.  

Keegan had given it to you after you lost your own on the last mission, the black blade a perfect match to the one currently sitting on his waist. He had wanted it back, but you had teased and asked what if I needed it in the future with a raised eyebrow and body leaning into Ajax who sat next to you. Begrudgingly, Keegan had deadpanned and said he expected you to return it after you found a replacement. But you had just smiled at him, lips pulling back into a bright display and wrinkled eyes. Your face had glowed in the daylight, shadows disappearing and the heavy bags everyone was sporting under their eyes vanishing on yours. Keegan had felt his chest hitch, even if outwardly he remained as stoic as always, and that was it.

The man had dropped the conversation and had never asked for the blade back. In fact, something had swirled in Keegan’s gut the next time he saw his knife strapped to your waist, the band holding the hilt tight against you and bunching your shirt up. It was pathetic, Keegan admitted when he had frozen at the sight at the time, legs jerking, but seeing something of his own on your body had made his heart go wild; eyes so obviously boring into you that your cheeks had gained a sheen of embarrassment that day. Keegan had stalked away, unable to admit to himself that something was going in inside of him that he had no control over.

That was the point of no return, he realized. The overturned inkwell onto the thin parchment. 

You were the poet and him the words in your head, using him without a clue. 

“Fuck,” He growls, gripping the knife so tightly it digs into his gloves and hurts the flesh inside. His head turns to the forest, burning eyes roving for any sign of you even as a strike of pride filters through him. Injured and disoriented, you had taken down a man two times your size with only his knife and your wits. Now that really got his blood pumping.

Besides a thin trail of blood drops over the grass, leading far into the tree line, you had all but disappeared. Keegan’s heart was pounding, ready to run in after you.

She couldn’t have gotten far, especially not with a wound like she described. I’ll catch up. I have to.

“Keegan we need you at the Evac point, ASAP!” Ajax screams, voice strained, “Else we’re going to be coming home in body bags, man!” 

“I don’t have Blue Jay yet–”

“There’s no time,” Merrick yells out, and Keegan hears the whizz of bullets from over the line, “Federation soldiers are storming us – get here now! Or you’re getting left behind. That’s an order, Sergeant!” 

She won’t survive, Keegan tells himself, forcing down the mucus in his throat, not by herself. 

Ghosts don’t leave their own behind. Merrick undoubtedly planned to return when the heat was off them; send a recon force to the area to look for signs of life. Keegan clenched his fists, eyes dead as they stare off into the trees and expansive foliage. This area was notorious for its high cliffs and steep dropoffs – one wrong move and everything was over in an instant. The earthquakes were worse. Ever since ODIN was fired the tremors had been constant. 

The odds weren’t in your favor even without adding in a possibly fatal wound.

Keegan takes a step forward, inching closer to the treeline unconsciously with firm feet. 

“Keegan – do you trust her!?” 

“What?” Merrick’s loud comment had shaken Keegan, making him freeze; eyes wide. He was only one step into the wild, perhaps only one step closer to finding you. Did he trust you? What kind of question was that? The woman who always fooled around with Ajax, pushed Marrick’s buttons to a point the man had begun to respect you? Blue Jay, who always made a point to bring Keegan into conversations and try to get him to smile at her – carrying herself with elegant confidence? 

Did he trust you? How does one even describe trust? After everything that’s happened, could he place his trust in someone else other than his Ghost brothers? Keegan’s jaw clenches, head looking back and forth before slowly going to sneak a peak at the body behind him. His chest tightened. 

He already had an answer, but found that he couldn’t say it aloud. 

Apparently, the moment of silence gave his friends what they needed.

“Then get your ass back here! The sooner we have a chance to regroup we’re comin’ back and gettin’ her. Rookie knows what she’s doing…we’ve given her every lesson we could. It’s up to her for a while.”

“Trust in her, Keegan” Ajax chimes, “Just as she trusts you.”

Keegan turns his back to the forest, hearing every step of his feet over the ground as they carry him away from you. 

“Copy.”

The words are firm, but the ink of them bleeds.

—

You wake up chained to the ceiling, shoes gone, and socked feet dangling over the floor. Blood from a new gash on your head trails over your right eye and leaves the already flickering movement of your eyelashes more constant as the liquid dribbles to your tense jaw in a steady flow.

It had happened so fast – far faster than your already addled mind could have comprehended. A group of Federation soldiers had been camping out in the woods and had sent only one of their men into the shack you had deemed too far out of the way for any up-close confrontation; the rest had stayed and waited. The minute your back was too close to the tree line after you had lodged Keegan’s blade into the lone man’s skull, they had grabbed you. 

Apparently, they dragged me back into town, too, You growled to yourself, how could I be so dumb?! 

The only upside of this situation was that in order to question you they had to keep you alive long enough to get you to speak. Already the heavy padding over your numb left shoulder calls to you like a siren song; the dichotomy of the position you were in almost made you laugh. The Federation soldiers had you hooked up to the ceiling like a butchered pig but took the time to dress your wound so you wouldn’t bleed out. 

You wiggle your fingers, the lack of circulation already leaving the top half of your body tingly. Next, your feet. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’ve been drugged, because the words from your head seem to spill from your lips unprompted and the pain of your situation is dull; muted.

“Hell,” Your voice is loud, tone slurred, and rough. Oh yeah, definitely high off something, “If you wanted to tie me up you could have just asked me!” 

Opening your eyes as full as you can, you look around weakly and lock onto rusted metal walls and a set of large warehouse doors. 

“You brought me to the warehouse? How stupid could you be?” You say aloud, twisting your neck around before the clinking of chains stops you, “Isn’t this near the old logging company? This is close to the edge of the town! If I wanted to escape I’d be gone in five seconds.”

Your drugged snickering echoes off the walls, bouncing back at you mockingly. Soon enough footsteps sound off from beyond the closed door, many, many feet marching down an unseen hallway. You smile, thinking, finally, and hear the blood from your head drip to the floor every other second. The warehouse door slides open with a shriek and your vision blinks out, black momentary shrouding you before it filters back. 

Three men enter the room, all dressed in the black and gray camo of the Federation – straps and combat vest so similar to your Ghosts that in your state you confuse the two. They even wore black balaclavas and the one in the middle is a similar build to your Sergeant, tall, and built like a damn bear.

“Keegan?” You whisper, head tilting to rest on your strained arms as your eyebrows pull in before sparks of pain fly. Was that…you have to shake your head, skull suddenly burning. No. There’s a thin moment of clarity before that haze re-settles. 

This isn’t right. That is not my Keegan. Not my Ghosts.

The middle man leads the other two at his sides, nodding his head behind him and the door begins to close; the others peel off and go to guard the entrance, leaving you and the man to have a conversation semi-alone. 

He stops a few feet from you, eyes a deep brown and boring into your body. Your lips pull back.

“There are more simple ways to question someone besides stringing them up, man.” Your sentence cracks halfway through, but you don’t notice. 

The man just stares, tilting his head to the side. After a moment of eye contact, he speaks.

“You are not a Ghost.” His voice is accented – Spanish is most likely his first language.

“Yeah, trust me,” You groan, head once more pulsing. Your feet shimmy over the ground, toes lightly brushing the concrete, “No one’s more fucked up about that than I am. I train my ass off–” 

A sold punch is landed to your gut, tossing your body back as the chains above you squeal. The air is expelled from your lungs in a series of deep coughs, lungs rattling as spittle flies from your lips, you feel your organs shake inside of you. It takes a few moments for you to catch your breath and dispel the sledgehammer blow, but already the man is talking when the bulk of your panting has barely slowed.

“You are going to tell me a way into Fort Santa Monica,” He pulls a knife from his waistband and takes a step forward, putting the blade directly on your right side. Your clothes crease where the tip presses and needle-like sparks fly from your flesh, “Or I will have to ring the answer from you like water in a rag.”

With a pounding heart, your mouth runs unprompted, “Ghosts don’t break, asshat. And I may not be one of them, but I certainly know that I won’t let my boys down.” 

What the hell did they give you? Keegan had warned you to never say too much when captured. Don’t make ‘em angry unless you want a reminder of the power they have at that moment. But it wasn’t like you could help it anymore–

The blade sinks through hot flesh, and inside the warehouse, a high-pitched scream flows outside; scattering birds and beasts alike. 

This continues for three long days. 

—

Keegan was stone-still as Elias bend over the meeting table, a map of the town and surrounding forest where you had gone missing spread out. Everyone was silent, and Keegan has to shuffle his feet to reduce the tension in his thighs and shoulders; his hands tighten over his chest. Ajax is the first to speak over the tense air as Merrick repeatedly itches at the skin of his bald scalp from where he stands behind a chair.

“We have to move,” The Ghost growls, and when no one responds Ajax hits a closed fist to the table, “soon, Elias.”

The slam echoes over the room, bouncing off the walls.

“Ajax,” The man in question shakes his head, “What we need to do is think this through. Form a proper plan and carry it out with more intel.” 

Elias pulls back to his full height but Keegan’s eyes stay locked on the map, flicking mutely over the marks and topography. 

It’s been three days, He tells himself, She’s probably dead by now. The files already have her labeled as MIA.

Under his balaclava, his jaw clenches in feral denial. Why did the thought of that fact make him want to go out and search for you himself, regardless of Elias’s sound logic? You couldn’t be dead. Missing was better than that – missing meant he could find you.

Perhaps it was the same emotion that had given him a sinking feeling when, two days ago, the entire Ghost Team had gone back out to the forest under the cover of darkness to search for you. All Keegan had found was the footsteps of multiple Federation soldiers and signs of one of them dragging something heavy behind his back. 

It was obvious what had happened, and as he had slowly turned his head down to the town lit up by spotlights, the only thing that had stopped him from tracking you down was Elias’s heavy hand on his shoulder. Keegan’s eyes were lit with a dangerous light, glinting with the promise of revenge. 

He wanted you back – he would get you back – regardless of the consequences. No one messed with you and lived, whether that meant the revenge was carried out by your own hand or by his doesn’t matter. That town would be purged. Keegan would see to it. 

The Federation had made it personal. 

“She’s getting tortured!” Ajax yells, insight voicing what everyone already knew, “Greenhorn would rush in if it was one of us out there instead of her!” 

“Then it’s a good thing we’re here, isn’t it?” Elias runs a hand down his face, army shirt and cargo pants noticeably wrinkled. No one had slept while they waited for more recent intelligence on the number of tangos in the town, “We can’t be rash. They’ll know we're comin’ for her if we mess this up.”

“Elias,” Merrick finally speaks up, placing his large hands on the chair’s back and leaning into it, “You know we all trust you to make the call…but I have to agree with Ajax on this. We’re practically leaving the Kid behind if we wait any longer.” The stocky Ghost scratches at his beard, “You know what they’ll do to her.”

The older man has a soft spot for you, Keegan realized with a roll of his head and a crack of his neck. All of them had a soft spot. Waiting here was like keeping a group of trained attack dogs from a target – most of all Keegan. Patience was supposed to be his ally, and he had taught you just the same, so how had it left him so stupendously?

Elias grunts, crossing his arms. He looks over to the only person who had thus far been silent and brooding in the corner. A dark cloud was heavy over the Ghost’s head, anyone could see it. A man at the edge of an already fraying rope of sanity. 

“Keegan?” Elias asks, gruffly, already knowing the man’s emotions and thoughts, “Do you have anything to add?”

Normally Keegan was one who would wait for a sure answer, but in this instance, the next words he said rocketed out of him before he could fully think over the gravity of what they meant. Always the cautious one, the times he wanted to rush in blind could be counted on one hand and on less than five fingers…but that was before you. Before the hours the two of you spent together training, building trust, and protecting each other in the field with knife and bullet. 

All that mattered was getting you back to him. And the words wrote themselves, curved, under the gentle influence of an ink quill. 

“I’m bringing my girl home.” 

A moment of silence tightens over his throat; the stoic man’s feet move from under him as his eyes slightly widen. If he had the ability his face would have blossomed with a blush, but even so, the embarrassment was visible to those who had known him the longest. 

Shit, he hadn’t meant for it to sound like that.

Keegan dares to look back at Elias, only to find the leader smirking, a knowing glimmer in his eyes that leaves him freezing like a mouse under the gaze of an owl. 

“Well, then, let’s go get your girl back.”

Ajax snickers and him and Merrick spare glances, amused, nearly saying about time.

—

Your body lightly swings, blood in a pool below your feet and rippling as another drop enters the flood. Your nose is broken; bleeding, just like your ribs. Cuts litter your skin, clothes are ripped and shredded and swarmed with crimson both dried and new. Your combat vest had been ripped off, the rough material thrown somewhere behind you by enraged fingers and ripped apart for any indication of a blueprint of your Fort or useful intel.

The Federation soldiers had left you alone with your thoughts not five minutes ago and to your credit, you have not broken. Not even after everything – the hits, stabs, and beatings that left you sobbing and biting back pleas. Throughout all of it, Keegan’s voice stuck with you; you had drowned in good memories in the small moments you were able to breathe without being slugged in the chest. 

The way Keegan would send you soft glances when he thought you weren't looking and how the blank-faced man kept your skills sharp as a way to make sure you were safe. His rare smiles; comforting interactions when you were up late practicing with your rifle. A weak smile filters over your bloody and bruised face, eyes blinking closed as the air is expelled from your lungs in a deep sigh. 

“You’re going to get a sore neck if you keep doing this, Little Blue,” The words startled you, eyes widening from where one looks through the scope of your AX-50. Your head jerks back, finger immediately dropping from the trigger you were just about to pull. 

“What the actual fuck, Keegan!?” Hair whips around you as your body turns, facing the man leaning against the doorway as a nightly breeze rustles through the outside firing range, “Has no one told you not to sneak up on the person with the gun?”

“I was the one that told you that, Kid.” He raises a brow, strong jawline on display for the moon. 

It was rare that the man took off his balaclava when in your presence, and you took a moment to stare from your position on the ground; your heart jerks against the concrete before you shove the feeling in it’s tissue down. 

Keegan’s presence made the heat on the back of your neck increase, hands getting clammy over the metal of your gun. You flex them in what you hope looks simply like a resetting method.

“Well, then you’re not good at taking your own advice...” You grumble, huffing and fixing your posture, looking back out over the field and the white target over six hundred feet away, “And my neck is perfectly fine, thank you.”

“It won’t be if you keep getting up and creeping out here every night. I thought I wore you out today?” The memory of getting thrown to the ground more times than you could count during a sparring match made your muscles remember to ache, “Or do I need to ramp up the difficulty? You almost pinned Ajax today.” You suppress a wince and send a quick glance over to the Ghost, who pushes off the wall and sighs, stalking over to you. 

“If you think you need to,” Licking your lips, you feel his heavy shadow over your form. You replace your cheek to the stock of your rifle, once more seeking to line up the shot as quickly as possible, “And you did ware me out.” Muttering, you feel yourself get lost in the wave of the sensation of purpose – superiority singing in your veins. 

This rifle was your quill, and with it, you signed the signature of death on the poems of others’ lives. 

This was your calling, and not a moment later, not feeling the reverent eyes on the side of your face as Keegan stills his breath, you pull the trigger. It lands just a millimeter from the center of the target. Your jaw tightens and you tell yourself, ‘not good enough’ with a narrowing of your eyes. 

The action wasn’t missed. 

“You’re at this every night, Kid,” Keegan stands by your left thigh, his eyes digging into you, “Don’t pretend like I haven’t noticed.” 

You pull back, shame coursing through your veins. You had tried to be stubble, but were you really that bad? 

But of course you were, your cheeks head, you lived in the Ghosts’ barracks. They all knew you were sneaking off at night to practice. Your lips thinned at that realization; you really had a lot to learn.

“Blue Jay,” Keegan prods, the authority of his rank now leaking into his tone; it has you straightening unconsciously, “Answer me.”

“...I just need to be better,” You mutter under your breath, going to line up another shot. 

A hand on the scope jostles the view, making you pause and tense. Your breath stills in your chest, feeling body heat beginning to leak into your shivering form. 

No words are spoken in that silent minute, but you know enough about your Sergeant to tell when he wants you to stop doing something. Keegan’s silence was a mystery that you had only just started to unravel for yourself. Your hands loosen enough for him to take the rifle from your grasp, bringing it up into his grip delicately. 

Shuffling up to your knees, you place one hand on your thigh as the other goes to rub at your eyes, feeling the fatigue leak out onto your fingers. 

“You’re not going to get better if you keep forcing your eyes open,” Keegan mutters, and his form knees down next to you. The rifle was placed on the ground a few feet away. A warm hand lays on your shoulder and you stifle a hitch in your breath managing to inhale the scent of gunpowder and fresh-cut grass; hickory wood. You have to blink away the sleep that settles on your eyelids. 

How was he so warm?

“How do you know that?” You grunt out, itching your eyebrow. You don’t register right away, but a deep chuckle settles warmly on your chest as the man at your side releases it.  Reverberations like a purr make you sigh slowly.

“You’re good, Little Blue,” Keegan’s hand goes to your chin, and your cheeks heat as he directs your gaze to his gently, thump and first finger firm. His eyes flicker over your face, taking in every line and imperfection before settling on the black and blue bags that have lived on you for weeks. In turn, you study him – the strong jaw line, usually hard eyes leaning towards soft and caring. You liked when he looked like that; more than anything, you liked when he looked at you like that, “don’t reduce your skill to anything less than what it is. Practice is good, Kid,” Keegan lowers his voice, and your eyes stay locked, “But I can’t watch you ruin yourself.” 

Your heart stutters, and your body becomes soft under his touch.

“...but I don’t want to let anyone down.” Eyebrows turning in, Keegan pauses a second at your comment, fingers on your chin tightening for a moment before it begins to travel. 

Heart pounding, his touch leaves electricity behind with every scrape of his callouses and healed scars. His eyes stay trapped on yours, watching every minute emotion and movement from you and your hands shock-still in your lap. 

“Let ‘em down?” Keegan huffs, the breath ruffling your hair, and his hand settles over your cheek. He continues as his large thumb goes to pet the skin of your undereye, leading your eyes to flicker shut as he mutters your name, “Not a damn chance. You’re a natural, Kid. Hell, you get some proper sleep for once and maybe one day you’ll be as good as me.” 

Even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t help the smile that bloomed over your face, feeling his eyes softly fall over your visage.

“Promise?” 

You missed the small twitch of Keegan’s lips, “...I promise.” 

Shaking yourself out of the memory, your body plays dead as the warehouse door once more opens. A plan had formed, taking root and digging into the small tissue of your brain. 

“Why isn’t she moving?” The voice of the Middle Man was enough to make your body tense, toes twitching. No one seemed to notice before you once more went slack, “Get her eyes open!” 

Twin pairs of feet slam to the floor, coming closer; soon hands are slamming into your ribs, shaking you back and forth. The bones in your chest move strangely, disconnected from where they were supposed to be. But you hold back your screams, a thin, lip-bitten whine stuck in your mouth. 

Your body whines to a stop when the blows halt. 

“I said get her eyes open!” Words are yelled in Spanish, and if you were in the right state you would have been able to translate them. 

Merrick made sure you were fluent in multiple languages and was one hell of a rough linguistics teacher. Every day you had kept a count of how many swear words he let loose. The undefeated record was fifty-five in one session. 

“Let her fall, then! She can’t be dead.” The last half is muttered, followed by a tapping of fingers over palms. Your ears twitch at the sound of receding steps, fast feet, and then the sound of a pulley system and rattling chains. 

Your body drops, slamming to the floor, and head bouncing off the concrete like a ball. You don’t have to play dead at that moment, because you’re sure that you passed out, a crack resounding in the bone of your skull and shaking your brain. The chains around your numb arms loosen, leaving your bloodied wrists burning as the air hits them. 

Staying still, your body lays sideways, but small trails of water dribble out from your tear ducts. 

Just a little longer, You try and tell yourself as circulation comes back to your arms. Shadows dance behind your vision, people moving by you and circling like wolves. Your limbs want to writhe back and forth, help make the needle-like stippling in your nerves go away if only for a millisecond. It was a battle of will. Move or don’t. Be a Ghost, or be helpless.

Well, when you put it like that…

A hand grabs your shoulder just as you clock the two others standing behind you, waiting silently for any signs of life. The gloved hand moves to the pulse point on your neck, heavy fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. One breath. Two.

And then you jerk up and headbutt one of the soldiers right in the nose. Pushing back the black dots that nearly swallow you whole your hands rip out of the lost chains and throw your body at the man. Grabbing his shoulders, curses and sharp barks fly out over the air, and just before the bullets from their guns rip through you, your broken figure twists to shove the man in front of you. 

Shots make your ears ring, but the spray of blood comes from the Federation soldier you used as a human shield, screams playing in your head like a symphony. Quicker than a switch, you grab the pistol strapped to the now dead man’s waist, and the minute the body ahead of you stumbles and hits the floor, you fire. 

The twin soldiers drop like flies, and the recoil of the gun leaves your weak hand flying back. Clattering to the floor, the weapon stays stationary as you pant and gasp down deep breaths. Blood stains the floor as well as the chains still on the cracked ground, and the vile substance flows from the three men that release death rattles. 

Your shattered mind thinks of a snake’s hiss before the sound divulges into a deep gurgling as you stare with blank eyes. Their forms twitch and jerk, brain dying or already dead.

But there was a spark of pride in you that stayed as your hands slap to the floor, pushing your body up with muffled wails and gritted teeth. You shimmy up to your feet and grab the gun on the way up, looking around as you stumble before righting your shaky legs. 

Looking around dumbly your limp arm pulses, and your mind runs so fast the festering wound on your head feels like cigarettes are being put out on it. 

Someone had to have heard those shots, You reason, and gasp as you walk forward. Your bones don’t feel right. They aren’t supposed to move like that – like they were just floating inside of you not attached to anything. 

Blinking rapidly, your vision blurs as the first shouts spring up from outside. 

Gotta move, Limping heavily you go as fast as you’re able to the warehouse doors, pushing on the metal as sweat falls down your nose.

Your body aches, muscles constantly tightening and then loosening within seconds of each other. It was getting increasingly harder to push back the need to scream in agony as the adrenaline in you seemed to disappear. Taking to breathing out of your mouth to help out your broken nose, you nearly fall onto your face as you shimmy out into the dirt perimeter surrounding the building. 

First, you see the town. Your eyes widen, focus suddenly less on yourself as you take in a sheen of smoke rising up. The raging shouts hadn’t been coming from Federation men rushing to the warehouse – in fact, they were rushing past it. People zip from the corner of your eyes into the treeline, abandoning the houses and buildings with screams of, fantasmas, fresh in the burning air.

Ghosts.

“They came back for me?” Rough and broken, your voice makes you flinch when you finally hear it. Your vocal cords were damaged. 

And they torched the whole fucking place! The gun is like iron in your grasp, heavy and cold. Or maybe it was your hands that were the cold ones? You couldn’t tell, but as you lean back into the metal of the warehouse exterior you smirk, blood breaking out from your chapped lips.

Vision once more peeling out, you drop the pistol and slide down, mind floating far above your form and doing jumping-jacks in the clouds. You don’t know how long you’re slumped like that, neck compressed against your chest as your lungs fight for air, but the next thing you remember is panicked shouting.

“--Found her! Warehouse! Blue Jay, open your eyes!” Your eyebrows furrow as strong hands grip you tight, manhandling your body to the ground so you’re laying on your back, “Open your damn eyes, Kid!”

There’s a sound of frantic breathing before the tearing of velcro. Pressure is put on your shoulder. 

“Ah!” You scream, bearing your teeth and raging at the sensation of firm hands and an unrelenting weight.

“That’s right,” The smooth voice says, “Keep responding, keep making noise for me.”

“Kee?” You ask, only able to half-open your eyes and call out his nickname that you had never actually used aloud before. If possible, the weight is ramped up ten-fold, and you have to wonder if the Ghost is putting a knee up on you to try and stop the bleeding. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Keegan grunts, and his body comes into view as your eyes clear, though one is more muddled than the other; like a body of water filled with mud. Afternoon light shines off the man’s combat vest and back attire, his signature balaclava looking like it had been messed with and run over with rough hands. His black face paint is patchy and in places streaked. Keegan looked tired, you numbly realized as a chill made you shiver, “Look at me.” 

You were. 

His eyes snap to meet yours, and you’re taken aback by the creases around them; the wrinkles straining his forehead and nose bridge. The color is darker as well, no longer a calm and blank blue but a fiery shade, burning and boiling water. They flash when they already see you looking at him, and his high-hackled shoulders minutely lower as they soften to give you that look that you love. You pray only you’re privy to that look because it makes your shaking hands heat up.

“You have reall–really pretty eyes,” You whisper, voice cutting out, “You know that?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” He says, eyes flickering away and scanning your body. Behind the fabric you see his lips pull back in a soundless snarl, “But If you think they’re so pretty you’ll have to trouble keepin’ yours locked on ‘em, right?”

You can’t laugh, so the small exhalation from your mouth will have to do. Your eyelids flicker.

“Hey,” Keegan’s hand goes to your cheek, jostling your head so hard you groan, “The hell did I just tell you, Blue?”

“...Hurts,” You whimper, tears gathering as your lips twitch. 

You can only do so much to push back the inevitable, and every breath feels like someone’s shoving your chest into a table saw. 

Keegan moves one hand from your shoulder and sets it on your cheek, tilting your head to the side, “I know it hurts, Blue, but you gotta keep lookn’ at me, okay? You’re doing good.” 

It was the softest you had ever heard him speak. His finger brushes your undereye and makes your eyelashes flutter open.

“There she is,” He grunts, and with a start, you see he’s pushed up his face covering, the fabric a bundle on top of his head. Your face heats at his handsome visage, roaming his lips and cheekbones, “there’s my girl.”

“I didn’t know if you were going to,” Fluid pools in the back of your mouth, and you cough before you can continue, sprinkles of phlegm and blood spraying Keegan’s attire. He doesn’t seem to care, “come back for me,” Uttering the words weakly, you feel yourself speak as if separate from your own body, a willing participant watching just beyond the way of sight. 

Keegan’s eyes narrow, face pulling closer unconsciously as if he were trying to shield you with his body from the gunfire far off behind him. Across the field, familiar voices had started to ring out.

“Why the hell would you think that? What kind of dumbass made you–” He stops when your eyes sneak away in shame, numb lips pulling down as tears make your sclera red. A pause ensues before a deep sigh falls from his lips; Keegan taps his thumb on your cheek until you look back at him. His face is tense, but a blatant surety is in his tone, “I would never leave you behind. If you had trouble figuring all that out until now, then you don’t anymore. Got it?” 

“Copy, Sarge,” Your eyebrows soften, body going slack and loose. Keegan’s hand is so warm, “You know...I really would have liked to go out on a date with you.” 

Eyes going out of focus, your head lulls before Keegan can rip you back to the present with his deep words just as the ground reverberates under you. They say the sense of hearing is the last to go, and that rings true, because the last thing you remember is Keegan’s voice yelling your name so gutturally that you almost miss Merrick’s voice. 

“Blue! Shit, Elias, we need Med Evac down here, now! She’s down!”

—

The Med Ward was just how you remembered it, but the man sitting in the chair near the window was new. You were no stranger to the alcoholic scent of the rooms, the blinding overhead lights, and the coarse bed sheets. Around your body, the tight bindings restricted you from sitting up and walking, so for upwards of ten minutes you had stared at Keegan’s figure. 

He was sleeping, in nothing more than a black T-shirt and cargo pants. His head was tilted to the side and his arms crossed over his chest; legs out and crossed at the ankles as his combat boots rest on the tile. You should wake him up. You should, but you haven’t and probably won't. Keegan’s dark hair is glowing in an early morning light, making it glow amber and cover him like a halo. 

The pillow under your head is hard, uncomfortable, and stinks of bleach, but instead of worrying about it, your mind was running over what you had said before you passed out.

“You know...I really would have liked to go out on a date with you.”

Fuck me, Cheeks heating, your eyes flicker down his body, catching his veiny arms and watching his chest steadily rise and fall. Had you really said that? 

Your head begins to hurt, and not only from the tight bindings and the gauze pad around it. 

“You’re staring, Little Blue.” Gasping, your eyes widen in their sockets at the sleep-dipped tone. 

Keegan’s eyes slide open fluidly as if he were never asleep in the first place. His head moves to right itself and stare directly at you, blinking slowly. Locking gazes, you freeze as your jaw goes slack – it was a good thing you were on pain meds because otherwise, your ribs would be aching at the way your breath halted. Stuttering, you let the room lapse into silence as he watches you. Keegan’s lips flicker into a smirk. 

Standing he stalks over to you and drags the chair behind him. Getting about a foot or two away, he stops and flips the chair forward carefully before sitting down once more. Keegan leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees as you watch. 

“...You feeln’ alright? Need me to get the nurse?” He has black and blue under his eyes, colored iris’ strained. Keegan was a man of few words – his actions always spoke louder; like how he let you keep his knife, or told you to go to bed when you were up late shooting. 

At that moment the cold Ghost’s hand went to your arm, lightly brushing over the bandages and pauses to see if you register any pain. When he doesn’t see any discomfort, he settles his grip and runs his fingers over your skin. 

You blink. 

“I’m good.” The words come out breathlessly, and where his touch continues to rove, sparks light under the skin.

Keegan’s soft sigh enters the cold air, and his gaze flickers to the floor for a moment. His jaw clenches, like there was something in his head that refused to come out of his lips. The man’s scream still haunted you – how he yelled your name so raw and vulnerable. You had never heard something like that from him, not even when he had to have you stitch him up one time during a mission.

I’m never letting you anywhere a needle again, He had said with his face flushed of color. You really were bad at sutures. 

Smiling to yourself, you lift your hand with every bit of cotton sticking to your brain and shimmy it out of his delicate grip. Not wanting to hurt you he pulls back and looks with wide eyes at what you were doing. 

“Kid, I don’t–” His comment is halted when your fingers graze his cheek, just the tiniest hint of stubble making your fingers itch perfectly. Freezing like a bird, Keegan’s sights are set on you, confusion bleeding into this expression as his lips pull into a line. 

This was stepping a line you hadn’t crossed before, but you didn’t really care all that much. 

Caressing his jaw, your hand cradles his face. To your surprise, Keegan leaned into you, tension leaving and body going slack like putty in your grip; a second later, his hand comes and encompasses your own, molten heat radiating into your bloodstream. Your heart skips a beat when his eyelashes flutter closed. 

“Tired?” You ask, slightly amused.

“No,” Keegan grumbles, face blank, and you flinch as a laugh barks from your lips. Not a good idea. Weaving his fingers so he can grip your hand more tightly, he peels you from his face and opens his eyes. 

Watching you and clocking your emotions, he lays your hand to his lips and lays a gentle kiss, lips moving over your skin as he places another right after. You’re surprised you don’t catch on fire – especially with that look on his face.

How could a man so cold be as gentle as he was with you?

“You worried the boys,” He says when he pulls back but still holds your hand close, “Ajax nearly strangled Elias to get him to hurry up and go after you.” 

Smirking, you hum, “And you? Were you worried, Kee?” Teasing with the nickname, you watch as a small smile forms over his face, eyes lingering so beautifully on your visage.

“No,” You raise a brow at the bare answer, but he wasn’t done, “I was damn near terrified.” Licking your lips, you watch him track the motion, and he rises and leans closer to you, “What gave you the right to make me feel like that, Kid,” His breath fans over your cheeks, and your eyes flutter when his nose caresses your own. You can feel his eyes bore into you, unrelenting as they look over every pore and mark. 

Keegan’s lips whisper over yours. 

Yes, Your mind sings at the contact, and a small whimper falls into the air. 

“...Who gave you the right to make me want to be yours?” All but growling the words out, his lips descend onto yours, firm but still gentle. He would never hurt you, even if he wanted to feel you against him. You were injured, and that reality never failed to leave his head.

So for now, he would kiss you as if you were the most delicate of glass; worship your skin and bestow on it everything he couldn’t say. 

As you both move together, his hands come up and grab at your jaw as your own travel to rest on his chest that looms over your own, mapping out the dip of his muscles and the way he shivers when your nails rake into the fabric of his shirt. 

This was what you had wanted, to feel him move over you and flex as your fingers go to grip at his hair. 

Pulling back, the man pants in breath with you, lips were swollen. It was quite the sight, and you swore you felt your pupils dilate just by staring at him. Keegan hums deep in his chest and then places his forehead gently to your own – careful of the bandages and, most likely, stitches that live under there.

“I lost your knife,” You whisper out, and almost cringe at the needy tone of your voice. Were you really this infatuated with the man? …You already knew the answer to that question.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keegan grunts, and keeps the knowledge of the fact that the blade was already paced back in your room by his own hands to himself, “I’ll make sure you pay for it when you’re well enough to be discharged. Can’t have my Blue Jay leaving weapons behind, now can we?”

It’s safe to say you prayed for a speedy recovery, just like how poets of days long past wished for a gentle rain or mist-filled morning – if only to have something to quietly worship. 

[edandstede]

racist fucks out here acting like ed is doomed to become abusive like his father, like he is a violent monster, as if his arc isn’t about learning that he isn’t a monster at all but just a man. how are you looking at ed accepting himself, overcoming feeling like he’s the literal kraken, that he’s loveable and worthy of compassion and kindness even when he thinks the worst of himself, and drawing the conclusion that he’s an irredeemable thug - which is, by the way, what every fucking villain and antagonist thinks of him. you’re aligning your view of him with the bad guys, y’know, the ones who call him a donkey, low-born, and try goading him into violence over and over again because they think that’s all he’s worth? and yeah that includes izzy, because he did that too, it’s 90% of what he fucking did, treating him like he only deserved to live if he was performing hyper masculinity the entire time and the second he stopped he was worse than dead.

we are supposed to feel sorry for ed. the way he feels is heartbreaking. he was abandoned, had his worst fears confirmed to him by stede leaving and izzy pressing on the wound in the worst possible way, and then he fell completely into depression and suicidal ideation. he thinks it’s all he’s good for. he can’t be loved, he hates himself, he’s just the dick who killed his dad and nobody wants him for him. how can you see this very obvious spelled-out agony in him and say “hey, that guy is gonna abuse the man he loves, he’s an abuser just like his dad” you guys are just absolute bottom of the barrel scumbag dickheads, you really really are. you could not be more blatantly racist. you know damn well the show is not saying what you’re claiming it is.

also, insisting that he would ever hurt stede is just completely ignoring every single fucking thing about him. ed would never. the only fucking time stede is physically hurt by ed is when he wakes up from literal death and headbutts him. that’s it. i think we can all agree he didn’t even know what planet he was on when that occurred, and he petulantly says “good it was supposed to hurt” during a squabble that ends with stede telling ed he loves everything about him. pull the other one if you think this was ever framed as ed seriously wanting to hurt stede and not an incredibly hurt and vulnerable man still acting on a half-dead brain.

like for fuck’s sake this is the same man who hides under stede’s robe and presses his head to stede’s hand when he cries after telling him - the only person he has EVER TOLD - about killing his dad. he tells stede about the plot to kill him, and he cannot do it. he can’t lift a finger to him, he never would. he holds stede’s face with both hands when he kisses him and tells him he loves him. he brings him breakfast with a bit of twine on ‘cause he panicked and thought it needed a flourish. he rubs stede’s cashmere against his cheek. the first thing he says makes his life worth living is warmth. he imagines stede with a big goofy sweet grin and gold sparkly goldfish tail coming to save his life. he just wants to retire and have his inn with the man he loves and not worry about stede ever being in a near-death situation again. he wants stede to be safe with him. at no point are we remotely told in the text that we should be genuinely worried ed will ever, ever physically hurt stede. he protects this man with his WHOLE BODY twice and signs an act of grace to avoid him being shot. he tries to get ned to leave him alone when they’re being tortured. he jumps off the boat with jack to swim back to him and he rows back to the republic to find stede too.

he loves stede, would never hurt him, and you’re all just fucking sour your fav died and you’re saying any old shite as a result. swear to god if i catch one more of you even so much as insinuating ed is abusive i’m gonna start lobbing off toes as well.

[rafesapologist]

bigger than the whole sky — rafe cameron

summary: rafe cameron was your first and last love. the two of you met at the very beginning of your high school days, and said your first 'i love you's by the time you were merely sixteen. your relationship was electric and wild, a place were you could finally let your guard down. as you two grew older and entered your college years, you quickly became a safety net for rafe against a harrowing father and a broken family. you vowed to be the one who was a safe space for the boy you loved to be able to run to, but he carried demons even you couldn't erase.

warnings: grief, angst, swearing, death, mentions of drug and alcohol use, depictions of mental health issues

author's note: y'all i'm so sorry for this one i just love writing angsty stuff pls forgive me in advanced

"I love you." Rafe hummed a gentle melody of benevolent words into your ear as he observed you carefully through his empyrean-crafted sapphires that you always found yourself getting lost in, ones that were specific to him only, which only made you love them more.

"I love you too, Rafe. Always." A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, a behavior that you couldn't help yourself from doing caused by the giddy feeling that was making your heart swell by being in the presence of your high school sweetheart who you swore you were going to grow old with.

You peered up at him with your chin rested on his chest, unable to contain the jouissance that was so clearly written across your features. You felt like right then, you could picture an entire life within his cerulean irises that bored right back into yours. You slipped into a daydream as you wandered the thoughts that crowded your mind about the everlasting potential of where you and Rafe were going to end up. You envisioned being in your thirties and coming home to the place you and him would buy together, perhaps a small cottage somewhere off the islands in a small town, or even a capacious apartment in a big city where the people never sleep. You'd be greeted at the front door with a bouqet of morning glories that were set out for you at the kitchen table, your favorite flowers that Rafe took mental note of since you told him when you were fifteen one day while passing a greenhouse on the way to school. Once he'd finally realized you were home, he'd welcome you with open arms and an embrace that watered down the agglomeration of stress that burned in the pit of your stomach after an insufferably long day at the job you strived so hard to get. He'd shower you with kisses across your face that made the agony of a rigorous work day much worth the tribulations you endured.

Perhaps you'd stand there for a moment, basking in the way his body heat warmed you up like a heated blanket that you didn't want to take off. He'd rub your back and allow you to take a moment to yourself, the first you'd be able to have all day. You would stand there for a moment, soaking up the joy of finally getting to see him, and you'd tell yourself that you never wanted to go to work again because it only took time away from seeing his handsome face. In the midst of you caught up in cloud nine in his arms, you'd also be greeted by the fluffy feline the two of you adopted together when you found out you were finally getting your own place, just you two. Nobody else.

"What are you thinking about, pretty girl?" Rafe asked in a whisper, gazing at you with admiration laced in his eyes. He scanned your face while he looked to read your expression, slowly combing his fingers through your hair with a gentle pace, fearing that he would hurt you and tug at your scalp if he went any faster. Like you were made of glass that he would break if he didn't hold you with ease.

"You and me." You murmur with the same gushing expression painted on your face, your cheeks flushed with heat.

"What about us?" He questioned again, tilting his head with curiosity.

"Our future," you admitted, snuggling into his side further, "I can't wait to spend my life with you, Rafe. You're the only one I could ever see myself growing old with, and the only one I'd want to do that with."

Rafe's rosy-pink lips curved until a faint, simper smile. His eyes remained trained onto you as they flickered between your left and right eye, taking in every detail of the way your eyes glimmered while you looked at him.

"It'll always be me and you, y/n. You're the only pure, healthy love I've ever had in my entire life. I'd be a sad empty man without you." He masked his vulnerability with a light-heated joke, although you knew there was truth to what he was saying.

"Well it's a good thing I'm not going anywhere, Mr. Cameron." You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"I surely hope not, future Mrs. Cameron."

｡･ﾟﾟ･

There was a tropical storm that had blanketed Figure Eight when you got the phone call the your boyfriend was passed out and unresponsive at some party he had attended with Kelce and Topper. It was a jarring phone call to have been woken up to, with Topper's shaky voice and screaming heard in the background, a moment in time that will forever be ingrained into your head.

You rushed over as soon as the call had ended. You took off so quickly that you left your house with nothing on but an oversized t-shirt and some pajama shorts that had seen better days. You couldn't care less about your appearance or the fact that you had to drive through one of the worst storms you had seen since you moved to the Outer Banks, because quite honestly, the weather was fitting for a scene like that.

Once you had arrived you didn't even take the time to take the keys out of the ignition before racing out of the car and into the crowded house, full of intoxicated teens who formed a circle around your unconcious boyfriend who laid across the living room floor of whoever's house it was. You felt like screaming, collapsing, and throwing up all at once when you had finally pushed yourself through the nosy crowd of bystanders who watched in shock.

"Topper, Topper," you called out in a shaky cry to your boyfriend's best friend, "what happened? What did he do?"

"I don't know I-"

"I said what the fuck did he do, Topper?!" You yelled in a sudden outburst as the severity of the situation began to settle and brought you back into reality while you held Rafe's in your arms, rocking back and forth in an attempt to wake him. But it did no good.

"I saw him snorting a line of coke with a group of guys earlier, and I'm pretty sure I've seen him with a drink in his hand all night." A random bystander suddenly chimed in, causing you to snap your head in the direction of where the voice was coming from. You had locked eyes on an unfamiliar blonde girl who looked back at you with horror written on her face, discomfort present in her body language.

"No," you squeezed your eyes shut as tears began to flow from them relentlessly, shaking your head as though you refused to believe he would do such a thing knowing how much it would hurt you, "no he wouldn't do this. He wouldn't do this to me."

"The ambulance is on the way." Kelce announced as he point to the phone pressed to his ear.

You couldn't regulate a single emotion in your body at that point. You felt as though you had lost touch with yourself and whatever the hell was going on around you, as you grew tunnel vision on Rafe's motionless body that laid heavy in your lap. You weeped to the point that you felt your throat tighten, almost as if you couldn't breathe, suffocated by the absence of hope that the boy you loved was going to wake up. You could have sworn that a few blood vessels popped in your eyes from the way that you cried out with an indescribable passion and fury. Fury for the selfishness Rafe had in himself to be able to behave so recklessly, despite knowing you were back at home trusting that he would do the right thing and stay safe. But his desires and addiction were two things that ruthlessly clouded his judgment and steered him down a dark path. One that you always feared would take the best of him from you and rip him away.

However, you got lucky that night. The ambulance had come just in time to be able to resuscitate him successfully, and you thanked the heavens above for the blessing that he actually got another chance to live. But you were sure as hell not going to let him down easy this time, fearing that there would be no more 'close calls' or being lucky if it were to happen again. Therefore, you pushed him into going to rehab for once. It took a lot of begging and pleading, but after seeing the manner in which you broke down so intensely when discussion how his addiction effected both you and him, he eventually obliged to your request.

｡･ﾟﾟ･

After three months of treatment, Rafe was finally discharged from the rehab facility. You had visited him nearly everyday while he was there, but seeing him outside of there was completely different. The moment you saw him for the first time since he left, you ran to him and greeted him with the tightest hug he had ever felt in his life. Your emotions got the best of you, as they normally did when it came to Rafe, and you had sobbed into his chest as he held you for the first time since going to rehab.

"Please don't ever do that to me again, Rafe. I would have lost my mind without you." You let out a muffled cry into his shirt as you clutched onto him as if he was going to dissapear if you let go.

"I won't princess, I promise. I'd never leave you. I'm so sorry." Rafe cooed as he kissed the top of your forehead, clenching his eyelids shut as tears began to flood his azure-colored eyes. The same ones you missed waking up to every morning over the last three months while he was gone.

"Lets get you home. I don't want to see this place for another minute." You muttered as you backed away from him to wipe your tears away with the sleeve of your shirt.

"Of course, baby."

｡･ﾟﾟ･

Things were looking up for the two of you once Rafe completed his rehab program. It seemed as though he was back to the boy you had met when you were in high school, happy and full of life. You spent everyday thanking the universe for keeping him around and giving him the strength to make it through such a scare. For the first time since you were eighteen, you were finally hopefully for Rafe's sobriety and maintaining it. You knew it wasn't easy for him, of course, but you believed in him.

"I wanna talk to you about something." Rafe voiced as he sat next to you while you ate your usual bowl of cereal for breakfast.

"Okay.. Talk to me." You replied a tad mumbled, trying to talk with a handful of cereal stuffed in your mouth which made Rafe chuckle in return.

"You remember when we used to talk about getting our own place together someday?"

"Yeah? Why?" You questioned, cocking your eyebrow at him.

"Well, I've been putting aside some money over the last few months since I got this job, and I've been waiting until I had enough to do it to tell you. But, as long as you're ready and want to still, I'm ready for us to find a place." Rafe declared with a beaming grin growing on his face.

You responded with a shriek as you threw down your cereal bowl onto the table, immediately leaning forward to hug Rafe in excitement for the good news. You might've kissed him a hundred times before you actually said a word because of how much joy you felt knowing that you were finally getting the chance to have a place of your own with the boy you've loved since you were sixteen. A dream of yours that you've been dying to fufill.

"Oh my gosh, Rafe! I can't believe this. I can't wait. I love you." You smiled wide, giggling as you pulled him in for a hug once more.

"I love you, y/n. I can't wait to start our lives together. This is just the beginning."

｡･ﾟﾟ･

It was 1:48 am.

You were sound asleep in the bedroom that you shared with Rafe in the apartment you had together bought six months prior. It was a peaceful, clear night with not a cloud in the sky. It was almost haunting how quiet it was.

You laid in bed curled up with the cat Rafe had got for you shortly after you moved in. He was a long-haired, brown feline that you decided to name Bear. Immediately after getting him, you practically treated him as though he was your own child. Yours and Rafe's. Just like that night, and many others, he would often sleep curled up next to you and send you to sleep with the sounds of his loud purrs and occasional snoring.

There was nothing abnormal about that night. No warning to the devastation that was to be ahead. You were unsuspecting and unaware that there was even any potential threat that would disrupt your nearly-perfect life that you had grown accustomed to with Rafe. Although sometimes, you wish there had been something that would have warned you of the doom that was impending.

When you had went to bed, you had just got off the phone with Rafe. He had went out with a few of his close friends for one of their birthdays, promising to return before you woke up. You saw nothing to worry about. It had been over a year since Rafe's overdose and you had complete faith in him, a regained trust that you had momentarily lost when the first accident had happened.

You remember exactly what words you said to him last on that very phone call. Not only because of the significance of the call, but because you made sure to tell him every single time before you hung up.

"I love you."

A word you had uttered a million times to him, even though it still never seemed like enough. You knew that Rafe secretly enjoyed how much you said it though, since you were the only one in his life that had told him it in years at that point in time. His family had moved off and cut off contact with him once he had finally stood up to his dad. His sister, Sarah, stayed behind in Figure Eight with her boyfriend, John B, once they had attained a substantial amount of money after finding the gold.

You were practically Rafe's lifeline once you two had moved out together, a job you were perfectly fine with because you would have done it a million times had it meant that he was happy. You loved him. You loved him so much that when he hurt, you hurt. You felt his pain when he lost himself from his addiction, and you cried as he did when he had trouble adjusting to the move. But you past all the grief and the struggles he faced, believing that Rafe was a fighter and much stronger than what cards he was unfortunately dealt with in life.

But despite the countless efforts of getting him help and supporting him through his sobriety, Rafe nevertheless had demons he did not deserve, some of which he hid from even you. He faced a battle within himself frequently although he never showed it, realizing that it would only be hurting you to see him in such a state. So he continued his facade of pretending to be that carefree, content boy he was back when you first met him. But his perception of life and reality was tainted by an addiction that haunted him deeply, so deeply that even you couldn't take it away regardless of how much he loved you.

You were Rafe's first and only love. The love of his life, he would say. You were a breath of fresh air in a world full of melancholy, despondency, and corruption that surrounded him daily. He had worshipped the ground that you walked on, even on your worst days. You truly did not wrong in his eyes, a saint that was sent to him from the clouds up above. You had truly blessed his life, in ways that you had never truly believed despite how much he tried to remind you. He wanted to make sure you knew how thankful he was for you everyday, and he never failed to tell you so.

It was 1:48 am when you got the call that Rafe had died.

You lost a piece of yourself that night, or perhaps all of you went with him when he passed. Either ways, you were never the same. All of the plans you had made of a future that would never come, haunted by the reality that Rafe was now forever just a memory in the depths of your mind that you hoped to never lose, even in your old age. After his funeral had passed, you sold your apartment and moved back to your hometown, too haunted by the memories of your past life to be able to move back to Figure Eight. The place you met.

The only thing you took with you from that home was the cat that he got for you after begging him for weeks once you had moved in. You find that you cherish him, Bear, even more because he is your very last memory of Rafe Cameron. The very first and the very last boy you have ever loved.

[liquidorcard]

HEY Y'ALL IT'S MIKAILER WITH AN "ER" WHY IS THAT SO HARD TO GRASP!?

---

Did I get your attention, Mikaila? I hope so, let's see.

Mikaila, I don't like you. You've done shit that's soured my opinion of you. I'm acknowledging that now to get that out of the way. I'm not here to be two-faced about this or blow smoke up your ass.

But as one idiot who stayed in a toxic relationship to another-- I'm not making fun of you because I think I'm better. I know. Being in a relationship like that brings out some ugly shit. You resent and fear people will never forgive you. You don't know if you will forgive yourself. I'm not making fun of you because I think I'm better than you.

And it feels kinda good, being treated badly? In a weird way? When you're used to it? When you feel you kind of deserve it? It did for me too. My abuser did some fucked up shit to me. I don't know how to describe to you the strange feelings I'm left with now. Sometimes I think I finally hate her, sometimes, as pathetic as it makes me feel, I still miss her. It's a rot in you that never really goes away, but you learn to live with it. I understand that agony. I understand that anger of how fucking unfair it is.

You know my opinion of Lily. You're not going to trust me that I'm not saying all this just to get you two to break up to hurt her. Fair. Very fair, not going to pretend like it's not. But if Lily loves you, nothing I'm about to say should be an issue. She should want what's best for you, right?

Here's the rub Mikaila, it's been a few years now. I know you want out of your situation at home, but it doesn't seem like Lily's going to be able to help you with that at this point. I'm sure Lily's given you plenty of reasons as to why, and it's time to listen to her.

If you're heart's set on coming to Canada, your best bet is getting a job here. Or even, going to school. Art degrees (Here in Canada) aren't as expensive, provided you go to the right school. Even taking out a student loan for just one year to figure your shit out. I know you're in quite a bit of debt right now and don't want to get into more, but. You gotta do what you gotta do.

Here's the college I went to. Yes, your work is sufficient to potentially get admitted. Believe it or not, art school's get that illustration is a learned skill. Artists start from all different levels:

Look through the admissions requirements to see if you have the academic records to be admitted. If not, you could also consider upgrading through online classes aswell.

Again though, your best bet is to try to find employment. The cost of living isn't great here right now, but it isn't great anywhere. I doubt you'll be able to find cheaper rent in America.

Once you're here or wherever you end up, away from the chaos of your home, you might find it a lot easier to get your head around, establishing some better independence and becoming a citizen by yourself. It's a shitty process, but not as bad as the one you guys have in the States. We stan an immigrant here.

You need to look out for you, Mikaila. It's not selfish. It's not a matter of whether you "really deserve it or not." Nobody's going to save you. You're emotionally spent because of your parents, You're emotionally spent because of Lily. And it feels kind of nice how much Lily needs you. But you can't help her until you help yourself - and again, if we're all wrong and Lily really loves you, she shouldn't have a problem with you finding your way.

My own mother once told me I was "born sad." I've never not hated myself. I ate up any little bit of love and validation no matter how many bitter, razor pills that came with it too. That's just how it is for some of us.

But you know what Mikaila? Fuck em. Fuck all of them. Fuck everything. Fuck me, Mikaila. You've got one life. One body. One you. Whatever you think of her, someone's gotta fight for that poor bitch. Why not you fight for you?

Everyone's a stinky meat bag stripped down, Mikaila. Everyone's made a fool in the wake of the shit people like you and I have been through. Not everyone's going to be able to forgive everything, but everyone's not wholly past forgiveness.

I'm no better than you Mikaila. Nobody is. Some of us just get to know the worst sides of ourselves better than others.

I don't like some of the things you've done, girl. But I see you. I get it. Tell us all to eat shit. Fix your life. Don't rely on Lily to make you feel whole or to save you. To make you feel worthy. No person can do that. She could be the reincarnation of Mary Mother of God herself, and you couldn't expect that from her. Be your own advocate. If your relationship isn't toxic, it can survive you becoming a more whole you.

This asshole is rooting for you. Give me an excuse to undoomer "Mikailer." My girl needs a win.

[kooksbunnnn]

Lost cause? 2: she knows me?

Previous chapter

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook× Female!Reader

Genre: Established relationship/ marriage, angst, heartbreak, INFIDELITY. Panic attacks(TRIGGER WARNING). Pregnancy (do not read if this content triggers you) also, 18+,

Summary: You always wondered, how would your life turn out to be if you and Jungkook had a baby? So, when you finally conceive and decide to tell your husband, that you are pregnant, you didn't expect him to drop this bomb on you. You never would've thought that the surprise you planned would end up in agonized tears because of the shock your husband brings you. 

Words: 3.9k

Please read the authors note at the end of the chapter. hehe~

••••••

It was all very awkward and heart-breaking, the explanations to both your parents, seeing your parents cry in front of you, seeing his dad bow his head out of shame, his mom hugging your sobbing body with tears in her eyes, no one could change anything so nobody tried to change the decision you both took. 

No divorce. That is what you both decided on the balcony that morning, but it's easier said than done. A series of drunken calls by him, panic calls by you, and crying sessions that included you both tiredly sleeping. Not forgetting the almost deadly morning sickness and cramps. 

The love and need you felt for Jungkook was not going anywhere, no matter how hard you tried, becoming so frustrating that you started thinking of divorce. But the idea was immediately turned down by your therapist considering the pregnancy. 

Yes, therapist. Never did you think you would visit one of these anytime soon. You lived separately, away from his physical self, but every little detail of the baby's growth was a part of his daily routine. You texted him about what the doctor told you in your appointments, and he told you to take care, and you always hung up asking him to do the same. 

It was his baby, too, so you thought he should know every detail about the growth of his blood, too, not realizing how you just needed some way to check on him. You didn't want to but you couldn't help it.

It was like a routine for every 2 weeks, a call every 14 days, and a text from him 5 to 6 times in the 24 hours to check up on your health. When he received the first ultrasound, he spent the whole evening making a bunch of hard and soft copies of the picture of his baby. So small, like a bean, making his heart ache with love. 

He wanted to be there. See it himself. Feel your belly. Kiss it. But he couldn't. 

The agony of not seeing each other continued for three and a half months when suddenly you felt a pain in your lower abdomen, making you panic. 

The therapist warned you of the consequences of the stress and the tears on the baby, the doctor did said that too but you couldn't physically control yourself from crying or giving in to the need to hear his voice whenever you cried, thinking not doing so might turn your health worse hence doing the same to the baby. 

Your mom stirred in her sleep at your yelp, alarming her, immediately getting up she took a look at you, seeing the tears in your eyes she ran up to your father and told him to take you to the hospital. Your father rushed from the guestroom he had been sleeping in since your mom insisted you sleep with her.

Rushing to the hospital, your pain didn't grow but didn't stop either. When the doctor started to diagnose the reason for the pain, you only prayed that the baby was fine. Tears in your eyes, you wished the circumstances were different, with your husband holding your hand while the doctor diagnosed you. 

But you were alone even with your mother standing beside you with concerned eyes. 

Soon, you got to know that it was because of the sleeping posture and the ligament pain, which was basically your body making space for the baby. With the advice of sleeping in a better posture with a pillow to tuck under your leg and some prescriptions, you open the door to exit the room. 

Thats when you see him. 

After three and a half months which felt like years, you lost your composure, especially when he came your way sprinting with long legs, fuzzy hair, bags under his eyes, mismatched clothing, you guess he was in a rush so he must have picked a random shirt over the joggers considering he sleeps shirtless. 

Also, were those different slippers? 

You saw how his eyes take you in and gloss up, making your vision blurry with tears, too. The hurt and anger of him cheating was still there, but the hormones of the pregnancy were messing with your mind, and you wanted to kick yourself for being happy at seeing him. 

"You okay? What did the doctor say? Is everything okay? Is she okay?" 

He always wanted a girl. The she in his sentence makes your heart squeeze, and you look at your mother with a clenched jaw.

Did she call him and tell him? Or was it your dad?

Sighing guiltily and avoiding your questing glare, she replies the questions that Jungkook asked, him still looking at you with concern while your mom explained everything. 

"Y/N I-" 

"Please go, Jungkook. Thank you so much for coming here, but I need you to go." You say sniffing, looking away from the concerned man in front of you.

The silence between you, Jungkook, and your parents was defeaning, broken by you moving past him, wiping the tears that flowed automatically on seeing him after so long.

Happy or sad, you have no idea. Relieved to be around him? For a second, maybe. You got mad at your parents and then later found out that your father had told Jungkook about your abdominal pain, but then he said he just couldn't see you in so much agony, and he just called him without anither thought.

You never wanted to see your father cry, but he did, and you felt helpless. You made your parents helpless.

How did it all become so painful?

The next two months went terribly since you stopped contacting him, stopped replying to his texts, occasionally texting him not more than three words. The fact that you got some kind of assurity through the texts was somewhere in the back of your head, but you didn't want to admit. No matter what. You can't. Thus, your anxiety is rising. 

When he reread the text, you last sent him four days ago. 'The baby is okay.' he felt his heart squeeze up, the thought of you assuming him texting for only the baby hurt him. He wanted to know about you too. He felt disgusted by the fact that he did this to you, the love of his life.

The last time you saw him made you realize that seeing him in person would not change the fact that he cheated on you, broke your heart even though you loved him, and you still love him. Fuck why do you still love him. Your heart and mind aches from all the heart break and your back aches feom lying down so much and the hormones making you mad makes you wanna punch Jungkook and then hug him, feel his warmth all around you. 

The sudden urge to take a walk in the garden downstairs to clear your head washes over you. Even though the doctor told you that you're not supposed to move much. You still try to get up when- 

"Ow! Fuck, fine I won't! I am much more  responsible than you, little one." 

You tell your baby as you feel the cramp in your back that makes your head fall back in frustration. The pain and the mood swings make you make an impulsive decision that involves you, your anger, and your phone. 

Finding the name in your contacts you click on it and hear the ringer do its job but at the second ring you realize what a big fucking mistake this might turn out to be, so you immediately turn the screen on to hang up but drop the phone on the mattress in the middle of the rushed action. 

"Hello?" A deep voice resounds on the mattress, making you freeze. Shit. 

You get up slightly to pick up your phone while he tries to get a reply from your side. The contact image smiling at you mocks your irritated face. Making you much more infuriated. 

"Y/N?" a whisper. 

"Yes, it's me, Jungkook!" You speak up a bit rudely, answering his question, the other side falling silent with a hint of traffic in the background. He must be getting back from work. 

"Are you oka-" 

"Why? Why did you do this? I loved you. I never did anything bad, so why do I have so many heartbreaks. It hurts! My heart and my head hurt!" 

Silence. 

"Answer me! You have no clue how much I wanna hate you, Jungkook. You dont know how is it to have all these fucking mood swings killing me, I dont have you. I cant expect these hormones to calm themselves on their own cause you're not around me?!" 

By the end of the rant, you start sobbing, your body shaking with the number of hiccups you're having. Jungkook always helped you with your moody episodes and cramps during your periods. He was always there. 

You just hope you dont wake up your sleeping dad, who took his blood pressure pills. You told him to sleep, but now you dont know if he could, considering your wails. Your mom out for maternity clothes shopping since moving and working in these normal ones was a pain in the ass. 

"I could be there, I wanna be there. I want you to know how much I regret my mistake just please...baby, let me in. Please." He whispers in the phone, clearly on the verge of crying. 

You sniff on your side, eyes shut tightly, giving him the cue to go on. 

"I would never, ever force you to t-take me back or f-feel something for me. Just let me be there when you need me. I won't talk or anything just please.." 

Taking the device off speaker you furiously bring the phone to your ears. "You really think its easy, huh? Well I dont think it would be if- ah!" 

You suddenly feel a tiny pulse like sensation on your tummy, and you freeze, dropping your phone. You think it's one of the pains you felt earlier, but this doesn't hurt. it's like a flutter. You gasp again as you feel it again, eyes widening with joy as you absentmindedly pick your phone up to tell your husband that your baby just kicked! 

The feeling of the baby moving inside you made your heart swell double in size, and you call out his name in the device, but your smile falls, seeing that he hung up. 

He must've reached home. 

Home. The visual of the shared apartment makes you sigh, reality hitting hard. Oh, how you wish you could be in your house, with him, without the suffocating memories of you crying in the kitchen. 

Your dad rushes in the bedroom, making you flinch as he slams the door open. 

"Y/N! Are you okay? Why are you crying? Did something happen? Did Jungkook say something? Did you call? Why are you-" 

"The baby kicked dad-" 

You gasp as it kicked once again, and your father laughs with surprised-teary eyes along with you.

"Oh my god, I don't know what it is that makes the little one kick, but I am gonna try finding it out. Help me figure it out, dad!" You say giggling as your eyes widen with happiness as the baby kicks again, but then you realize that the kick it gives you again is at the term dad. Fuck. 

Okay, the kid is genuinely testing your patience and emotional waters. 

"It's dad." You hear a whisper, and your heart stops beating for a second. When you turn your head towards the door when you see Jungkook and your mom. 

"It's me. She knows me. She knows who I am." He keeps whispering talking about the baby as he enters the room and slowly crouches down at the edge of your bed, staring at you, baby bump with tears in his eyes,

Hearing you sniff he looks up and sees his wife, the mother of his child, the love of his life, not even facing towards him during this moment and Jungkook couldnt help but grab the white duvet covering you, his hands itching to wipe your tears. 

Y/N. Look at me, please." 

You clench your jaw, tears slipping out of your eyes. When he whispers your name again, you shut your eyes frustrated. This is what you both wanted, right? This is what you've been trying for 1 year, right? Then why does it have to be so painful when you finally get it? 

"Y/N?" 

You snap your head, looking at him. Eyes glossy, face red and dark circles, a description suitable for the both of you. His face softens at your questioning stare, and he whsipers a barely audible answer, 

"You didn't answer when I called your name numerous times, so I thought you were in pain. I was near Taehyung's apartment when you stopped responding, so I came here straightaway.." 

"Taehyung's?" You ask. 

At your question, he wipes the sweat over his upper lip, diverting his gaze towards his lap. "Yea, he found out about- what I-I did, when I went to his place, all the hyungs know." He sniffs. Maybe that's the reason why Namjoon Jin and Yoongi tried calling you at least 6 times the week after you found out. Maybe that was the reason hobi visited your workplace, thinking you would be there. Maybe that's why the soulmates sent flowers to your workplace.

You thought they just knew about your pregnancy, hence the flowers, calls, and visits.

"I've been crashing there, in his guest bedroom. I just dont want to go to our place. it's not a home without you." He whispers. 

You look at him in silence, how he doesnt make eye contact, staring at his lap, as he fiddles with his fingers, you look up at your parents who have been there listening to the full interaction with worry in their eyes.

They were mad at Jungkook at first but knowing you needed him during this time the most, they couldnt tell you to seperate or move on and since he wronged you they couldn't call him over to comfort you. It was very painful and confusing for both families. 

Looking at your parents, you motion with your eyes to give you a moment of privacy.

You give them a small sad smile before they turn to leave the room.

"Jungkook?" 

He looks up, responding to your voice with a sniff. His nose was red, and his cheeks were all wet. 

"This is getting insufferable. To be honest, I wish all this never happened, but it did. You or me, we cant change that, but the fact that I cant leave you, cant get a divorce, cant control my emotions, cant eat the pancakes you made when I crave them at 4 in the morning so much!" Your voice starts quivering due to the tears and anger inside you. 

"It's killing me." You shake your head frustrated.

"Also, why can't I stop thinking about my therapist giving me hope about us? Why did it make me feel relief? Why do I want to give in?!" You look at him again, his eyes already on you. 

"Why did you have to ruin everything, Jungkook? This was our dream. Our dream! I want to forget you so bad, wanna forget how you broke my heart and oh! how I wanna change the things in which  they are, but I can't Jungkook! I can't! I'm stuck with you, your memories, your smell, the comfort you gave me, everything! Fuck I dont want to give in to the hope. I cant do that to myself!" 

You clutch your head, and he hesitantly gets up after a moment of heavy silence,  slowly sitting at the edge of the bed. You look up at him, still clutching your head with one hand while the other drops in your lap, brushing slightly against your baby bump. 

He takes his hand and places it on top of your resting one. He thought you would push him away, but you didn't. He looks up and removes your other hand from your head and puts it over the already interlocked hands in your lap. 

You feel weird thinking how you should pull your hand back, get away from him but at this moment nothing felt better, you needed him as your comfort and he understood that. 

He looks into your glassy eyes and sniffs, his nose scrunching. You now notice how chapped his lips are and how his eyes are red, a little bit of stubble on his face, piercings gone, and a dull skin tone. 

Your heart beats with anxiety, wanting to give in the hope but also wanting to create boundaries for yourself at the same time. Your heart was betraying you at the moment you wanted it to be strong.

You should be strong, you owed yourself that! But why does this comfort make you want to live in it, swim in it, so that it can wash away all your problems? 

"I-I will always be there, Y/N. Whatever you decide. I will leave immediately if you want a divorce, I swear I will never show you my face, ever again, if that makes you move on and forget me. But if you want, even for a second to try again? I will do anything to make things right. I won't come close. I won't touch you. I will stay somewhere else. You can be here with your mom and dad. Whatever you want, but if even for a moment, e-even as a forbidden thought, you think of trying? Please tell me?" He pleads, holding your hand, without moving his eyes from yours, as if afraid of losing the hope for the both of you. 

You inhale and exhale as an exercise your first therapist told you to do when anxious. His hands feel so warm you can't help but grab it, nails digging in his skin to make yourself make a decision. His face softens at your gesture. 

"Y/N I am very-" 

"Wait." 

You hold his hand and put it gently on your slightly 5 month swollen baby belly. He widens his eyes as after two seconds, you feel the baby kick again. This time without someone saying the word 'dad'. 

After five months, your baby felt the touch of the only person you could ever dream of having a family with. Jungkook, your husband, the love of your life. When you both stare at your belly, smiling, for a moment, you let go, you stop your compulsive mind to stop thinking of the consequences. You let yourself feel his hands. The warmth. The comfort, all seeping in. 

When you look up at him, you see that his eyes are wide, his chin quivering and his nose getting redder by the second, a sob leaving his mouth as you start crying too. The distance and the problems between you both getting overpowered by the feeling of fullness. The betrayal is not a part of your thoughts for the first time, only for a moment, but your mind felt happy.

The situation and the hand on your belly makes your mind feel a sad Déjà vu of the night he told you about what he did.

"She knows me. She knows her dad!" his voice gets you out of the memory you went in, and you see his face brightening up.

He sobs, and you feel your heart clench at this sight. Can things ever get better? Do you even see a future without tears along with Jungkook? Is your therapist right? Do you really think you could work this out? What if this is all due to hormones and you regret it later? But didn't the doctor and the therapist both say that you need the most loved person in your life to give you comfort and calm you down in anxious episodes? But what if he himself is the reason for the anxiety? 

These emotions are fucking with your head and you need to talk to the therapist yourself. Maybe with him this time. 

"Y/N?" 

He pats the back of your hand with his, hesitating for a second, afraid of your reaction to him holding your hand. Seeing that you didnt flinch, he continued, 

"You zoned out." 

You look at him blankly, his confused expressions mirroring your emotions. You feel your throat close up at the thought of saying you wanna try. Try again. You feel like you are betraying yourself. Letting your past depressed self down, but why dont you feel your heart clogging? Why are his red yet warm, familiar eyes so comforting? 

You certainly can not forget what he did. But would trying again be bad? Would it turn out to be disastrous? Do you really think that the cliché about couples therapy might be true? Can the issues between two people be solved by a stranger? Would you even be able to talk openly about your relationship? 

Looking at your dazed and blurry eyes, he takes one of his hands and pets your hair, slightly stroking it, understanding that you need him right now. He caresses your hair and untangles the knots you created while clutching your head. 

"I'm here. I'm always here with you. No matter what you choose, hm?" 

Your mind finally focuses on what you want, and you slightly sit up, tightening your hold on his hand. He knows it's now or never. You're gonna choose, and he is gonna have to make peace with whatever your choice is. If it means never showing you his face again, he will take it. But if you choose him? Choose to give him another chance? He will do whatever it takes to make things right.

You open your mouth to close it once again, his eyes wide with hope and concern when he sees you squeezing your eyes as if to rip the bandage off. 

"Should we give us another chance?" You whispered with a tight grip on his palm as if scared of letting yourself hear the words. Looking up, you ask him again, 

"Could we ever be us again?" You asked in a hushed whisper with a tear falling out of your eye. He felt his heart beat faster at you, giving him another chance. This time, he will make sure you dont regret this decision. He wanted to hug you so bad, wanted to kiss your tears away, and hold you while promising the second chance would be a decision he would make you happy that you did.

Instead, respecting your boundaries, he just squeezes your hand and says with a small-teary smile. 

"We would be better than before at this, Y/N. I promise."

••••••••••

Next chapter series masterlist main masterlist

Authors note: hie! I am back with another chapter, and I know it's been a long time since I updated, but I've been going through a lot of changes in my life right now and I really wanted to upload this last week, but I was busy with my internship interview preperation and assignments and exams.

Also, it's fiction, so let's just be calm because I love every BTS member, too, just like the readers of this series. Anyone who wishes to be a part of Lost Cause taglist, please message me or send me an ask! I love you all! Hehe~ plea

[bullet-prooflove]

The Finder: Duke Crocker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @aiko24k @magic-multicolored-miracle

When you’d first turned up in Haven you’d called yourself a P.I, Duke knows better these days, the more appropriate term would be a ‘Finder’. You have an exceptional gift for locating missing people, it’s that that brought you to Haven in the first place.

You’d been on the trail of your friend Jim Delaney, a man who had simply stepped out of your life one day and vanished into thin air. You’d managed to track him all the way here to Maine.

Using your less than savoury connections you’d discovered that Duke had been the one to smuggle him out of Boston. Jim’s Trouble had started to manifest physically and he’d had to cash in a favour from an old friend to spirit him away. It was safer for everyone, Jim had told you when you’d showed up at the houseboat Duke had set him up with.

It's seeing your compassion that makes Duke realise that you’re something special. Jim’s Trouble had disfigured him, rendered him practically unrecognisable to the man you once knew. However that didn’t seem to faze you. When you realised he was getting sicker, that his affliction was terminal  you had set up yourself up in Haven and liquidating your business assets so that you could afford to make Jim more comfortable during his remaining few months.

“Who is he to you?” Duke had asked one night when the two of you were walking alongside each other on the beach. “Why come all the way out here to find him? Why choose to stay?”

“He’s my friend.” You say simply. “He gave me a chance when nobody else would.”

He’s doesn’t quite understand what that means until the night Jim passes away. The two of you are sipping from a forty year old single malt that he  would have loved when you find yourself telling Duke how Jim saved you.

“I was living on the streets trying to escape a bad situation. I left with the clothes on my back and a couple of dollars I’d managed to take from my boyfriend’s wallet.” You tell him as you lay on a blanket, staring up at the stars. “I couldn’t go to the shelter because I knew he would find me so I started sleeping rough, trying to stay one step ahead of him until I could find a way to earn that wasn’t…”

You trail off then and Duke’s fingers thread through yours because he’s had to do some pretty terrible things to survive and now he knows you have too. He doesn’t judge you for it. He’s just glad you’re out of that situation, that you’re safe.

“He hired Jim to find you didn’t he?” he says into the darkness.

“Yea.” You say softly. “Jim, he took one look at the bruises, the doorway I was sleeping in, the clothes I was wearing…”

“And he saw you.” Duke says knowingly because Jim, he had done something similar for him just after Simon Crocker had died. He had been a lonely, messed up kid when Jim had taken him under his wing, helped him find his feet.

“He got me out of the city, set me up with a new identity, a job, a life.” You say softly, your voice breaking just a little. “He didn’t want anything, he didn’t expect anything, he just did it…”

“That’s who he was.” Duke says quietly as he shifts onto his side, propping his head up on his arm. “He couldn’t stand to see someone in distress, he couldn’t help himself…”

You turn to face him and he can see the agony in your eyes because Jim, he was a more than just a friend to you, he was a mentor, a father figure, the man who saved your life.

Without him you’re alone in the world all over again and Duke knows how hard that is, how untethered and isolated it makes you feel. His thumb ghosts over your cheek, chasing away the tears that stain your cheeks. He’s known you for just four months but already it feels like a life time.

“We’re gonna take care of each other alright?” He whispers to you as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “It’s you and me, no matter what happens. We’ll take care of each other.”

The two of you stay up, swapping stories about Jim into the early hours of the morning. You laugh, you cry and finally you fall asleep curled up against Duke, your head resting on his chest as you listen to the sound of his heartbeat. He draws the blanket up around your shoulders, tucking it around your body as he holds you close. You’re gone when he awakens, the scent of your perfume and the sea clinging to his skin.

You don’t come back for three weeks and when you do it's one in the morning.

He’s asleep when you let yourself into his bedroom, he wakes up to the aroma of jasmine and sunshine, it floods his senses as you join him underneath the covers. He thinks he’s dreaming at first but his dreams, they’re never this sweet.

“Tell me you’ve missed me.” You whisper as you strip off your shirt and his calloused palms chase over your bare skin.

“I have thought about you every damn day.” He murmurs into the curve of your throat as he helps you undress.

He makes love to you that night, his lips trailing over your naked form as the sound of the waves crash in his ears.

When he wakes up it’s to an empty bed. He sighs, burying his face into your pillow because this isn’t one of his usual one night affairs. He actually cares about you, the feelings he has, they’ve been there since the day you turned up on his boat peppering him with questions about Jim.

When he steps out onto his deck that morning he doesn’t expect to see you sitting there, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his boots. You’re perched in his chair, sipping tea from a chipped mug and reading one of those mystery novels that you love so much.

Haven, he thinks as he lingers in the doorway, the edges of his mouth turning into a smile. It just has this way of giving people what they need, especially when they least expect it.

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