#gray concrete staircase

[aspoonfulofwitchcraft]

Front Yard Gravel in Orange County A typical medium-sized, full-sun front yard gravel garden path in the spring can be seen here.

[theonefumi]

Patio Gazebos Image of a medium-sized, elegant backyard stone patio with a gazebo and a fire pit

[dakaria-ktp]

Oklahoma City Siding Exterior Large gray one-story mixed siding exterior of an arts and crafts home with a shingle roof

[sjw-themes]

Transitional Exterior Image of the exterior of a medium-sized, multicolored, two-story transitional home with shingles on the roof.

[pugtails]

Contemporary Basement - Basement

[mal-educado]

Midcentury Family Room

[graphedpaper]

Renter Problems 2

yandere!celebrity x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're trying to find a place near your university to stay, and you've managed to find a mansion owned by a celebrity to live in. His name is Jacob, and you've known him since middle school, living in the same city as him. He's blown up as the new, hot celebrity thanks to the movie he's starred in, though, while you're just struggling to pass by. But he's been acting strange, and you're determined to .move out Details: Physical and verbal abuse, manipulation, gender neutral reader, kidnapping

Your head pounds with throbbing pressure from sudden exposure to the singular light of a fluorescent fixture overhead, unsure what happened that lead you to here.

Here, a foggy room of hard gray walls and cold gray floors, it's simplicity unnerves you, a human instinct, maybe.

Your eyes squint from the brightness and you're unable to open them.

Your mouth feels dry, your throat needs water now. You feel sick and nauseous, like almost a fever. Your right arm is sore and bruised, like you had a very bad work out.

It must be earlier in the morning, or maybe it's the afternoon...

You feel a cool, cold, but tight sensation on your wrists and realize your arms are hung up and stretched out individually to thick pipes with handcuffs and chains.

Your screams start to form, an instinctual, guttural, screech of terror that comes rushing out of your mouth with no hesitation.

"Help!" You scream, but your dry throat and dizziness restricts you from yelling loud enough.

Your heavy, tired head droops over and creates a resemblance to a crucification, only this time your raw knees press on the concrete that pushes against your slumped figure.

If not for the handcuffs holding you up, you would fall face flat and crack your forehead.

All you can do is gasp for air into your dry throat, the air stinging your channel that begged for hydration, all sense of a functioning brain and body is gone. Your arms feel numb, all blood rushing to your core. You start to yank your wrists away from the pipe in vain. The heavy metal around your wrists press and brings you another source of pain, the marks all red.

You force your neck up to look at this strange room again. Last thing you can make out before passing out was telling Jacob you were leaving.

What had happened exactly? You forced yourself to dig through your shattered memories.

He had slapped and tossed you across the living room, then he-

Your eyes droop closed. Even with the fear pounding your heart, something is still slowing your thinking. It softens your movements like walking in deep water, fluid, yet thick and weighted.

"Oh. You're up. Couldn't tell from all the screaming." A sarcastic sound hits your ears.

A clear voice calls down to you from the stairs leading up to a now open door that you had not been able to see before.

He looks so satisfied, up on the staircase, hands stuffed in his sweatpants and looking down at you. While you were kneeled on raw ground, face red and puffy from yesterday's event, his face was neat,  hair tousled gently, and smelled of aired cotton sheets, he was superior.

"What did you do- What did you do Jacob? What did you do to me?" You rasp out, no energy in your body. "Don't say that precious, I did nothing. You did this." He replies approaching you.

Your eyes widen in panic and you pull on your restraints once again. The metal shakes and rattles, making unpleasant sounds that echo throughout the deep basement. "Don't come near me! I swear, don't take another step!" You don't order, you don't ask, but beg. Beg him to stop.

You cry out screaming when he doesn't stop and calmly descends the stairs, hands still in pockets. "God, shut up! Shut your fucking mouth y/n." He snaps.

He crouches down to my level and he stares at me, like he's studying an animal he hunted down.

"If you want to get out of..."

He pauses.

"...Out of those then keep still and behave."

He hesitates to say handcuffs, like he's avoiding shattering his little dream world where we're apparently a couple. Because even he knows couples don't do this.

"Let me go please. Let me go!" You beg him, using your strength to rattle the chains connecting to your bondage.

Jacob scoffs at your behaviour. You're so pathetic, begging him to let you go. Let you go where? You'd be begging on the streets then. Better him than random strangers, right?

"Y/n stop it." He grabs your chin and pulls it upwards with his right hand. "You're acting like a fucking bitch right now." His eyes stare right into yours, it's dark. The back of your neck feels strained from the awkward angle.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" You jump to apologize. It's obvious this is someone unlike anyone you'd meet around town. Inhuman.

A sharp kick to your side pushes you back. It leaves you unable to think, or speak. The impact was unexpected.

He laughs at your shock. "Are you ready now?" Jacob's lips pout slightly, speaking in a mocking tone.

You can only stare at a corner of this room, mouth gaping like a suffocating fish. Still, you manage to nod slightly.

What bad luck.

What horrible luck that your friend recommended you the house of a psycho.

In this moment, you curse your parents and your friends slightly.

Jacob kneels down fully to the ground and slips out a key from his back pocket of his jeans. He swiftly unlocks the segments that connect the individual handcuffs to the chains.

What a joke, of course he wouldn't take the handcuffs off like you thought, he's only separating you from the pillars-

He takes out a second key and takes his time to release your sore wrists from the 2 metal bracelets.

You remain as confused and fearful as ever. What did he have planned now?

"Jacob, why did you do this, why did you put me in these handcuffs?" You ask him, in a raspy voice. It's hoarse from the screaming.

You observe his facial expressions carefully, like a small rabbit may to a lion. He's unpredictable.

He ignores your questions and continues to work at the handcuffs.

"You know y/n, I think you don't remember how terrible of a person you were to me all throughout our teenage years. How much of a bully you were. And that hurts me."

No. No, you were never once a bully to him. But he was to you, spreading rumours, getting his friends to gang up on you. What was he on about? He was insane. You wanted to ask him what he meant, you deeply wanted to argue against this statement. But that wouldn't save you, would it?

"I'm so sorry Jacob, I'm sorry for hurting you like that in the past, but like you said, we can all change." You bite your tongue and hope for the best.

Silence fills the room up to the ceiling, and he pauses working on the last handcuff around your wrist.

"You refused to go out with me, y/n." He stared at you.

What could you say except sorry to this psycho?

"I'm so sorry Jacob." You reply.

"You thought I was a stupid idiot, huh! You thought you could just walk all over me and I would accept it?" He yells.

"Jacob, please, I'm not sure what I did to you, I'm sorry!" You cry out, terrified. Your body starts to shake reactively towards his agression.

His move star face contorts into one of an ugly monster.

"You... you don't even know? You don't even care?" He stands up with a look of angry disbelief.

"No, no, Jacob, please, please, let me out of this place and we can talk it over, okay?" You beg.

He checks his watch then glares at you.

"You're lucky I need to go and do an interview to promote the new movie."

He kneels back down, and before he unlocks the final handcuff, he puts the other set between your two wrists like how it normally would have been used, then takes off the first handcuff that was connected to the chains on the pillar and one of your hands.

He grabs onto your handcuff and drags you up behind him to the first floor. The stairs are long and high, like the architect knew a rich person would need to have somewhere to take out their sick desires.

When he opens the locked door and tosses you to the floor of the other room, you realize its the big, airy living room from last night's dinner. You look around and see no traces of yesterday's fight. Did he get a cleaner in?

Jacob locks the door behind him, and then turns around to look at you.

His facial expression changes from stressed fury to a calmer, serene face.

"Oh y/n, you're too gorgeous to act this way, why can't you just be my perfect partner, huh? Why did you have to try and leave? Weren't we building a connection? We even had a dinner date." He rambles his thoughts to you, like you're a stuffed rabbit toy.

He grabs your hand and leads you up to his bedroom. You've never been in it.

While he's approaching his bedroom door, you decide to attempt to get out of this horror.

You'll ask him to unlock your cuffs and then you'll call the police...

Jacob pushes you onto his bed.

"Y/n, stay in my room and don't have even think about leaving until I'm back from work. There's alarms."

"Jacob, please can you get me out of these handcuffs? Let me go please, I won't ever tell anyone, I wouldn't dare ruin your career, " You try.

Jacob stops moving at your audacity to beg. You're daring, he'll admit that. Begging for him to let you go? His girlfriend?

"I'm not worried about you ruining my career, you'd just be another crazy bitch out for a young man's growing success."

You're stunned by the bluntness of his words and your face finds its way into a grimace.

"Aww. Poor baby didn't like that, huh?" He asks with a sarcastic tone.

You stare at him not sure what to say.

"I'm going to go now, but you have to be a good girlfriend while I'm away." Jacob tells you.

He forces you to kiss him on the cheek in an awkward position and leaves you on his grand bed with the door locked.

You collapse and begin to sob.

Hi, this short text is part of a larger story you can find on Wattpad, @graphedpaper, if you liked this, you should check it out there.

[nerdgal27]

A Story Behind the Painting

Home

Summary:

Part 4 of (Mikey and Me Part 3), (It Happened Again Part 2), and (Don't Want to Talk Part 1). Struggle after struggle. There comes a time when the inner demon destroys so much, that one doesn't know what else to do. Other than keep the inner demon from loved ones.

Tags: Substance Abuse, Depression, Flashbacks, and Abuse.

Home 

Sunshine dapples the deep green forest. Burn the late morning dew glittering jewels in mid air. Coffee mug in hand black liquid slosh onto cold fingers as I wobble down the tiny staircase of the camper pickup truck. An old rust bucket is the last bit of my savings can afford. 

Sit on a lazy afternoon in a cozy chair. Stare at the endless view of evergreen pines and misty gray mountains is worth it all. Take in the cool sweet wood scent of green fill sore lungs. Swivel chair further away from an old gravel path. Wind over the lush undergrowth. Where customary rodents cover last night's tracks. Eat the empty nut shells and left over trail mix I left for them. Can’t stomach to eat anything again. What’s the point now?

Shield away by Mother Nature’s warmth and green walls. Her sweet melody chirps and whispers in the silence. The sticky sun glues me under the camper cobweb awning. Spiders big enough to play the banjo. Thought grows a chuckle to who said that once. Forever gone away in the forever distance. All for the best. For everyone. For them most of all. 

Free from pain, from it all. It has been done. No need to know the outside world. Can almost imagine it all. Not now. No need to think about any of that at all. Other than wonder how hot this coffee is for me to sip. 

Deep rich aroma takes me away from the pines. Old giggles bounce from concrete walls. Sparks spray in all directions mingles the smell with old metal. When muddle hands rub black grease over my eyebrow. Old scooter parts vomit all over the floor. A victim to be torn apart, rebuilt to either drive faster. Or explode. 

Phone rings memories back to green and soft blue reality. Muffle in the far depths of the 1967 brown and green camper. Can’t be right, I shut it off last night. 

Crawl back into the sauna brown dungeon. Follow the ringtone to the front. Weave over the hot tea water bottles on the fuzzy floor. Brush last night’s debris aside in the trap of doom between the front seat. Bright pink old life shivers in a frenzy. 

I shouldn’t turn the phone over to see the screen. This needs to be my new life now. Can’t go back anyways. How can I like this? How can anyone? Doing this for them. An glove box that only opens and closes by a swift kick is a good place to bury it all away. Turn off all of the past in orange velvet darkness. Leave it all tucked away. Return to the fresh sirene new life. 

Canadian geese honk over the tall tree peaks. The way the flock swoops down a long terrain down from blue skies and feather clouds. Sunrays beam grasshopper hisses mid day summer heat. Follow the distant honks and splash. A cool lake lap over dry cracked feet sounds perfect. Clear this heavy head of mine. 

Wander back inside. Cool worn out duds for lake water. Cold beer in hand, tuck comfy chair under my arm. A handful of fluorescent pink tags roll in hand. Nice way to return to my new home without getting lost. Wait for another set of geese to flutter above. Lead the way out of the hot sun. Weave between the trees. Step over tree root monsters. Smile at the odd bird or animal hops by. 

“We don’t keep secrets, right?”

I whisper to the memories. “No, you don’t.” 

Another voice in the dream rasp. “He still loves you.” 

He shouldn’t, neither should any of you. Too broken, not enough. Difficult. 

Out here. All are no different than any woodland creatures from the largest moose to the small voles scurry by. What is worse, to remember the words. Or the subtle silence of the first night when all of this began. A sink full of awful empty decisions. The oldest brother’s quiet gaze. Patterns flourish in the forest around me. Bright shapes shimmer all that is long gone behind me. Nothing wrong with a cold one in hand on a hot day. 

Besides, take in all of this. A wide dark turquoise green lake. Full of life. A single loon lone coo along with the tiny dots of geese in the water. Soft gentle slopes into sand and clay. Show evidence of deer were here moments ago. 

He misses you that’s all 

One’s voice. Does he?… Of course he does. How could he not? Everyone else knows. 

Sit down in the chair. Set down the last 3 cans of a 6 pack. Miraculous 3 survivors of a drunk blackout yesterday. Crack open heaven. Slide it down the fire throat. Feel it burn over it all. Take in this brand new peaceful life of quiet. Should bring out a couple fishing poles for tonight. If I remember to come back for them. Can’t go back to anything nowadays. 

When will I see you? 

My old self. When my voice had more life. 

Soon, Sweetheart, it will be like old times. 

There’s a reason why they are called old times. It was a good life. A loud life, somewhat chaotic. The endless laughs, pile ons, pushing around. Plastic cockroaches in cupboards, glitter in ninja smoke bombs. One time Mikey and I replaced Raphael’s shower gel for blue dye. Guy was a grumpy Smurf for 4 days. His grouchy growls. The wooden spoon in papa turtle Smurf’s hand. Mikey ran for his life. I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. Wash over the more recent screams and pushes away. Even more of the dark and bleek. 

When closet doors rattle. Whisky bottles smash in the far distance- 

No. Not again. Never speak of it again. None of that ever happened. 

Water swishes numb ankles. Whirl to baby ducks splash nearby. Over work, Mother of 6 squacks her children to behave and paddle behind her. Chuckles at their little feet blur under the clear water. Match the same speed of their cotton ball wings. Can remember when Mikey used to run the same way. Anytime Donnie chases Mikey out of his lab. Sometimes so then Donnie and I could play science and pupil again. 

Water waves between my toes. Shallow parts warm from the sun. Heat numb limbs. Swallow back to boiling hot water. Scorch delicate young skin.

Mommy it’s too hot. 

No…stop

Screams echo. Blister scar. Bare to the summer heat. Every single one remembers every pain. Why did I wear this tank top? Why am I out here? Can’t stay.

Hands stick on to lawn chair. Water waves slosh against the sandy ridge. Small legs kick. Hot water splashes everywhere. Hands shove deep under water. 

Sweetheart, breathe…

Violet voice whispers. Take his invisible hands. Squeeze them. The way he told me to. No thumb rubs my hands. Take in all of the cool fresh pine. Have to get used to this alone. Least this way is the best. No one’s burden any more. Can pick up this lawn chair anytime. 

Wander back the pink flag trail. Lose myself to millions of songs birds and butterflies flutter by. Brush soft long grass under fingers as I go. Crisp fresh air. Think about what bait to use for food tonight. Another thing I will have to start getting used to. 

Yellow happy face atena swings in between shrubs. Wave me down the direction home. Swig the last bit of powerful robust dark beer. Ignite pain away in a smooth burn. Drown darkness where they belong. 

Soft breeze hushes the forest buzz. Breathe in strong bitter fuel knocks the taste of beer. Great animal growls a deep hungry growl. Take me back to a cool violet room. To a lab chair and elastic bands for hair tying. 

“Sweetheart!?”

 Old life hollars me dead frozen in the tall grass. Hidden behind thick honeysuckles. The low hanging tree branches block the meadow opening of my new home. Don’t need to see how close the voice is. Can hear his feet crunch back and forth in the gravel. Rusty truck doors whine open and slam shut. Yellow smiley atena whirs in a hyperactive spaz. Empty cans clang on the far away floor board. Fast in a frantic, more than the time he caught Mikey in his mutagen supply. 

Footsteps wobble in the far depths of camper sweet camper. No.

He can’t be here. No one can find me like this.  I did this for them. They need to stay away from me. Far from any ear shot here. Can drop everything and run. Spin to do so. Lungs leap to jump for the hot pink trail back to the lake. 

Get back here! 

Hot greasy hand clap thunder. Drop the entire lazy afternoon supply. Oh crap no! Don’t drop them.

Metal chair legs clang against beer cans. 

Shallow gasp in the wind. Pushes me faster down the trail. Teenage bare feet pound thistles and burrs I weaved around before. 

Child bare feet blur down a hallway. Slam the bedroom door shut. 

“Tessie, wait!” 

Oh shit! Dammit! All the curse words Mikey should never hear. He found me. Faster down the hill. Over the log. Reach for the ridge. Follow the open blue sky between the evergreen trunks. 

Slip under fast large hands. Hardwood scraps small bare knees. Away from him. Away from the man. Go go go. 

Feet hush to the quiet breeze and soft rainfall of leaves. The broken footpath behind me, bare. Maybe turned back to the shellraiser for something. No matter. Least I can slow down, and lungs can breathe. 

Leaves rustle ahead. Green blur drops from above. Dead in his tracks. The tall slender turtle raises his hands and snatches me. Should have known. Been raised by ninjas for Pete sake. 

Jerk arms in his grip. Swallow the rock down. 

“Donnie, what are you doing here? Let me go.”

Sink away from his gaze. Loosen his grip to one hand on my arm. 

He pants, “I’m not here to fight, and I should be the one asking you the same question.” 

Rip his hand off me. No point in running. His long legs follow behind down the path. As I pick up the lawn chair. 

“No phone call, no note, do you know what I found in that camper?” His feet pound behind. 

Pick up what’s left of the 6 pack. Dangle the last 2 cans yet to be drank. No point in hiding it now. Plus he said he’s not here to fight. There’s no need to answer. Lanky green hands rip the plastic rings. 

“Hey!”

Whirl back to the two cans soar into the forest. Shove Donnie back. 

“What the hell was that for? That stuff ain’t cheap.” 

He towers over me. Loom a dark shadow over. Calm eyes narrow into deep violet slits. Deepens his sharp tongue. 

“Do you know how long I drove to find you,

How long we’ve been looking for you?” 

Step out of his shadow. Continue down the path into the sunlight. Home sweet home lies ahead. 

Shrug as I go, “You didn’t have to. Just decided to take a trip, that's all, what’s wrong with that?”  

Old life lingers in the shadows. Listen to teeth grit splinters. Boy did he skip coffee? Why is he hear anyway. Everyone knows so what’s the point?

Set the lawn chair back under the shade of a hunter's green awning. Since Mr. Grumpy in the corner threw a good set of cans. Guess I’ll have to get more. Crawl back inside the brown velvet coffin. Weave over the thrown cans on the floor. Guess I’ll have to clean this soon. The camper door slams shut. 

“I wouldn’t shut that, unless you want to melt.” I speak to the ghost by the door. 

Silence. Gonna be civil now. Want to burn holes through my head? Go on, do it. Everyone else is gone, why should anything matter. Open the mini fridge. To an endless supply of bottles, cans, and what I forgot most. Leaps off the shelves, plop to the fuzzy floor. 

Oh shit. 

“…what is that?” 

He’s the brainiac and yet he’s asking me? Should be pretty obvious by the label. Let his long legs weave around me. Take a bag from the fridge. I Crack open a cold one. Fire burns down all those dark heavy nights. Think back to all of the colorful waves last night.

“…T-this…” 

Leave him in the camper. Let him figure it out himself. Wasn’t supposed to be here to begin with. Might as well read what brand I use, for what? Who knows. 

Set the can in the lawn chair. Camper door shuts, no slam? Weird. Shouldn’t he be furious or something? 

Been standing there for a while. Turn to him at the metal steps. Shaded from the hot sun. Bag shivers in between his fingers. Lost to the horizon. That I’ve seen thousands of times in his brown eyes. His internal gears whir. He never looks like this unless…

“You do know, right?” 

Silence answers. The deep rise and fall of his chest. He sinks down to the flatten tall grass. Let the bag fall between his fingers. A look I make when I wake up from a nightmare. Before I would run straight to his bedroom. 

Set the can away. How? What?! 

Rise up from the old seat. I ask, “The guys never told you?” 

Rise from his palms, bambi eyes round wide, “They know about this?!” 

“Well…yeah”- 

“How long?” He mutters, waiting for an answer, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Take a step away from his ember coals glow. Shrug an answer, “I thought you knew, how can everyone else know but you Donnie, you know every inch of the city.” 

“How was I supposed to know?” He shoots from the ground. Bury me in his height, “You never call or text me anymore, and then leave the city to who knows where, does Mikey know?!” 

Mikey. Golden sun, white dust particles float over the sweet turtle. Bath in old and new sunlight. Breathe that old dry air of that lazy morning. 

Nod in silence. Hoarse throat stops all words Heavy numb limbs drag back inside the brown coffin. Large queen size mattress at the back. Warm by the sun. Shut all of the curtains away. Curl all away in a ball. Close away from all life. This is not what is supposed to happen. 

“Sweetheart?” Footsteps wobble the camper. 

No answer. Feel the camper sink down with him. Warmth touches my arch back, soft thumb rubs me to the old cool lab. All those years ago. 

“What are your plans for being out here?” He whispers. 

No, he already knows now. He can’t know about this too. It will crush him. Shiver under his soft palm. There’s no going back. I’ve made this decision. Already caused enough problems as it is. First Leo. How it all turned Raph down into this dark hole. Times I’ve picked him up because of what I’ve done. Tried to fix it all for Mikey. Tried to be happy for Mikey. Yet…I am here. This is what I deserve. Donnie shouldn’t even be here. Why is he still here?

Weight shifts the mattress. Warmth drapes behind all along against me. His long arm slides around me. Pull me back tight against his beating heart. Donnie’s muzzle nestles deep into my shoulder. It doesn't take much for him to know. 

Brush back strands from my cheek. 

He whispers, “You don’t deserve to go through this alone.” 

Roll in his arms. Drown myself into this chest I’ve missed so much all night long. Muzzle in his sweet scent and warmth. Squeeze all pain in his tight arms. 

I shake, “I-I Don’t kn-know… if I can go back, big brother, I-I’m too broken. No one should be stuck with me”- 

Soft lips plant firm silence my heavy forehead. 

“You are never too broken, it’s okay to have space for a while when you need it.” His deep voice murmurs in my ear. 

Cling on to his belt. The same way when I was small. Take me back to the memories. Away from all of this. Let all of the pain drip onto his chest. Choke on my words.

As my brainiac brother traces slow circles on my back. Sweet rich coffee fills my world. Over the fresh pine. More warm than the summer hot sun. A soft sigh quells more than the lone loon. I am back home. This is home. Safe. Can hide here as long as I need. 

 He whispers, “I will stay for as long as you need me, little pupil.” 

Bit through all the painful tears to fall. That roll down my brother’s chest. Yesterday I was in darkness. Tomorrow, who knows where I will be. For now I am with Donatello. My close friend, my big brother.

I am home. 

[starhvney]

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝟑 | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄: 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓

𝐂𝐖: hints to previous stalking

𝐀/𝐍: guys i'm really excited about the plans i have for this fic, like i'm geeking over the storyline i've written out. i hope you guys like this as much as i do!

𝐖𝐂: 2,400 +

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒

a sigh leaves your lips as you sprawl your sweaty arms onto the cool wooden planks beneath you. it’s a reward for your long day of work, hauling box after box up into the empty room that you had designated as your own. the late afternoon sun shone through the window sheers you had just hung up, casting a hazy warm light throughout the whole room.

“hey, sweetie,” your mom leans on the doorway, a light sheen of sweat shining on her skin. she tilts her head with a smile as you lazily turn your head to the side, using the minimal amount of effort possible. “i know you’re tired, but remember we need to go meet our neighbors? clean up and we’re gonna walk over there in a few minutes.”

a groan of pain leaves your lips as you kick out your feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum. 

“but i’m sweaty and gross.”

“well you have ten minutes to become not sweaty and gross,” she nods, before clapping her hands and retreating back into the hallway. “hurry!”

you sigh, lifting yourself from the comfortable flooring beneath you and snorting out a laugh when you see you left a sweaty outline of your body on the surface.

“okay, let’s get this over with.”

☆

your converse lightly taps against the staircase as you descend them, hearing a glimpse of your mom and dad in the kitchen.

“we haven’t seen sylvanna since…” she trails off, her eyes darting to your figure emerging from the doorway.

her throat clears, before looking back at your dad with her hands sternly on her hips. “you’re going with us.”

your dad huffs, glancing back at you before scratching his chin in annoyance. “fine.”

she hums in satisfaction, before turning her attention back to you and tightening her ponytail. her lips stretch into a bubbly smile as she snatches the house keys off of the counter and ushers the two of you out the door. 

the late summer heat hits your face as you make your way down the sidewalk, the smell of freshly watered grass and heated pavement entering your nose. 

“mom, who are these neighbors again?”

“i told you, the salomes. you were friends with her daughter, aphmau, when you were little. i guess you were too young to remember.” her voice almost sounds distant as she explains, her eyes stuck forward on the concrete.

it’s only a couple houses down, a large gray house with a bright red front door. slightly overgrown hedges and white flowers decorated the otherwise neat landscaping, giving it a more homely appearance.

“a single mom and daughter lives here?” you ask aloud.

“her useless husband paid it off before he left.” your dad grunts, his voice not sounding too fond of this man he was referring to. “at least he did one decent thing for them… that no good–”

your mom cuts him off with a warning look before striding up the porch stairs, rapping her signature “shave and a haircut” tune against the wood with her knuckles. you vaguely hear the rushed thumping of feet inside before it opens, revealing a woman looking just a bit younger than your parents.

you were only able to tell by the assumption that she had a daughter around your age and the few streaks of grey that ran through her long black hair. her skin was a beautiful tawny color, and her eyes were a stunning brown that was only a few shades darker than her skin and had an almost golden shimmer to them as the sun shone against them.

the same eyes crinkle in joy as her eyes land on all of you, and she lets out an elated noise as she wraps her arms around your mom.

“ah, it’s so good to see you!”

“it’s been too long, sylvanna.”

your dad is next to greet her, giving her a friendly and firm pat on her shoulder as she hugs him.

“you doing alright?”

“yes i’m doing great, and,” auburn eyes turn to mine. “oh, mija! you’ve grown so much since i last saw you! you’re so beautiful!”

your cheeks heat up as she comes up to you and pulls you into a hug as well.

“oh, thank you ma’am,”

“no need for that, call me sylvanna!”

the four of you make your way inside. the interior completely contrasted with the suburban exterior. you almost felt like you were teleported in a different house completely. shades of yellow and green paint were used on the walls, paired with wooden trimming and floors. it felt so warm and cozy, specifically like an old wool blanket that you’d dig out the back of a linen closet.

by the staircase awkwardly stands a shy girl, a young replica of sylvanna. her long black hair was cut into layers that curled at the ends and framed her face, and drew attention to her large round eyes. 

she fiddled with the edge of her short sleeved henley shirt, looking to her mom in panicked expectation for her to introduce us to her. you hear sylvanna let out a small sigh before she waves her hand, beckoning the petite girl over.

“here’s aphmau,” she proudly places her hands on the girls shoulders, nudging her forward. “aphmau, you don’t remember these lovely people but we were close to them when you were young.”

now that you’re closer, you can see her eyes are a striking warm amber color, wispy lashes framing them like a doll.

“um, hi.” aphmau quietly stammers out, eyes nervously darting between you and your parents before looking back to her mother.

“it’s nice to meet you again, aphmau.” your mom greets cheerily.

after your dad also mutters out a small greeting, sylvanna ushers both of your parents into the home for a tour.

“why don’t you two introduce yourself and get to know each other? you’re going to the same school, after all.” she waves the two of you off when you try to follow.

your parents’ voices muffled as they move to the next room, leaving you and the shorter girl awkwardly standing in the entryway together.

“…it’s nice to meet you.”

“you too,” her voice is shaky. “now that i’m looking at you, i think i’ve seen a picture of us when we were little.”

“really?”

she nods, waving for you to follow her as she trudges halfway up the stairs. she stops in front of one of the many picture frames on the wall, pointing to a picture of two young girls hugging. one of them was very clearly you and the other girl looked very similar to aphmau. behind the two of you there’s a few boys your age yelling in the background and slightly cut out of frame.

one had pale blonde hair, the flash from the camera nearly making it glow in the picture. you could see another head of black hair and an even smaller boy with brown hair, nearly completing the spectrum of hair colors.

“huh. i guess we really were friends. i can’t believe i don’t remember you.”

“i can kinda remember you, but just barely,” aphmau agrees, squinting at the picture.

“i wonder who the boys in the back are…?”

“i don’t know, i never asked.”

you two awkwardly stand in silence again, before you quickly attempt to bring up a new subject to break the ice.

“so, what do you like to do?”

she leads you up to the top of the stairs, turning left into the hall and entering what you assume is her bedroom. the walls are painted a soft purple, similarly to her shirt… and her bed… and her curtains… and the blanket draped on her desk chair.

the entire room is decorated in all different shades and tints of a pretty, toned down lilac color. the overhead light is turned off, and the room is instead lit up by tons of string lights and random night lights strewn across the different surfaces.

“i play a lot of video games… my mom pulled me out for homeschooling in middle school so i haven’t played any sports or anything like that.” she explains as you continue to gaze around the room.

“oh cool, i like video games, too.”

her eyes light up, and her shoulders lift up from their slouch.

“really? maybe we can play together sometime…?”

“yeah, for sure,” you’re about to ask what games she plays when your eyes drift and land on a grey fullbuster poster hung up over the girl’s bed. “you like fairy tail?”

“do you watch anime, too?” she's practically sparkling now, holding her hands together as she poorly tries to hide her excitement. 

you nod with a smile, “yeah, fairy tail is a good one. i like erza.”

her hair bounces as she nods, eyes darting to the poster.

“yeah, she’s cool. my favorite is grey, though.” she says with a small smirk. 

“hmm, i wonder why,” you laugh lightly, causing aphmau’s cheeks to turn red. “oh yeah, so you go to phoenix drop high, too?”

the girl shakily nods, suddenly appearing anxious again as she clears her throat. “i’m gonna be a freshman.”

“oh, that’s cool. i’ll be a sophomore.”

“that’s too bad, i would’ve liked to know someone in my class.”

“well, at least we can still be at the same school together. it’s better than nothing.”

she sighs, looking off to the wall behind you.

“yeah, i’m just really nervous.”

“it is pretty scary, but if it makes you feel any better i’m kinda new, too.” you say, reassuring her while also trying to reassure yourself in a way. “i went to a small school where everyone knew everyone, so i’ve never had to try and makes friends in a big crowd of people my age before.”

her eyes widen at you. “really? i’m kinda the same way, but… not. my mom pulled me out for homeschooling in middle school, and my only friends are online.”

“hm, that makes sense…”

“huh?!” her eyes widen even further, looking like they were nearly about to pop out of her head.

you slap your hand over your mouth and muffle a laugh, eyes widening in return.

“i didn’t mean that in a bad way! you just seem nervous and shy, is all!” you quickly explain, words tumbling over the other.

she sighs, before beginning to giggle under her breath.

“it’s okay, i know what you meant.”

“aphmau! you two come down here for a second!” sylvanna calls from downstairs.

you let her lead as the two of you bound down the staircase, turning into the kitchen where the three adults stood.

“your mom told me you’re going to walk to school everyday?” sylvanna looks at me expectantly.

“yes ma’am—sylvanna.”

she claps her hands, looking to aphmau with an elated grin.

“perfect! you two can walk together to school every morning!”

you glance over at aphmau, who is thinly veiling her own hopeful look as she seems to be gauging your reaction. you quickly nod with a smile.

“yeah, sure.”

“great! it’s safer for two young girls to walk together than just one, anyways.”

your smile flinches for just the slightest moment as you look over to your parents, who have much more serious expressions on their faces. when your mom notices you looking at her in accusation, she merely smiles, while your dad gives you a knowing look.

they must have told her.

“that’s true.” you say, hoping your voice didn’t sound as tight as it felt.

“well, school starts in two days and we have a lot more settling in to do, so we’ll get out of your hair, sylvanna.” your mom waves.

“oh, alright then! you guys will have to come over for dinner soon!” she waves, sharing a strange look with your parents.

aphmau waves bye as well, before lurching forward. “can we swap numbers?”

☆

the walk back is quiet, until you enter the empty and quiet house.

“did you tell her?” your voice comes out sharper than you meant for it to.

your mom sighs as your dad stoicly walks into the next room, busying himself with unpacking.

“she already kind of knew about it. i’ve been talking to her about us moving back, so it naturally came up when she asked why,” she rubs your shoulder, trying to comfort you with a grim smile. “but she won’t tell anyone about it, not even aphmau. i asked her not to. the situation isn’t something we should be talking about, anyways. i know you don’t remember her, but she really cares about you.”

you deflate, rubbing your eyes when you realize you had completely tensed up.

“yeah, okay. sorry if i sounded rude, i just-”

“don’t apologize, you went through something really stressful and traumatic,” she wraps her arms around you, and you realize her muscles are tense and shaking, too. “you handle yourself much better and maturely than others would.”

you sigh, resting your head on her shoulders, breathing in the comforting scent of her perfume. you gulp when you feel your nose prick, furrowing your eyebrows to stop the urge to cry. she pulls back from the hug, squeezing your shoulders and smoothing down the frizzy fly aways from your hair.

“why don’t you finish unpacking your room? you were really excited about getting to rearrange everything.”

you clear your throat, nodding as you sluggishly approach the stairs. when you enter your box cluttered room, you head straight for the window, pulling down the blinds against the setting sun and assuring they were snug and tight against the window, preventing anyone from looking inside.

it’s okay now, you were far away from whoever was watching you before. your parents are downstairs, and you’re alone in this room. you scan every corner of the room, sitting on your bare mattress when you reassure yourself of this fact.

this town is going to be a fresh start. you can completely start new, meet new people, and live the life of a normal teenager. a buzz in your pocket startles you from your thoughts.

aphmau: hi! do you want to leave a little earlier on monday so we can prepare ourselves? 

aphmau: i’m super nervous and don’t want to be late ><

me: yeah! that sounds like a good idea :)

you: i’ll text you when i head there since school is in your direction

you: does 7:30 sound good? i think it’s a ten minute walk and school starts at 8

aphmau: yay! that’s good with me

aphmau: i’ll see you then! :D

me: ok cool! goodnight!!

a sigh leaves your lips as you fall back onto your bed, the boxspring dully squeaking underneath you.

it’ll be okay.

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 52

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Torture, murder, violence, gore, body horror, "medical" procedures, graphic descriptions, general despair

Deliverance

All Kid could see when he closed his eyes was your broken body. He was afraid to sleep. He was shut in his workshop, sick with worry, while they pursued you. Kid tried not to think about what could be happening to you and funneled that energy into making something that would eviscerate your tormentors. Killer had brought him meals every now and then, only to find him clutching your jacket on his desk with his face buried in it, in a restless sleep. Whatever remained of the white on your jacket was smudged with the black and red of Kid's makeup. He was in this position when he got the news they had found where you were being held. From the second he heard it to the second his feet touched land, the Kid Pirates were preparing to raze the small marine base and everyone inside it until there was nothing left. 

Every Kid Pirate was raring to wreak havoc, but before Kid released them to do so, there was one rule: Warthin was to be taken prisoner, as was anyone who was still alive at the end. They cleared the few ships that were docked, making sure you weren't on any of them before Heat lit them up. There would be no escape for these marines. Kid had swapped his regular arm for the one he had been working on. It was bigger, stronger, and tipped with monstrous claws. Killer's punishers had never been as sharp as they were now. Minerva was pawing the ground and snorting, waiting to guide the two of them with her nose. 

The boar took a wide stance, bucking her head a few times before lowering it. Her red-brown fur started to turn a silvery-gray. It was something that you had been working on with her. If any animal was going to learn how to use haki, it would be something as smart and stubborn as a boar. Maybe it had been wishful thinking and a bit of boredom in the beginning, but the more you had trained with the boar, the more it seemed like it was possible. Minerva had only been able to achieve partial armament the last time you had trained. Now, the enraged boar was fully coated in the metallic gray of armament haki. 

On Kid's order, Minerva surged forward toward the main building of the base, haki protecting her as she smashed through walls. Kid and Killer were on her heels, following her path straight to you. They expected to have more resistance on their way to you, but they never expected the boar to have armament haki. Mini had been bowling over and trampling most of everything in her way. She was stopped only by a thick concrete wall, too thick to break through. 

"We'll take it from here, girl." Killer slapped Mini's flank, giving her the go ahead to run wild. 

Kid's massive clawed arm easily passed through the concrete, rendering it into ribbons and revealing a large stairwell. Mini had done most of the hard work for them, rocketing through all the outer walls and leading them straight to you. Every marine that they ran into on their way to you turned to run and was instantly smashed into the wall or crushed by Kid's arm. Killer had the wherewithal to grab keys off the bodies if they had any. He knew you had seastone restraints, which could not be removed any other way. They ran down flights of stairs. The base was deceptively small with a large portion being underground. After what seemed like nonstop running, they finally made it to the bottom of the staircase. There were a few different hallways stemming from the main opening. They were about to split up when they heard the faint echo of what sounded like your voice. They looked at each other, as if verifying that they weren't simply imagining that it sounded like you. 

Both Kid and Killer had renewed energy, that small echo giving them hope that you were still alive. They tore through the guards, the dungeon-like surroundings getting more damp and smelling more like decay as they went deeper. They approached the last cell in the corridor, at first, thinking the only contents were four dead marines. Killer was the first to realize that it was three dead marines and you. In the dark, he couldn't see the rise and fall of your chest to indicate that you were still alive. All he could see was glass held tightly in your grip and the marines you had felled with it. Kid's chest tightened when he recognized the wounds Warthin inflicted upon you. It tightened further when he saw how limp your body was. Maybe they had been mistaken. Maybe they hadn't heard you after all. Neither of them said a word, too afraid that there wouldn't be an answer if they called out. 

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Killer opened the cell with one of the keys they grabbed from someone. There were already tears in Kid's eyes. He could tell you were dead. There was simply no way for someone to survive in this condition. They squatted down by you, Killer reaching out to feel for a pulse with some hesitancy, not sure if he was ready to know for a fact if you were still there. He pulled away swiftly and caught your wrist as a reflex as he sensed malice oozing from you. He watched the glass fall from your hand, only to be caught in your other hand, and aimed at him once more. This time, Kid stopped you with his devil fruit. The shackles around your wrists were ordinary metal. 

You thrashed against their hold, trying to break your hands free. The tears in Kid's eyes fell over his cheeks. Seeing you like this reminded him of the time all four of them had to restrain you because you thought you had been recaptured. Now he realized why you had been so afraid. Kid tried to snap you out of it gently at first, though quickly escalated to yelling when it was clear it wasn't getting through to you. Killer didn't know what else to do since you couldn't see them, so he placed your hand on his mask, something that would feel familiar and recognizable. He saw relief flood your features as you accepted that the two of them were truly there. 

As Killer went through his key collection, trying them on the seastone binding your ankles, you took off the marine jackets you had put around yourself and struggled to put one of them on properly. You didn't even complain as Kid helped you. As much as you didn't even want him to look at you like this, you needed help. To protect your last shred of humanity, you didn't want to be bare. It was a miracle that you had the energy to slash at them when they first came to you. You were sticky with sweat and your breaths were rough and ragged. You were unsure if you could even stand up on your own. 

There was a clunk and a feeling of heaviness being lifted from you as one of the keys eventually took the remaining shackles off. You immediately tried to use your powers to heal some of your wounds. You didn't want to completely heal them, as it would trap the infection in. You only wanted to heal them enough that you weren't in agonizing pain every time you moved. Nothing happened, your body too tired to function. Through tears, you tried to push yourself up. Against the wishes of both Kid and Killer, you tried walking out yourself, only to stumble from sheer exhaustion and the inability to see where you were going.

"Look at you, girl. Your flesh is rotting from your bones, just like ours. As good as dead. Once they realize that they'll leave you there."

"Stop," you whimpered, clutching your ears to block their voices.

"No one wants a broken toy. That's all you ever were anyway. Just a toy."

Everything was overwhelming you, the taunting, the near-relief, the exhaustion, the pain, the doubt that this wasn't real. "S-stop," your voice cracked.

"You can leave but you will never leave us behind. Just drop dead. It's better for everyone."

"SHUT UP!" You felt your knees buckle under you as you gave in to full-on sobbing, your dignity and pride fully eroded by shame. 

You were swiftly caught by Killer, who scooped you up for the second time since you'd known him. "Hush, darlin. I've got you now. Rest." And just like the first time, you felt safe enough to black out.

"Killer, take Y/N back to the ship," Kid's voice was low, barely counting his seething, boiling anger. The only thing that was more dangerous than an angry loud Kid, was an angry quiet Kid.

Killer nodded, but paused. "I've got just as much of a right to revenge as you." It was almost a territorial type of warning to Kid, not to leave him out. Of course Killer wanted to make sure you were safe. He also wanted to make sure these assholes got what they deserved.

A sick smile took over Kid's face. "Let's slaughter these fuckers." Kid stomped on the head of one of the already dead marines on his way out, completely flattening it with a meaty squelch. 

Killer handed you off to Heat, who had already had his share of destruction. Heat's face softened into one of reassurance as he realized that you were still alive. Killer didn't need to tell him anything. Heat took off towards the ship with you firmly in his grasp. When Killer was sure that he had gotten you there safely, he returned to Kid's side. From the corner of his vision, he watched Minerva flatten a man between her head and a brick wall and rip open another with her tusks. She had the right idea. Killer presented the blood from Warthin to her and asked her to find him. 

Killer sliced marines left and right with his punishers, running through them as her followed the boar. Kid was beside him, using the claws of his arm to rip open the bellies of marines they passed. His devil fruit sent any bullets shot at them, back into the shooters. Kid pulled the nails from nearby furniture and walls, sending them into some of the marines that came after them, pinning them to the walls alive. He was going to save them for later. Killer cut down the door that Minerva led them to, just in time for Kid to yank the gun from Warthin's hands. The man had it held in his mouth, about to leave the earthly plane the coward's way.

"I don't fucking think so." Kid pulled metal pipes from the walls and coiled them around Warthin. "Yer gonna get a much slower death." 

As the pipes immobilized him, Killer leapt forward and landed a solid punch to his jaw, knocking teeth to the floor. 

Warthin spit blood. His speech was strained from the tight grip Kid had on him. "All this for some used up fucktoy." He didn't think that they would come after him, let alone find him. He had severely underestimated how much they valued you. At this point, he knew he was fucked.

Killer hit him again, this time hearing a crunch in his nose. He wanted to do so much more. He wanted to bludgeon Warthin until he was a sludge of unrecognizable meat. Both he and Kid knew that you would never forgive them for taking your prey, even if it was revenge on your behalf. They would make do with every other marine that was left. 

Warthin coughed. "She's already dead. Why do you bother?" His voice rasped.

Kid laughed. "As if she would go out that easily!" 

"She's gonna be real happy to see you when she wakes up." Killer put emphasis on his words as he punched Warthin a third time, watching his eyes roll back briefly. 

"Huh?" He was incredulous. "She- she's dead! I saw her! She has to be!" The blood drained from his face. "You're going to kill me now, right? You're not going to leave me with her, r-right?" He was becoming more frantic as he realized his grand fuck up. He knew what you were capable of before the devil fruit, and with it.... he hoped Kid crushed him until blood spurted from every orifice, because that would be preferable to whatever you would do if you got your hands on him.

Even Killer laughed this time. "I can't wait to see how she takes you apart."

Kid crushed him harder within his metal cocoon. "Ya weren't very nice to our girl." Kid snarled, "I'm gonna watch as she turns ya inside out. Then puts you back together. And does it again and again." With every sentence Kid squeezed slightly harder. Warthin's ribs splintered inside his chest, like green branches being snapped in two.

The man screamed, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. "Kill me! Just kill me!" 

"PITIFUL!" Kid spat. He smashed Warthin against the wall until the man lost consciousness, barely refraining from turning him into a flesh pancake. "YER LUCKY I DON'T PEEL YER FUCKIN SKIN AND USE IT TA WIPE MY ASS!" 

The two men continued their rampage on the way back to the ship with their prisoner. They took their time on the return trip, Killer let his punishers rest, preferring to use his fists so he could feel the meaty crunch of facial bones breaking under his punch. He and Kid grabbed opposite limbs of a marine and pulled until they felt the joints dislocate. He was added to the group of prisoners suspended behind Kid by metal restraints. Kid sent metal flying, impaling several men and lifting them from the ground with his fruit, adding to the prisoner count. The particularly weak ones, Kid shredded by bombarding them with metal shrapnel. They weren't worth keeping. Kid and Killer kept on long after everyone else had finished, chasing down every last person living at that base and killing them. 

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

A wet nose prodding your hand woke you up. If not for that, you might have woken up in a panic. Mini's presence had immediately calmed you. You could tell you were in the infirmary because of the familiar smell of antiseptic. It was just you and Mini. You dragged your hand weakly across the fur of her head and she licked your hand softly. You let out a long breath, relieved that you were finally safe. Though you were shortly taken over by a suffocating humiliation, slowly sliding yourself over the edge of the gurney and lowering yourself onto the floor so you could be closer to Mini. You buried your face into her coarse fur, grabbing it with your hands, and released the sobs that had been building up, grateful that her fur muffled your cries. 

There was a mixture of anger, disgust, and shame leaking out through your tears. Your skin crawled with the touch of unfamiliar hands. The unwanted memories bubbled through the gouges in your skin where the flesh was beginning to rot. Your entire body ached and burned with various infections and bruising. You reached under the medical gown you were wearing and touched the burning on your chest. It was hot against the pads of your fingers and your hand was sticky and foul-smelling when it came away. The other wounds were the same. You couldn't risk healing it and trapping the infection inside to fester. You could fix the flesh, but couldn't get rid of the infection with your fruit. 

However little sleep you had gotten gave you enough energy to crawl over to the counter and pull yourself up. Your legs and arms shook with exertion and a fine sweat broke out on your body. Mini stood behind you so you could hold onto her to stand and move. You felt around for the various bottles in the cabinets, trying to remember what each one was, either by where you had placed it or the shape of the bottle. They all felt similar. The smells of each didn't help either, as you had never bothered to commit the smell of each to memory when you had eyes. Hot tears reappeared on your skin. You placed your hands over where your eyes had been and willed them to appear. Without even a scarred portion remaining, your devil fruit couldn't heal them. You couldn't make matter, just manipulate it, and eyes were too complex of an organ to render from any other flesh. You slammed your fist on the counter in frustration. Useless. You're fucking useless. You grabbed all of the small tinctures and took them like shots, whipping each one across the room where they shattered, after you had drained them. Fuck it. I don't care. 

You leaned into Mini and walked to the small infirmary bathroom with a few things you grabbed from the cabinets. Gritting your teeth to keep from crying out as you felt the wounds tear open while you moved, you made it to the bathroom. Your breaths were heavy and you felt lightheaded.

"No one comes in." You were shocked by the sound of your own voice, how raw and strained it was. 

Mini snorted her understanding and sat in front of the door. No one was going to see you like this any more than they already had. You pressed your hand to the back of the door after closing it, using your fruit to make it vanish into the wall. Eliminating the door was the only way you felt secure and protected. You sank to the floor and crawled into the tub, turning the shower head on. You curled into a ball on the cool ceramic, letting the warm water seep into the flimsy medical gown and soothe your skin. Now even you couldn't tell what were tears and what was water. Several hours passed before you were ready to proceed.

After removing the gown, you felt around for the scalpel you had brought with you. The two main wounds were the ones on your leg and chest. The skin around the wound on your leg was tender and tense. As you felt it, you could feel pieces fall away. You made a rough mental map of the extent. Before beginning, you shoved part of the gown in between your teeth to bite down on. You could use your power to cut off the nerves to your leg so that you wouldn't feel it, but without your eyes, you needed to guide yourself somehow. First, you couldn't feel much as you began to remove the dead flesh from the wound. As you started to get deeper into living flesh, twinges of pain soared up your leg. Every stab wound had coalesced into one large one during your time in the cell. You groaned and bit down as the pain blossomed. The blade had made it into the living flesh. Staying at that level, you carved out the rest of the degenerating tissue. Each stroke of your blade cut away evidence of your torture and sent a fresh searing pain straight into your heart. Even though you were only cutting your leg, your entire body was reacting. Your muscles clenched and you could feel snot and tears soaking your face. After successfully concealing most of your pain, the gown fell from your mouth as you let out a final shrill cry. You could feel your hands shaking and you put them on your thighs to calm them. The warm rush of blood oozing into your hand was a reassuring sign that the deeper tissues were alive. You steadied your hands enough to tear strips from the gown and tie them around your thigh. Your chest would have to wait until you recovered from this first round of debridement. It was heaving with the breaths you sucked in trying to dull the pain. Using your fruit, you started healing the edges of the raw area, though it was too tiring to continue. 

You sank back down into the tub, the steady patter of water dimming the ache. Whenever fever took hold, you turned the water cold and when the chills returned, you made it warm again. Before you could heal yourself further, you needed to regain more strength. Your appetite was non-existent and you took small sips of water when you could stomach it. The medicines you ingested were tearing your insides up, making you feel queasy and crampy. The exhaustion of feeling like shit, non-stop weeping, and your body trying to repair itself took over and carried you into a motionless slumber. 

Your dreams were haunted by the visage of the last person you saw, just as he had threatened. Warthin's face and voice echoed in your mind and tormented you all over again. Then they would morph into Kid and Killer, saying the same awful things. It wasn't the nightmare of Warthin laying his hands on you that woke you up, but the nightmare of the two people that cared for you the most telling you that you were nothing to them. Familiar voices calling you a worthless slut transformed into the same voices calling your name and you were startled awake, breathing hard and disoriented.

"IF YA DON'T ANSWER ME I'M BREAKIN THE WALL DOWN!" Kid's voice was tinged with worry rather than anger.

You cleared your throat. "I'm- I'm fine." 

"LIKE HELL YA ARE!"

"Just leave. Please," you replied weakly. Your heart rate was picking up. 

A lower, calmer voice answered, "Darlin', let us help you."

"You can help by leaving me alone." Anxiety was building in your chest.

"Are you sure-"

"Leave me the fuck alone!" Your voice was shrill and cracked and the vicious tone shocked you as it left your mouth. 

You heard muffled arguing followed by silence. The sobs returned as you immediately felt guilty for screaming at them when they were only trying to help. Something about the threat to come in had triggered you. This thin wall was your only barrier protecting you from the world and you weren't ready to face the world. You hugged your knees and forced yourself to stop hyperventilating. The water that had been calming was now overstimulating, so you shut it off. Taking a deep breath, you reassessed your injuries. Your leg was raw and achy, but the overall feel of it was better. You shivered at the thought of starting on your chest and decided to do something else. Your face was swollen, no doubt due to the fractures within it. It wasn't noticeable compared to the magnitude of the other injuries until you yelled. There were other aches too, deep ones, in your mid back, where your kidneys sat, in your stomach where you don't remember being kicked but it felt like you had, and between your legs. It was difficult to banish the feelings of disgust and to keep from heaving. All these things were easily healed with your devil fruit, providing instant relief, yet still left you feeling drained. 

You felt around for a towel and dragged it into the tub with you, pulling it over yourself like a blanket. You were going to have to leave the room soon for food and more medicine. The fever was finally starting to break. It wouldn't fully dissipate without you first getting rid of the still-infected tissue on your chest. The tiniest pangs of hunger were developing, a sure sign you were headed in the right direction. You struggled to reminisce on more pleasant times with Kid and Killer, not for lack thereof, but because the most recent nightmares kept clawing back to the forefront of your mind.

The next time you woke up, you were drenched in sweat, shaking, aching so intensely it felt like your bones would snap. The grotesque 'W' engraved in your skin was being seared into your soul. Millions of molten-hot needles were being pressed into your skin. The infection had definitely would its fingers around you again. Maybe you should have rid the wound of the necrotic flesh when you had the chance. 

You blindly searched for the scalpel with your hand, finding it where you left it. Taking a deep breath, you used your fingertips to find the edges of the bad skin. The breath was almost instantly let out in a shaky yelp as you stuck the blade in. This was far more painful than the leg. Your hands were quivering so much, there were hesitation marks where the blade bounced off the skin as you shaved away the dead tissue. You took many breaks this time, respiring so fast that you became lightheaded. Consciously, you slowed your breathing rate until it was safe again to cut. This cycle repeated over again until you were halfway through. With the next cut, you were rushing because your mind was threatening to fade. The blade was brought down too quickly against your collarbone, causing it to glance off and go off course. It was an amateur mistake to point the blade side towards you. It should have been facing slightly away. The blade was beginning to dull, in spite of that, it was still sharp enough to slice into your neck. 

A warm sensation traveled down your hand, dripping onto your chest. You dropped the scalpel and put your hand to your throat, where blood was streaming out at an alarming pace. At first your devil fruit did nothing. You were too panicked to focus. The cut wasn't that deep, it was into an artery though, which had a fair amount of pressure behind it even though you hardly had the blood pressure of a living person at all. You could feel the blood run down your arm and drip from your elbow. The adrenaline seeping into your circulation forced you to have a moment of clarity, enough so that your fruit flickered to life and healed the nick. You leaned back in the tub, head tilted up as if you were looking at a higher power. What am I doing? After a few minutes of calming your body and making sure you were still alive, you were ready to do something braver than you had ever done. 

You gathered up your towel, which now had wet spots from your amateur surgical hours, and pulled it around you. When you were sure you wouldn't pass out, you held onto the tub and stood up. The dizzy feeling lasted a few seconds and when it subsided, you shuffle-walked to the wall, resting your forehead against it. It took longer than usual, but the glow that you could no longer see for yourself appeared and brought the door that used to be there back into existence. Your hand shook as you reached for the handle and pulled it open.

With your first step, your foot caught on something large and immovable, sending you toppling to the hard floor. Landing on your side with a surprised and pained shriek, you heard Mini snort excitedly, though it was further away from whatever you tripped over. You hardly had the energy to stand up and walk at all, you surely had none left now to get back up. There were some strange noises that sounded like something being picked up and dropped, something heavy and at a low height. Every time you heard it, you heard Mini squeal. It almost sounded like she was scolding or yelling at someone. 

"Fuck OFF, pig." There was a groan and then a sharp inhale, followed by the softest voice you had ever heard Kid use, "Doll?" It was a questioning whisper. "Y/N? Y/N!" His voice grew louder with alarm as he picked up your top half into his lap. "There's so much blood! KILLER!" Kid's hand moved the towel away from your chest. "Oh shit. Oh fuck! Wake up, Y/N! Open yer eyes. Please open yer eyes."

Just hearing his voice made you feel secure, but being cradled in his arms was home. Nothing, not even death himself, could take you from your home. All of your anxieties and fear were melted away by the warmth you could feel radiating from Kid. Not physical warmth, it was the warm tenderness of his touch and the caring that laced the concern in his words. Your voice was meek and there was the faintest hint of a smile touching your lips, "I don't....fucking.... have eyes..., you asshole." If you had all your wits about you and weren't barely clinging to consciousness, his words would have stung. Right now, though, you were happy to be alive and held by him again, and that was all that mattered.

Kid exhaled the breath he was holding in a relieved half-cry half-laugh. "Thank fuck. There's my girl." He bent over you and touched your forehead with his as he rocked gently back and forth. Your tough words didn't fool him. He could tell that you were deeply suffering, physically and mentally.

"Kid?" You could feel him pull away, hovering just above your face. "I'm ready...to ask... for help now."

He hugged you to himself, murmuring into your hair. "I would do anything for ya." 

"I know."

Next

Tag list: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin

[poly-yandere-lovers]

Yantober, Day 9

WARNINGS: Murder, kidnapping, implied cannibalism, drugging

Author's Notes: Thought I has this queued up but apparently not

Tags:

You blink awake, a fog baring down on your mind. You can barely form a coherent thought, see clearly, or comprehend your surroundings. You try to force your eyes to focus but it proves fruitless. You can tell that you're in a bright room with a dark corridor in the left corner. You're tied and shackled to a round, smooth pillar.

You almost don't catch the soft click from the corridor. A silhouette cuts through the darkness. ".....awake?" Someone's saying.... something. They crouch in front of you. Are they trying to talk to you? You mumble incoherent fragments of a sentence. "Oh dear....." A warm, soft hand caresses your jaw. It leaves as soon as it came. They leave through the corridor.

Several minutes pass. Your vision clears, you can make out that you're in a clinically clean basement; white walls, gray concrete floor and cool-tinted lights. The shackles attached to your ankles are chained to the pillar.

The unlocking and opening of a door echoes in this sterile room. Enma emerges from the staircase with a plate. Ei smile when they see you, "[Name]! You're awake now. I'm sorry I did this to you. You know I can't let you go." They walk to you slowly. You think you can see a piece of meat on the plate, but you can't be sure.

'Soma'll take me out again. You know you can't stop him," You tell eir. Ei laugh. "I don't think so, darling," they kneel in front of you, presenting the plate.

The red, fleshy lump doesn't register at first. It's slightly larger than Enma's fist and slightly bloody still. The top half is pink, the rest is red. There's a obvious vein highlighting it's uneven surface. You gasp.

"He so desperately wanted you to have his heart, so I decided to indulge him. A lovely thought, no?" Enma is still wearing eir sickly sweet smile with too much teeth. They almost seem to glow. Have ei blinked? At all? Eir eyes bore so hard into you it makes you squirm. They notice your movements, "What's wrong? Do you not like it?" They scoot closer so the plate is just above your knees. "I know it's a bit barbaric, but I did this with you in mind, darling..... So you will try it at least, won't you?"

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Lend a Helping Hand

Got the pic here. The graphic was made by me on Canva.

This fic will cover my "I need you to set that down slowly and step away." square on my 2nd @jacklesversebingo card. The prompt will be in bold.

Summary: Dean wants to lend a helping hand.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: None. All fluff. Crack if you squint. But it's mostly just pure Christmas Fluff!

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,047

A/N: Here is the next request for my second @jacklesversebingo card. This one came from @kimberkingrivers who asked this:

...The square “I’m gonna need you to set that down and step away” made me think of Dean and reader in a very domestic setting, in the bunker kitchen maybe. Reader is making something and totally about to make a mess. Or vise versa Deans trying to make something for the reader and she walks in to the kitchen to see the mess he’s made and tell him the prompt. I don’t know that’s just where my brain went.

I absolutely loved this idea and came up with this little drabble as a result. I hope you enjoy it, lovely!

The beautiful dividers I used were made by @talesmaniac89

Y/N took the last step down the metal staircase into the bunker and sighed deeply as she dropped her bags where she stood. Her arms were exhausted after two hours of walking and shopping, trying to get all the last minute stuff that she needed to make Christmas perfect for her little hunter family. 

The boys were basically like feral wolves when it came to celebrating holidays; they had no idea how to do it, and when she forced them into the festivities they tended to be almost suspicious of the merriment. But she refused to take no for an answer and poured everything she had into making their celebrations happy, and relaxing.

So for Christmas she was going all out. She’d spent days decorating the bunker while the boys had been out on a hunt and when they came back, the cold, concrete bunker had been transformed into a bright and colorful, warm and inviting space. They’d both told her she didn’t need to go to all that trouble, but she could see how happy it made them and the look of little boy excitement in Dean’s eyes had made it more than worth the time she put into it. 

She and Dean had been together nearly a year now, and she never got tired of giving him the home he’d never had. She loved being the comfort he came home to. 

She sighed happily and picked up her bags, planning on taking them to the bedroom, when suddenly she heard a huge crash. A second later Dean was yelling and cursing and Y/N dropped the bags back to the floor and dashed towards his voice. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. 

As she neared the entrance she called out to her boyfriend. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“No!” Dean yelled back. “No, don’t come in here!”

But it was too late. She skidded to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen and her jaw dropped. Dean had his back to her, facing the island and wrestling with something sitting there. But he spun around when he heard her enter. His hands were raised as she walked slowly down the stairs and into the room.

“No! You weren’t…” He sighed and dropped his hands down to his sides. “You weren’t supposed to come in here.” In each hand he held a beater from the electric mixer and they dripped thick, lumpy icing onto the floor.

Y/N looked around her, unable to believe the catastrophe that'd been made out of what had been a spotless kitchen just hours before.

The counter was lined with baking instruments in various states of cleanliness. There was something burnt and yet oozing out of the muffin tins on top of the stove. The floor was patterned with big, sticky boot prints, and a bag of flour had tipped over to spill off the end of the table, creating a small hill of fluffy white powder on the gray floor below. The water was running endlessly in the sink that was stacked with dishes, and Dean was covered in a fine layer of flour.

There were colorful sprinkles in his hair.

“What on…I was only gone two hours.” Y/N said in a quiet, awed voice. “Wha-” Something dripped from the ceiling to land right in front of her, making her step back quickly. She looked up and pointed at the goop. “Is that frosting?”

Dean gave a frustrated growl. “Yes, it is. Because this stupid machine is a piece of shit!” He turned slightly towards the mixer sitting on the island, flinging his arms out wide. A thick splat of frosting shot off the end of the beater he held to land in a wet lump on Y/N’s cheek.

“Shit!” Dean shouted, his face scrunched up with remorse. “I’m sorry.” He swung back to face her quickly and more frosting went flying, this time landing on the wall.

“Okay,” Y/N said in a calming voice as though talking down a maniac. “I need you to set that down slowly and step away.”

Dean sighed and shifted to set the beaters down on the island. “You weren’t supposed to come in here.”

Y/N shook her head as she approached him. “Dean, what are you doing?” She asked with an exasperated laugh.

He lifted the corner of his mouth and shrugged a shoulder. “Helping?”

Y/N snorted out another laugh at his slightly chagrined expression. As she got close enough, Dean reached out towards her, flicking his thumb across her cheek to try and get the frosting off. 

“It’s just,” his voice got soft and his smile became sheepish, “you’ve been doing so much to make Christmas special, and it’s been incredible and I just wanted to take something off your hands."

He bit his lip and shrugged again before continuing. "You said you were gonna make cupcakes when you got home, so I thought it would be a nice surprise to have them already finished for you.”

He sighed again and then scowled at the uncooperative mixer. “But nothing did what I wanted it to do.”

As he explained his sweet gesture, Y/N felt a lump catch in her throat and tears came to her eyes. Dean misinterpreted them though, and his eyes got wide. “But I swear, sweetheart, you don’t have to worry. I’m gonna clean all of this up, I don’t want you to-”

Y/N cut him off by throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. His lips were sweet and sticky, proof he’d been sampling the frosting as he went. Dean's sound of surprise turned into a moan and he deepened the kiss. He left floury handprints at her waist as he pulled her tight against him.

When Y/N pulled away she was breathing hard and she pressed her forehead to his. “Thank you.” She said breathlessly.

Dean huffed a laugh. “Um…you’re welcome?”

Y/N kissed his lips again, softly. “I love you so much, did you know that?”

Dean’s eyes were warm and happy as he wrapped his arms all the way around her, and squeezed tighter. He kissed her cheek where some frosting still clung. “I did know that, but I like the way you tell me anyway.”

Y/N grinned and scanned the disastrous kitchen. “I like the way you tell me too.”

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu @jackles010378 @mayafatimakhan @impala67rollingthroughtown

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl @slamminmine @roonthelittlespoon920

Other tag lists will be tagged in a reblog. ❤️

[rogloptimist]

when i first saw you, the end was soon

Primoz has been here before. He knows these hours like the back of his hand, he can trace the minutes like a signature, every second he has lived so thoroughly that simply moving through time is like walking home— until now. Until this. Amber tufts of hair. Gray eyes sharper than a scalpel. It’s as if he’s lived from birth knowing daylight, but for the first time in his life, has been shown a sunrise. Brightness is redefined.

He understands Icarus now. It was neither hubris nor stupidity that sent him barreling towards the ocean’s unforgiving waves, but the thrill of discovering a marvel you thought you already understood. If they put wings on his back and told him to fly, he doesn’t think he could resist the urge to touch a miracle either, whether or not it burned.

heeey guys i needed to perform an exorcism as assassin!rog + time loop!pogrog has been haunting my mind like i disturbed a grave so here it is?? non-summary fic is below the cut, you can read it here on ao3

Primoz comes to as his hand shakes off the dripping plaid umbrella in his grasp. His vision lags for a moment, the droplets seeming to scatter in slow motion before his senses snap into place like a rubber band pulled taut and released, and the world comes into abrupt focus. He’s standing in the middle of a concrete staircase, the gentle sunlight streaming through the rain-slick glass dome above him hitting like a punch as the warmth registers all at once. The sound of hurried phone calls, pattering rain, and intercom announcements rush into real time like a slow clock hand catching up with the second. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking off the dazed feeling collecting in his temples. Three uniformed schoolboys bolt past him, cackling and grabbing at each other’s collars to pull themselves up the concrete stairs— he sidesteps as to not get trampled. On his wrist, his watchface reads 5:14:37 pm. About 15 seconds for his mind to connect stimulus to his body. Not a personal best, but it’ll do.  

His black loafers click rhythmically against the ground as he begins to walk down the remaining steps. The air is sticky with humidity, making his white dress shirt cling to him like wet paper. He appears to be decked out head to toe in corporate attire- a nondescript black suit utterly unsuited to the weather, mahogany tie tied slightly too loose, still-wet umbrella in one hand, and leather briefcase in the other. He hopes there’s a firearm inside-- or a knife, at the very least. With his luck, though, it’s likely manila folders full of legal jargon. He stops at the base of the steps and cracks the latch open to confirm his suspicions- nothing but stacks of papers in what looks to be a language he can’t even understand. 

That’s fine. He can improvise. He clicks the case closed and continues forward. 

A quick turn around a bricked wall reveals a few things he doesn’t like. First, more people. There are masses of people flowing up and down the stairway and through the small shops littered throughout the station. From the looks of it, it seems to be the beginning of an evening rush hour. He doesn’t like killing in a crowd- too many eyes, not enough space, and it becomes a pain to reach the target in the first place. The effort typically isn’t worth his odds-- even less so without a decently subtle weapon. 

Second, he’s inside of a subway station. Moving vehicles, particularly ones that he isn’t driving, add infinitely more variables to trailing a target. Not to mention it appears all the signs are in the script written all over the documents he’s lugging around- Korean, he thinks. Upon closer inspection, there are English translations underneath, but he’s still not pleased-- being unarmed on the job during a foreign country’s rush hour is likely a grand total of no one’s forte. He fights the urge to curse himself for taking work nearly exclusively in Europe for the last few years of his career. Panic makes him sloppy, and he can’t cover his own bet on an unsteady hand. As he approaches the turnstiles blocking off the remainder of the station, he swallows the beginnings of alarm creeping up his throat. He checks his pockets for a ticket, transit pass, a wallet- anything to get him onto a train legally, for the most part. Shockingly, he finds a crisp, one way ticket from Myeongdong to Apgujeong in his breast pocket. He lays the slip on the scanner, allowing himself a small sigh of relief, and silently crosses breaking and entering off his list of chores. Once through the turnstiles, he checks his watch. 5:18:57-- he has about 22 minutes. Time to pick up the pace. 

As he follows the signs directing towards Track 3, he melts into the crowd around him. This is where he’s most at ease: floating in his environments like shadow through liquid. Back at the agency, there was ongoing confusion and debate as to whether he was a control freak, or simply didn’t care. The answer? Both. Primoz craves a gamble-- but unlike most junkies, his obsession lies in carefully reconstructing the odds around his bet. The thrill comes from engineering the chain reaction, not the explosion itself. He likes to test himself. Controlled risk. An intercom announces that the train will arrive in 10 minutes as he rides the wave of people towards the glass-gated tracks, barely even corporeal. For his own schedule, he’s down to 19 minutes. He settles against a pillar and does what he is best at-- he waits. 

* * *

The train is utterly packed. Every time he thinks it’s about to empty as passengers flood out, just as many people (or inexplicably more) board the train for the next stop. He’s been wedged in between a little old lady holding a massive icebox and a college student who looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks for the last eight minutes- the latter of whom keeps nodding off and falling into Primoz’s back. As best as he can without pummeling anyone in his immediate vicinity, he checks the time again. One minute. He begins to scan the train car for signs of anything unusual. He’s curious as to how things are going to play out this time around- practically nobody has the space to move, and the train isn’t due to stop for an additional few minutes.

Or not. Suddenly, his body is jerked forward as the train grinds to a violent halt. The intercom buzzes to life over the rising wave of confused chatter- first in Korean, then Japanese, and finally English. “Due to technical difficulties with the vehicle, we are currently unable to depart from our current location. We apologize for the inconvenience and ask for your patience as we address the issue.”

Well. There’s his sign. Like clockwork (which, upon second consideration, it quite literally is), he spots a bright green and navy blue jacket slipping through the yellow car door in front of him. Primoz snaps into action. He begins pushing through the sea of bodies, apologizing as he squeezes through the mess of limbs and heads. Through the glass, he can see the back of his mark doing the same. Good, he thinks. Better if we’re both slowed down. He reaches the door and bursts through, just as the figure pops out the other end of the horde. Apologies forgotten, he bulldozes his way through the crowd and pulls the next car door open. 

This one lacks a window of any sort, and it takes him aback when he opens it to see the car is nearly empty. Green jacket is nowhere to be seen, and there’s about 6 people scattered around all looking curiously on guard. Seeing as to how they all draw blades or battering rams of sorts the moment he stumbles into the car, he can guess as to why. Stupidly, his first instinct is to check his watch and think, six minutes earlier than usual, giving an excellent opening for the nearest man to lunge. It’s only muscle memory that makes his right leg kick out towards his attacker. Luckily for both parties, however, at that exact moment, the train jolts into motion. “We apologize for the delay, and hope you have an excellent remainder of your trip!” the intercom chirps as both men tumble to the ground. Their eyes meet in brief and mutual mortification before the entire car jumps back into action. Various deadly objects begin flying at Primoz, and he barely has time to block a knife whizzing towards his face with the briefcase (if he had one, he would take a moment to thank his past self for not abandoning it in the station) and jump to his feet before the assaults redouble. He stands, slightly crouched, and six bodies descend upon him in a frenzy. 

As is commonly understood, the human body’s near universal response to immediate threat is to fight, flight, or freeze. However, it’s been in Primoz’s job description for nearly the last quarter of his life to reject all three. He is paid to turn the tables, to swallow his pounding heart, ignore the blood rushing through his ears, and instead become the threat. He has painstakingly trained himself to remain perfectly level despite an onslaught, transforming from a man tasked with murder into a perfectly oiled machine. He responds to each strike with surgical precision. Every punch is meant to crush a windpipe, every knife he disarms from an assailant he puts to good use against throats and arteries. There’s not a swing that misses, not a single movement that goes to waste. The briefcase also continues to be remarkably useful- he takes two of his assailants to the floor with a crushing bash to the head, and hears ribs crack when he swings it at another’s torso. The umbrella, not so much. The thing breaks in half upon impact, but the broken metal pole makes for an excellent stake to the eye. In the back of his mind, he savors the violence. This is as close as it gets to being home.

And as quickly as it began, all the movement in the car ceases with a finishing knife to the back. Primoz scans his work. Certainly not his best, judging by the amount of blood on the floor. He much prefers to be the instigator of a conflict; being caught off guard makes him messy. He purses his lips at the caved in skull near his foot. He’ll have to do better next time. 

Scratch that-- if he does well enough now, there won’t be a next time. 

After shedding his blood-stained jacket, he escapes to the next car over. Thankfully, no one seems to have taken heed to whatever they were hearing next door. Or the train has excellent soundproofing. Either way, he goes unnoticed as he does his best to compose himself while pressed against a wall. And as luck would have it, the train rolls to a stop at Apgujeong. He follows the flood of bodies out the doors as a cheery voice thanks him for his passage over the speaker. He looks around, and doesn’t see much that’s new-- more concrete tunnels and tiled walls.

Okay, he thinks. What now? 

By instinct, he looks at his watch. After no longer being able to rely upon basic truths of his environment, he has learned to live solely by time. He’s dissected the constant reiterations of the various worlds he is thrown into by the second-- although he may be in the middle of an abandoned amusement park one day, and a salt marsh the next, he has the patterns of events carved into the back of his eyes. If he doesn’t know how disaster will strike, he sure as hell knows when. 

Which is why it is deeply disconcerting when he looks down and the analog face reads 6:02:19. Again, ahead of schedule. By about 11 minutes, in fact. The initial onslaught after the first moment of crisis ends at exactly 6:13:29- no earlier, no later. Never. He looks around, feeling as if he’s forgotten a limb on the train. He scans the space for anything suspicious, but sees absolutely nothing. Are there things embedded in the walls? Drones? Once, the loop put him in some sort of space station where an army of microbots swarming through the vents and cracks between metal plating bore through his skin and crawled through his lungs. He particularly hated that one. He finds an empty plastic seat nailed to the wall and pretends to go through his briefcase as he eyes the woman who he momentarily thought was staring right at him, before she began walking in the opposite direction. He shuts the lid much harder than necessary. He’s been thrown off his rhythm-- he feels like he's been blindfolded and told to steer a bike off muscle memory, he-- he sees something. In the corner of his eye, a flash of green and blue darts up the stairs. Recognition blares like an alarm bell as he begins sprinting in pursuit, subtlety utterly forgotten. 

The figure weaves through the crowd, deft as a pianist’s hands. Primoz silently thanks whoever it is he’s chasing for choosing to don the most crass of greens on their shoulders that morning. The oversaturated windbreaker sticks out like a sore thumb, his eyes locking onto it instantly. The two are nearing the stairs heading up to the busy street above when the target suddenly takes a sharp right turn away from the exit, and Primoz briefly loses sight of them. In a panic, he follows in the general direction. Fortunately, the individual quickly returns into his line of sight. Unfortunately, they’re now inexplicably on the other side of a set of turnstiles. Primoz pats himself down for any more tickets, or perhaps a slip of cash that he missed earlier, but no such luck. Not that he’d have the time to buy a new pass anyway, though. He looks at the green and blue-clad torso getting smaller in the distance, then at the attendant assisting a young tourist at the ticket station next to the turnstiles. He mutters a quick apology and leaps over the metal bars, hardly hearing the shout of surprise and ensuing multilingual demands for his return as he runs forward and disappears into another crush of people. 

The pair snake their way through the station at a distance as if connected by bungee cord. Every time Primoz tries to get closer, someone stops directly in front of him and blocks his way, every time he’s on the verge of losing the trail, a path miraculously opens. They make their way through the concrete halls like this, bouncing around equilibrium, until they arrive at Track 5. 

He skids to a stop just as a few stragglers board the closing train. The glass doors separating the station from the tracks are nearly shut, and Primoz thinks he finally has his moment, when the figure sharply dives toward the leftmost door, just barely making it inside. Primoz on the other hand, isn’t quite fast enough to bridge the gap from the turn in the tunnels to the departing vehicle. Astonished, he watches as the train begins to inch forward. The figure turns around and meets his gaze through the glass. A young man-- barely in his early twenties, with a shock of spiky honey colored hair and slate gray eyes. He cocks his head at him, slightly, then the train snaps into its full speed. Primoz almost thinks he sees him smile as he disappears into a blur of color down the dark tunnel. The last thing he notices about the train itself is a large ‘131’ printed into a white circle on the doors of his mystery mark’s car.

That was the door? It’s hardly six!

Flabbergasted, he checks his watch. For a moment, he sees nothing but black screen, until the white digits begin to flash erratically. He watches the pixels jump across the small, rectangular face before they come to a stop, reading ‘83:29:41’. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels like he remembers the six digits from somewhere, but he can’t quite place it. He stares at the empty tracks, dumbfounded, heart pounding from the chase. 

“What the fuck?!”

He has just enough time to hear his voice echo on the tiled walls before, hours ahead of schedule, everything goes black. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mise en Place 8

Warnings: noncon, coercion, manipulation, violence and blood, alusions to past abuse. Proceed with caution.

Note: Ooh we getting into the nitty gritty.

Thanks all for reading and I hope you’re excited for this one. All feedback is more than welcome and loved and appreciated. Reblogs are most helpful.

Part of The Club AU

The quiet in the street makes you want to believe things are as they should be. You walk with vigilance and urgency. One eye over your shoulder, a hand in your pockets, around your keys, just in case…

Another block and the tension eases. You’re not there yet. You turn your head before you reach the alley. Nothing. No shadows, only the yellow glare of streetlights.

You dip down between the brick walls and free your keys from your pocket. You slow as you see the dark space between your door and the frame. No. No, no, no. The knob barely hangs from the wood as the void stares back at you.

You spin and hit a wall. You’re thrown back by the figure waiting for you. You hit the steps and bounce onto the ground, your keys flying from your grasp. You’ve never felt such sheer force, even with him.

Your back hits the pavement, the breath gusting from you harshly. You wheeze, the air elusive as you try to take a gulp. A foot lands in the centre of your stomach and has you curling around the boot. It pulls back and toes your side, then finally a crack across your face.

You taste blood. You finally suck in a breath as you curl onto your side and cover your leaking mouth. What is happening? Is it him? Is it Johnny? You should’ve known you can’t escape him.

The crunch of gravel makes you wince and the darkness shifts. You stare at the silhouette distorted on the brick. You groan as the figure steps over you. You roll on the ground, choking on blood and spit. The footsteps trail inside, the hinges whining loud behind you.

The man disappears inside, the creak of the stares marking his absence. He’s in your apartment, your home. You fish around shakily, groping for your phone. It’s gone.

You roll onto your stomach, planting your elbows in the scatter of gravel across the pavement. You see your phone, not far from your keys. You drag yourself as your head swells and swirls. You reach out to grasp the cell and the footfalls stomp out and land thunderously at the bottom of the concrete steps.

You look up but can’t get a good look at the culprit, not before his sole once more crashes into your skull. You’re sent onto your back again and hear his boot come down on your phone, shattering the screen. You wheeze and whimper as you hide beneath your hands.

“Please…” you garble wetly, “just… end it… now…” You sniffle, "Johnny, please..."

Your heart races, deafening you. You’ve waited long enough for this. For the inevitable. You would rather it just be over.

You lay, unmoving, waiting. Nothing happens. You let your hands slip from your face, arms falling limp beside you. You shudder at the emptiness of the alley. He’s gone but you know he’ll be back.

⚡

You don’t call the police. That’s what he wants. He’s one of them. 

You get yourself up after what seems an eternity. You’re not entirely sure you didn’t pass out. You drag yourself up the steps and get inside, pushing the loose door into the frame, ignoring as it opens a few inches behind you. 

You climb the staircase one foot at a time. You cling to the banister and fall onto the landing. Your apartment is open too. The lock is still intact but you doubt it will do any good. He got past it once.

You keel over inside the door. You stay against it as you drift off into a gray sleep. The sort where the waking world roils just through the thin shield of your eyelids. You wake up several times, moving only as the sun kisses the floorboards.

You call work. You just have one more day before time off but you know you can’t make it in. Even if you were beat down, you need to get your door fixed. Your landlord will likely tack that onto the rent.

A hot bath is hard fought. You finally get yourself over the lip of the tub and into the splashing stream of the faucet. The steam makes it hard to breathe through the dried blood in your nose. You soak until the water is lukewarm and tinted with dirt and blood.

You climb over the top and clatter onto the tile. You wrap yourself in a towel and crawl out to the front room. You roll onto the futon and bury yourself in denial and the duvet. You’ll call Lewis when… your phone, it’s in the alley, broken.

You don’t know. You’ll find a way. When you can think. When you can move.

⚡

You don’t leave your apartment for two days. You don’t even try to retrieve your phone from the alley. You don’t care about the front door. You spend hours staring at the lock on the apartment door, expecting it to flip back at any time.

When at last you can function, you get dressed. You have to go to work. You need a new lock and a new cell. You doubt you’ll be able to afford those any time soon, even if you hadn’t taken a day off.

Your stomach wobbles at the thought of going in. You’re embarrassed. You can’t hide the damage done. You don’t want to tell the truth, so you come up with a simple lie.

You prop the door shut on your way out. It won’t really keep anyone out but it’s better than nothing. You see what’s left of your cell on the ground, the green circuit board cracked and poking out from the shell.

You limb down the street, gripping your ribs until you come in sight of the club. It’s taken you twice as long as usual. You approach the front door and the bouncer with the scarred face merely lifts a brow at your appearance before letting you in. He’s seen worse, that’s obvious.

You keep your head down and drop your arm as you enter. You slowly make your way upstairs but stop halfway, dizzy and breathless. You lean on the railing and hear someone else coming up behind you.

“Nice to have you back, F–” the voice begins but fizzles out. Thor pauses beside you as you stare at your feet, shakily lifting one to the next step. “Oh gods, what has happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? It can’t be–”

“I fell down some stairs,” you fib as you grunt and lift yourself onto the next step.

“Down some stairs? Oh my, that’s horrible. Here, let me help you,” he puts his hand on the small of your back and you flinch, letting out a yelp. “Ah, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

You shake your head and swallow, “really, I don’t need–” your legs quake as you squeeze the railing tighter.

“Just put your hand on my arm, fawn,” he insists and moves your free hand to the inside of his elbow, “hold on, and we’ll go slow.”

You flutter your lashes, fighting back your shame as you let him guide you up. You have no choice, you won’t make it up on your own. You lean on him without thinking as he patiently keeps pace with you. 

You wish he wouldn’t make such a big deal. You wish he didn’t pay any attention to you. You wish you could be invisible again.

[roachsideblog]

COD GORETOBER DAY 10! Woo, still only a day late.

Blacklist tinyduckies goretober 2024 and tinyduckies kinktober 2024 if youre sick of this <3

Prompt: Surgery (thanks, @nonsenseafterdark !)

Words: ~1k

TWs: Insects, gore, body horror, medical horror, burns, torture, blood, insect/animal death, being drugged, gangrene, decay, emetophobia/vomit. No human death though. But maybe that makes this worse <3

Summary: Makarov tried playing surgeon and kidnapped Captain Soap to show off his results.

Shit's fucked up. I'm not kidding. Dead Dove, babes.

~~~

Smoke from the blast obscured Soap’s vision as he climbed through the hole he just made in a cinderblock wall. Makarov’s base of operations—the heart of everything they’d been fighting for so long, the final barrier between him and avenging two of his best men. It was quiet compared to the facility’s perimeter lined with guard towers but he dare not think too hard about the ‘Q’ word. He steeled himself, crouching below the black sooty clouds, smelling thermite even through his filtered mask. A faint buzzing sound emanated from down the hall.

Lt. Simon Riley and Sgt. Gary Sanderson. Ghost and Roach. Shot dead by General Shepherd, their bodies burnt to a crisp. All they wanted was to defeat Makarov. To ensure weapons of mass destruction never made it into nefarious hands.

He crept along the concrete floor. The buzzing grew louder. There was nothing. No one. Not until a staircase appeared, leading down into a dark room. Descending, the air was stagnant and sickeningly sweet with the smell of decay growing stronger and stronger with every step until Soap’s eyes watered.

Through the threshold. He checked his six and—

A sharp pain pierced his upper arm. A goddamn blow dart hung from his flesh by its needle as if he were a wild animal. His heartrate began to slow immediately, dizziness taking hold.

Footsteps.

Soap jerked up, saw Makarov emerge from the abyss ahead, then collapsed before managing to fire a single round.

…

He woke tied to a metal chair. The buzzing was louder than any explosion. It was deafening in the tiny, dark room. The walls, floors, and ceiling were painted black.

A corpse fly landed on Soap’s nose. He shook it off, only to startle thousands more into the air.

Only upon further inspection did Soap realize all the dark surfaces were actually coated in insects that wriggled like ferrofluid.

He gagged, mask nowhere to be seen. The stench of death was unbearable but if he breathed through his mouth the flies sensed its moisture and flew in. Breathe through his nose and the smell brought tears to his eyes that the nasty things landed on his cheeks to lap up. He scrunched his eyes, forcing air out of his nostrils to keep curious corpse flies out.

The walls were light gray concrete.

A floodlight turned on and they all went mad, nearly blotting out its intense light. They rammed into its glass case, shoved themselves inside to fry on its bulbs.

“Captain MacTavish!” called a familiar Russian accent. Makarov. He had to yell over the roar of wings. Lucky bastard had a hazmat suit with a face shield as he appeared from the glare of the light, every footfall crushing flies.

Soap couldn’t reply lest a fly crawl down his throat carrying remnants of whatever attracted them here. Rage filled his veins.

“You've been such a pain in my ass. A pest, if you will.” He laughed and gestured around. “Seems you fit right in. Tell me, why are you here?”

Soap’s nostrils flared.

“Yeah, yeah. To put a bullet in my brain. I know. Show some introspection skills. Because I think you’re here for the same reason all these fucking bugs are,” he spat, grinding his toe on the floor. Flies fled but it was too crowded; an unlucky handful were mashed into paste. “You’re confused, I bet. Don’t worry. All will be revealed.”

With Soap silenced by disgust, Makarov disappeared again, though not for long. He came back holding a rope that disappeared behind the light. He stopped walking when it grew tight. Faintly, Soap could hear someone shambling. Something dragging. The rope went slack and Makarov yanked it tight again, causing whoever was on the other end to stumble forward and pick up the pace. Their movements grew louder. The humid, rotten smell got thicker. Ragged wheezes could be heard, as if their lungs didn’t inflate fully. They groaned in pain.

Flies cleared the area near Soap and raced for Makarov’s victim. He gulped hard, on the edge of his seat wondering what the fuck was about to reveal itself.

Suddenly, a massive frame blocked the floodlight.

A wide set of shoulders. A torso about two men across. Yet the person was average height, if a little tall. Makarov leaned on Soap’s shoulder and yanked them closer. The silhouette became clear. It had three legs. Two heads.

Ghost and Roach shambled into the light. They were sewn together with thick leather thread, sutures not quite healing as their burned skin remained in active decay. About half their flesh remained pink and red, the other half varying shades of blue bruises, pale bloodless patches, and green gangrenous bits. Veins bulged. Roach was missing his right arm, leg, and that side of his face. Ghost’s legs did the walking, the right and middle two, while Roach’s left leg dragged limp on the ground as if his ankle weren’t fully attached.

Soap gasped at the horrific sight, coughing up flies.

“Had to fit them together like puzzle pieces. Sanderson’s one half was burnt to a crisp; I didn’t even need to cut anything off. Pulled him apart with my bare hands like pulled pork. Wearing gloves, of course.”

Soap vomited into his lap. It couldn't be real. There must’ve been something more in that tranquilizer.

“You don’t appreciate art,” that fucking bastard scolded. “Anyway. Ghost’s left arm had to be amputated so their shoulders could connect. I think the burns acted like pottery slip—they fused together like two pieces of wet clay as they healed. Ha, ‘healed’ is such a funny word.”

Ghost’s eyes welled with tears. His polyester balaclava had melted into his face.

Roach groaned. Maybe if the skin around his mouth wasn't simultaneously stretched and sloughing off, Soap would hear him pleading for death. Goggle-shaped burns cut into his cheekbones and nose bridge.

“Care to join them, MacTavish?”

[consumable-connie]

The White Rabbit and a Fox

Content: Unwilling pred, willing prey, digestion, reformation, kidnapping, threats of murder

Description: A fox named Nick has found himself captured by an unnamed stranger, who threatens to murder him if he doesn't eat them.

Word count: ~1.2k word

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

"Well, well, well, aren't you a cute little wolf~" The rabbit said once he was stood right in front of the fox, retracting his blade once more. He reached up his paw to undo the gag,

A gray fox slept, slumped over and tied to a chair in a basement, the walls made of concrete, cracked with age, the only light coming from the egress window. It was completely silent, except for the occasional drip of water from the leaky pipes and the hiss of steam from the metal furnace in the very corner of the room. There was a staircase along the wall straight ahead of the fox, with a wall obscuring most of the steps, and there was a plastic tarp right underneath them. The fox's feet, hands, and upper torso were all tied to the chair, constricting his body like pythons trapping their prey. Slowly, their eyes fluttered open and darted around the empty basement wearily. The fox tried to move, their chair moving just an inch, threatening to tip over. They tried to scream, but they had a rag gagging them, muting their desperate pleas.

The door to the upstairs opened, a light streaming down, with the shadow of some mysterious figure being cast along the wall. He heard the creak of the stairs and started panicking. Whoever this was would surely kill him, it was all over. Their captor could make quick work of him, with them being all tied up and unable to move. He dreaded whatever would come next. Desprately he tried to break his hands free, stretching the rope just slightly, but it wasn't enough to break it. But then the mysterious figure had made their way downstairs, a tiny white rabbit, with black fur tipped ears. He was rightly confused. The rabbit looked so innocent, yet they held a pocket knife in their paw and had the most twisted smile. The rabbit slowly walked towards the fox, taking slow steady steps, fidgeting with his knife, ejecting and retracting the blade; eject, retract, eject, retract, eject, retract, eject, retract, playing with it as if it was merely a toy.

"Don't scream, or else..." He warned, before taking off the gag. The fox panted, catching his breath,

"I'm a fox," He said as he regained his breath,

"So, what's your name?" The rabbit asked, not even acknowledging the fox's comment. The fox stayed silent.

"Talk. Now. Or else I'll slit your throat." The rabbit was stern, ejecting the knife blade and holding it to the fox's throat,

"It's Nicky. Now what do you want?" He asked, "I don't have that much money, so why did you kidnap me?"

The rabbit let out an unnerving laugh as he pulled the knife away, "You really think I want money? I couldn't care less about that! I don't want anything from you. In fact, I'm trying to help you, silly!"

"How could kidnapping me and tying me to a chair help me?!" Nick yelled. The rabbit pat the fox's stomach,

"You haven't been eating well, I wanted to help."

"I've been eating just well, thank you very much."

"Yes, yes... but you've obviously haven't been eating the right kind of food. Your diet lacks any prey. So, I want to help get you on the right track, by having you eat me." The rabbit leaned really close to Nicky's face, and he tried his best to lean away,

"W-what? Why? It'd kill you!" He couldn't wrap his head around it. The rabbit let out another unsettling laugh,

"Don't worry, I've got my own ways of coming back. Now why don't you open up?" The rabbit tried to pry the fox's mouth open, but he kept it firmly shut. "Cmon, don't be shy. You're finally going to be a predator, like you were always meant to be,"

"N-no!" He tried his best to speak without giving the rabbit a way inside. The rabbit poked the fox's belly with his knife, gentle enough to not puncture them,

"Well, I suppose I could just get rid of you. You're a lousy, useless fox anyway, you don't even eat prey when it's right in front of you, offering itself to you,"

The fox's eyes widened with terror, he tried to think of a way to get out of this. He didn't want to eat the rabbit, but he didn't have many options,

"Okay, okay! I'll eat you, just... please don't kill me." Nick begged. The rabbit's twisted smile widened, and waited patiently for the fox to open up. The fox's lips parted reluctantly, and the rabbit began to crawl inside after they had put away their knife. The fox's eyes narrowed in digust at the texture of fur against his tongue, the taste barely bareable. The rabbit crawling into his mouth made his jaw hurt, he felt as if at any moment, it would break. Then there was his throat, which struggled to get the prey down, bulging around the contors of the rabbit's body. The rabbit slinked down his throat, the fox nearly choking. He then felt the rabbit enter his stomach, now distended and bloated ever so slightly, with the outline of the rabbit becoming visible from the outside. A dull pain spreading throughout his abdomin, he let out a tortured groan, and he gagged, almost throwing up, but he had to keep the rabbit down. Surely if he threw up, the rabbit would kill him. At first, his stomach was hesitant to digest his meal, begging the fox to throw up, but after a few minutes, it finally began to start the slow, aching process. It was loud, and Nick wished he could just plug his ears, but his hands were stuck. Even then, he would still be able to hear every groan, every gurgle, every squelch, it was too loud for anyone block out. He couldn't believe someone would enjoy this, he certainly didn't, and he certainly couldn't understand why the rabbit would enjoy melting alive. He felt his heart beat with intense speeds, and his chest ached with heart burn. He just wanted it to be over, for this rabbit to disappear and for this nightmare to end, but the rabbit couldn't take longer to digest, it wasn't going to end, not quite so soon, at least.

***

It had taken hours, and to Nick it seemed days, before the rabbit had disappeared. He coughed up the rabbit's pocket knife, thank God the blade wasn't out, he thought. It dropped onto his foot and he kicked it up over him, hoping he'd catch it, and it landed right into his paw. He quickly ejected the blade and got to work breaking free, the ropes falling to the ground after he had cut them in half, his paws now properly able to move. He untied the rest of his body, rushing to get out of the basement as soon as he could, stuffing the knife in his pocket. When he made it up the stairs he found himself in what looked to be a living room. It was a decent size, with a leather couch against one wall, a television across, and a coffee table atop the wooden floor. If you looked closly, the couch and the floor had almost unnoticable red stains the rabbit had had difficulty removing. The walls were an obnoxious off-white, with a few picture frames of people who Nick could've sworn he'd seen on a few milk cartons and news reports. He couldn't focus too much on the room now, however, he needed to escape.

He saw the open door to the foyer and scrambled his way in, almost tripping as he grabbed the handle to the front door, yet when he went to turn it, it didn't budge. The door was locked.

"Going somewhere?" The rabbit asked, sneaking besides Nick, causing him to jump,

"Wha- how?" He asked, slowly backing away. The rabbit smiled, and Nick noticed the rabbit had their hand behind their back, hiding somdthing,

"I already told you, I have ways of coming back." Nicky quickly pulled the pocket knife from his pocket, thankful he kept it,

"Stay back! I'm warning you!" He said. The rabbit let out his sinister laugh,

"I came back from being digested, do you really think a knife will do anything?" He revealed that he was holding a kitchen knife, sharp and ready to cut someone open,

"Now, put the knife down. We're gonna have a lot of fun, you and I." The rabbit held the knife towards Nick,

"I think you could use a little more practice becoming a predator, so you're going to eat me again, again, and again, until you've truly earned your freedom. Unless of course," He nodded to his knife, "You'd rather have me gut you open like a fish,"

Author's note: This is the first time I've ever written a vore story and it's also the first time writing in a while so please give me your constructive criticism! I want to actually improve in the future if I decide to write any more of these