#stay alive to kick a cop

[yippie-madness]

only thing keeping me from killing myself oh so violently right now is strong sense of justice autism. yeah.

[scoutswritingcorner]

It's Still You

Alastor x GN!Reader

A/n: Part two of ‘Despite Everything’ also a big thank you to my lovely Kuro (@kurosstuff)- They helped me figure this out!!

TW:Crying, talks about murder, a little screaming, angst. DONT WORRY THERE IS FLUFF I PROMISE!!

He didn’t remember when Rosie had guided him to sit down at a table, you sat across from him as Rosie had to leave to go make some tea saying something about “Needing to talk it out”. He would agree but his pride didn’t want to be bruised more than it already was. The way you won’t even look at him, of course he didn’t blame you but it still irked him to no end.

“Darling..” He started but was caught off with a loud scoff from you, “You don’t get to call me that anymore, Alastor.” You hissed venom lacing your tongue and it went right to his undead heart like a knife. He stayed silent for the first time in a long time, The Great Radio Demon was stunned silent and backed down like a kicked dog. But what made it worse was how tears started to well up in your eyes yet you didn’t acknowledge them, only looked at the wall across from you. “..Rosie told me you were still singing around here..you have your own little parlor..” He whispered out the radio effect gone from his voice, you nodded wordlessly.

He played with his cane and looked away from your face, “Why do you care? Have you ever fucking cared, Alastor?” You hissed out finally looking- no glaring at him. “Was our marriage just for show? It felt like it.” He flinched as his ears fell flat on his head at that thought of you thinking he truly didn’t love you. He showed it the best ways he could. “No no, it was never for show. I could never hurt you like that.” He calmly replied, trying not to let anyone see how upset he was at your words. No one could know The Radio Demon had a weakness.

That made you sob out and stand up collecting your things. He stood up as well reaching out for you but you moved away from his reach. “But you did. You killed me, Alastor. I did everything for you, I got the cops off your tail and covered your tracks when you were too damned tired to notice you got sloppy.” You yelled out, “I worshiped you, you were my husband, what else was I supposed to do?” Tears now falling freely down your face as your hands trembled, “I was scared of my own husband during my last moments alive.” 

He froze in place his ever lasting smile had fallen into a deep frown as he slowly walked closer to you. “That was probably my first fucking mistake in a long line of them but love makes you do crazy shit. And I truly did love you..I still do but I’m so afraid.” His shadow curled around your body as his hands finally reached to cup your face, wiping the tears away from your eyes. “I love you as well, my Songbird.” He started watching as you nuzzled into his hands, “I loved you from the moment I laid my eyes on you. I’m sorry for everything I have done..for how I’ve hurt you. You were never my target.” He whispered out, pulling you closer to his body.

“You were my everything, cher..” He leaned his forehead against yours as you let another sob rip through you. “My driving force, the person I wanted beside me at all times..could we try again? If you allow me the chance?” He asked softly, smiling as he felt your hands, your much softer hands than his, had grabbed onto his clawed ones and nodded. “I would like that, Al..I’m sorry..” 

He hummed and gently placed a kiss upon your forehead, “There is nothing to be sorry for. Tu as toujours eu mon coeur, mon petit oiseau chanteur.” He wouldn’t ruin this chance, not again. You both would run Hell side by side.

A/n: This made me fucking cry so much, I hope everyone loves it! Translation: "You always had my heart, my little songbird."

[probablyintensemuses]

Someone To Stay:

Armando Aretas

🎧- Someone To Stay: Vancouver Sleep Clinic

pairings: Armando Aretas x Black reader

themes: angst, slight fluff, lots of violence

warnings: (18+) attempted sexual assault, gore and blood, violence and cursing, mentions of sexual assault and violence.

authors note: Inspired by that one scene from the last of us between Eli, David, and Joel. Ifykyk

Two rules of being on a mission: never have any secrets, and never go anywhere alone.

You’re not even ten minutes into this bust with your team, AMMO, and you’ve already broken both.

For good reason, though.

A fact: The man you were hunting ran a dangerous fentanyl cartel that’s been running deep within Miami and needed to be stopped.

An unknown: this man killed your parents and assaulted you all in the same night fifteen years ago. And ever since then, he’s been sending you letters on your birthday hoping, that one day, you’ll scream for him to stop again.

So as crept up the stares of his Miami mansion, away from your team, you had different plans on how his wishes would play out.

It would end in him screaming for you to stop.

Kicking in the door of the master bedroom, you hold your gun steady, doing a keep sweep of the entry way, then the bathroom.

Nothing.

You holster your gun and walk back towards the entrance of the bedroom. You’re just about to leave when something on the nightstand catches your attention.

A photo.

A happy fucking family photo of the man who ruined your life, his wife, and two girls.

You wondered if he thought about that fact that your parents had two girls just like that when he was on top of you, taking every ounce of you.

Angered, you turn and slam the picture against the floor. Shards shatter and spray, something like your heart did all those nights ago.

“What was that?” Armando says over the coms.

You’re just about to respond when a creak on the floor catches your attention.

You whip around and come face to face with the devil who ruined you.

“Well that wasn’t very nice of you.” He says, smirking.

Armando calls your name over the coms, followed by Kelly, Dorn, and Mike.

You don’t answer. Instead you switch off your coms and cameras.

You don’t need them to hear or see what you have planned.

“I’m not nice.’ You unholster your gun. “Not anymore.”

“I can see that,’ he says, circling you like a predator. Good thing you weren’t his prey, not anymore. “God, you grew up, didn’t you? So beautiful.” He licks his lips.

“Shut the fuck up!” You shout, hands shaky and full of sweat as memories from that night flood you. The smell of him like burning whiskey, his sick laugh as he crushed your innocence in one push, the weight of him on top of you.

You shake your head, clearing your conscious as best as you can, zoning in on him.

He fucking does here.

“So you became a cop to what? Avenge your parents?”

“Yeah, actually.’ You step up. “And so when I put a bullet between your eyes no one will think twice about it.”

“Is that so?” He says backing into his dresser, hand behind his back.

“Fuck yeah.” You growl.

“That’s really unfortunate,’ he says, circling you again.

“And why’s that?” You frown.

“Because you’d need to be alive to do that, right?” He lunges at you, brandishing a knife before cutting your wrist.

You screech, dropping your gun and holding your bleeding wrists.

He stalks over to you, dropping to his knees, enclosing you in his grip with your hands above your head.

You kick and scream, hoping your team would find you before this sick animal devoured you whole.

“You see, I never thought you’d have the balls to come see me again.’ He laughs, the same burning whiskey blowing on your face as he speaks. “But I’m glad you did.’ He grinds his hard on against your thigh. “Real glad.”

“No!” You scream, kicking against him. It’s no use though, he’s much stronger and bigger than you.

Your heart slammed against your chest and felt like you couldn’t breathe. You felt like it was that night all over again.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You wouldn’t be that scared girl anymore, at least not in front of him.

Your head turns and you look up. Not to far from where he has you pinned you see the knife he used on you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

This was for your parents.

For your family.

For your innocence.

You watch as he unbuttons his pants, starting to pull them off.

“I really am getting my wish, aren’t I.” He says, letting one of your hands free so that he can unbutton his pants.

You reach for the knife, grab it and squeeze the handle tight.

He pulls out his member and your eyes go wild with adrenaline. “You’re going to scream sto—,”

Blood drizzles down the handle of the blade and onto the floor and he gurgles.

You stand, chest heaving, and snatch it out of his neck.

You impale him again in the chest, knocking him over.

On top, you lift the knife up high before driving it down into his heart.

Blood splatters onto your face and mouth.

Your blood curling screams mixed with the squelch of blood and organs reverberating off the walls as you continue to stab.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

You don’t stop until a strong arm wraps around your torso, pulling you away from his body.

“Stop, get off of me!” You scream, punching at them.

“Para! Para!” The voice shouts. “It’s just me.”

It takes you a minute to focus on the face in front of you, but once it’s clear you realize it’s Armando.

Suddenly your arms become heavy and you drop the knife, wrapping your arms tight around his neck.

“Shh,’ he says, caressing your blood soaked hair. “I’m here now.”

You whimper, letting the pain of fifteen years out as you into his shoulders

He pulls you back and cups your cheeks. “What happened here?”

You turn, your eyes guiding Armando to the horror of what happened.

You break down again, and Armando pulls you into his arms. Holding you.

“Está bien, Está bien.” He says. “I’m here now, babygirl. I’m here now.”

Words feel far away, so you say nothing. You just cling to Armando, letting him lift and carry you away from this house of horrors.

His arms are the only place you felt safe, and you were glad they were around you right now.

[bloodibambiidoll]

I'm asking waayyy too much BUT ITS THE LAST ONE I PINKY PROMISE( for today. . .)

Anyyywaayyssss, okay so what if weird girl!reader was hanging around n climbing trees or something (bc I do that-) and JJ sees her and he's like "girl wtf r u doing up there" and blah blah blah it's there first time meeting too (it would be fun if rafe sees this and they're not dating yet n he gets a lil jelly hehe)

VERY RANDOM BUT MY HEAD JUST WORKS LIKE THATTT

Ty bb🪽🫀

Omg yes!! This is such a cutie idea!! I actually had this pic saved on her Pinterest board bc she absolutely climbs trees. Sometimes she just climbs a little too high… Jealous!Rafe, fluff, lovesick!Rafe 18+MNDI!

(Also in another world Jj & Weird!girl would be so cute actually)

“What’re you doing up there?” The sound of someone’s voice nearly has you falling off the tree branch you’re perched on as your hand flies to chest and a surprised gasp leaves you. You look below you to see a head of messy blonde hair and ocean blue eyes squinting up at you through the sun. You’ve never met him, but recognize him of course, it’s not like the island is particularly big so you’ve seen everyone at least once. Jj Maybank, he’s from the cut so it makes sense that you’ve never really crossed paths. He’s cute though.

“Umm… I’m doing pretty much exactly what it looks like I’m doing, sitting in a tree.” You let out a little small chuckle as you look down at him. “What are you doing down there?”

“Well, I’m exactly what it looks like I’m doing, walking on the ground.” You snort at that, giving him a playful roll of your eyes. “I know, I’m hilarious. I was just makin’ sure you weren’t stuck up there or anything.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say stuck. I’d say I may have flown too close to the sun climbing up this high.” You shrug as you kick your dangling feet back and forth.

“Soooo… you’re stuck then?” Jj smirks up at you as he adjusts the cap on his head so it’s facing backwards. It gives you a better view of his face, he’s cute. Maybe if you weren’t already so invested in Rafe you would definitely be interested in him.

“I mean, mentally? Yes. Physically? No. I could get down whenever I want, actually.” Your voice is sickly sweet and Jj wonders why he’s never talked to you before. He’s seen you around and he’s always thought you were hot. That whole semi creepy but still angelic vibe you give off really does it for him.

“Yeah? You need some help?” He chuckles and leans his hand against the trunk of the tree, out stretching his neck and accentuating his jaw. He looks like he’d be nice to bite.

“She’s good, Maybank.” Your head whips around to see Rafe walking down the dirt path with a stone cold look set on his face. “I can help my girl. You can fuck off now.”

“Rafey! Hi!” You smile wide as you wave down at him enthusiastically. You sent him a picture of you up in the tree telling him you might need a little help getting down and he immediately dropped everything to come to your rescue.

“Rafey, huh? That’s adorable, truly.” Jj smirks at Rafe and it has him breathing out hard through his nostrils. He’s been trying really hard not to beat every man who looks at you to a pulp but seeing fucking Jj Maybank smirking up at you while you giggle is making him see red.

“Shut the fuck up, Pogue. Didn’t I tell you to fuck off? I suggest you do before we have an actual problem.” Rafe takes a few steps towards him, his eyes are like blue fire as he glares at Jj like he wants to burn him alive. It’s kind of hot. If you’re being honest with yourself.

“Okaaaay, I think that’s enough. I’m good Jj, thank you for offering to help me, you’re sweet.” You give him a saccharine smile and it makes him swoon just a little. You are so cute that if he wasn’t trying to stay off the cops radar he would probably stand here and fuck with Rafe even more.

“Yeah, no problem, sweetheart. See ya around, let me know if pretty boy over here decides to fuck you over, I don’t mind being your rebound.” Jj bites his lip as he winks at you before turning to walk off. Rafe wants to chase after him and wipe that smug ass look off his face by shoving it into the dirt.

“Raaaafe.” You snap your fingers to get his attention and it pulls him out of his rage filled trance. He looks up at you, smiling down at him so sweetly and he almost forgets who Jj Maybank even is. Almost. He still wants to kick his fucking ass.

“Hmm? Yeah baby?”

“Can you help me get down now?” He giggle and Rafe swears it’s his favorite sound other than when you scream for him while you fall apart in his cock.

“Oh shit, yeah. C’mere.” Rafe moves so he’s directly under you with his arms outstretched. “Jump down, I’ll catch you.”

“I don’t know, Rafe. I’m pretty high up.” Your expression turns nervous so Rafe leans up so he can hit the bottom of your shoe with the tips of his fingers.

“You’re not even that high, see? Just fuckin’ jump. Promise I won’t let you fall.” He shakes his hands above his head and gives you that semi goofy, reassuring smile that’s reserved only for you.

“Okay. Fine.” You let out a dramatic sigh before bracing your hands on the branch so you can push yourself down into Rafe’s arms. A little squeal leaves you when he grips onto your hips and pulls you against his chest. You wrap your arms around his neck so you can plant a messy smooch on his lips. “My savior!! How will I ever repay you, fair knight?”

“Pft. You’re so fuckin’ dramatic.” Rafe snorts as he lightly sets you down on the ground.

“I’m dramatic? You were about to beat Jj’s ass for trying to help me!” You laugh, jokingly pushing your hand into his shoulder.

“Nah, he was doing more than just trynna help you.” Rafe grabs onto your hand so he can pull you closer against his chest. “He was fucking flirting with you and you’re mine.”

“Yours, huh? Guess I missed the letter in the mail that said we were official.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb.” Rafe throws his head back with a groan but you can see the smile painted across your lips. “I thought I made it pretty fuckin’ clear that you’re my girl.”

“Hmmm… I don’t know, might need you to spell it out for me.” Your giggle makes butterflies erupt in his stomach and Rafe never believed in that butterflies in your tummy bullshit until he met you.

“Ugh. You’re a brat, you know that?” You shrug, letting out a satisfied hum. “Fine. Be my girlfriend?”

“Uh, duh, I already am.” He rolls his eyes and you give him a satisfied smile. “Just wanted to hear you say it.”

“You’re sooo in for it when we get back to my place. Brat.” He grips onto your neck, pulling your lips against his in a rough kiss. “Car. Let’s go.”

“Okay, okay, sooo bosssy.” He smacks your ass and you yelp, running full speed toward his truck.

“Oh hell nah! Get your lil ass back here!!”

Taglist: @babygorewhore @strawberrydolly333 @starkeysprincess @sturnioloshacker @nemesyaaa @rafeinterlude @loserboysandlithium

All things Rafe & his weird!girl here

Divider is @strangergraphics

[fluentmoviequoter]

Truth Serum

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: While searching for an abducted child, you and Tim are abducted and injected with truth serum.

Warnings: fluff, angst, child abduction, drugging, Tim and reader make out while working

Word Count: 2.6k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Bradford,” Wade calls over the radio. “We got an anonymous tip about the AMBER alert. The caller said a car matching the alert description was parked outside the Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena.”

“We’re responding,” Tim replies. “Why the arena?” he asks you.

“It wouldn’t be very busy this time of day. Stay low there until there’s a crowd tonight and disappear with them,” you hypothesize. “Or something happened, and they had to stop.”

Tim nods as he turns on the shop’s lights. He doesn’t want to alert the abductor that the police are coming, but he needs to get there fast. Once you find the car, you’re a step closer to recovering the kidnapped child. The AMBER alert is several hours old, and the longer it takes, the more your chances of finding the child healthy and alive diminish.

“Take the next left,” you tell Tim. “If we can get in the back way, they shouldn’t see us coming.”

Tim takes your advice without argument, which surprises you. Calls with kids are some of the hardest, but when you know one’s in danger, everything changes. Part of what makes Tim such a good cop is his ability to separate his emotions, but the moment you got the AMBER alert notification, he tightened his grip on the wheel and told dispatch to let you and him patrol for the car.

“There it is,” Tim murmurs as he stops behind a partial wall in the parking lot.

The silver sedan you’ve spent the morning hunting for waits in a parking spot as if it’s just a normal day. You can’t see signs of anyone in the car, and Tim opens his door quietly and steps out. As you open your door, you notice something under the sedan less than 100 yards from you.

“Tim, it’s a trap,” you say quickly.

He turns toward you and gestures for you to get back in the car, but the car explodes, and you’re slung back against the shop before you take another step. You reach toward Tim where he lays behind you, but a booted foot kicks your hand away.

“Time to serve and protect,” the man standing above you says.

He drops a wet rag on your face, and you lose consciousness before you realize it’s not water.

 “Hey, c’mon,” Tim whispers.

He jostles your wrist with his fingertips as he demands you talk to him. When you realize that he’s asking for a response, you squeeze your eyes closed and grunt. Tim takes it as enough of a sign that you’re still alive and stops talking.

“Where are we?” you ask, blinking slowly. “Are you tied up?”

“Welcome back,” Tim murmurs grumpily. “You don’t handle chloroform very well.”

“My bad,” you reply sarcastically. “Have they been back?”

“No.”

“How mad are you?”

Tim makes a sound that you take as a sign to stop talking. For someone so eager to hear your voice a moment ago, your questions changed his mind quickly. Behind you, metal scrapes as a door opens. You hear heavy footsteps and assume that it’s the man who knocked you out.

“Glad to see you’re both feeling better. Need those minds as sharp and clear as we can get them,” he says. “I’m George.”

“And I’m the man in yellow,” you reply under your breath.

“Cute,” George murmurs. “You’re just here to help. If you found the car, you know about the kid.”

“The kid you abducted?” Tim asks.

“Details, details… Either you start telling me what you know, or I beat it out of your friend here.”

Tim’s fingers press against your wrist as he flexes beneath his restraints. George laughs, and you turn your neck painfully in an attempt to see him.

“You’ll get a turn,” George promises when he notices your movement. “If neither of you is feeling talkative, perhaps you need some courage.”

George walks around Tim, and you track him as he stops before you. He’s larger than he seemed in the parking lot. As he smiles down at you, you relax. If he thinks you’re intimidated, he has you where he wants you.

“Do you want to tell me anything?” George asks.

“Your right boot is scuffed,” you answer. “Little saddle soap would buff it right out.”

George clenches his jaw as he reaches into his pocket. He withdraws a syringe, and your eyes widen as you push back against the chair you’re tied to. His smile grows as he reaches for your forearm.

“Don’t,” you demand. “Don’t touch me.”

Tim moves behind you, but there’s nothing he can do to help.

“Don’t worry, Officer Bradford,” George calls. “You’ll get a turn too.”

George slides the needle under your skin and looks directly into your eyes as he depresses the syringe. He pulls the used needle out and tosses it into the corner of the room. After he pats your arm, he returns to Tim’s side.

“What was that? What is it?” you demand, pulling against your restraints.

A bead of blood appears on the surface of the skin. Tim is likely being injected too, but you need to know what George is pumping into you.

“Back up,” Tim growls from behind you.

“Gladly,” George answers. “To answer your question, sodium thiopental. Enjoy the next few minutes of control.”

As the door slams behind George, you exclaim, “Truth serum?”

“It doesn’t work,” Tim says.

“Yeah,” you agree. “But this idiot doesn’t know that.”

“And you want to pretend it does?” Tim questions. “For what?”

“He gets fed up and tells us what he knows… I hope.”

Tim hums and his fingers press against your skin. “Let’s try it.”

“Hello again,” George says as he returns.

“Hi,” you blurt out.

“So glad to hear some excitement. We’ll start easy. Why are you here?”

“Because we’re cops and someone said the AMBER alert car was here,” Tim answers.

“Oh, so grumpy does speak,” George muses happily. “In that case...”

George grabs the side of your chair and spins it quickly. You’re beside Tim now; his arm is pressed to yours and you can look at him without straining. The plan is working already.

“Glad you’re okay,” Tim tells you.

“Not the truth we’re looking for,” George interrupts. “Tell me, what do the police think?”

“Lots of things,” you answer. “You-“ you interrupt yourself off with a giggle – “you have to be more specific.”

“Where do they think the kid is?” George clarifies.

“With the bad guy,” Tim says. “The guy who drives the silver sedan… Did you steal it?”

“Do they have a name, a face? Who is the suspect?” George is getting agitated, exactly as you hoped.

“A face...” you repeat. You look toward Tim and say, “You… you have the prettiest face ever. I want to marry you.”

Tim takes the confession in stride, likely assuming that you’re still playing I’m high on sodium thiopental.

“You’re the best partner I’ve ever had,” Tim replies, leaning toward you.

“Listen!” George demands. He places his hand over your jaw to direct your face toward his. “Where is the kid?”

“The kid?” you ask, your voice distorted by his grip on your face.

“Mmhmm. Where did they take him?”

George releases your face, and you stretch your jaw out as you turn toward Tim.

“Kids… Tim, I want to have your babies. You’d have pretty babies. And smart babies.”

Tim nods along, but there’s a faraway look in his eyes that you don’t recognize. He’s either playing up the truth serum bit, or something else is happening. George slaps the side of your face before he storms out of the room. You smile at Tim, despite the deepening hand print covering your jaw.

“Pretty and smart babies?” Tim asks.

“You weren’t giving me anything to work with,” you point out with a shrug.

“I like listening.”

“Well, it is truth serum,” you murmur.

When George returns, he shoves a picture in your face.

“My son, where did they take him?” he demands.

“Son?” you and Tim ask together.

“Oh!” you exclaim when you see the picture. “George, listen, we can help. But you have to let us go.”

“Why would I do that? You people are the reason he’s gone!”

“George,” you repeat softly. “We know that the man who reported his abduction is really his stepfather, and half of the LAPD is looking for your son, but we don’t know where he is yet.”

“He never would’ve disappeared if you hadn’t taken him away from me!”

“Then let me help,” you implore.

George stares at you for a few seconds before he nods. He cuts your restraints and steps back as you stand. You pull Tim’s handcuffs from his belt as you move, just in case.

“Let’s go,” he commands.

You shake your head and point to Tim. “Both of us.”

“No,” George answers. “Help me and I’ll let you come back to get him later. We’re going.”

George grabs your arm and shoves you harshly toward the door. You could fight back, but without Tim to back you up, it would go poorly fast.

“Tim, I’ll be back,” you promise.

“Be careful,” he mouths silently.

You nod and hold his eyes until the door closes. As you follow George through the underground tunnel, you watch him closely.

“Dad!” someone yells deeper in the tunnel.

“George,” you say lowly. “What did you do?”

“He’s my son!” George bellows.

He turns toward you with your gun aimed at your chest. You raise your hands and maintain eye contact with him.

“This doesn’t end well for you,” you tell him. “What was the goal?”

“His stepdad is looking for him,” George explains. “I can’t lose my son again.”

“So… what?”

“You would bring him here, lure that monster here, and I would save my son!”

“George, it doesn’t work like that. You kill his stepdad, you injure me or my partner, and you go to prison. So that little boy in there still loses you. You’re stuck, George.”

“No!” he yells. “No, I have the gun and my son.”

“And when you have to run? You drag him with you?”

“I- we-“

“You didn’t think that far?” you guess. “You don’t get out of this, George. Not like this.”

“Dad!” his son yells again.

“He needs you right now. If you let me go, surrender, and return that little boy to his mother-“

“The court takes him again.”

“But you still get to see him. What’s better, George? Taking him from everything he loves or seeing him when it’s good for him?”

The gun falters in George’s hand, and when he begins to lower it, you surge forward. As your shoulder collides with his chest, you pull your gun from his grip. It fires into the tunnel as you wrestle George to the ground. The moment you push him to the concrete and secure your cuffs on him, George begins crying.

“Save the tears for your court date,” you respond. “Where’s my radio? My phone?”

George shakes his head, and you sigh in exasperation. You pull his shoulders to help him into a seated position against the concrete wall.

“Stay here,” you demand. George nods vehemently, and you ask, “Where’s your son?”

“Third door on the left,” he answers through sniffles.

You walk to the third door and open it carefully. The little boy runs to you and hugs your legs as he rambles about how his father took him from his mom’s house and won’t tell him anything.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you assure him. “Here, can you hold my handcuffs? I need someone to keep them ready until I come back.”

He nods and accepts the handcuffs. As he sits on the thin mattress behind him and toys with the mechanical lock, you return to the main tunnel. George doesn’t speak as you pass him, nor when you take the knife from his side.

You open the door to the room where Tim is waiting and step inside. He looks up quickly and blows out a large breath. His jaw tightens quickly, and you notice blood running down his left hand.

“George is in cuffs outside,” you say. You squat before Tim and begin cutting his restraints. “And his son is fine. Babysitting your cuffs at the moment.”

You set the knife aside and focus on gently freeing Tim's bloodied wrist, oblivious to how he watches you. His skin has been scraped raw from tugging against the rope to get out and get to you. He heard the gunshot and assumed the worst, then you came in like nothing happened.

The moment Tim is free, you stand and offer a hand to him. Tim knocks your hand out of the way as he stands. You begin to ask him if he’s okay, but his hands rise to your shoulders, his thumbs against the pillar of your neck. Before you finish the question, Tim presses himself closer to you and kisses you. You blink in surprise but melt into his affection quickly. As you slide your arms over his shoulder and move with Tim, you wonder how much of his action is adrenaline and if there’s anything in this that he means.

“Officer?” George’s son calls down the tunnel.

You step back and Tim drops his hands to your waist.

“That was…” you begin.

“Truth serum,” Tim finishes. “Let’s go.”

He brushes past you, trailing his right hand over your waist. Outside, he leads George out as you carry his son back into the sunlight. The young boy clings to you, and you comfort him as Tim uses the radio in the shop to alert dispatch and request backup.

“Where’s our stuff?” Tim asks George as he shoves him against the dented back door.

“Threw it in here,” George mumbles against the glass.

“He may be a kidnapper, but he’s no thief,” you murmur.

“You see those dents?” Tim asks lowly, so George’s son doesn’t hear. “Those were made when you tried to kill two cops. All of this for a little boy you’re never going to see again.”

George begins crying again, and Tim rolls his eyes as he looks away. Tim may be good at hiding his emotions on the job, but you know better than anyone that he still feels them and feels them deeply.

The first of many patrol cars pulls into the parking lot, and you nod at Tim before you’re pulled away in the hectic moments that follow your heroic recovery.

You knock on the door once, then pull your hands behind your back. Part of you expects that the door will remain closed, but Kojo barks as Tim opens the door.

“Hi,” you greet, rocking back on your heels. “I- uh- I just wanted to thank you for everything today.”

“Come in,” Tim invites.

You walk past him, remembering what it felt like to have his hands on you and his lips against yours. As you turn back to Tim, he steps into your space.

“Was any of it true?” he asks.

“It’s called truth serum for a reason,” you whisper.

Tim fails to hide his smile as he says, “Then you think I have a pretty face?”

“The prettiest ever,” you agree.

“And you want to have my babies.”

“I’m pretty sure I said I wanted to get married first,” you point out happily.

Tim’s hands raise toward your face, but he stops when he sees the bruise along your jaw. You catch his left arm and kiss his bandage, the injury underneath caused by concern for you.

“I was going to say I love you,” you murmur. “But I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“It’s truth serum. I wanted to believe it all,” Tim answers.

“Then kiss me again,” you request softly.

Tim does exactly as you ask, takes your face gently between his hands, and kisses you. It’s just as shocking and enlivening as the first time, and you smile against his lips because it was true. It was all true.

[fadingdaggerr]

Hii!! I hope you've had a great day!!

So, I had this idea and I can't stop thinking about it, it's like rotating in my brain like a Rotisserie Chicken. IDK if you're still taking requests but I just had to send this.

Anyway, Melissa and reader are in someone else's house (R parents or idk some kind of sleepover with the teachers) and for some reason they can't sleep together in the same bed/room, like they're used to, which is concerning R because Melissa doesn't really sleep well alone.

But Mel tries to ease R saying she'll be just fine for one night, and very reluctantly R agrees.

Well, it turns out she can't. R and obviously a few others in the house wake up to Melissa's screaming in the middle of the night and R runs to her, shes is sobbing, shaking and clutching R for dearlife, just absolutely terrified and not even letting R move. R calm her down and take care of her, like with a lot of fluff and comfort.

I'm just obsessed with R taking care of Mel and being really sweet.

Yeah that's it. I love your stories, they are really really good. And I could only think of you when this thing came out of my brain.

+ I absolutely loved what you did in "Know I'm Alive", I was kicking my feet and internally screaming. (I sent that anon 👉👈) So thanks, I enjoyed it a lot, like a lot a lot, like, if I could I would eat that it.

You're really talented!! <3

by the sun, by the moon

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: request above! | 4.8k

includes: no pronoun use for r, fluff, hurt/comfort, family play fights/sibling banter, r’s family adores mel, probably ooc!mel oops

warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamic (short), attempted violence (short), mentions/insinuations of sex, one outdated traditional value, sleep difficulties/nightmares, anxiety/panic attack

note: please feel free to skip the section that discusses the unhealthy relationship dynamic/violence. it begins after the first section divide with the line “for her entire childhood…” those topics are only explicitly stated there and only referenced one other time. please do not feel as tho you need to read triggering material to understand the story, i tried to make it understandable without having to read potentially distressing content :)

Melissa’s head tips back when she hears you coming back downstairs, having been waiting for you since your mom called during The Real Housewives time. The way you’re watching your feet with furrowed brows makes her fully turn until she’s kneeling on the couch, leaning over the back to get closer to you.

“Something wrong?” Melissa asks, reaching to grab your hand to pull you closer.

You shake your head, “no, no.” Warm hands rise to cradle the redhead’s face, “how would you feel about spending the night at my parents place Saturday? They’re hosting Jonah’s birthday, wanted our help to set up the night before.”

Her eyes widen, “just Saturday night?”

“Just Saturday,” you reaffirm, tucking a loose hair behind her ear. She cautiously nods, barely moving. “We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it, I’m not going to make you.”

“I know, I know,” she says through her breath, “we’ll stay the night.” The kiss you press to her forehead feels heavier than just a silent thank you.

—☽—

For her entire childhood and through her marriage, Melissa slept like a rock. She slept through Kristen Marie’s and Joe’s snoring, her college girlfriend’s sleep talking, her parents having a screaming match so loud the cops got called. Before starting teaching, she even had to train herself to wake up at the sound of her alarm, knowing that being late to the school was ten times worse than being late to JC Penney.

Two years after she finally left Joe, Melissa met Eric.

Tall, charming, nice-smelling Eric with his salt-and-pepper beard always tidy, a covered up Marine tattoo on his forearm. He’d bought her drink after his friend accidentally knocked hers off the counter of the bar, and two hookups later, she was agreeing to a real date. Three months later, she was his girlfriend and allowed him into her apartment. He got to know where the spare key was hidden after a year.

Eric was everything Joe was not. During arguments, Joe would shut down and leave, only returning when he smells like cheap liquor and some other woman’s perfume. Eric always stayed, told her his point of view, listened to hers, calmly told her when she was overreacting. He was smooth, never raised a hand towards her or threw things at the walls. Melissa always knew when she was in the wrong, but he never made her feel bad about it.

Eric was particular. He liked his shirts folded a certain way, beer only from a glass, and silence when he worked. If she was excited about anything, he only ever allowed her to speak about it until he’d lost interest, almost always by the time she paused to take a breath. When he properly introduced her to his friends, his hand on her knee would tighten when she spoke. Quickly, she learned that the tighter the grip, the less she should speak. Four hours at some sports bar and Melissa had only been able to say a total of six sentences. Eric liked Melissa quiet. Melissa became quiet.

He started to prod about meeting her family, and she shut him down. Again and again. The fourth time, he banged his fist against the table, the end of his fork creating a small dent. Green eyes fixated on the dent as he began to calmly explain that he had introduced her to his family, it was her turn. Mumbling those were your buddies got her stuck on her own couch that night, clutching the blanket Nana made her before she started college.

Two months later, she began to slowly bring back Eric’s clothing to his apartment on the off-chance they went there for a night. Grading her student’s assignments began to take longer and she triple-checked the scores to waste more time, suddenly too tired to have sex or even talk before going to sleep. Otherwise, she listened to his rules, spoke when spoken to, cooked when asked.

The morning he narrowly avoided calling her a moron to her face when she made the eggs over-medium instead over-easy, she officially made her choice. That night, at the Italian restaurant he brought her to, she called it off.

“Why?” Eric asked, eyes stone, unwavering from hers.

She took a deep breath, “you treat me like a pet. Speak when spoken to, move when told, I’m sick of it.” Her grip on the table cloth tightened, “tomorrow, I will put your stuff outside. You’ll pick it up when I tell you to, and then you will leave.”

He sits back in his chair, tongue poking at his bottom lip, “and if I don’t want to break up?”

“Too bad,” she shrugs. Standing from the table, Melissa leaves him with the check and the sad excuse of Italian cuisine on the table.

At work the next day, it takes all morning, lunch, and prep to fully debrief Barbara on everything that had been going on. It made sense to the kindergarten teacher why she had yet to meet this Eric fella, but after hearing this, she knew Melissa wasn’t proud of getting herself in this situation. A promise of a wine weekend and greasy food makes Melissa truly smile. Barbara hadn’t realized how fake every little grin had been until now, she missed her best friend.

That afternoon, Melissa came home to the loose brick that hid her spare key ajar. The blood in her veins runs cold. Opening the unlocked door, glass scratches across the wooden floor, crunching under her heels. Every picture frame, the television, the radio, the coffee table, the stovetop, the tea set from her grandfather, all smashed to pieces. Holes were in nearly every wall, the stair railing broken. The entire first floor was destroyed, only upstairs was left pristine, as if nothing had happened at all. Bat in hand, she checks every closet, under her bed, in the bathtub, everywhere. He was gone.

Leaning against the wall, she slides down and sobs. Melissa is forced to make a choice she didn’t want to make. Opening her phone, she calls Joe.

Joe, despite everything he had done, was at Melissa’s house within the hour. In one hand he held a bag from the hardware store, containing new locks and keys, the other hand had his very own bat, nails pounded through the wood. Like he said when they signed the papers, just because he wasn’t in love with her, doesn’t mean he didn’t care.

Three weeks later, after things had settled and locks were changed, Melissa felt more secure. Still every night, she woke at every sound, wind and the smoke detector quickly became her mortal enemies. Bundled in her soft pajamas and thick comforter one night, she finally fell into a hard, deep sleep forced from pure exhaustion.

Paperclips, a screwdriver, and a small sheet of flexible metal are all someone needs to pick a lock and shift the deadbolt. Eric surely knew that, always the smart man, yet never the brightest. Slowly, he moved up the stairs, bourbon fueling his motions as well as his heavy steps.

A particularly loud thunk wakes Melissa, hand flying under her pillow to the bat Joe had made her promise to keep there. Another thump made her jump out of bed and to the side of her dresser with an iron grip around Edith Houghton. When her door opened, she stayed pressed into the corner, hoping she stayed hidden just long enough for him to leave so she could grab her phone.

Liquor breeds stupidity, worsens it when it is already present, and Eric had left to check the bathroom. Quickly, Melissa called the police, shakily texting Joe as she whispered to the operator. At that point, she didn’t care who got there first. She just wanted to be free of him.

She moved to a new apartment before the month even ended. Barbara insisted on cameras, which Gerald installed. Joe insisted on a nailed up bat, which he made himself. Not a night has gone by since then where she didn’t have it within arms reach of the bed.

It took six years for her to sleep again.

—☽—

The light tracing of nonsensical patterns on her abdomen is what wakes Melissa, eyes cracking open to the bright sun peeking through the curtains. She wishes now, more than ever, that she had agreed to the blackout curtains, groaning into her pillow. With the knowledge she’s now awake, several soft kisses press against her shoulder, traveling to her neck. With a sleepy grin on her face, Melissa turns to face you.

“Morning,'' you mumble against her lips, hand traveling up to her hair to separate the knots that you created. “Sleep good?”

The only response you get is a little huff that almost sounds like yeah, her face burying in your neck to hide from the light. You lay there with her, finishing your detangling mission as Melissa’s nails trace up and down your arm. A final, sound kiss lands on the crown of her head before you shuffle out from underneath her, reaching for your previous discarded university shirt and sweatpants. The redhead watches through droopy eyes, scanning over you before your pajamas cover everything she adores.

“Gotta get up, beautiful,” you say through a yawn as you walk out the room, “we need to be leaving for one.” A tiny groan escapes her lips as she rises from the bed, though a small smile crosses her lips when she sees your sweatshirt thrown over the chair in the corner, just waiting for her.

Not even halfway down the stairs, there’s a clatter from the kitchen and a quiet exclamation of fuck. “You’re not even awake and you want me up,” Melissa says as she walks to the coffee maker. She’s met with a small slap on her ass in return, not even caring to be embarrassed of the girlish giggle she lets out.

Whose fault it is that you’re late leaving, who could tell? Between the forgoing packing and wrapping your cousin’s present last night for a taste of Melissa and her lack of pants this morning, it’s hard to say. Nothing that going a gentle twenty over on the highway can’t mend.

Driving up the dirt road, the dense trees thinned and your parent’s yellow house came into view. Your father’s questionably functional truck sits in the front of the garage, your mom and brother’s cars parked close together on the lawn. Seeing the way your hands tighten on the steering wheel, Melissa slides her hand from your elbow to the free hand on your thigh, playing with your rings to calm you. Being at your parents house was always overwhelming, fun, but overwhelming.

Narrowly avoiding scraping the side, you pull in next to your brother’s car. Looking at each other, you and Melissa give each other a nod of we got this. She’d been over here before, she’d been to three family reunions and almost every birthday party, but never had you two stayed the night, always being some of first to leave to sleep in your own bed.

With a little grunt, you hop out of the car and jog to Melissa’s side to open her door. She gives you a half glare when you tap her hand away from helping carry the bags in, you never let her lift a finger, if you can help it.

“Well, look who decided to show up!”

Both you and Melissa jump at your mother’s yell from the porch, bangles clanking together as she widely waves to the both of you. Gravel crunches under her feet as she rushes over to the two of you, immediately pulling Melissa into a hug. Before you were banned from saying it, you used to joke that your parents preferred your girlfriend to their own child. The giant smile on Melissa’s face when she interacts with your family makes it worth it.

Tumbling upstairs, you bring your bags into your childhood bedroom with Melissa close behind. Even with every time she had been here, she loved being in your room. It was a time capsule of your life before college, all the posters of bands and movies still hanging on the walls, trinkets covering every space. She particularly loved the little collection of rocks on your bookshelf, clearly in order from favorite to least favorite.

The bed bobs as you both drop onto the mattress, groaning at the comfort after three hours in the car. You turn your face towards her, leaning to press a kiss to her shoulder, “I love you.”

Melissa leans in closer, “I love you, too.” She watches your eyes flick to her lips, beating you to the chase and pressing her lips to yours softly. It takes every ounce of effort to not moan at your tongue tracing her lip, her hand coming up to grip your shirt and keep you close. Stomping up the stairs makes you both jump apart, feeling like teenagers getting caught, not that the room was helping.

The door opens to show your dad, boots trekking in dirt that will inevitably get him in trouble with your mom. The hand not on the doorknob is over his eyes, “you two better be decent. Ma has lunch ready downstairs and clothing is probably mandatory.”

“Knock it off,” you mumble as you shuffle towards him so he can give your head a gentle noogie. Neither of you were big on hugs, only really being physically affectionate with your partners, but the love is always clear in every fistbump and hand on your shoulder.

You and Melissa trail behind your father as he goes to the kitchen, both fighting laughs after nearly getting caught by your dad. However, the second your mom peers over at the two of you, you both act like you had been silent the whole time, eyes flicking around in feigned innocence.

Lunch is a mismatch of all the foods your mom made for the birthday party the next day, making you all be her taste testers, even if she only really wants Melissa’s opinion as the other cook in the family. Pasta salad, potato salad, mac and cheese, shortcake, even some chicken with her new lemon pepper recipe. You and your brother fight over who gets first dibs on the pasta salad, ending with his wife taking the serving spoon from your hands and grabbing some for herself.

“Act your age,” Kennedy says to her husband, making you laugh, before she gives you a sharp glance, “that goes for you, too.” Melissa turns away to unsuccessfully hide her own laugh from you.

Lunch ends with your mom and your brother arguing over another serving of macaroni, “we need food for tomorrow! Fuck’s sake, Marcus.”

—☽—

Your father divides everyone into groups to set up the backyard. Your mother takes Melissa and Kennedy to help set up the tables and lights, forcing you and Marcus to help your father with the tent, bonfire pit, and yardgames.

Getting all the yardgames for the little cousins was the easy part, even if it took a while because the three of you had to play a game of cornhole before you could do anything else. None of you got a single one in after two turns, making you all set into defeat, the game was agreed between the three of you to be stupid now. With your father taking a break now, getting the tent together was a doomed venture with you and Marcus.

“If you don’t let me hold it up, it’s gonna keep falling.”

“Fuck off! No, it won’t,” Marcus says with confidence, trying to stand the tent all at once before securing it. Four had already fallen, and a job that should only take twenty minutes was taking nearly an hour.

“How is it gonna stay up if nothing’s holding it, huh? Thought you knew everything?” He flips you off and doesn’t answer, continuing putting the spike in the ground, though without the other end being held up, the weight pulls it down again. Giving up, you walk away and attempt to find your dad for something else to do. You stop in your tracks, just step from the patio.

Watching Melissa with your family always makes butterflies erupt in your chest. She used to be so nervous around them, uncharacteristically quiet and meek, but now she’s almost as carefree with them as she is with her own. The sunlight makes her hair shine, and it’s damn near impossible to look away. It seems you’re of similar mind, her head turning towards you, fighting a grin when she sees the dopey grin on your face.

You almost start to walk towards her, but a strong hand pulls you back. Your dad pushes the hatchet into your hands, “you’re on firewood duty.”

“Bu-”

“Nope, you’re not slinking off to your girl. Go chop the wood, Casanova,” he says as he walks back to help Marcus with the tent.

It’s hours before you even get a chance to see Melissa again, as if your parents were keeping you apart. Which they were, knowing that you’d ignore everything you had to do if it meant you got to just look at Melissa. By the time you got back inside, the button up you’d been wearing was abandoned on a lawn chair and you were out of breath. How much firewood does one bonfire even need?

Walking in the backdoor into the kitchen, Melissa is leaning against the counter, her eye on the mixer filled with what will be cheesecake going to your tanktop clad form as she chats with Kennedy. Creeping up beside her, you wrap an arm around her waist and press a lingering kiss to her cheek, mumbling a greeting into her skin before trudging upstairs to shower the sweat and dirt off.

—☽—

By the end of the night, everyone is half-awake and struggling to keep their eyes open as a TV movie drones on. Neither you or Melissa are paying attention, too wrapped up in one another in the arm chair. Legs dangling over the arm, Melissa is seated on your lap, head tucked into your shoulder as you mindlessly play with her hair. The hand on the back of your neck stops its soft ministrations, her breathing slowing as she fights falling asleep.

You speak quietly for only her to hear, “you ready for bed?” She just nods against you, and you tap her legs to prompt her to move. Her hands hold onto your arm to steady herself, wavering where she stands.

“Alright, we’re calling it. Night guys, we’ll see you in the morning,” you announce into the room as Melissa starts going towards the stairs, not trusting her ability to speak when she’s this tired. You get a quiet chorus of night before you walk to the stairs, but your mother’s voice stops your movements.

“Jellybean, could you do me a favor and take the trash out before you head upstairs?” she asks without taking her eyes off the TV.

You internally groan before nodding, turning to Melissa, “go up, baby. I’ll be right there.”

This catches your mother’s attention, immediately moving to face you, “you mean to say ‘goodnight,’ right?”

“What?”

Her eyebrows rise, “you’re saying goodnight, then going to your room. Right?” Melissa’s blood immediately runs cold, color draining from her face. If she was tired two minutes ago, she was wide awake now.

“No...” you say slowly, confused, “why would Mel not also be in there?” You peak over your shoulder to Melissa, giving her a look before your attention is back on your mother.

“So, you’re staying in the guest room? Or is Melissa?”

Your face screws up, “Neither of us? My room’s got a full, that’s fine for us.”

“No.”

“Hell you mean ‘no,’ Ma? Marcus and Kennedy are sharing a full, it’s not a huge deal,” you hear Melissa step down from the stairs, her shaky hand holding your elbow.

“Marcus and Kennedy are married, unlike you two. I know you live together, but my roof, my rules. You know that,” she says matter-of-factly. The other three people in the room pointedly avoid looking at you, not wanting to get on your mom’s bad side.

You argue back, “that’s fucking ridiculous, Ma. We are grown adults, in a relationship.” The arched brow on your mother’s face tells you that you shouldn’t be arguing, but she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know about the panic that is starting to eat away at Melissa’s veins at the sudden thought of sleeping without you, something she hasn’t done once in over three years now.

“No rings, two beds. Don’t think I won’t be checking.”

Not wanting to make more of a scene, Melissa tugs on your arm to gain your attention. Turning to her, you can see the silent plea in her eyes for you to give it up. Shoulders sagging, you let out a grumbled fine. Breaking away from her, you go to the kitchen and roughly pull the trash from the bin. It takes a great deal of effort to not slam the door as you stomp to the garage. When you come back in, you don’t bother saying anything to anyone, just wrapping an arm around Melissa to guide her upstairs.

When you get into your room, you shut the door and lean against it with a huff. The two of you silently change into your pajamas, moving slowly from exhaustion and an attempt to prolong your time together. Melissa turns away to fold her clothes on the bed, and you move to wrap your arms around her waist, propping your chin on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’ll stay in here tonight. Not like she can’t ground me anymore.”

Melissa turns in your arms, loosely wrapping her own around your shoulders, “it’s alright, I’ll be fine. I don’t want her mad at you for my sake.”

“Baby-”

“Don’t do that,” she says, though the sigh in her voice gives away her uncertainty, “I’ll be okay, amore.”

Your eyes scan over her face before you nod. Her arms pull you closer, noses brushing before she presses a sound kiss to your lips. Melissa’s arms shift and her hands cup your face, moving your head to press kisses to your cheeks, forehead, and chin, until the sour look on your face disappears.

Tugging her into you, you bury your head into her neck, pressing a long kiss there. From her neck you mumble, “I’ll be in the room right next door.”

“I’ll survive in the guest room, this is your bedroom,” she says, though she doesn’t fully mean it.

“What’s mine is yours. Plus, this one’s more comfortable, you’ll thank me later,” you hug her tighter, “so... I will be next door.”

“I told you, I’ll be fine,” she says. It’s more for her than you this time. Three years. Three years of falling asleep with you still awake beside her and waking up with you already looking at her.

You walk her back towards the bed, getting in with her, though not under the covers. With everyone, especially your mother, you don’t think it’ll hurt to stay until Melissa falls asleep. Her back presses to your front, hand holding yours to her chest, fast beating heart beneath. In a hushed voice, you speak about little things that don’t matter in hopes that it will calm her enough. Slowly her breath evens out, face burying into the pillow as it always does when you hold her like this.

Carefully, you detangle yourself from her and press a kiss to her hair, “I love you.” Stepping out of the room slowly, you leave the door cracked just a little and eye Melissa before turning. At the top of the stairs is your mother, brows raised.

“You better be going to your own bed,” she says quietly, though her tone is hard.

Rolling your eyes, you respond, “I am. Just had to make sure Melissa was asleep first.” You try to go into the room next door, but your mom’s face is silently asking for context, “she doesn’t sleep well. Different place, different sleeping arrangement, it’s difficult.”

You don’t particularly appreciate the dismissive way your mom just nods before walking towards the master bedroom, clearly thinking it was just an excuse, but it’s too late to fight about it. The sooner you sleep, the sooner you can wake up and crawl into bed with Melissa before she wakes. You watch the crack in the door and listen for Melissa until sleep comes over you.

—☽—

Something wakes you just past three in the morning, an ear splitting scream coming from next door. At first, you think it’s just your own anxiety, closing your eyes slowly. A second scream, this time of your name, and you’re springing out of bed, throwing the door open hard enough to bounce off the wall and slam shut. Four steps bring you to your childhood bedroom, rapidly swinging the door open to run in, not noticing the others joining you in the hall.

When you get into the room, moonlight illuminates Melissa where she’s sitting up with a hand gripping her shirt as she breathes in quick, panicked pants, eyes flying around the room until they land on you. Before she can even reach for you, you’re practically pouncing on the bed to get in front of her. Your hands go to her shoulders, her own gripping your forearms, her watery eyes darting around your face. Taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, you motion for Melissa to mimic you, trying to slow her rapid breath and heart.

Short gasps become slow, shaky breaths as panic begins to fade and tears form. A whimper of your name makes you pull her into you, her arms gripping your shirt and she cries into your neck. Between broken sobs, only the words window, knife, and everywhere and mention of a him come through, but you understood. This wasn’t the first time Eric’s actions haunted her at night, though it had been nearly two years since she’d woken up in a sweat.

Peeking over your shoulder, you see your parents and brother in the doorway. The look you give your mother is filled with anger and a raised brow that says I told you to listen. The clear fury makes your father pull her back towards their own room, pushing your brother to his. Some level of courtesy hits your mom, closing the door fully before she gets tugged away.

Attention back on Melissa, you alternate between playing with the ends of her hair and lightly dragging your nails over her back under her shirt. You tuck her hair behind her ear, tacky from tears, “you’re safe, Mel. Nothing and no one’s going to hurt you, I promise. I wouldn’t let them.”

Rocking side to side gently, you feel her breathing return to normal, body no longer shaking from tears. Trying not to jostle her, you turn your body to lay down with her, keeping her tucked into your neck with your arms around her. Pressing a kiss to her head, you slide an arm down to grab her hand, lacing your fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, just below your ear.

You squeeze her hand, “you never have to apologize for this. If anything, I’m the one that should be sorry. I should have stayed.”

She sniffled, “I’m a grown woman, I should be able to sleep alone.”

“And I should be able to stand up to my mother about sleeping in the same bed as my girlfriend, yet here we are,” you say jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

Thankfully, she chuckles, the vibration on your skin making you smile, “so it’s all your fault.”

“I’ll gladly take the blame,” you mumble as you settle into the bed more, relaxing as you feel the redhead relax against you.

In a sudden move, Melissa props herself up over you, hair dangling in your face. Leaning down, she kisses your forehead, then each cheek, and finally your lips, long and loving. It’s a quiet thanks that she will never owe you.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you more,” you whisper back.

It takes half an hour for sleep to creep back in, Melissa’s breathing growing slow where she rests on your chest, your heart beating under her ear. When she eventually falls back asleep against your chest, you stay awake and trace lines on her back. You’ll gladly stand guard if it means she sleeps peacefully, stay awake if it means she’s safe.

note: solaris write a fic under 3k like u planned challenge good lord man. also thank you thank you for the compliment, it’s an honor to be the first person u thought of to write this. i hope i did ur vision justice <3

as always, feedback appreciated <3

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Can you write where Ethan as Ghostface kidnaps reader to keep her from the reveal because he loves her and doesn’t want her to get hurt but she falls in love with his masked self so he ends up revealing himself anyway

kinda had to change this a tiny bit, but still got that stockholm syndrome vibe. also I've never done this trope so this might not be great, i tried.

masterlist

“shit. it’s a trap!” chad yelled as he paced around the floor. the lights in the theater cut off cloaking the space in an ominous darkness.

arms stretching in front of you, trying to keep yourself from running into cabinets or people. your heart was hammering against your ribs, quick uneven breaths leaving your mouth. “guys? guys!” not hearing anything back from your friends.

“anyone-“ a gloved hand covered your mouth and it muffled your horrified scream. ghostface got you, you’re already dead. you tried jerking away from them as they dragged you away and further in the abandoned theater. the scratchy material of their robe rubbed at your throat and tickled your stomach.

you could feel the muscle of the stranger beneath their costume, physically telling to you that you were out matched. your harsh breathing from your nostrils filled the hallway along with two steps of footsteps. their hold was tight but not restricted, if you could just kick or swing maybe-

“i wouldn’t try anything, sweetheart.” a low voice whispered in your right ear. they didn’t have the standard ghostface tone, but it sounded like they were trying to disguise it. an involuntary shiver racked your spine and hitched your breath.

continuing in their rush to drag you away they brought both of you to a cluttered closet, sneakers bumping into fallen bottles and soft rolls of towels. practically being shoved into a metal shelf and causing a wooden broom handle to clatter noisily to the linoleum flooring.

"help! help-"

"shut up! i'm trying to save you!" your captor growled and their clunky boots carried themself into your limited space. their towering stature staring down at you through those empty black eyeholes.

"save- save me?" you stuttered, "you've been trying to kill us for a week! sam! chad! help me-" scratchy fabric covered your mouth and part of your nose causing your breathing to be short and panicked.

ghostface leaned in closer, "well you seem like the only good one so I'm being generous and deciding to spare your life. now, i have to go after your friends, but you're gonna stay here until i come back and everything will be okay." waiting for a beat before rushing out back into the light and leaving you to sub come to the dark.

did it make you a bad person, or a bad friend if you were relieved that a serial killer decided you were worth keeping alive? you'd be willing to play their little game for however long until you were ready to run free and disappear, they seemed to have a sort of liking to you. maybe an obsession, they would've been stalking you if they knew your every move and location.

it kinda made you feel a certain way. a romantic, unhinged sort of way. you've heard of people saying how their partner is obsessed with them, but having a stranger being so obsessed with you they're willing to kill everyone else to keep you...

maybe your ex's were right. you were a bit sick in the head.

you weren't sure how long you were locked in the closet. could've been ten minutes could've been an hour, but when you heard rushed footsteps outside the door and the lock turn you rushed forward and threw your arms around your kidnapper.

"let's go before the cops arrive." was all they said after a minute of your hug. your dropped your arms, but they reached for your left hand and dragged you behind. you followed like a lost puppy.

when an exit sign came into view they halted to a stop causing you to bump into their back, confused by their decision. "what's wrong?" rounding to stand in front of them, hands still locked.

"i- i have to stash the costume. don't- don't want you to see my face." they almost seemed worried, concerned about your reaction to their identity.

"hey," you stepped closer, hand reaching to caress the mask, "it's okay. i'm not gonna run. i- i want to stay with you, you saved me." voice dripping in seduction and honey. eyes doeing to further convince them of your alliance to them only.

with their free hand they gripped the chin of the mask and slowly lifted it away until to came free and you were greeted by the shocking sight of- "ethan?" his sweaty curls shading his eyes.

he didn't say anything, just bit into his bottom lip while watching you closely waiting for that inevitable switch that always happens when the killer is revealed in movies. but all he got was a creeping smile changing your face and you saying, "when we're safe i'm gonna make out with you so hard, killer." before he rushed to stripe the black robe off and you both rushed out the deserted building.

hand in hand. grinning like the psychos you are.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Three

TW: noncon, shithead doctors, trauma, graphic medical descriptions

Your next shift at the hospital, you are understandably on edge. You have not seen Julian since the incident in the parking garage, and so much has happened since, you haven’t even had time to think about what you’re going to do.

Besides kick him in the junk again, if he gets handsy.

On your break, you make your way to the ICU. Washington is there, miraculously in stable condition. His wife is sitting with him, holding his hand. 

You give a little knock on the curtained off room walls, and peak your head in. “Hello.” 

She wipes some tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand and motions you in. “Oh, sorry, any news from the doctor?” 

You pad timidly into the room, unsure of what to do with your body besides stand, awkward and uncomfortable, with your hands clasped in front of you because folding them across your chest would just seem too hostile. “No, I’m actually just here to see how you’re doing? How he’s doing?”

She gives you a hard look. “And who are you?” You don’t take it personally, only because this woman holds herself like someone who’s been through hell and back, and you respect her for staying strong. 

“Sorry. I’m y/n.” 

Her expression changes instantly. Apologetic, astonished, grateful—you think. “Oh my. Oh, I’m sorry. You saved my husband’s life.”

You take a page from Tom’s notebook of laissez-faire hero sayings. “I was just doing my job.” 

“Well, either way, thank you.” She gives you a little nod, then looks back at her husband’s swollen, perse face. “He’s alive because of you and the paramedics and the doctors and I owe you…” fat shiny globes roll down her face as her voice catches on sadness. It’s kind of just instinct—the urge to comfort another woman in distress, to hold the mourning mother or the distraught widow. You wrap her in your arms, and immediately she clings to you and soaks your scrub top with all the pent up agony inside of her. 

“It’s alright,” you say, rubbing her back in what you hope is a comforting touch. 

That’s how Tom finds you, and he’s past knocking at this point apparently. Barging in, as usual, like he owns the place, but you’re becoming more grateful than annoyed with these interruptions.

It’s stupid, to think that everything will be hunky dory between Tom and Washington’s wife. 

Because Linda’s jagged-spear stare immediately freezes the pushy cop in his tracks, and it’s kind of funny for a minute—to see Ludlow get nerfed by a tiny woman—until you realize she wants him tarred and feathered. 

“What you can do,” she spits, pointing her finger at him, “is get out.”

“Linda, please, hear me out.” He’s as soft with her as he is harsh with any man, and it makes your heart pop like a bloody balloon. “I-“

“No,” she tells him, “Get. Out.” 

You know Linda is a distraught wife, and you know she’s in emotional distress, and you know that she has every right to be upset, but you still find yourself looking at the back of her head like she kicked your puppy. Your big, nippy, sad eyed guard puppy…

So, what do you do? Defend Tom like every fight reaction in your body is screaming at you to do? Satiate Linda by saying nothing? Tom decides for you, thank God, and slips out through the curtain. 

“He’s got some nerve.” Linda shakes her head, then grabs back onto her partner's hand with a grip as strong as her confident attitude that you absolutely envy. 

You have thirty minutes, because you’re taking your break today whether hospital numbers suffer or not, and you sit with her for the entirety. Not saying much of anything, at first. Just silent. Because you have a feeling she needs someone right now, and even though you’re probably not the best companion, somebody is better than nobody. At least in situations like these.

Finally, she speaks. “They said it’s touch and go.”

“Oh,” you nod, because what do you say to something like that? What do you say to someone who’s real-time getting their heart crushed under the boot of unfair circumstances and injustice? “I’m so sorry, Linda.”

“He’s not dead yet,” she reminds both you and herself and, probably hoping he can hear her, Terrence, too. “He’s been through worse than this.”

Life. What a weird, fleeting thing. You can go through hell and survive, and then a little thing like a bullet wipes you from the earth just like that. You give Linda your number. “Call me if you need someone.” 

Tom’s not here, anymore… You wish he was.

***

Later in your shift, you receive a page to see Dr. Mercer in his office. Your heart makes a very good attempt at beating out of your chest, but you reason he can’t get up to anything too sinister, here at the hospital. 

Yeah, right. 

As you approach his door you start to sweat, your palms clammy, your face hot. Do not have a panic attack right now. Because it’s that easy, of course. You pause and close your eyes, steady yourself with a hand on the wall. You think of Tom, the way some people clutch rosary beads to gather strength, and only then do you feel properly prepared to tell Dr. Julian Mercer to fuck off, if you have to. 

You knock once before entering, and can’t help but think about him like a proper Bond villain now behind his big desk. All he’s missing is the snow-white ragdoll cat. Somehow, you can’t imagine him having a soft spot for an animal. 

“Close the door,” he tells you, his long fingers steepled before him. 

“I’d rather leave it open.”

“Not when you hear what I have to tell you, you won’t.”

With a long breath out of your nostrils you gird your proverbial loins, and shut the door. You do not stray far from it though; a thing he notices, and seems to find amusing. 

“Truce, y/n. I lost my head earlier. You make me…wild.” 

Naturally, it would be all your fault. 

“What do you want, Julian?” you demand, your patience paper thin. 

“I happened to be in surgery, the night your friend Detective Washington came in. I heard you saved his life.”

“Yeah, but…I don’t actually know him.” 

“But your boyfriend Tom Ludlow does.”

Your mouth opens to protest the label–then as you think on the past twenty-four hours, snaps shut. Things have moved like a bullet train with Tom, yet somehow, at their own perfect pace. Everything about that man just feels right, and as you hear his name in Julian’s poisoned mouth you feel as though someone just walked over your own grave. 

“What about it?”

“What if I told you…I excised a very interesting foreign object from Washington’s shoulder?”

He withdraws a small plastic baggie from his breast pocket, shaking it like a dog treat. From where you stand you can see it's something heavy, and silver colored. It kind of looks like lead. “One of these things is not like the others…” 

“I don’t follow?”

“I had a little visit from a fellow in LAPD’s Internal Affairs after patching Mr. Washington up. Sounds like Tom Ludlow has fallen under some suspicion, found in the place where someone attempted to murder the man possibly blowing the whistle on your boyfriend’s less than honorable conduct…what a debacle.”

The blood in your veins turns to ice. 

“Pretty sure Tom was in the store because of me,” you defend, even as you know your deflated tone belies your doubt. 

“Pretty sure will be a great defense in court at Ludlow’s attempted murder hearing.” He looks at the baggy in his hand again, the way some men will look at a lover. Satisfied. Anticipatory. Fond. Dr. Mercer certainly never looked at you that way. “I’m sure the jury will take that over the hard evidence I have in my hand here.”

“What is in your hand?” you demand, losing patience. You don’t entirely understand what’s going on here. Only that it must be bad. 

“This is the remnants of a .38 slug, of the kind many police officers favor in their throwdown. Do you know what a throwdown is, y/n?”

You press your lips, wanting with every fiber of your being to jump over the desk and strangle this man. 

Too bad he might like it. 

“No.” 

“It’s what cops call their extra gun. A little insurance, in case things get hairy on the street, and they have to get rid of a murder weapon. But Tom Ludlow doesn’t seem like the type who would carry something like that around, does he?”

You happen to know he does. You’d watched him strap it onto his ankle, as the two of you had gotten dressed, right before he drove you to work. 

Fuck. 

“And before you think that all you have to do is tell him to get rid of it, they have him on video in the store firing it.”

Double fuck. 

“What do you want, Julian?” You hate how small, how fragile, your voice sounds in that moment. 

He smiles at you the way the snake must have smiled at Eve. 

“Why, I want you, y/n.”

The tinnitus from your misadventure in the store seems to return with a vengeance, a ringing piercing through your ears. 

“Julian…” 

“I’m going to put this in the safe in my house. If you want it…you’re going to have to come convince me to give it to you. And sweetheart, I’m going to need a lot of convincing.” 

“Fuck you.” It comes out of your mouth before you can swallow the hateful phrase back down, and his smile only grows.

“Please, give me more reason to punish you,” he says, motioning for you to go on, to dig your hole deeper. 

Suddenly, a fond memory comes to mind. One where you smashed a flower pot over your ex’s head after his fist met your face. God, you wish you had a fucking flower pot right now. 

You try to set him on fire with pure willpower and the burning look in your eyes, give him a taste of his own medicine. See how he likes being burned alive. Sadly, he stays flameless. 

“Oh, come on,” he goads, leaning back in the swivel chair, “I’m sure that clever little tongue can come up with something.” 

“When?” You grit.

“Hmmm?” He asks, toying with the baggie in his long fingers. 

“When do you want me…to come and get it?”  

“You’re free next weekend.” It’s not a question. He’s passed niceties. Whatever Julian you get now is the one who wants to see you bloody and bruised. 

“Fine. What—what are you going to do to me?” 

He pops up from the chair, and you yelp, fling yourself back against the door with a hard thud, prepared for him to cross the room and show you what he’s planning. His fucked up grin widens, and he takes something from a drawer behind his desk. 

“Do you know what operant conditioning is?” He asks, coming around to perch himself on the front of his desk top. He has a small, round piece of plastic in his hand.

“No.” 

He presses into the side of his toy and you hear a little click at the same time he lunges forward, bringing himself halfway across the room and making you screech again. “Operant conditioning is voluntary behavior modification via reward and punishment. The voluntary behavior, in this case, is the sass that comes from that mouth of yours. And we’re going to work on changing the ‘fuck you’s’ to the ‘please, Julian’s’.”

“What’s the fidget toy for?” You ask, heart in your throat.

He shrugs. “I just wanted to keep you on your toes.” He clicks it again, and then moves forward, and you flinch back, trying futilely  to press yourself further into the wall. 

On the next click, you don’t need to see him move to cringe and twitch, your whole body aching to run, to move, to sprint far away from this awful man. 

“See?” He says. “You’re a fast learner. You’ll do just fine.”

You’re wrong. Very wrong. Have been this whole time. You’re not a woodland creature, and Julian is not a wolf. You’re a rat in a cage, and he’s the scientist appointed to experiment on you. 

“It could have been different between us,” he has the gall to say, reaching up to caress the curve of your cheek with his finger. You hate the way you flinch and tremble at his touch, but it’s like your joints have fused, refusing to move, refusing to carry you away from this bad man who wants to hurt you. “You’re the one who chose to make it this way.”

You know, you fucking know, in the logical part of your brain that he is gaslighting the shit out of you. But the little scared rabbit part of your brain, the part that is regrettably in charge right now, just nods its trembling head at Julian’s assertion. This is your fault. It could have been nice between you, if you hadn’t ruined everything the first night. He would have taken care of you. 

It’s bullshit, of course. This is the monster that was lurking beneath Julian’s pleasant mask all along. He would have shown you eventually–preferably while you were bound and gagged and couldn’t do anything about it. 

You have got to get out of here. 

You don’t know if it’s your voice, or Julian’s, that spurs you on, that gets you moving, even if just a millimeter at a time. 

“Leaving so soon?” asks Julian with a smirk, clearly amused by the way he terrifies you. He gets off on it, and god how you wish you could just knee him in the balls again. 

As he reaches out to touch you again you warn him, “If I scream your game is up. You want to turn this into a shitshow at work?”

This actually stays his hand. His professional image is important to him. You have to remember that. It might be the only real weapon you have against Julian. Maybe aside from Tom Ludlow–but you have a feeling Tom would do something horrible. Something that would get him into huge trouble, and that was exactly what you were trying to avoid. 

“That won’t stop me from turning over that little bag,” he warns you. 

“Maybe. But you’ll still wish your part in it had remained quiet. So let me the fuck go, until the weekend.” You sound tough, while your knees are positively knocking. 

Dangling the promise of a later playdate seems to appease the hungry monster before you. His chest rises and falls as he takes in a deep breath–smelling you, you realize. Smelling your fear.

“I look forward to it, y/n.” With a cordial wave he gestures towards the door, as though he’s just been a gracious host and you had a pleasant little chat in his office–psychopath. 

You sense that you’re safe for the moment, if only because he wants to savor it. You force your leaden feet to shuffle to the door. 

A sharp click makes you jump sky high with your hand on the door handle. You turn back with wide eyes, to find Julian with a diabolical smirk curving that well-made mouth. 

“Bastard,” you hiss, then flee before he can do anything else to you. 

You know he’ll make you pay for it, later. 

Later, when you have to go to his house to let him do dastardly things to you. 

Later, when you’re going to have to cheat on Tom. 

Somehow, that hurts you worse than anything you imagine Julian doing to you, and you have to duck into the bathroom to throw up, and cry.  

[piss-pumpkin]

🏖️ A beach episode 🌊

Older!Dipper pines x reader, Douce amere chapter 23 ~4.0k words Masterlist Prev

The state of your head meant you couldn’t swim much. Getting water on it, especially dirty water, like that of the Gravity Falls lake was a bad idea. Having the cut contaminated or infected was a big no-no. Even with it healing well, there was still a somewhat open wound under your bandaid, and the cover was far from water proof. That being said, you also weren’t a bitch. 

You just couldn’t let the water touch your head. Seemed easy enough. 

Your flip flop broke on the way to the shore, so Dipper gave you a piggy back ride, and you kicked your other sandal at Mabel, who walked ahead of you. She didn’t dodge, and it hit her in the back. The Grunkles were grabbing things from the trunk: floaties, a chair for Stan, some weird invention of Fords that would do… something to the water. 

Dipper let you down on the dock, where you wouldn’t get sand stuck on your feet. 

The dock was worn down from years of splashing and walking, and you’d been told it was the place where Mabel got her first kiss. And with a merman Dipper was not fond of. That was a fun bit of mythology. 

The lake wasn’t exactly crowded, but it was on the busy side. You couldn’t be too surprised considering the good weather. On the beach, the cops, Blubs and Durland were laying in towels and giggling to themselves over magazines you couldn’t make out from the dock. A couple of Wendy’s brothers were on the water fishing. Mcguckets son was lecturing some teenager sternly.

Stan had used the car to inflate a couple floats. He was walking towards the three of you, tube in hand, a  nice one too. It had a headrest, and netting in the bottom to sit on.

“Oh my god, look at that!” Mabel said, pointing into the water. 

You looked. The lake water was a little dirty, tinted greenish from some underwater plants growing off the dock legs.

“Um, what?” Dipper asked, leaning over the edge of the dock. You fought the urge to push him in, he hadn’t wronged you in a while, probably didn’t deserve it.

”Yeah, I don’t see anything, what are we looking at?” You asked, studying the lake. You didn’t even see any fish.

Mabel looked up at the both of you, jaw hung open. She pointed accusingly at the small waves. “You guys seriously didn’t see that?” She asked, brow raised. “It was like- I fucking huge fish or something!” 

You pursed your lips, glancing back at the water. It seemed all clear. “Uhhh,” you looked at Dipper, who had a matching look of apprehension, with a little curiosity. “Yeah, I didn’t see anything,” you admitted.

Dipper put his hand up like he was in a classroom, “I also didn’t see-“

“Hey kids, catch,” Stan called, hurling the tube like a frisbee. 

You turned around to look at the shore where he came from. “Huh-“ the tube hit you square in the face. The impact of the rubber got your straight in the forehead. For a soft material, it sure did hit hard when you had stitches in your face. “Fuck!”

You heard Stan suck a breath in through his teeth, “Sorry, my bad,” he said. 

Dippers jaw was hanging open as he looked at Stan, and Stan shot a thumbs up with a guilty smile and shuffled away. 

Mabel swooped I’m in front of you to look at your head. “Bandaids still on,” she said, examining the edges. She picked up the tube Stan threw, and handed it to you. “So your still alive, that’s good!”

You grimaced. At least you could tell your head was getting better, because it didn’t stay bad for long. You blinked a few times, and the pain was nearly gone. “Yippee,” you said dryly.

                                         …

Dipper and Mabel could swim, and you could… hangout. When they went in the water, you lounged in the tube.

Mabel actually had one too. She swam to shore to grab a float shaped like a pizza slice. She flopped up on it, and laid on her back, saying she was trying to get tan.  Her head was buried face down in the crust.

You might’ve rested your sunglasses on your forehead if not for the bandage. Instead, they were over your eyes as you lounged on the tube, and you hoped to god that your sunscreen would be enough to avoid a sunglasses tan line. 

It was surprising how good a job you were doing keeping the water off your face. The headrest of your float was completely dry. 

The twins traded the pizza slice around. Dipper ended up sitting on it, holding onto the side of your tube so he didn’t drift away. The tube was much higher in the water then Dippers float, so for today you were taller than him. Felt good. 

Mabel insisted on diving for pearls. You and Dipper ended up slowly drifting away from her spot by the docks, carried by the weak waves. You caught a glimpse her feet above the surface before she vanished under the water for another dive. 

You leaned over to Dipper, “I feel like we should be betting on if she finds anything, you know?”

He leaned on the tube, and you smiled seeing up close how you were a good head and a half taller than him like this. “She totally won’t, right?” He said, half as a question. 

You shrugged, “I don’t know.” She came up for air again, and took her goggles off to get some water out of them. When she saw the two of you facing her, she waved enthusiastically before putting them on again and diving. “I would say no, but it’s Gravity Falls, you can never know for sure,” you grinned. 

Dipper snickered. “Okay, if she finds a pearl, it’ll be super weird,” he said, talking with his hands as he tried to draw an elaborate picture in the air. 

“Or better yet,” you added, “not even a pearl. She finds some weird cursed gem or artifact.”

He tapped at the rubber of the float. “Okay, I like your thinking,” he said, “but she’s so shallow, like what, did some dude just drop some weird magic thing off the dock?”

You waved your hand in dismissal as you snickered. “Well maybe, like a wizard or something was walking one night and just keeps shit in his pockets,” you said, trying to think. Thinking was hard through. “Or it’s just washing up from the tide.”

Dipper snorted, “washing up from where? This is not a big lake.”

You winced, swishing your cheeks around your mouth. “Uhhh,” you started. 

Before you could come up with something, Dipper gasped. “Wait no- no you’re right,” he said quickly, looking over at the island in the other side of the lake. “I, uh- remembered. There is very much weird shit in here.” 

You pursed your lips, “Okay, well now I’m worried.” The best you could think of was how Mabel’s merman boyfriend somehow ended up in the ocean from here, so it clearly connected somewhere. That or you could make up some underwater ancient city. 

Dipper glanced around, then pointed at the island on the far side. “I’m like, eighty percent sure that island is alive, and it’s a giant floating head,” he whispered. “But we’re fine, we’re… so far over here.”

”Um,” you said, trying to think about that. You had nothing though. Your head was completely empty. You’d totally been on that island before. 

In very convenient timing, you caught a dark glimmer under the water under you. Like… a big fish. But it didn’t look right in the way it moved. “Dipper,” you said sternly, pointing to the water. 

He hummed, looking first at you, then following your finger. Luckily, it was still in a sight. A big, maybe human sized, dark shadow swimming… towards the dock. You could tell Dipper saw it, because his face first lit up with excitement, then fell. Mabel had just come up for air. 

You and Dipper looked at each other, then back at Mabel. The dark shadow had disappeared in her direction. “Dude,” you said.

”Yep,” he affirmed quickly. 

You turned, and started to paddle your tube back over to the dock. Dipper looked like he was about to do the same. You poked at his arm, “you can just swim over, man,” you said. 

He glanced at Mabel, then at the pizza slice. “Yeah, okay,” he said, rolling back into the water.

As he started to swim away, Mabel raised her hand above the water, and you couldn’t hear what she was saying. It looked like she was holding something to show. Maybe a pearl. 

In a blink though, she was almost under. Your eyes widened as her head, all but the top of her hair sunk. Then she was back with a gasp, thrashing.

You sat right up, pointing, “Holy fuck!” You couldn’t tell if Dipper saw, but he definitely heard. He looked back at you for a moment. “Go get her!” you yelled, frantically trying to paddle over. How important was your head? Should you just jump in?

You worried faded quickly though, as Dipper picked up the pace swimming to the dock. He’d get there far faster than you could anyway, now. So you paddled as best you could. 

Mabel disappeared under, and Dipper was close enough to dive after her. And for a good moment, it was oddly quiet. Most of what you heard was your own paddling. You swallowed hard. Ford was far off on the shore doing something with the water. Stan was asleep on his chair. The rest of the people on the lake didn’t seem to see anything. It was just you, the twins, and some random sea monster. Or… lake monster.

By the time you got close, they were still under. You tapped against the tube. You pulled your feet out of the water, like touching it would get you pulled down too. Should you just go? You stood up, and peered over into the waves.

Just then, you heard the surface break behind you, and gasps for air. You whipped around, nearly falling off as you did. Your knees hit the netting in the tube as you crashed down. “Guys?” You asked, paddling over to them. 

Dipper was holding Mabel, who looked more shaken up, and swimming towards you. You offered a hand, and he made Mabel take it first. Only sliding around a little bit, you managed to help haul her into the tube beside you. 

Next was Dipper. Three people in one tube was not great, but it beat touching the water. You caught a glimpse of the shadow fish under you just as Dipper was climbing on. You held the pizza slice float like a weapon to bat it away if it tried anything. It didn’t. 

Dipper and Mabel were panting, and Dippers eyes were locked on the water. 

“Guys, what happened?” You asked, starting to paddle to the dock. If you could climb up onto it, you wouldn’t have to be on the water so long. Dipper must have had the same idea, because he started helping. 

But he also kept looking back at the water. The fish was gone, though. He hummed lowly, “there was-“

”-That bitch had arms!” Mabel shouted, staring at her hands. They were shaking a little. “And they were fucking gross!” 

You grimaced. Fish with arms. Alright. You got to the dock, and Mabel was talking about the fish with arms, and black hollow eyes, according to her. The dock wasn’t too high off the water. With a boost at the feet, you and Dip got Mabel up first, then you, then you both helped to pull him up. You had his hands, so he brought the floats up one with his leg, and one with his teeth. 

You all sat on the dock a moment, catching your breath. You looked around. Nobody seemed to notice the commotion, somehow. 

“Guys!” Mabel shouted, pointing at the water.

You rushed over to the edge to see. The big fish was moving towards the shore, and closer to the surface. You could see the… arms.. flowing at its sides more clearly now that Mabel pointed them out. 

You scanned the beach. Nobody was too near the water except… Ford, kneeling by the waterline with a little machine. You sucked a breath in through your teeth, “God, Fuck.”

The fish moved pretty fast. The three of you stood up, and started to run.

Running felt weird on the head. You slowed to a jog while the others sped to Ford. 

The fish got there first, though. Dipper and Mabel were calling his name, but Ford didn’t seem to be listening. He was staring at the water. The dark shadow was swirling where he knelt, and Ford seemed hypnotized. 

“Cathrine, you came!” He said giddily. His eyes were wide and enchanted as the fish emerges from the water. 

The twins slowed down, stopping to stare. You caught up to have with them. The fish, apparently named Cathrine, was disgusting. It… or maybe she- had arms that moved and sagged and hung like kelp, and were the same colour, too. She didn’t have fingers, instead just… leaves. Her hair was a wet lump of darker plant, cooled down her back. Her skin was also a murky green, and feathered with plants and dusted with sand.

Mabel was gaping, and pointed at the slimy kelp hands, “oh my god, that touched me,” she said meekly. 

“Great uncle Ford!” Dipper yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Get away from that, it’s dangerous!”

His warning were in vein, though. Ford finally looked over at the three of you on the docks, and just waved happily, “Hi Kids!” then went back to staring into Cathrines eyes. Or… actually you weren’t sure if it had eyes, you didn’t see its face. 

Dipper started speed walking to him again, and you and Mabel followed behind. He stopped suddenly, “wait, Cathrine?” He said, one hand moving to his chin. 

You and Mabel shared a glance, silently agreeing not to interrupt his thought process.

”Cathrine- ugh, where do I recognize that…” he grumbled, string between the wood planks of the dock into the water. He snapped his fingers, “oh my god, I’ve got it,” he said, looking at Ford again. “Great uncle Ford wrote in the journal, he used to date a siren names Cathrine, do you guys think…” he trailed off, and you all looked at the big fish again. 

Yeah, she could look like a Cathrine.

“Okay, so let’s kick her away from him, right?” You asked, eying Cathrine. 

They nodded. 

When Ford saw you all approaching again, he grinned even wider at you. He pointed the three of you out to Cathrine, who turned her head to look, and for the first time you saw she did have eyes. She had hollow, pure black eyes, and completely sunken in skin, worn down like when water blazes a trail into stone. Her cheeks could have been a river, and her wrinkles like streams. 

“Kids, come meet Cathy!” Ford called happily. How Stan was still asleep on the chair with a magazine over his face, you’d never understand. 

Dipper practically wheezed, “fucking Cathy?” He looked frantically between you and Mabel, then back to Ford. He shouted across the water again, “That thing tried to drown Mabel!”

Ford waved his hand, “she wouldn’t do that,” he said quietly, possibly forgetting that you were all across the dock from him.

That might’ve been the last straw. The three of you started running to the shore again to catch Ford before something unfortunate happened. You had to slow down for your head, but even in a jog the old planks of the dock hammered under your feet. 

“You’ll love her,” Ford declared happily, taking her slimy kelp hands in his own to hold lovingly. “I think we’re going to finally tie the knot!”

Mabel had to stop running to cough and sputter as she started to laugh. “Go on without me,” she wheezed, planting her hands on her knees to support herself.

You heard Dipper mumble under his breath at her, but he kept forward towards Ford. When your feet hit the sand and dirt off the ground, Dipper was already close. Mabel coughed behind you as she caught up.

Ford was entranced in Cathrines eyes, and she was subtly pulling him closer by the hands. Well, not that subtle, actually, if you could notice from across the beach. Subtle enough that Ford didn’t seem to pay any mind. “I can’t believe it,” he said dreamily. “After all these years, I found you again.”

 ”No fucking shot,” you said, turning to Mabel as the two of you rested. Damn your head. Dipper was the only one doing anything productive. 

Catherine pulled harder, and Ford started idly leaning more toward the water, until he was wading in on his knees to follow her direction. It was only when she smiled wide that you saw her mouth. Her lips blended well into her skin, almost unnoticeable until she opened her jaw, and you could see the rows upon rows of sharpened teeth. 

“Great uncle Ford, no!” Dipper said, as if he was scolding a dog. 

You and Mabel shared a glance, and decided rest time was over. You both tried to catch up with them. 

Just as Cathy tried to yank Ford into the water, Dipper practically tackled him, wrapping his arms around his torso and pulling him back. “Great uncle Ford, snap out of it!” He yelled, turning his head so he didn’t scream in Fords ear. 

“D-dipper, what are you doing?” Ford asked, with all the hurt in his tone of a kicked puppy. He fought back against Dipper, and was far stronger. 

Luckily, just as he broke free, and Dippers grasp broke, you and Mabel got there. She took his arms, pulling them out of Cathy’s grip, while you shoved Ford onto his side in the sand and held him down. Ford tried to thrash and resist, but Mabel kept a firmer grip than Dipper did. 

“Ford, you fuck,” you said, looking as Cathrines deranged smile curled into a teeth scowl. “Do we have to kill you? What’s going on?” 

“She’s the love of my life!” 

Dipper groaned, glaring down Cathrine. 

Ford struggled against you and Mabel, hard. Mabel grumbled holding back his arms as his thrashing grew more desperate the closer Cathrine inched to the sand. Ford tried to wiggle towards her, so you sat on him to hold him down.

You looked to Dipper, expecting help. Or for him to swat the creature away. Instead, he was staring down Cathy, with what at first looked like a glare, but you went on to realize was… a trance. “God fucking-“ you started. You tried to reach him without moving too far from your post, but it didn’t work. At least Dip wasn’t moving. 

Cathy had turned her attention to your boyfriend, and Ford was not happy. “Cathy?” He practically begged. 

You were also not happy. “Dip,” you said, snapping your finger at him to get his attention. It didn’t work. In fact, he hadn’t blinked the whole time you’d been looking at him. You glanced back at Mabel, still holding thrashing arms. Ugh. “Dipper, snap the fuck out of it,” you complained. 

The siren creeped closer to him, and he made no effort to move away. Worse, he knelt down to her level. Mabel seemed to notice too, “uh, bro?” She asked. 

“Ok, Mabes, let’s both agree not to look too hard at Cathy, alright?” You said, trying to keep the fish out of your peripheral. “Cuz he can’t look away right now.”

Mabel nodded, averting her eyes. At the very least, Ford was calming down. Well, no. Calm was not the right word. Ford was depressed and disparaged like you’d never seen before, practically melting into the sand rather than thrashing for escape. 

You tentatively got up from Ford. The moment your weight was off him, he sprang up and tried to lunge for Cathrine. “Oh, fuck off,” you grumbled, tackling him again and holding him down. A low groan escaped his lips. 

Things were getting worse for Dipper though. Slowly, as if crossing a threshold, he outstretched his hand for Cathrine, despite Fords despondent wails. Her disgusting slimy leaves were dangling above him as she lowered them onto his palm. You made mental note not to touch his hands until he washed them.

You looked at Mabel. There seemed to be a stalemate going on. “Ok, what if one of us takes arms and body,” you suggested, looking at Fords sad face resting in the sand. 

“Oh!” She perked up. “I can try,” she offered. 

“Uh, on three?” You asked. You shared a nod and started to count.

On three, you leapt up towards Dipper, shoved him out of the way. You pressed your eyes into a squint as you faced Cathy, trying to avoid her face. Holy fuck her gross hand was near your legs. 

You squirmed at the thought of that touching you, and your legs moved on their own. In a swift motion that you didn’t even fully register, Cathrine was kicked in the head. Easy, since she was low to the ground on the water. 

The moment your foot collided with her face, you regretted it. Still barefoot, you could feel her grainy, slimy skin on yours, and feel the way her jaw moved with your hit, and the way it freaked with the motion. You squeaked as you recoiled away, almost wanting to cleave your foot from your body. 

Cathrine hissed, with a remarkably similar reaction to you. She slithered away back under the water like a snake, and swam away. That was all it took? 

You looked back to take stock. Mabel had knocked the wind out of Ford landing on his back, taking his arms down with her in a makeshift arm bar. Why in gods name she wasn’t doing that the whole time, you didn’t know. With Cathy gone though, he seemed to be doing better, and was actually spitting out the sand that had gotten in his mouth instead of gnawing on it defeatedly. 

You glanced at Dipper, who blinked a few times. His eyes were watery, probably recovering from the dry spell staring context he seemed to have with Cathrine. “Hey, so-“ he started, looking at you, the Ford and Mabel, then the empty spot in the water where the siren was. “Um, what happened just now?”

You snickered, “Found out you’re into old fish hags.”

Ford mumbled out a dazed, “Don’t call her that, she’s a beautiful woman.” None of that was factually correct. She looked more like a fish. 

Dippers face reddened. “I-“ he stopped himself, jaw hanging slightly open. He closed it, pursing his lips, “Yeah, I got nothing, actually.”

You rolled your eyes, and offered him a hand up. “Yeah, I didn’t think so, you freak,” you laughed smugly, “should I be jealous?”

He took the hand, brushing the sand off his legs. “Uh, maybe not you,” he said, glancing back at the ground. “But Great uncle Ford should be.”

He groaned again from the ground, and Mabel got off of him. “Do you guys, uh, wanna leave?”

You stared at the water a moment, scanning for anymore dark shadows underneath. Your eyes caught on the boat Wendy’s siblings were on. “Yeah, alright,” you affirmed. “Is somebody gonna wake Stan?”

“Not it,” Mabel said. You quickly echoed her, leaving Dipper the odd one out. 

“Why are you guys the worst?” He said, walking off toward Stans chair. Ford mumbled an agreement from the ground, and you were fine to call the beach episode done. The water was not looking amazing after seeing its creatures. And you had to go home and wash your foot as soon as possible, since cutting it off wasn’t an option. 

Next

Chat I did smth scary 💀 after like 2 years I’ve given my friend fanfic privileges back. I got one friend who matches my freak and I can trust to read my fucking x readers. Trying to write this chapter was so stressful cuz for once I was self aware of my cringe.

Taglist: @cipheress-to-k-pop @dead-esque @phobo-ss

[ro-written]

eyes closed - pt. 1 - R.Z

“…now his face became familiar to your agony. A friend to the suffering you endured for so long.”

GeneralTags/Warnings: oH BROTHER, this is heavy, A LOT of physical pain against mc (punches, slaps, burns, kicks, choking, stepping), brainwashing (?), manipulation, OC deaths, blood and violence, ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST and (I cant stress this enough) ANGST

Playlist:

Cop Car by Mitski Drunk Walk Home by Mitski Where Is My Mind? by Tkay Maidza

Word Count: 3.2k

next →

They’d come for you…

CRACK.

They’re your team…

CRUNCH.

Luffy…Nami…Usopp…Robin…Sanji…

“Keep your eyes open.”

SMACK.

Z–...Zoro…

“Look at ya, heh,” the pirate coughed out a laugh from behind the cigar he had in his mouth. He dropped the poster in his hand down from in front of your dazed face. The pain felt never ending, and your strength and unbothered facade couldn’t take it anymore.

“Not so bold and mouthy anymore, are ya?”

You weren’t sure how long it had been by now, waiting for your crew to find you and save you from the new forms of torture they could put you through. You had done what you could to fight, to make it absolutely miserable for them. If they were gonna piss you off, you would make their lives miserable.

But the days kept going. Weeks went by. You were only fed once a week, water barely touching your lips. You couldn’t understand why they were keeping you alive; only knowing that they were just barely giving you enough to keep your body from completely shutting down.

The cut ran deep in your lip, both yellow and purple bruises scattered around the form that might be considered your body. You felt less like a human now, and more like a sack of blood and shattered bones. Every attempt to move felt like a hundred swords stabbing every inch of your body. 

Creaking from the door drew your eyes to the staircase, watching as a scrawny boy walked down and paused at the sight of you, eyes widening at your state. 

“What, what do you want, Pierre?” The man standing in front of you puffed out smoke as he talked, his hand grabbing at your chin to keep you steady. The boy’s face paled as he noticed your eyes on him, and gripped the bannister of the staircase a little tighter.

“I…I– uhm…Captain said it’s time for dinner and wanted me t-to come get you, sir.” He stumbled over his words clumsily, eyes drawn from you to the floor in front of him. You hadn’t seen him before, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered how new he was, seeing as he was shocked about your condition. A silence settled across the room as the pirate in front of you puffs out another cloud of smoke into your face. Finally, he lets go of your chin and takes out his cigar.

“Fine.”

He puts the burning end of the cigar against your thigh to put it out. Your voice, although weak, grunted and cracked from the searing pain shooting through you. The pirate laughed, before leaning in towards your ear, the smoke clinging to him. He dug the cigar even harder into your leg.

“You would think he would be here by now. Maybe he doesn’t actually care as much as you thought.”

The bigger man stepped away, past Pierre, and through the door leading to the outside. The boy stayed in his spot, staring down at the floor, and fiddling with his jacket pocket before heading out. Your head lolled forward and you closed your eyes in hope of some sort of sleep to pass the hellish time here.

You drifted in and out of sleep in the chair you were strapped to. When you weren’t awake and listening to their loud roars above deck, you were remembering the various methods of affliction they had put you through. Burns, cuts, punches, all interspersed with thoughts of him.

You couldn’t understand what their methods were to the torture. The captain, Silver Tooth, had started it all off and ordered his men to follow the same ways – keep your eyes on the poster of Zoro no matter what. It was his bounty poster that hung up on the walls surrounding you. It was there to taunt you, you gathered. The man you always wanted but would die before it would come to fruition. Not like they could know that, but with how close you and he were known to be – fighting back to back in battles – it made sense that they would choose his likeness to surround you with.

And as your vision became darker, fuzzier, you swore you could see slight movement from the corner of the room in the dark. A bit of green.

“Wake up, kid.” The voice.

“Hey, look at me.” I would know it even in a busy market, voices and chatter surrounding me.

“Come on, don’t sleep the day away now.” Just gotta open my eyes, right? He’ll be there.

Your eyes fluttered open to see Zoro standing in front of you, smiling with a toothpick hanging loosely, three swords sitting on his hip and his hand resting on the hilt of the Wado. Your body sprung alive and a laugh of disbelief racked your body. His heavy footsteps came closer to you and he squatted in front of the chair you were chained to.

Why aren’t I free yet?

“What’s wrong kid? Can’t you get up?” His head tilted to the side as he watched your face contort into confusion. Why wasn’t he helping you?

“Get up.”

“I– I can’t, Zo–”

“I didn’t teach you to be weak, did I?”

“Zoro I’m chained to the chair, please hel–”

“Always a weight, dragging me down.” He sighed, walking around your chair to stand behind you. “You know, if you were better you would have been able to get out of this by now. I could have gotten out of this by now.”

“Shut up and help–”

“Why should I help someone as weak as you?” You could feel his breath against your ear now and you turned to try to look at him, but his hand gripped the back of your neck and kept you looking straight forward.

“Zoro you’re–”

“Maybe they should just keep you. Maybe I should just leave you here.” A chill froze your entire body and the fear of him leaving you to these people almost paralyzed you.

“DON’T– ZORO PLEASE–”

“Maybe I should just kill you and spare them the trouble.”

“NO–!”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU YELLING ABOUT?” A gruff voice called from the top of the stairs. Heavy steps slowly came down the stairs, and you recognized the first mate by his long purple hair braided to half way down his back. 

You looked over your shoulder, not feeling Zoro’s hand holding you anymore. In fact, you didn’t see him anymore either, the poster on the wall mocking your mental stability. Where did he go? It couldn’t have been some dream.

“I…I thought…I saw…” 

It felt so real, though.

“I don’t give a damn, shut the fuck up.” He quickly walked over to you, raising his fist, and bringing it against the side of your head, blackness taking over your vision almost immediately.

You weren’t sure how many hours you were out for. Or days. But when you are woken up by scalding hot water thrown on your body by Silver Tooth, needless to say the time was not your main concern. 

“Wakey-wakey…time to play.” The man stepped in front of you as tears rimmed your eyes uncontrollably, your brain unable to focus on anything except the pain. You grunted and thrashed in your chair, wrists rubbing against the chains keeping them tightly to the chair. He laughed at your struggle, silver teeth on full display.

“I love that you still have life in you after all this time!” He stepped around the back of your chair as you stared straight ahead, the swordsman on the poster in front of you taking up your sights. You felt him lean in beside your ear, wretched breath making you hold yours in order to keep from gagging.

“It makes it so much more fun when I break you.”

A hand quickly shot up to your throat and pressed into the center, right into your trachea. Your air way suddenly closed up, and you tried to shift your head around to get him to let loose. But it was difficult with how he used his grip against your throat to shove the back of your head against his shoulder, keeping you from turning your head any way. Your eyes closed involuntarily, and his other hand came up to slap you across your face, tears falling freely from the lack of oxygen and smarting in your cheek.

“Keep your eyes open, I want you to see your buddy watch your torment – your fear.” Using the hand he slapped you with, he reached up to just under your eyebrows and pulled your eyelids back. 

You saw him. Him. Standing in front of you like he did before you got knocked out. He had that same smug smile on his face again, the toothpick slightly sticking out. His head tilted, and his eyes taunting you. 

“Always a weight, dragging me down.”

“I could have gotten out of this by now.”

His voice echoed in your brain as your oxygen became more and more depleted, rasps of desperate air coming from your throat as you tried to beg Zoro with your eyes to help you. But he didn’t. He stood there…and he stared. Like he was ready for you to be gone. Like that’s why he hasn’t found you yet.

Maybe he would be the last sight you saw before your body gave out. He could be the last thing you ever see on this plane of existence. Your vision blurry and you fighting to clear it so you can see him one last time. 

His name was synonymous to death for many people who had come across his blade, whether they lived or not. And now his face became familiar to your agony. A friend to the suffering you endured for so long.

“CAPTAIN!”

Silver Tooth’s grip on your throat loosened as a yell from above deck called his attention. You took full advantage of the momentary respite, breathing in buckets of air and coughing like you had drank water too fast.

The captain growled as the door opened at the top of the stairs, and the scrawny kid – Pierre – bounded down the stairs and pointed upwards.

“Pirates! Strawhats!” He cried out of breath, and not even a second after the words came out of his mouth, a yell could be heard, followed by the sound of a cannon going off. The boom was accompanied by a violent rock of the ship, and Silver Tooth let go of your throat, pushing past the young boy before heading upstairs.

Pierre’s eyes followed the captain, and as soon as he was out the door, he waited to hear him barking orders to everyone before making his way to your side. His hands flew over the chains that bound your arms to the chair, setting them free and moving to your ankles.

It all was happening so fast that you had no time to truly process all of it, only staring at the boy in shock.

“Look at that,” Zoro’s voice came from behind you, but you couldn’t see him anywhere. “Needed some kid’s help to get you out of here. How pathetic.”

“Uhm,” Pierre’s voice drew your attention back to him, as he finished taking the chain off from around your stomach. “This might be a stupid question, but do you think you can stand by yourself?”

Without thinking too much into it, you placed your hands onto the armrests of the chair they laid upon for weeks and attempted to push yourself up. Your wobbly legs were extremely unsteady, and while you might be able to take a few steps, you didn’t know how far you would be able to go.

Another cannonball hit the boat, aggressively shaking the boat and causing you to lose your balance, having to sit right back down in the chair again, a sting shooting through all of your limbs. 

“Shit, I figured as much…I’m gonna have to help you, if-if you d-don’t mind…” He cautiously ducked down to put one arm under your shoulder, attempting to gently bring your arm around him to help guide you. Your hand rested against your side as you tried to push through the pain, knowing your crew was above deck fighting for you.

“W–...Why are you h– helping me?” It felt like a fire was burning inside your lungs when you tried to talk, but the question rang around your mind and you felt like you must know. He looked at you in the corner of his eyes as he walked up the steps with you carefully, taking most of your weight into him to lessen the burning in your limbs.

“I owe some–”

Before he could finish his sentence, the door at the top of the stairs flew open, and your eyes widened when you came face to face with Zoro, eyes narrowed as he looked at Pierre next to you. Suddenly, his foot came up, kicking the boy in the chest down the stairs. With the only thing keeping you steady abruptly taken from you, you followed too, body falling backwards and tumbling down the steps. Unfortunately for the boy, but luckily for you, you landed right onto Pierre’s body, helping to cushion the brunt of your fall.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The man’s heavy footsteps clanked down the stairs, the sounds of the chains on his boots brought you back to your senses. You tried to look around Pierre’s unconscious body for some sort of weapon to protect yourself, but there seemed to be none. With nothing else to do, your survival instincts kicked in, and you pulled yourself away from the boy, trying to create distance between the man walking down. 

“Did you actually think you could leave here?” The voice changed as he finally reached the bottom of the steps. You turned around to see Silver Tooth looking down at Pierre’s face. What the hell?

He turned his head towards you and before smiling gruesomely. With a sudden movement, he kicked Pierre’s head, and you gasped as you heard a crack resound. Blood quickly pooled at the gatorskin boots the captain wore, and you went back to dragging yourself to the closest object you could see. The chair. It still had the chains that kept you stuck to it for so long. If you could get those, maybe you could have some sort of chance. And if he still killed you…at least you went out fighting.

Your hand reached out to grab at the chain that loosely wrapped around one of the legs of the chair. 

CRACK.

Black boots were the first thing you saw. Right before the shooting pain ran through your arm, and you realized you couldn’t feel your hand. 

A guttural cry rang out, and it took you a moment to realize that it was coming from you.

You looked up to find Zoro’s face yet again, and your head spinned at how it was even possible. Just a moment ago you were seeing Silver Tooth, but now your battle partner was here.

Funny thing, it is. The realization that you can’t believe your own brain anymore.

His boot ground more into your hand, and your teeth clenched to keep your cries from coming any more out.

“Silly, silly, silly…” He took his foot off your hand before kicking you in your gut, wind knocked out of you entirely. “It’ll all work out for me, you know.” Another kick.

“Doesn’t matter the outcome of that battle up there.” Kick. Your body was forced onto its back, your rib cage now exposed. You looked up at the crazed look in Zoro’s eye.

“Because no matter what,” Stomp. You heard the rib crack before you felt it.

“You’ll never leave here.” A kick to your temple made your entire world go dark.

“Wake up…”

“Come on…”

“Go find Chop–”

The voices 

are 

so far 

away.

Who 

are they?

“You need to wake up…”

I don’t 

want to.

“Wake up, kid…”

Fuck you.

“Open your eyes, kid. Please.”

Your eyes flew open to see the face you had been staring at for months looking back down at you. Your vision was blurry, completely hazy, shapes not having their sharpened edges as they should. But you knew who it was.

You knew who it was.

“Stay still, Usopp’s getting–” 

Your hands were wrapped around his throat in seconds, body launching at him and knocking him backwards. You were on top of him in an instant, pressing down harshly into his Adam's apple. You weren’t sure where the energy and strength came from, but you couldn’t care. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t your Zoro. He needed to die.

The sudden switch in you gave Zoro no time to react, and he was on his back in seconds as his hands reached up to lay atop yours as he lost breath in his lungs.

“You fucker! You can’t KEEP ME HERE!” You screamed in his face as he felt your hands go even deeper into his neck. His eyes widened at your face, a look of absolute pure hatred painting it. He was used to people looking at him with anger and loathing, yes. But this was different. It was such an animosity he had never experienced…and it was coming from you.

Sanji and Luffy recovered from their shock and were on you in an instant, peeling you off Zoro before you could kill him.

“Stop it! What are you doing? Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Sanji yelled as you thrashed in their arms, fight slowly leaving you, but needing to attack nonetheless.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you! You need to die!” Zoro sat up and touched his throat, watching as Luffy and Sanji dragged you up the stairs and out the door, all while you looked at him like some sort of feral animal. He sat watching the door even after they left out with you, unable to understand all that just happened.

You were his partner. The person he could always trust to be at his back in a battle. You had shared drinks and nightwatch duties countless times. Shared things that he hadn’t even told Luffy. He was the one who did everything he could to find you. And you wanted him dead?

He looked in the corner where the…remnants…of Silver Tooth laid. A smile still plastered across his mangled face. He looked around the room, taking in the windowless, dimly lit area, and it was the first time since he had found you that he noticed the posters around the room. It was just him. His wanted posters, plastered on all four walls, facing the chair that was bolted in the middle of the room.

That wretched fucking chair. Covered in your dry blood and god-knows-what. It lit him with a new fire that he didn’t begin to know how to quell. He couldn’t take it out on Silver Tooth’s crew. He had already mowed the majority of them down.

So he settled on the only thing he could do.

Walking up the stairs and towards the door of the basement, he looked back to Silver Tooth’s face. A part of him wanted to keep his head. To show it to people as if to tell them This is what happens when you fuck with my crew. 

With my partner.

He walked out onto the deck and looked for a lighter.

This was written by @/ro-written and is not to be plagiarized, translated, or distributed anywhere else. Copyright 2024.

All comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome!

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[cadwhatalad]

Thinking about Andor and violence, and the way the show remains constantly aware of the aggressor/aggressed relationship in every interaction between the empire and the rebels; both in terms of the way in which the rebels’ violence towards the empire is expressed in moments of combat, and the way the empire is shown to be constantly exercising their aggression outside moments of combat.

Luthen invokes it his first conversation with Cassian – “the way they laugh, the way they push to a crowd. That voice telling you to stop, to go, to move.” He doesn’t talk away they torture or kill, he talks about the way they manage people, and how that management is achieved through a constant press of mild but unrelenting violence. Then it’s shown, like the TIE fighters on Aldhani. The way they just blast through the mountains, the size of them against the characters in the foreground. The pilot who flies over them when they’re preparing for the heist has no reason to think they’re anything other than shepherds, but he still flies as close and fast over their heads as he possibly can because he’s noticed them and wants them to know it. He doesn’t shoot, probably isn’t allowed if the garrison wants to maintain its veneer of civility. But he’s noticed them, so now he has to let them know that he could hurt them. Just flies overhead. If he happens to clip someone? If one of them gets caught in the wake turbulence and thrown into a tree? Not like he’d ever know or care. He doesn’t need to, as long as they know. Can’t let them forget that they’re only alive at the empire’s mercy.

Or in the prison, the way the guards never shut the fuck up when moving prisoners around – it’s a constant poke-poke of stop, go, stop, move, stand there, walk, stop. The very first introduction to the prison we’re given, when the head guard makes this big flex of “how can it be we can stand here without guns, just wait til I show you” so he can demonstrate the floors - it’s a show of confidence that’s proven almost immediately to be bullshit, because the guards are incapable of interacting with the prisoners without constantly grabbing them, hefting their giant tasers, shouting and pushing because they’re terrified that if they stop for half a second the prisoner might feel like a person again, and that alone would be enough to pose a threat.

Meanwhile, the violence of the rebels is shown as an exact inverse. It’s a subtle thing – often they’re active aggressors right back, often they throw the first punch or fire the first shot, but they’re almost always in some kind of vulnerable position when they do so. In the very first fight, Cassian doesn’t square off. He tells the guards about the credits in his pocket so they’ll come close, stays passive until they’re in headbutting range, and then he attacks. When the prisoners are preparing the breakout, they stay on program until the last possible moment, weapons hidden behind their backs as they comply. When Cinta stabs the ISB agent, she manages it because she backs up into an enclosed space and lets him corner her there. He never once considers that he’s not in control of the situation. His hands are down by his sides as he looms over her, and he doesn’t think to check where hers are until the knife’s already in his gut.

To me it’s a stunning textual representation of Nemik’s statement that tyranny requires constant effort. Think about Syril entering a random house during his manhunt and shooting at the first thing that moves, looking stone-cold terrified even through he’s the one with the big gun and the warrant, versus Cassian and Luthen escaping in the same episode by setting off a decoy first, allowing pretence of rolling over without a fight so they can slip away unimpeded. Think of the way the riot sparks off; not as soon as Maarva’s recording ends, not when the cop makes a paltry attempt at cutting off the transmission with his jacket, but when he gives up on nonviolence after that attempt fails and just kicks over the whole droid, even though he probably knows it’ll be the thing to blow the keg. He’s culturally incapable of doing anything else. Think of Wilmon, bringing a bomb to the riot that only works as well as it does because the empire showed up with crates on crates of grenades and then left them just sitting out in the street.

Wherever the rebels succeed, it’s where the empire fails to check what’s under the hammer before they swing. They rely on a constant wall of aggression and never bother to check the cracks in the foundation. Cassian says so – why would the prison guards bother spying on the prisoners when all they have to do is turn the floors on twice a day? Why would the garrison defend against an attack when they’re so sure no one’s stupid enough to try? Hell, fucking Dedra says so, spends the first half of the season clanging the alarm bell waiting for the rest of the ISB to catch on to what she’s already noticed.

The show never pretends that the empire’s violence isn’t overwhelming and devastating and almost inescapable, but what it does do is show the utility of taking moment to breathe. Plant your feet. Wait for your moment to strike. You don’t need to rely on lucky shots if you’re smart about where you aim.

Idk I just think it’s neat.

[satan-wishes-he-was-me]

ok guys wanna hear my ending for the second black phone movie? yes you do here you go.

close to the end of the movie. big plot already completed and yet finney is awake. he lays in his bed arms crossed over the blankets. he stares up at the ceiling looking older than his 15 years. then without warning or a building of music-because the music has faded to nothing and you only just noticed- he gets up. there’s no noise unless finney makes it. the scuff of him putting on his shoes and grabbing a flashlight. he walks about of his house quick and quiet.

he gets on his bike and while he hops on the screen flashes to bruce, wearing the same clothes and smile he was before the grabber got him, hopping on his own bike. the screen flashes back to finney. he starts biking, the sky dark and we cut to billy, his dog chasing him as he flings papers to darkened houses. back to finney. he finally stops his bike and lets it fall to the grass. he turns and we see where he stopped. the house. the grabbers house. not the one the living boys were kept. but the one where they were buried.

he tries to open the gate but finds it stuck so he goes to kick it open. we flash to vance doing the exact same. back to finney, the gate open. he walks inside and for a moment the framing seems very odd as finney is on the very far right of the screen his arm behind him oddly, with a bunch of open floor space behind him. we cut to the grabber in finneys place dragging griffins body behind him.

back to finney now walking down the basement stairs. he reaches the bottom and pauses, looking at the unearthed graves. then he beelines to one in the corner and we wonder, why that one? does he know who’s it is? he knees down and picks something up, brushing dirt off of it we see it’s a bandana, robins bandana. and again we wonder how did he know it was robins? did he? did the cops tell him? did he see the graves before? the screen cuts to the grabber knelt where finney currently is, shoving a kicking, screaming, fighting- alive, ALIVE- robin into the shallow grave. robin screams and yells and his voice is so loud because we’ve only had finneys very quiet footfalls up until now. robin has the bandana tied around his upper arm, stained with fresh blood. the grabber hits him with a crowbar and he collapses, limp, into the grave. dead or unconscious we can’t tell but either way it’s over as the grabber pushes dirt over him.

we cut back to finney who’s holding the bandana in his hand. he curls it into a fist and clenches his eyes shut. for a moment we think he’s going to cry. but he doesn’t. he opens his eyes and ties the bandana around his wrist and gets up, up the stairs and out of the house.

he crosses the street in the pitch black of what must be around 2 am. no street lights no house lights and certainly no flashlight lest someone see him.

he makes his way into the other house. His house. we see max’s cluttered notes and trash litter the living room as if he is still staying there. finney pays this no mind and walks until he finds the door. he pauses at the top of the stairs. hesitating. scared, perhaps. either way he pushes through and walks down. the basement is just as we left it last movie sans the grabber himself.

though as finney looks to the left we flash to finney strangling the grabber in the hole. cut back to the empty hole. finney drags his fingers along the walls until he stops, fingers finding the numbers griffin carved into the wall. he squats down to read them and we cut to griffin, fingernails bloody and cracked, carving the numbers in. back to finney. he looks over at the window and we see robin throwing everything he has at the window to break it. he fails.

then finney looks at the bed. we see vance fighting the grabber desperately as the grabber slides his hands everywhere and pulls off his belt. vance fades into billy who fades into bruce who fades into griffin who fades into robin who fades in to finney. they all fight the same way. their screams, similar to robins earlier, feel too loud for the theater. they make you uncomfortable. they should. finney looks away from the mattress.

finally, finally, he looks at the phone. the audience sighs in relief as he walks towards it, as he finally does the one thing we’ve wanted since he walked down those stairs. his hand hovers over the phone before picking it up. he frowns as he does and we wonder what? what it is? what’s wrong? he pops the lid of the receiver out and flips it upside down. nothing comes out. we all remember finney stuffing it with dirt and we are as confused as finney. maybe the cops empty it? maybe it fell out at some point? maybe… the cord finney cut last movie is connected as if nothing happened. finney wonders if he’s going crazy. finally he begins to lift the phone to his ear. his hands shake for the first time this whole sequence. he put the phone to his ear and with a voice small and shaking he asks, “hello?” the screen cuts to black. chaos. rioting in the streets. popcorn in thrown people are dying and the screen stays black just long enough to convince everyone it’s over but then, so quiet you almost can’t hear it, “hello?” the credits roll

[armpirate]

Anti-romantic || JJk | Ch. 39

Pairings: Boxer!Jungkook x fem!reader || Enemies to lovers, neighbors

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, curse, illegal boxing, violence

Warnings: fuckboy!Jungkook x reader, smut, dirty talk, curse, mention of tarot and fate

Summary: Jungkook had always been carefree when it came to love. He always believed he was worth sharing himself with everyone, and thought it was selfish of him to ever think of keeping himself exclusive to just one person.

And maybe that was exactly what got him into the big problem he was in.

A curse that kept him away from love didn't seem an issue for him. The fact that his ex-girlfriend thought he'd be affected by the idea of the girls he slept with running away from him after sex was ridiculous. She actually did him a favor, and took a burden away from him.

At least that was what he thought at first.

He had never found himself thinking of the possibility of repeating with neither of his hook ups, because they disappeared before he was able to even think about it. But when he makes the mistake of sleeping with the sexy neighbor that lives in front of him, he finds himself hoping to get the chance for a second round every time their paths cross.

Y/n hated him the second he set foot inside the building by the way he started making her life a miserable mess for no reason. Sleeping with him was a big mistake she wasn't thinking of repeating. At least not until he came up with the excuse that she rejected him for a curse. Not only she thought he was annoying, but she was also convinced he was crazy. 

There was no way she could take him seriously.

Aprox. time of reading: 12 minutes

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

Jungkook stood on one side of the huge abandoned complex, the roar of the underground crowd thundering around him as fighters warmed up near the ring. He clenched his fists, the weight of the situation sinking in as he stared at the concrete floor. He had come there with a plan -to infiltrate that fight for Y/n, to give her the breakthrough she needed for her article and the investigation into her brother's death. But now, as Elijah approached, everything seemed to slip out of control.

—I'm glad you finally came back to your senses —Elijah smirked, stopping just a few feet away—. As you might've seen, this type of fight will be a bit different to the ones you're used to —his gaze flicked toward the ring, where a fighter landed a vicious kick to his opponent's ribs, sending him crashing into the metal fence—. No boxing rules here, Jungkook. They've brought in the real killers tonight. MMA guys, trained to break bones, not just bruise faces. And, to be fair, the future of this.

—This isn't what we talked about —he quickly glanced back at the suited man in front of him—. They'll eat me alive in the first round.

—You've been playing with fire for so long, yet you draw the line at MMA fighters? —his eyes narrowed.

He thought that, maybe, he could play around long enough to catch Alessandro coming up and call the cops just in time, but Elijah made sure to erase that simple thought from his mind.

—You have one choice, Jungkook —his head tilted to the side—. Either you get that ass in that ring or your girlfriend will be paying all the consequences of testing Rossi's patience.

His surprised expression didn't need to stay there for long enough for Elijah to mock him for it.

—You should've known better than anyone that it isn't a good idea to go around asking for information, especially when it's one that can damage us —he let out some air out of his lungs—. And you better keep it up for, at least, two or three fights. You're the new thing here.

Jungkook's stomach tightened. He'd boxed his entire life, but mixed martial arts? That was a different world entirely. The fact that he was also expected to do more than one just fight had him looking back at the improvised ring with horror.

Those fighters were the most mediocre in their field, yet Jungkook knew he didn't stand a chance against them -strikes landing with sickening thuds and grappling that turned the opponents into ragdolls. He couldn't out-jab or out-dance his way around those men.

—I'll go through four fights if you want —Jungkook muttered, though his voice lacked its usual confidence—. But leave Y/n out of this —Elijah's smirk only widened, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

—We won't touch a single hair in her head —Elijah's eyes glinted with a fake promise—. I'm sure she'll back off once she sees what they'll do to your pretty face.

Jungkook's heart pounded -not from fear for himself, but from the thought of failing Y/n. He knew he didn't owe that fight to anyone but her. After everything, he couldn't just walk away. He had come here to make up for it, to be the one to give her the lead she had been chasing for so long. He needed to clean all the karma he had pending to be able to be with her, that was what the curse was about, that was what was expected from him.

He took a deep breath, his mind racing with memories of Y/n -her determination, her stubbornness, the fire in her eyes when she talked about finding justice. If she could risk everything for the truth, there was no way he could back out now.

—You won't ever get near her —Jungkook said, locking eyes with him—. If something happens to Y/n, I'll be the one to finish you all.

—Sure —Elijah shrugged and turned on his heel.

Inside the ring, the brutal exchange between fighters continued, the crowd feeding off every punch, every broken bone. Jungkook could feel the gravity of what was about to happen. His body tensed, but his mind sharpened. If there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was how to survive. That might not be his kind of fight, but he wasn't walking away because the rules had changed.

He took a step toward the ring, his thoughts drifting to Y/n. He had to do it -for her, for the truth, for the mess he had helped create. Even if it meant stepping into a fight he had no hope of winning.

The bell rang. Jungkook pulled on the bandages tighter around his hands, set his jaw, and climbed into the cage.

There was no turning back now.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she parked the car in the shadow of the enormous, run-down complex. The rumble of engines and distant shouts spilled out into the night. Elia had overheard there was a big fight planned for that night, one where she could finally catch Alessandro Rossi in the act and nail down the final pieces of the puzzle about her brother's death. And Alan confirmed her suspicions with some of his insiders.

Beside her, Elia shifted nervously in the passenger seat.

—You don't have to come —Y/n assured her, knowing how difficult it could be for her to go back to a place like that.

Elia looked unsure when asked, her pupils shaking as she glanced toward the entrance, where guards stood like statues, watching every move.

—I want to —Elia replied, determination hardening her voice.

Y/n couldn't back down while being so close, and Elia wasn't going to let her do it alone. It was their chance, the moment they'd been waiting for. It didn't matter how dangerous it was -they needed answers, and they needed Noah's dead to be honored.

They slipped through the throng of people milling around the entrance, their heads down, avoiding eye contact as they made their way inside. The roar of the crowd hit them instantly, the overwhelming energy of the fight nearly taking Y/n's breath away. The place was a maze of bodies, the air thick with sweat, smoke, and tension. In the middle of it all, the cage loomed like a gladiator's arena.

Y/n pulled out her phone, feeling a sense of deja vu as she tried to hide it with her sleeve, snapping pictures of the crowd and the men surrounding the ring. The hosts -men in suits too clean for a place this grimy- watched from the sidelines, their faces lit up by the flashing lights of the ring. Her heart raced as she spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

Alessandro Rossi.

He was there, watching with a satisfied smirk as the fighters tore each other apart. And he wasn't alone. The police chief was there, cheering for one of the fighters, she could even spot some familiar faces related to the Town Hall of the city of Chicago.

—Scum —Elia whispered, eyes aimed at the same group of people Y/n was looking at.

She nodded and continued taking photos, moving closer to the ring without attracting attention. She focused her camera on the faces of the VIP crowd watching in awe how those people were risking their lives for their entertainment, capturing as much evidence as she could. Just a few more shots, and she would have enough to expose them all.

When she looked at the ring, she couldn't help but flinch at the way a kick flew to the tall man with black hair, forcing him to fall back to the ground, where he had been ever since she stepped inside the place and paid attention to the fight.

But then, something caught her eye. She went deaf as she tried to deny in her head what was evident in front of her. As much as Elia had tried to get her out of there, Y/n got away from her grip to walk among the people that kept pushing her back.

Her eyes locked onto a familiar tattoo, half-covered in blood. The romanic cross on the inside of his forearm was covered with the blood he had tried to clean up from his face. And when she was close enough, their eyes met.

Jungkook.

Her pulse stopped. He was in the ring -his face bruised, his chest heaving with labored breaths, his body barely able to stand as another opponent circled him. His arms hung low, blood dripping from a cut above his eye. She couldn't believe it. She didn't expect he'd ever be there.

—Jungkook? —she whispered, her voice barely audible over the chaos.

But it was definitely audible for him, who managed to lift his head only to look at a horrorized Y/n.

When he started the first fight, he didn't expect it to be as bad. He thought he'd be able to dodge the kicks, to move faster than the fighter in front of him, but it was as if he was predictable, as if his movements were able to be seen seconds before he made them. But he still insisted on going for the next fight after recovering for a few minutes after being knocked out. Getting strength from somewhere he didn't know, ignoring the pain on his torso and his face to go back for another fight.

After two fights, he was dealing with the third one, barely able to walk, barely able to go on. He couldn't even open his eyes, but he still managed to look at Y/n as soon as he heard her voice, just to confirm it wasn't a sound made up by his head.

—Y/n, we gotta go —Elia whispered, trying to break the connection their eyes built, holding tight on her arm.

Y/n's heart shattered as she watched Jungkook stagger back, struggling to stay upright after a brutal punch to the ribs. How had he ended up here? How had she not known this was what he was doing?

Her phone slipped from her fingers as she stared in horror, her mind racing. She had to do something, but she was frozen in place, her feet glued to the floor as her heart hammered in her chest. All the anger, all the frustration she had felt toward him over the past few days vanished, replaced by pure fear for him.

She kept shaking her head, trying to stop him from getting up, but his body moved automatically, before he was forced back on the floor after another kick landed on his face. Jungkook fell to his knees, blood pouring from his mouth. He tried to stand, but his body betrayed him.

Before Y/n's instincts could kick in, Elia pulled from her jacket to finally get her to move away from the ring, dragging her among the crowd with heavy steps. She followed her, she allowed her to take control of her body, she allowed Elia to do what she was sure Noah would've done in her place.

They were almost there, almost by the door, almost finishing that countercurrent path, but Y/n stopped again. She handed her the phone, and who was her brother's girlfriend noticed something in her eyes that she knew she'd regret.

—All the proofs are in my phone —Y/n let her know—. If they get you here, they'll make sure they disappear. And I'm sure the cops will delete all the evidence if they ever get it —her voice was shaky—. Drive far enough and call 911.

Elia couldn't stop her when Y/n ran back in the same direction everyone was walking in, heading back inside.

Before she could think, she was moving toward the ring, her mind a swirl of panic and desperation.

—Stop the fight! —she screamed, her voice drowned out by the deafening roar of the crowd.

Jungkook's eyes flickered toward her -just for a second- but it was enough. Their eyes met, and the pain in his expression was unmistakable.

—Please, stop —the panic was clear in her voice.

Jungkook stumbled back, barely able to keep his legs under him. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, each inhale sharp and painful. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, mixing with the sweat that poured down his face. His eyes were swollen shut, only slivers of dark lashes visible under the bruising that consumed his face. He couldn't see, couldn't hear over the roar of the crowd, and his body screamed in protest with every movement.

Another hit. His head snapped to the side, and his knees buckled, but somehow he stayed on his feet.

In the chaos, Y/n was hysterical, her voice hoarse from shouting as she pushed through the crowd, shoving past the onlookers that stood between her and the cage. She screamed, but her words were drowned out by the thunderous cheers of the crowd, who were too absorbed in the violence to care.

She reached the edge of the cage, her hands gripping the cold metal as she looked up at the men in charge, the ones standing smugly in their places as they watched Jungkook get beaten to a pulp. She pleaded with them, her voice cracking.

—Please! He can't go on! Call it off.

But they only glanced down at her with mocking smirks. One of them looked directly at her, a cruel smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

—Don't worry, sweetheart —Elijah said, his voice dripping with mockery—. It'll be over soon. But he signed up for this. Ain't no stopping it now —his eyes moved to Jungkook—. Deal with the consequences if you dare to give up.

Y/n's blood boiled. Her desperation turned into helpless fury as she turned back to the cage, pounding her fists against the metal. She was so close to hit him, but his hand was faster, gripping on her forearm tight as he remained her still in front of him.

—Please —she begged—. He'll die there.

—Well, seems like you're familiar with that.

Inside the cage, Jungkook swayed on his feet, his body unable to take much more. He tried to lift his arms, but they felt like lead. The world spun around him, a hazy blur of lights and noise. Every nerve in his body screamed for relief, for it to end, but he knew he couldn't give up. Not yet. Not while Y/n was there, her life was at risk more than ever.

Another blow landed -a sharp jab to his ribs that sent him crashing to the floor.

Y/n let out a strangled cry.

—Jungkook! —she managed to get rid of Elijah's grip, her hands clenched around the bars, her nails digging into the cold metal— Jungkook, please, don't stand up. Please.

The hopelessness hit her like a wave, and Y/n's legs wobbled. She couldn't get through to them. The crowd was a mindless mass, cheering for blood, oblivious to the life that was draining from the man in front of them.

And then, as if the world shifted in a single moment, there was a sudden commotion at the back of the complex. Shouts, followed by the unmistakable blare of sirens. The doors burst open, and police officers swarmed in, yelling commands and waving their guns as they rushed to break up the fight.

The room descended into chaos, yet her attention remained focused on one person.

The crowd scattered like ants, running in every direction to escape the raid. Even the fighter who was inside with Jungkook, getting his door opened by -probably- his trainer. She didn't care about the people that were getting arrested, who was or wasn't handcuffed, her eyes were locked on Jungkook, who was lying motionless on the floor of the ring, blood pooling beneath him.

She pushed past the metallic door, scrambling up to the edge of the cage as she opened it. She fell to her knees next to him, her hands trembling as she gently touched his bruised face.

—Jungkook, please, say something —she tried to run her hand through his hair to move his bangs back.

He stayed still, his chest moving weakly as he breathed, before he was moved to an ambulance by the paramedics. She wasn't going to let him fight alone, she wasn't going to leave his side, holding his hand tight through the drive.

—You're going to get well —she assured him—. I promise you will get well —she repeated—. I love you, please, stay with me.

He groaned, his swollen eyes barely fluttering open at the sound of her voice, at the meaning of her words. She sobbed in relief, brushing his hair back again from his sweaty forehead, while he still tried to speak.

Her fingers made a relaxing movement on his scalp, helping him accept the fact that he wouldn't be able to say out loud everything that was going through his head ever since she found out the truth about him.

Taglist: @jk97bam @ttanniett

[redpiperfox]

(looking through your peephole reveals me in a fish eye lens) skz as cousins who are awkwardly seeing each other at the yearly family gathering, who’s who and what happens?

(Stands like a child in front of the peephole, on me tippytoes, stage whispering "HAI :D")

EI I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED~ 🤠

[flips open the giant tome of inspiration] LEMME TELL YAH--

Chan is on the fence of excited and dreading these events, because he was The First Cousin, which meant early gatherings had a lot of grownups doting on him and him playing with aunts and uncles his age... now that that's passed, Chan is on the oppsite side of the spectrum... the weird older cousin who's married and has a baby but is still considered "young and part of the kidz (spelled exactly like that bc Jisung says so)" Chan can play the adult so it's actually more fun with him around, bc he can take the kids out to the movies, or a mall run, or to go buy dinner when the family invariably stays late and the kids all groan at having to eat seconds on homemade "ancestral foods made to stuff us alive (also jisung. He gets whacked over the head for saying this too loudly tho)" Actually, Chan takes it back, he sorta loves these family gatherings. Because the night always ends with the kids all dogpiling their sleeping bags downstairs with a classic movie playing in the background (sometimes Veggietales Jonah. Sometimes Mall Cop depending on who wins the fight for the remote), and Chan is old enough to claim the inflateable mattress, Mina snuggled into his side, their little baby girl in a Greco playpen beside them fast asleep, and at least three cousins vying for space next to them. (Except Jisung. Sharing a bed with a couple? Gross.)

Minho spends every holiday with the grandparents who have taken over hosting, so he's there setting up and cleaning up and making sure the kids get to have fun without the getting in trouble part. This meant repainting the ceiling one year while everyone was sleeping. (Chan gave Jisung the scolding of a lifetime but it's only Minho who knows to go pinch Seungmin's ear. The lack of defense from Seungmin is damning enough for him to do it a second time.) Minho grew up in the country, mainly alone till his sister came along in high school, and even then he was early out of the house to college, so he's not altogether sure how to handle kids. But he loves them. He's gentle and soft-spoken with the younger ones, because he learned from his grandparents, and wild and rambunctious with the older because he had to keep up with Chan and his older college classmates.

Changbin is tired of being the butt of every joke at these things. (Definitely a tradition that Jisung had probably started and dilgently kept up. However Seungmin is the main cause of grief these days.) But somehow he ends up being everyone's go to mediator-- even and especially between siblings. Usually because his own sister Chaeryeong is the one finding out the drama and bringing these poor conflicted souls to Changbin. He doesn't mind. Someone's gotta have a straight head at these things.

Hyunjin organizes every outdoor activity. And absolutely crushes everyone else at them. Soccer, basketball, badminton-- it will invariably end in a 1v1 against his twin Yeji and the rest of the cousins picking teams. Loser gets desert last. Hyunjin had gotten used to the end of the line for kicking the ball in people's faces when he lost, but he's gotten better. He still takes the end of the line, but with a smile, and that's only after the year Chan schooled him on a footrace and gave him a handshake hug and the front of the line after. Hyunjin lets Jeongin cut him. He's cute. (Jisung is not but oh well. He holds Felix's arm and gets away with murder anyway, who is Hyunjin to stand in his way?)

Jisung-- [Felix crashes in and pushes him aside with a "He's taken over everyone else's plot, he can wait his turn at the end!"]

Ok fine, Felix is Chan's younger brother, and the teacher's pet of these gatherings. Adult upset with someone? Send Felix to rectify. Grandma withholding sweets early bc they're already crazy? Felix go bat your eyes at her. Parents put their foot down to not let them go out? Felix, pull that pout, that really fussy, pathetic one. Automatic favorite cousin, gets whatever he wants, nobody thinks anything of him. (Manipulative lil gremlin. He knows what he's doing. Chan knows, and Felix knows Chan knows, and he likes to mess with his head. Chan calls him a menace, but he can't prove anything. Minho could but why would he?)

Seungmin is the instigator of chaos. If it's too quiet he'll literally start screaming. Even and especially when he's doing something quiet like reading a book. They've come to find out that if Seungmin is quiet he's probably been pissed off by someone, and Changbin makes it a personal mission to find who did it and make them rectify things. Seungmin doesn't forgive easily. He's blocked Minho for three months after one of these, and Minho only earned his forgiveness when he drove all the way to his house with one of his cats in apology. But he still had to stand out in the rain for twenty minutes. (Seungmin's father was horrified when he found his nephew out in the rain and had let him in. Seungmin feigned ignorance. Minho didn't say anything.) The only one who gets a pass is Jeongin.

Jeongin is honestly over them all. He brings his phone games and video games and plays with Felix most of the time, sometimes with Seungmin if he isn't behaving like a brat. He used to spend most of his time hiding from Jisung and Hyunjin, because they would come and squeeze the living daylights out of him and drag him around like some novelty doll. Chan and Minho didn't do that. They were nice and calm and gave Jeongin what he wanted without him having to ask twice with doe eyes and a pout. He's also Chan's favorite babysitter for Lily because he doesn't smother her and appropriately puts her binky back in her mouth when it pops out. His mum runs a daycare at home. He's used to uncontrolled chaos. He knows he's the most mature one here.

Jisung is honestly the family wild child, and his parents absolutely take a vacation and let the rest of the family parent him during these things. He does not care. His parents suck (they do not suck, they both work full time and spend most of the gathering napping in odd corners). The time he doesn't spend pingponging between different family styles of discipline, he's actually having more fun than he has anywhere else. He's the "smart kid" who stays after school to take extra classes because he can and falls asleep during normal classes because he's bored, and both don't make for strong friendships to be built. It's Chan who recognizes this first, and despite his aptitude for trouble, builds a pattern of forgiving Jisung easily and letting him have his fun with them. (They're all his best and closest friends. Not that he would tell anyone, ew, gross!)

[catierambles]

Witch Hunt Ch. 5

Cait woke to knocking on her room door, turning over to check her phone blearily. Who the hell was knocking at her door at 3 in the morning? Getting out of bed as the knocking became more insistent, she looked through the peephole, pausing for a moment when she saw Walter standing out there. She had given him the name of the hotel she was staying at along with the room number in case there was an emergency, but why was he here now? Why didn't he call first?

Opening the door, she gave him a curious look. He looked like he had just gotten out of bed himself, throwing shoes and leaving. A nearly threadbare T-shirt clung to his chest, grey sweats that had definitely seen better days hanging on his hips.

“Walter?”

“Can I come in?” He asked and she nodded, stepping aside to let him in. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It's okay.” She said, turning on a lamp, “I'm guessing this isn't work related.”

“Not in the way you mean.” He said and sat down heavily on the end of the bed. “How do you do it?”

“Do...what?”

“Forget their faces.” He said, “I've seen a lot of fucked up shit since becoming a cop, but these victims...I--” He stopped with a sigh. “I can see them when I close my eyes. How do you get through it?”

“By catching the monster responsible, and believing they're at peace because of it.” She said, sitting next to him and he nodded.

“Can I stay here tonight?” He asked, looking at her hopefully. “I’m not looking forward to going back to an empty house.”

“Of course, you can. I think the couch folds out into—” She was cut off as he kissed her suddenly, holding the back of her head with his fingers in her hair. Gods, his lips were as soft as she thought they’d be. “Walter.” He pulled her into another kiss, more insistent this time, but she pushed him away gently. “You don’t want this.”

“Yes, I do.” He said, nodding, and tried to kiss her again, but she leaned back.

“You’re being haunted by the dead right now, Walter, it’s only natural that you feel compelled to do something to make you feel alive.” She said and he sighed, his hand going to the back of her neck. He breathed for a moment, his eyes closed, before he nodded. “You want human contact, so I won’t kick you to the couch, but don’t try to do anything you’ll regret in the morning.” He just nodded again and released her, kicking off his shoes as she got up to turn off the lamp. They got settled in, Walter laying with his back to her and it wasn’t long before she heard his breathing deepen and even out, letting her know he was asleep. Cait stared at his shoulders for a bit before turning over, keeping her back to him as she closed her eyes, drifting back off to sleep.

Cait woke gently to a heartbeat in her ear, strong arms holding her to a warm chest. Opening her eyes she saw that Walter must have pulled her towards him during the night, as she was laying half on his chest with his arms around her. She could feel the musculature of his chest and arms, the layer of hair covering his skin through the t-shirt. His breath ruffled her hair slightly, letting her know he was still asleep and she sighed, closing her eyes again to just enjoy the moment while it lasted.

His arms tightened briefly and her eyes opened again as she heard him take in a deep breath, his chest inflating.

“Good morning.” He exhaled, the timbre of his sleepy voice making his chest shake.

“Good morning.” She said and looked up at him, settling her chin on his chest. His eyes were still closed, but his brow knitted briefly.

“I came onto you last night.”

“You did.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She said, “If I had been offended, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Thanks for...you know.”

“Not taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state?” She said, “Don’t mention it.”

“What time is it?” He asked and she moved, his arms falling away as she grabbed her phone.

“We got about two hours of sleep.”

“So still early.”

“Very.” She said, putting her phone back on the nightstand.

“Cait?” He asked and she looked at him, seeing him staring at her through the gloom. “Come here?” She hesitated for a moment before going back to his side, letting him pull her in until she was on his chest again. His hands pressed against her back and she didn’t quite know where to put her hands so she settled on laying one against his waist, as the other was pinned between them. Damn he smelled good, her face tucked into his neck. She could feel his pulse thrumming under his skin, his hand moving back and forth over her arm. She looked up as he pulled away slightly, seeing him staring down at her, the look in his eyes making her cheeks heat slightly.

His hand came up to cradle the back of her neck and with a tug, he kissed her, his eyes closing. It didn’t feel like it did last night, with him trying to build a fire by using gasoline. This was gentle, unrushed and unhurried, and she found herself responding to him, her fingers curling into his waist. His breath was heavy when he pulled away, taking a moment before kissing her again, his lips parting hers and, as if testing the waters, his tongue touching hers briefly. The sound she made came from deep in her chest and her hand came up to weave in his curls, finding they were as soft as she wondered.

“Fuck.” He whispered, a growl to his voice. “You’re so beautiful. Can I have you?”

“Yes.” She said with a nod and he kissed her again, rolling them over so she was on her back and he was pressing her into the mattress, ducking under her chin to mouth along her throat.

He took his time with her, his lips moving over her skin as more was revealed. His large hands felt almost scorching on her skin as he mapped her with his palms, cupping her breasts and squeezing gently before pulling them down her sides. Hooking his fingers in her shorts, he pulled them down and off along with her small clothes, kneeling over her nude beneath him. She could see how his exploration of her was affecting him, his sweatpants tenting slightly. Moving over her, he kissed her, pushing his tongue past her lips to slide against hers and she shuddered, the sound she made swallowed by him, as he eased a hand between her legs, exploring her with his fingers.

Cait broke the kiss, swallowing heavily as her fingers curled around his biceps, her eyes closed, feeling as he pressed his forehead against hers even as he eased two fingers inside her, pumping them slowly. He pulled her into another kiss, her legs falling open for him, giving him easier access. She felt as he moved down, opening her eyes to see him drag his shirt over his head as he settled between her legs, holding her thighs solidly in his arms. With a quick look to her, he buried his mouth in her center, his hands wrapping around her hips to keep his mouth tightly sealed against her, his tongue moving through her and flicking against her clit.

Sounds left her lips as he pushed her higher and higher and his grip tightened, keeping her still as she tried to move away, the sensations starting to become too much. He started rocking her hips against his face, his eyes closed as he hummed against her and it pushed her over the edge, her fingers in his hair as she released against his mouth.

He licked her clean, make sure to get every bit of her before kneeling above her again and she could see how his beard glittered slightly in the light emanating cheap alarm clock on the night stand. Walter pushed down his sweatpants and she gave him a slow sweep of her eyes as he bobbed free. He moved into her embrace as she reached for him, settling into the cradle of her hips and he kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips and tongue as he reached between them.

He swallowed the whimper she gave out as he started pushing into her and she broke the kiss, her head falling back against the pillows as he stretched her open almost to the point of pain. Her inner muscles clung around his thick length and, with some adjusting, he hilted himself inside her, his breath hot and heavy against her neck. With his fingers wrapped around one of her thighs, pulling her leg around his waist, he started to move, rocking into her in an ever increasing tempo until the bed started making sounds in protest and she clung to him, moving her hips in time with his, almost as if she were riding him even though she was under him.

“Fucking perfect.” He groaned into her skin and her eyes rolled back at the feeling of him sliding inside her. “Ah, fuck, you're fucking perfect.”

“Walter.” She panted, pulling his face out of her neck so she could kiss him, making small sounds against his lips with every push of his hips.

“Come for me, my perfect girl. My perfect girl. Just mine. All mine.”

“Yes, all yours.” She said, nodding, “Don't stop. Please. Don't stop.” His teeth brushed over her shoulder before biting down as if to keep her in place as he claimed her. It felt almost...primal with him, animalistic, and it pushed her over the edge again, crying out as her hips lifted off the bed, pressing tight against his, taking him fully as she pulsed and quivered around him. His movements became almost savage, grunting and growling against her neck until he pushed inside her fully with a snarled expletive and she felt him twitch inside her, warmth settling in her lower stomach.

She could feel his frantically beating heart against her chest and she held onto him, running her fingers through the sweat damp curls at the base of his neck,

“Are you all right?” He asked after a moment in a low voice, breathing heavily. “I was a bit...intense there towards the end.”

“I’m fine.” She said, nodding. “I’m perfect.”

“Yes, you are.” He said, picking his head up to kiss her, “Can I keep you?” Any sarcastic remark she might have made died in her throat at the look in his eyes. It looked like...hope.

“I’m yours.” Cait said and pulled him into a kiss.

[akajustmerry]

hey merry! i noticed you just started the show, so how're you liking dark winds so far?

I started and finished it in less than a week. suffice to say, I really enjoyed it! here's some quickfire thoughts (note: I'm Aboriginal/First Nations "Australian" so I'm speaking as a non-Native to the so called US) <3

Something I loved about it as an Indigenous person is that every character has a different relationship to their ceremony and cultural beliefs. You have Bern who's totally immersed, Joe who wants to but struggles because of his grief, and Jim who's skeptical af. I liked that so much because it's very real. at least in my family and community. Everyone's degree of belief is different for different reasons!!

Bern and Jim oh my FUCKING God. I was GIGGLING and KICKING MY FEET. a+ culturally specific slowburn. when he asked her about her tribe?? when she gave him the protection medicine? when he says there's nothing on the rez for him and she says "I'm here"? WHEN SHE LEAVES AND HE RETURNS THE PROTECTIVE JEWELLERY??? 🥹🥰🥹🥰

I preferred the first season to the second. I think it was shot better and had a better executed mystery. The cinematography in season one was so gorgeous. It had a very distinctive almost sunny yet gothic feel, but the second season was shot more conventionally. I hated the colour splash sequences.

Emma's sub-plot of helping other women avoid forced sterilisation was so awesome. Deserves its own show to be honest. That sequence where she tells the patient in Dineʼ (under the guise of translating for the white doc) that she should not have her baby in hospital because the white doctors will sterilise her? One of the best character intros I've ever seen, and I love how it tails off in season 2 with her agreeing to go public with what's happening.

I love Bern so MUCH. Jess Mattern is so GOOD. her encounters with the witch are CHILLING. Her pure dedication to her cultural beliefs is so inspiring. She's also one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen and I'm so gay. My only thing is......in WHAT universe is becoming a BORDER PATROL officer gonna mean you encounter LESS injustice. smh!!!

Kiowa Gordon as a 1970s suave FBI deserter turned hire out of a highway hotel private eye full of love for his community?? That's my dream gender!!!!!!! Also......it must be said....i need him.

Finally, even though I could tell Graham Roland and the writers made HUGE efforts to shift the white gaze of the novels Dark Winds was based on, there was just some moments/attitudes in the series that felt Off. maybe I'm over sensitive to copaganda idk but yeah there was just a little too much.......rampant individual American heroism and pro-cop/military stuff at times that made me roll my eyes as a non-usAmerican viewer

anyways, looking forward to having a reason to stay alive until 2025 (when season 3 comes out!)