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tiyoin · 3 months

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pt.2 | 📍pt.3 | pt.4

im fighting my demons to go to my classes today, so I wrote some more

there was something so... paralyzing about going to class.

after what happened you couldn't budge going back. its been a week yes. but time didn't change emotional residue that stuck and clung to you whenever you thought about leaving the ramshackle.

backpack strapped to your person and hands clenching the straps, you were ready to go to school. yet with each passing second you stood at the door. quiet, contemplating.

you've been through so much worse than this! this is the easy stuff! just open that door, walk to class, sit, learn / day dream, and run back to ramshackle while you waited for your second class.

easy enough right?

wrong.

the splinters in the door didn't seem to move the harder you stared at it. the longer your eyes glazed over each discoloration of the wooden door. yet the more you looked at it the more the handled disappeared and the more wall-like it became.

you could do this. its not like you're going to die. right? "scratch that" you muttered, thinking about how this school has had a handful of overboots in the past few months. who knows if you accidentally trip and fall, having your pencil in the side of your backpack fly out and stab someone in the eye.

causing an overboot.

boom, instant death.

or! what if you got yourself a treat from the cafeteria today (lunch) and accidentally trip?? causing yourself to not only look like a fool in front of the entire school, but maybe you got your treat on one of the leeches!

instant death.

you let out an exasperated sigh. fuck. your hands that were once clutching the straps of your backpack were now rubbing against your eyes aggressively.

you wanted to cry. your mind relenting as your tear ducts sprung into action and steadily glided down your face.

why couldn't you do this one simple thing??

its literally so easy. just move your sorry butt and get to class. it's okay because yuu is there, grim is there....... okay, so yuu and grim are there-

your mind thought back to silver and kalim. ever since you interacted with the two your mind has been in limbos about whether you should call them your friends or not. I mean, should they even be on the podium for a poetical friendship?

what if they didn't want to be your friend? what if this was all some sort of elaborate school wide joke to make you look like a fool? like some kind of loser?

dropping your hands to your side, you started fanning yourself. the insidious thoughts swirling in your mind as they kept spiraling and spiraling. each thought was more outlandish than the last as you tried to breathe.

you had noticed your breathing pick up. trying everything in your power to control your emotions, yet it was useless. each self assured thought battled valiantly against each worry. yet Seth each good thought there were about 10 bad thoughts there to counter.

fuck.

why were you such a failure? its literally class. you dont even have to talk! just go there!

but that's exactly what spooked you enough to throw your bag on the floor. you couldn't be there with all those eyes on you.

with a defeated, angry huff you stormed to the dusty, stripped couch. tears long exchanged for angry growls and grumbles as you plopped yourself on it before standing up. you walked back and forth in front of the couch because you had to do something-anything. you needed to distract yourself from these thoughts.

yet the one thing you wanted to do was so out of reach for you, ... yet it was right there.

you were trapped in a glass house with nothing but your fear keeping the door closed.

"oi what's the the racket!"

you paused your pacing. 'when did I start pacing?' you thought to yourself for a moment. shrugging it off, you looked around to try and find the person who's voice that belonged to.

yet there was no one. no ghosts nor grim-

"what're you doing stand'n there like a chicken? dont'cha got class?" you followed the voice to the stairs. and low and behold was the magnificent grim. paws at his hips with a judge look, right before he yawned.

'cute' you thought with a deep breathe.

your fanning motions slowed down with each step grim descended. you didn't bother listening to his yapping as you walked closer to your furry companion.

"I uh..."

"couldn't do it?" he asked bluntly. your cheeks heated up as you nodded softly, a bit embarrassed that someone as... grim like, could point that out.

he sighs once he's at a step that's eye level with you. he pointed with a smirk "listen, I normally dont do this, but the great and powerful grim must show his henchmen some beevlence"

"benevolence" you corrected

grim rolled his eyes, giving you a deadpan expression "yeah, that's what I said"

you gave him a thin lipped 'uh huh' as he continued.

"so! I'll let you carry the great grim to class!'

'... this little shit is capitalizing on your anxiety to catch a free lift! that little asshole

but then again... free emotional support animal

but it's the principle-

yeah and we're going to be having another meeting with that bird-brain if we dont keep up attendance.'

you battled with yourself for a moment. weighing the pros and cons of using each other. grim would definitely not shut up about it when you're carrying him... but... free hugs.

"oi, why you making faces?"

"sorry, I just got lost in thought" you smiled sheepishly. taking a deep breath, you looked him in the eye. "okay, that works for me"

grim cheered before complaining how tried he was from gym yesterday. yet you faintly recall the feline scouting out a place under the bleachers to take a cat nap under.

yet you also recalled how Vargas found him (you and yuu snitched) and made him run 5 extra laps because of all the new engird he must have💪

you laughed to yourself at the memory. your mood slightly lighting as you shooed off another one of grim's questions.

bending down, grim clambered happily in your arms as you adjusted your hold on him. making your way back to your discarded book bag, you carefully bent down, making sure not to drop the... fat cat.

there was no way to say it nicely.

fluffy? soft? fun-sized?

slinging the bag on your back, you paused for a moment to adjust the straps and the cat in your hold. once were both situated and you were positive weren't going to move, you made your way to the door.

you tried focusing on grim. on his soft fur, random yapping, and even the warmth his ears protruded.

once you were back at your oaky wall, you took a deep breathe. the deepest oe you took all day. closing your eyes, you shot your hand towards the door and aggersivly opened it.

and to your surprise; there was no one there.

no dragon to smite you where you stood

no annoyingly obnoxious person waiting to point out your flaws,

no towering upper class-men ready to stare you down the moment you read on their radar

not even meteor.

there was nothing. and yet you still paused. still hesitated.

your eyes surveyed the courtyard in front of you, searching and scanning for anything besides from trees and distant buildings. anything besides the overgrown weeds and cracked cobblestone.

"oi c'mon, we'll be even later than the late bell! hurry it up!"

jolting at the interruption. you reached for the door before closing it. now you were trapped outside. grim hurried you again, starting to squirm in your arms in annoyance.

your mouth and feet work in unison as you kept your eyes locked on the gate.

"how would you describe yourself grim?"

and you know what, the walk wasn't as bad as you thought.

its a bit shorter than the rest (so far) but I had to build a bit to the next part.

#twisted anxiety 🌀#tiyoin 🔎#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #azul x reader #leona x reader #malleus x reader #idia x reader #vil x reader #Floyd Leech x reader #jade leech x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #malleus draconic x reader #kalim x reader #silver x reader #silver twisted wonderland #twst silver x reader

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jjngkook7 · 2 months

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Choices (6)

Werewolf Au! Jungkook x Reader / Enemies to Lovers [Angst and mature content. Not smut but almost smut.]

Summary: Jungkook finally found her. His mate. His lifelong partner. But she’s a human. Does he have to stay with her or can he stick it to whatever and whoever binds mates together and make his own decision? ***THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE. I PROMISE I WON'T MAKE YOU WAIT THIS LONG AGAIN***

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

You rang in the new year with some coworkers. The night was a blur of lights, laughter and music. Despite being a lightweight, you didn’t get as drunk as you thought, in fact, you were barely tipsy. It was hard to have fun when your reality didn’t even feel real. You had all the ingredients to drink your heart out: you met who was supposed to be your soulmate, you find out that mythical creatures are real and your best friend in the whole world has been hiding all of this from you for a year. To add more salt to the wound, Jennie spent Christmas and New Years with the pack. Sad wasn’t quite the right word for how you felt, maybe confused or disoriented? You had been in a haze since the last time you saw everyone trying to figure out if the past weeks were real or not.

After Jungkook dropped you back off at the cabin, Namjoon decided that you should leave for your safety. Apparently having someone as unpredictable as Jungkook free from his chains while his mate was hanging out with other men was not a good idea even after you told Namjoon that Jungkook actually saved your life. Namjoon took you home that night and advised you to keep your distance for a while. He seemed sad when he dropped you off and truth be told, you were kind of sad too. You had a fondness for Namjoon because he was the one that made you feel sane and safe throughout this whole journey. You would miss your friendship with him and everyone else.

Your phone pinged, reeling you out of your thoughts. You thew it towards the edge of your bed when you saw that it was just one of those annoying marketing texts. Your eyes then glided towards the Christmas card on your nightstand as it did almost everyday; it was the one artifact you had proving that everything you went through was real. Everyone from the pack had signed the card, all except for one. You reached for the card and ran your fingertips over the glitter covered snowman on the front page. I wonder how he’s doing. Embarrassed didn’t even begin to explain how you felt. You felt like a fool, an actual idiot for still wondering about Jungkook’s wellbeing when he couldn’t even write his name on a stupid Christmas card for you-he probably laughed when Namjoon asked him to contribute. With one last read through of the card, you placed it under your bed and made never thinking about Jungkook again as your new year’s resolution.

__________________________________

Maybe because there was no one to talk to about your new year’s resolution in full but getting over Jungkook was pretty easy. You hadn’t spoken to anyone in the pack in over a month and the memories of them become less and less clear by the day. Was it Jin that helped you with your injuries or Yoongi? Was it Namjoon that drove you home or did Hoseok tag along also? And did you actually feel sparks when Jungkook touched you or was it just your imagination? Either way, it felt good to feel less crazy. It was only when you and Jennie hung out that everything would hit you like a freight train. Seeing her was bittersweet. You were so happy to spend time with your best friend despite your guys’ schedule but you couldn’t help this building of resentment in your chest at the same time. Anger and guilt gnawed at you so raw that replying to her texts took hours to do. Luckily, both of you were so busy with work that seeing each other was few and far between.

One thing you had a really hard time forgetting was the night you had to leave. After Jungkook asked you to wait, you sat by his side and watched him catch his breath. It was hard seeing someone in so much pain despite the lack of physical wounds. Once Jungkook seemed to have a grip on himself, he told you to sit as far away from him as possible while he sat on the other side of the cabin. You remembered feeling like you were naked under his red gaze, like he could see every single movement you made. Jungkook told you that it wasn’t safe for you to leave yet and that you had to wait for a little bit. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook couldn’t have you leave just yet. A wolf in the midst of his heat finally meeting his mate after being kept away from them was like a ticking time bomb. Jungkook needed to engulf your scent and calm his mind before letting you go back to a cabin full of fully grown men. He was surprised that you complied and that you kept your composure. Sure, he noticed your trembling hands and shortness of breath but you kept calm and collected. Jungkook needed to direct his attention to something else-anything- and so the small talk began. It started off with what you did for work and ended with Jungkook shit talking his pack mates. When Jungkook felt sane enough, he insisted he carry you home to be safe. You remember flinching when a low growl escaped from Jungkook when you hooked your arms around his neck. You felt his body shake as you wrapped your legs around his waist. It took a minute before he was able to hoist you up and get going. You remembered him being gentle and asking if you were all right the whole way back to the cabin. You remembered him letting you down a couple meters in front of the cabin because Namjoon would’ve killed him if he saw Jungkook and you together.

“Are you going to be okay?” you asked.

Jungkook offered you a nod, his bright red eyes doing the soft smile on his face an injustice. Perhaps it was the darkness playing tricks on your eyesight but Jungkook looked bigger. His muscles were more toned, his hair was thicker and his overall aura was just larger. You felt embarrassed drooling over his physique like some school girl despite almost dying a couple hours ago. Namjoon’s voice from inside the cabin redirected your guys’ attention and you suddenly remembered that it was below freezing outside.

“I-I’m going to go inside now,” you reached out your hand to give Jungkook’s arm a reassuring squeeze but retracted remembering how much he ordered you to not touch him, “goodnight.”

To your surprise, Jungkook reached out instead and caressed your face with both his hands. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch pathetically. Jungkook left out an exhale of both relief and frustration. Every ounce of control he had was quickly slipping through his fingers. He was teetering towards the edge of danger with you right now. You opened your eyes to see Jungkook watching you but not like he did before. Just a couple of hours ago, you felt like a prey under his gaze. This time, he was looking at you like how Taehyung looked at Jennie.

“Do me a favor?” he asked, his voice almost hoarse.

You nodded and scrunched your eyebrows. What could you possibly do for him? Jungkook felt his stomach drop knowing what he was going to ask of you. The warmth that happened when you guys touched intensified as Jungkook brought your body closer to his. He knew he only had a couple minutes to relish your touch before his heat and his reality would take over again.

“I need you to forget about this night,” he finally said. Although subtle, he felt your pressure lift from his hands. “I need you to forget about me, about my pack, about everything. Make it like I never even existed, and I’ll do the same. Trust me, it’s for the best.”

As cruel as his words already were, Jungkook then sealed it by pressing his lips against yours. You couldn’t help but gasp which, he happily swallowed. A surge of electricity pulsed through you as he deepened the kiss. The heat from his body immediately making you forget how cold it was. As gentle as he was, you remembered his body began to tremble and the slight sting against your bottom lip when his fangs unsheathed.

And that was all you wanted to remember. Perhaps you were a masochist. Of all the memories you chose to forget, you just couldn’t let go of this particular one; no one ever really completes their new year’s resolution anyways. You knew you would never get an answer but it didn’t matter anymore. Every time Jennie saw you, she'd try to ask about Jungkook but you would either change the subject or give her vague answers. You didn't want to know more than you already did.

“Goodnight, Sooyoung!” you chimed.

“Goodnight,” Sooyoung replied with a sympathetic smile, “you should leave soon.”

“I will!” you lied, “see you tomorrow morning.”

Sooyoung hovered by your desk for a few more seconds before heading towards the elevator. It was common for you to stay after work but not for this long. You waved at Sooyoung until the elevator doors finally closed. When you were certain that there was no one else in the office, you closed the document you were pretending to work on and slumped against your chair. A tired sigh left your mouth as you roughly ran your hands against your face. Just as you were accepting your new reality, the past week and a half had you re-questioning your sanity. Being at home recently felt eerie. You were constantly checking over your shoulder and hesitant to sleep with your bedroom door closed. The nightmares you were having didn’t help either. Night after night, you would see the same things in your dream: rogue wolves chasing you and a Jungkook bleeding out to top it off. You’d jolt awake in the middle of the night and could only fall back asleep after taking melatonin. With the nightmares being a daily occurrence, the melatonin had stopped taking effect and you were left trying to calm your racing heart on your own. To your disdain, the only place you felt safe was at work. Your office was high up on the 25th floor and security here was pretty strict. You concluded that your paranoia was from these nightmares but those moments when you felt like someone was watching you felt too real to blame on lack of sleep. You put your head down against your desk and stared at the time displayed on your computer. It was nearing 7:45 and you promised yourself that you’d leave at 8pm. As the minutes ticked by, you tried to come up with some sort of game plan to combat another inevitable sleepless night.

____________________________________

“Jungkook!” Taehyung shouted as he kicked over a half conscious rogue towards Jungkook.

Jungkook caught it mid air and slammed it down onto the ground before ripping its head off. With that being the last rogue, Jungkook and pack were able to finally catch their breath as they examined the graveyard of torn limbs by their feet.

“Where the fuck are they coming from?” Hoseok panted.

Namjoons eyes wavered as he studied the carcasses on the ground. He had no answer for Hoseok. Rogue wolves attack here and there but never had he seen such great numbers. Their appearance usually coincided with the phases of the moon but recently, their attacks had been random and in hoards. He did notice that they foolishly always went for Jungkook first. As strong as Jungkook was, he was not invincible. Namjoon had also taken note of how haggard and tired his pack was from fighting almost everyday. If they didn't find an answer anytime soon, he feared that he would lose a pack member.

Everyone turned their head towards the trees when they heard a branch snap. In the distance, Jungkook caught a flash of white teeth and familiar pitch black eyes.

“I got it!” Jungkook shouted, before running after the rogue.

He was fucking exhausted. He really hoped that this was the last one because he was losing strength and fast. These recent attacks only fuelled his anger because if he had mated with someone of his species, he would’ve tripled in strength by now.

A yelp emitted from the rogue when Jungkook finally caught up and grabbed its legs. Jungkook swung the rogue against a tree, breaking its ribs in the process. As the creature whimpered against the ground, Jungkook winced when he saw that it was laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook sneered, angry that it was still breathing.

The creature seemed to be mumbling a familiar word over and over again but Jungkook couldn’t figure out what it was saying. Another yelp came out from the rogue as Jungkook kicked its face in. He crouched down and grabbed the creature by its scruff.

“Speak up!” He demanded.

Despite his impressive experience fighting rogues, Jungkook still had a hard time getting used to the disturbing ways these creatures moved and laughed even though they were near death. This rogue had its jaw kicked in and its tongue was hanging out due to the lack of the bottom half of its face. The grip Jungkook had on it tightened when it continued mumbling. Just as he was about to lose his patience trying to unscramble the creatures jargon, Jungkook finally put together what it was mumbling. The rogue seemed to notice the shift in Jungkook’s eyes and laughed even louder.

“I bet she’d taste so good too.” were its last words before Jungkook ripped out its heart.

Jungkook had to get back to Namjoon and let him know what happened.

It was mumbling your name this whole time.

The living room was quiet as the pack tended to their wounds. Jin went around ensuring that everyone was treating their injuries correctly even if it was just a little scratch.

"You need to clean it." Jin sighed, looking at the deep cut on Jungkook's forearm. The cut was his own fault. As Jungkook was ripping the rogues heart out, his arm got caught in the creatures ribs and it carved his arm as he was pulling it out of its chest.

"Just leave it, Jin." Jungkook grumbled, swatting Jin's worried hands away.

Namjoon and Jin exchanged glances, both annoyed and worried about the youngest member but Namjoon didn't have time to adhere to Jungkook's attitude. Thankfully, no one was seriously hurt but who knew when the rogues would come back to attack again.

"So," Yoongi said, sucking his teeth in the process, "anyone here knows what they want?"

Jungkook wanted to hear his members theories before jumping the gun because maybe the rogue was toying with Jungkook or maybe it wasn't even saying your name at all. The silence that followed confirmed Jungkook's fear. No matter what Jungkook did, he just couldn't seem to get away from you. All eyes were on Jungkook when he suddenly cursed.

"They're after her." Jungkook said, his fingers pinching his nose bridge.

"Who?" Jimin asked.

"His mate." Taehyung's grin only grew when Jungkook glared at him.

Amidst Jimin's surprise and the symphony of swear words thrown back and forth between the members, Namjoon felt his heart sink as a wave of deja vu hit him. The younger one failed to notice the sadness in the leaders eyes as he berated his pack mates who were teasing him with swear words.

"They're not after her," Namjoon finally spoke, breaking the fight, "Jungkook, they're after you and then her. They know that you'd go after them if they kill her before you mark her. They're after you first to get you out of the picture. As long as she's unmated, they're going to keep coming."

Namjoon felt a lump grow in his throat as realization washed over each member. All eyes slowly turned towards Jungkook who had his fists balled up. The pressure from his fists made his blood seep out from the cut on his forearm. Why did he have to deal with this? How come you were still intertwined with him despite being away for over a month? What did he have to fucking do to get rid of you for good?

"T-this could be different, Namjoon." Jungkook stammered, his mind moving too quick for his mouth to catch up.

"Jungkook listen to me," Namjoon said picking his words carefully as he approached Jungkook, "only you can stop this. We can't fend them off forever."

Jungkook grit his teeth and felt his breath labour. This wasn't fair. He didn't choose this and it seemed like life wasn't planning on giving him too many options either. Jungkook began to replay the conversation he had with Namjoon after he first discovered you. The blood from Jungkook's cut was now staining his pants as he remembered what Namjoon said about how strong humans were. What a fucking joke.

"I am stopping this! Who here in this room has killed more rogues than me? Huh? Who?!" Jungkook bursted.

Jungkook's brown eyes had now turned into a dark red shade.

"Killing them one will send ten. Killing ten will send a hundred. Killing a hundred will send a thousand. You have the responsibility to save her life," Namjoon argued tiredly, "look at your brothers. Look at you! We are not immortal, Jungkook."

Jungkook jumped up from his seat and grabbed his hair. His ears were now ringing. His responsibility?! He hadn't even marked you yet, why were you now his responsibility? He couldn't help but laugh aloud by how absurd everything and everyone was sounding. You had stolen what seemed like everything away from him-his freedom, his bodily functions and now even his morals. You kept taking from him and now you were his responsibility?

"Jungkook please," Jin pleaded, "can you please put your own ego aside and make a good choice for once in your life?"

Jungkook turned towards Jin and snarled, "Remind me who saved your fucking life just 20 minutes ago? If I hadn't ran to you in time, you would've been shredd-"

"Enough!" Namjoon yelled, "Whether you like it or not, her life is in your hand-"

"I will not be responsible for her death like you were for Irene!"

Within a second, Jungkook was slammed against the wall. His right cheek was throbbing and his nose bloodied. He wasn't sure if he had finished his sentence but the right hook from Namjoon answered that question for him. Before Jungkook could orient himself, Namjoon grabbed Jungkook by the neck and trapped him against the wall again.

"You will never utter her name in that context again do you understand?" Namjoon asked through gritted teeth.

Jungkook licked his lower lip, the taste of his own blood filling his mouth as he did.

"Do you understand?!" Namjoon bellowed, shaking Jungkook.

"Y-yes." Jungkook finally answered.

The older one finally let go but not without giving Jungkook one final shove.

"Have a better attitude tomorrow morning or you fend for yourself from now on." Namjoon threatened before disappearing into his study.

Jungkook kept his eyes on the floor as his members stood around staring at him. Jungkook could only count on one hand how many times he felt ashamed in life, he would now have to count on two hands after tonight. His members didn't say a word to him as they retreated back to their rooms one by one. Taehyung lingered for a little bit longer. He wanted to ring Jungkook out but decided to leave him to sulk all alone. Jungkook watched his blood drip from his nose onto his sweater. Would dying by some disgusting creatures be better than surrendering to fate? One thing was for sure, Jungkook would rather die with his brothers than alone. He turned his head towards the end of the hallway where Namjoon's study was. The searing pain from his broken nose was nothing compared to what he just said to Namjoon.

Namjoon had his head buried in his hands as Jungkook's words echoed in his mind. It had been years since Irene's death but it still pained him like it happened yesterday. He knew the younger one was speaking out of anger but if he only knew how much Namjoon did blame himself.

"You know, I couldn't even mourn her after she died. I think I finally did after three months." Namjoon spoke.

Jungkook figured it was probably the smell from all his blood that alerted Namjoon to his presence. He cautiously walked towards Namjoon and sat in front of him.

"Her death was the first out of the two times I ever regretted taking leadership of our pack." Namjoon continued, looking up to meet the younger ones sad gaze.

"And the second?" Jungkook asked, his voice barely audible.

"Tonight." Namjoon replied.

Jungkook let the uncomfortable silence engulf him. He stared at the picture of Irene resting on the bookshelf behind Namjoon and felt remorse like he had never before. Irene was Namjoon's mate. For years, Namjoon refused to mark her not because he didn't want to-because he did-but because he was afraid of bringing Irene in his world. He thought the best way to protect her was to keep her away. Jungkook had never seen someone love another person the way Namjoon loved Irene. He doted on her and gave her anything she ever wanted, everything except for one. Irene had begged and begged Namjoon to make her his official mate but he always rejected her advances. By the time Namjoon decided to turn a new leaf, it was too late. If Namjoon had marked her, he would've been stronger and maybe could've fought off the pack of rogues. That day, Jungkook and the pack were out hunting. When they came back, the cabin they had built had been ripped apart. The image of Namjoon carrying Irene's bloody body in his arms as he wept and called out her name was forever imprinted in Jungkook's brain. Namjoon's physical state was no better and if they hadn't returned when they did, they would've lost their leader too. Irene was one of the strongest people Jungkook knew. She was brave, unwavering and quick witted. Before Jin met Mina, it was Irene nursing everyone back to health after a fight and braving the forest to find medicine. Irene was strong and she was human.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean what I said and I shouldn't have said that," Jungkook apologized tearing his eyes away from Irene, "I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

Namjoon smiled. Although brash and somewhat arrogant, Jungkook always meant well at the end of the day. He couldn't even count how many brawls Jungkook got into because someone slightly badmouthed a member of the pack.

"Please, your life will probably end in the next few minutes with the amount of blood you're losing. Just let me punch the other side of your face and we can call it even." Namjoon joked.

Jungkook scoffed and wiped his nose. He really was losing a lot of blood.

"Jungkook, I couldn't save Irene but you have a chance here. Learning to love someone...don't you think that's better than losing someone," Namjoon wanted to laugh when he saw Jungkook flinch at the word 'love', "and if you can't do it for her, do it for me. For Irene."

Jungkook swallowed the lump in his throat, "I-I don't know if I can mark her right away, you have to give me some time."

Namjoon nodded understandingly.

"But I promise," Jungkook sucked in a breath, "I'll protect her with my life."

#bts fanfic #jungkook werewolf #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts werewolf au #bts smut #bts #jungkook smut #jungkook #yoongi #jimin #namjoon #taehyung #hoseok #jin #bts x reader #jungkook werewolf au #choices

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lattenha · 2 months

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HAIR — N. RIKI

riki has a few things to say about your hair. ft. non-idol!riki x gn!reader genre! one-shot fluff

“your hair is so long.” riki remarks, his fingers delicately toying with the stray strands that spill on his bedsheets.

you frown, uncertain whether his comment was intended as a compliment or an insult to the length of your hair. his deadpan, monotone delivery makes it challenging to decipher his intentions. something you often struggled to grasp throughout the entirety of your friendship.

“do you not like it?” you ask, a hint of sadness in your tone.

riki shoots upright in bed, panicking when he realizes that the lack of ethos behind his words led him astray from what he intended to do: compliment you.

“n-no! it— that’s n-not what i meant…” he sputters, failing to properly console you of his mistake. if there’s one thing riki’s good at, it’s acting a fool when it comes to being around you.

“sorry…” he murmurs under his breath.

you shuffle against the sheets to sit up, hugging your knees close to your chest as you look to your best friend with a pout. the pitiful expression on your face is akin to a kicked puppy. riki finds himself at war with his mind to keep it from wandering into dangerous territory, areas within the deepest parts of his brain that he refuses to unlock or acknowledge.

but it’s extremely difficult to not lean in and do something about those lips of yours that are calling to him.

his gaze shifts to your hair, slightly tousled from the past hour of lounging in his bedroom together. he reaches forward to brush the loose strands into place while also tucking pieces behind your ear.

“i like your hair the way it is, actually.” he says softly, his voice an octave lower in your ear that it sends a shiver down your spine.

you concentrate on drowning out the sound of your erratic heartbeat, striving to mask the crimson hue creeping across your cheeks under riki’s intense stare fixed upon your face.

“even if it was purple?” you meekly ask, trying to lighten the tension with playful banter.

riki chuckles and nods his head, “even if it was purple…”

“what if i had a mullet?”

he makes a face before agreeing, “sure, why not.” riki shrugs.

“oooh! what about pink?” you giggle, imagining the myriad haircuts and colors of the rainbow your hair could sport.

“pink is fine, too.” riki laughs.

#lattenha ☕️#enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #nishimura riki #riki imagines #riki x you #riki x reader #riki x y/n #riki fluff #riki scenarios #enhypen #enha #enha imagines #gender neutral reader

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2smolbeans · 7 months

Text

Part 1 Part 2.5 character info

He let out a soft series of chuckles. Staring at you with a pitiful look, showing an expression of fake sympathy.

"I don't love you, and I never will. Not even if you beg and try. "

Love Me, Love Me Not (2)

Yandere Best Friend x Obstacle Reader

*unedited

Tags: small description of Nsfw- they don't fuck, self loathing, hostage keeping, one sided attraction, betrayal, mentions of previous friendships the yandere broke, slight angst, yandere is attracted to someone else, escape planning, mentions of a previous murder victim, reader is complicit to the murders, guilt, past memories.

Disclaimer: This is just a scenario I thought of with an Oc! So nothing is really 'official' or canon-

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You look at the door, contemplating your next move. It's right there, just staring at you. The latch was loose, Marco didn't consficate the butter knife like he did usually whenever the two of you ate, and he was no where to be seen. It was so fucking conveinent, so perfect. Too perfect...Maybe you were just paranoid. The latch. The door. Just do it. Run. Sprint. Why were you panicking? This was all on you now. Your legs were shaking as you wobbled your way towards the door, grabbing the butterknife that you were previously cutting the lamb chops with. Trembling, you tried to bust open the secuirty latch. But ultimately you ended up throwing the butterknife into the sink.

Falling onto the couch, grabbing a soft pillow as a soother, you let out a frustrated scream. It's better to be safe than sorry. If anything, Marco could be hiding behind the door waiting for you. For all you know, Marco could be waiting outside the apartment complex exits, standing by while he prepares to tackle you when you finally rush outside. He could be testing you. Why wouldn’t he? It was just predictable. You knew better than to assume that Marco would freely let you loose.

So you waited, and waited. The more time passed, the more you started second guessing your choice. Wow, maybe he was just clumsy. For what seemed like forever, Marco finally rushed into the room, slamming the door open before closing it shut.

"Did I scare ya?"

He smugly spoke, swaying his way towards you while he dragged two suitcases. Stiff from the frozen fear that had shot you in the chest, you only stared at Marco wide eyed.

"I'll take that as a yes..? Anyways stay put, I just need to do this real quick.."

Peeking into the contents of the suitcases, you heard Marco examine and fix the locks. Noticing that one of the latches were left loose, Marco turned back to look at you- surpirsed yet expecting this from you. You stayed, you're still here.

Huh...

While Marco was preoccupied with himself, you reached out into one of the luggages. It was your stuff! Holding out an old shirt of yours, you let out an accidental gasp.

"Oh yeah, I figured that you might want a few things of yours. I mean I can't have my roomie empty handed~"

Underwear, socks, shirts- everything! He even brought a few extra things like your plushies and accessories! Smiling, you thanked him while you zipped up the zipper of the suitcase.

"No problem dude! Anyways you can go do whatever, fool around in your room or something. I dunno?"

Can you leave?

"Hahaha! HA! You're hilarious!"

Scoffing, you nudged Marco's shoulder, making your way to your 'bedroom'. Closing the door behind you, you took out all of your belongings from the two suitcases. Searching through the pile of stuff you had, you managed to find your phone! Immediately powering it on, you tried calling the authorities. Even trying to turn on your mobile data so that you could contact somebody through your socials. Though expectantly, your phone had blocked all of those options. No service, no nothing. Scrolling through the photo gallery, you looked at the photos you took, all the stupid screenshots you saved. You and him, it's always been the two of you. Of course, sometimes it would be you, him, and.. Matheias and Angela.. You just stare at their faces, feeling nothing as you observe their smiles. You were all so happy back then..

Matheias screamed as he lunged himself towards Marco, crying as his sobs echoed the room. Quickly, you grabbed Matheias by the arm, struggling to keep him still as he dragged you along with him. You shouted at Matheias, scolding him while also begging him to calm down as he continued to howl at Marco. Trying your best to keep Matheias away from Marco, you were forced onto the floor as Matheias shoved you away from him. Showing concern, Marco rushed towards you, trying to help you back on your feet.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER- HOW COULD YOU?!"

He screeched, throwing chairs, his face red with anger. Helping you up, Marco cautiously approached Matheias- holding his two palms up as he slowly approached. Calmly, Marco tried to speak to Matheias.

"Come on..Please let's not do this. Not now - just not now, okay? Please, let's just talk this out-"

Panicked, Matheias threw something at Marco, trying to keep more distance.

"LIAR! You fucking CUNT!"

Persistent, Marco was beginning to lose his composure. His voice was now on the verge of shaky tears as he lowered himself to Matheias's height level.

"P-Please..We just- it's her- fucking hell.. Come on Matheias! Really man?"

The more Marco spoke with sincerity, the more Matheias reacted. The more Marco tried to reach out to Matheias, his grieving work buddy.. His best friend..The more terrified you saw Matheias get.

"Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. You're sick- Stop that. Those aren't real.."

Trying to descalate the situation, you spoke firmly towards Matheias. Enough is enough. You've had it with the accusations about Marco, the delusions and rumors Matheias had accumulated about him. It was tiring seeing Matheias grow bitter against the only person trying to hold everyone together. You were annoyed with how he was reacting. Everyone was mourning, nobody was themselves. You understand that, you can sympthazie with him. You're also hurting. You miss her too. It was just the three of you now. So why, out of all people, he could've chosen to take his anger out, did it have to be Marco? Hysterically, Matheias let out a series of laughs. Rolling his eyes as he pointed a finger at you.

"Oh yeah! Of course you believe him! I think I know why. Trying to get some brownie points aren't you?"

He marched towards you, keeping his finger pointed at you. His voice so loud and angry, it began to ring your ears.

"It's always been like that! Don't you find it fucking unfair how he's always the innocent little sheep in every sitaution?!"

He let out an exasperated breath, his hands aggressively flying everywhere.

"But NOOOOOO! EVERYONE LOVESSS MARCO! The fucking psychopath. Fucking murderer. And I'm the only one that fucking knows!"

Stop it, you beg. You're being delusional, you cried. You held back your tongue, knowing that Matheias wasn't being himself. He always had an issue with his temper, so you knew you had to be patient with him. But you've done that so many times throughout the friendship. It's beginning to run thin. Espically now.

"Why don't you just say it huh? Why don't you just admit it? Tell him. Just fucking-"

Out of instinct, you rushed towards Matheias. Raising your hand as the palm of it harshly came into contact with his face. Tears streaming down your cheeks, you slap him again..And again..And again..Stopping when Marco had to pull you away from him. Holding you in a hug as the hiccups and sniffles begin to escape you.

It was quiet for a while. Your sniffles and his loud, hyperventilating breathes were the only thing left in the room. You remember the look in his eyes, the grief he felt when he saw Marco shake his head dissapointingly. As tension filled the room, suffocating the three of you in an uncomfortable moment- unsure of what was to happen next. Matheias finally spoke up, defeated as he slammed his hand against the table. Memorial cards, photographs, and sympathy letters falling onto the ground.

"..You know what? Fine. Suit yourself. But she's gone, and I know who fucking did it. Sooner or later, you'll know I'm right. And when you do, you'll be wishing that you listened to me."

Without a word, Matheias grabbed a memorial card. Shoving chairs out of his way while he walked out the door. With a final glance, he looked at Marco, and then at you. Scowling, he shut the door violently, leaving you and Marco alone.

Your eyes burned as you stared at the ground. Your body feeling limp as you pressed your back against the bedframe for support. Matheias was always the smart fucker of the group..You wonder how he'd react if he knew what was going on. Probably with a snarky remark of how "I told you so!". Funny how the end of their close bond was the start of yours. You want to cry, to get rid of this awful feel that brewed inside of you. But you can't. Maybe it was your body's way of punishing you for being such an awful human being.

Yeah sit with your guilt. Let it simmer with no outlet to release it.

Looking at the screen, you decided to check out your notes. Scrolling through them, you recalled how you always used it as a personal diary rather than a proper agenda tool. Just a pile of insecurities about your crush on a friend who clearly had the hots for someone else. A bunch of useless shit that you bitched about. A series of notes that revealed what type of selfish person you truly were.

Last opened a week ago...?

What?

Your heart sank as you looked at the bottom of each note.

Each note, every single one of them, he read them all. All the words you said to yourself, all the thoughts that you had- he knew about it. You went rigid the more you thought about it. Before..Was he playing with your feelings? He knowingly roped you into this shitfest because he knew he had you wrapped around his little finger. You were the perfect loyal pawn that helped him clean the messes.

Hahaha. Haha. Ha.

That's hilarious, isn't it? You stand up, furious of how stupidly feeble you felt. You pick up the clothes and your belongings and organize them in their rightful place. The couch, when he touched you like that..It was just to keep you on your toes, to keep you obedient. Your 'reward' for being so good.. Pissed, you started to pace around your room. That's it, you want out. You should've left the room when you had the chance. You lay there on the floor, mind numb as you stare into nothingness. That poor girlfriend, whoever they are, hoped they were okay. Why did Marco like them again? How did they even meet? Do you even remember what she looks like? You should know, he's talked about her so many times you've lost count. Charlie? Ashlyn? Abby? No.. none of those sounded right. Does it matter in the end? You should be worrying about yourself.

What if you tied your clothes and made a makeshift rope? Looking down through the window, you grimaced as you thought about it. It's too high. You're on the highest floor of the building. You laughed at another desperate thought that came up. What if you fought Marco yourself? Sure, yeah, if you wanted to get suplexed to death. Right, fight the 6'2 "maniac who goes to the gym every week and could easily pick you up like a ragdoll. There has to be someway.. Who knows how long he really plans on keeping you. It was so easy for him to drop Matheias, someone he knew longer than you - and swiftly wiped Angela off the face of the earth. You're next. Time was ticking. You sat there for a while. Thinking to yourself. Did Marco really care about anything other than himself? Is he capable of emotion? He has some capability, or maybe he plays the illusion that he does fairly well.

Without another thought, you got up, walking towards his room. Knocking the door, you called his name. No answer. You knock again. No answer. You try opening the door to check if he's inside. It's locked. Going to the front door, you began to play with the locks. Loudly banging them against the doorframe, the metalic sounds echoing the entire room. Still no response. Using this opportunity, you scan the entire apartment, looking for anything you could use or take note of. But you couldn’t think of anything. Deciding to go back to your room, you try to get some shut eye. Changing into some nightwear to get comfortable.

Eventually, you were able to find yourself melting into the matress. Dreaming about what could've been, you were sound asleep. You wished you could've stayed like that forever. Blissful and full of rest. However, it was short-lived as you felt yourself being lifted up. Groggily, you were brought up onto your knees. Slowly, you were propped up at a certain position while a warm breath fanned against the back of your neck. Your back was pressed against his chest, legs spread apart, and hands on both sides of your thighs. Fully awake and aware, you froze as you felt his hands play with your chest - barely grazing at your nipples. Alert, you tried to turn your body away from his wandering hands. Out of protest against your reaction, Marco hushed you as he pushed you back to the position.

"Ah ah ah. Nono. Stay put for me okay? Trust me"

It felt so foreign with the way he spoke to you with such geniune softness. You couldn't help but lean further against his body as he began to travel his hands further down your lower half.

"You've been so good, such a good friend to me..I've never really thanked you properly, so I'll do it now..Yeah?"

His hands now grabbing onto the waistband of your pajama pants, you went paralyzed. Why was he doing this?

"You deserve it. That's why.. Do you not like this?"

What about her? Doesn't he hate you for standing in the way?

"Just answer my question. Do you like this or not?"

You were starting to get on his nerves. So quietly, you meekly squeaked for him to continue. Even though you knew you should've denied his offer and advances, you still couldn't help but fall into him. So, lifting your hips up, you allowed him to pull your pants down.

"I just want to make it up to you, that's all..You'd enjoy something like this afterall.."

Rubbing all the right places, going at that perfect rhythmic pace, focusing on your body movements. He made sure to treat you carefully, leaving gentle kisses along your neck as he watched your chest rise up and down. Back and fourth, he left your mind in a daze as he whispered those sweet praises into your ears.

"Finally got what you wanted, huh? How long have you been thinking of this for? Hah.. And don't lie to me, I know everything.."

You didn't answer him as you focused on chasing your release. Your hands pathetically gripping onto his arms while you whined as his hands continued to play and stroke at your sex.

"It's only fair. I realised if you hadn't helped me, I would've been so lost..So good job. You did so well for me. You earned this"

Twisting and brewing, you felt the heat inside you threaten to spill as he changed his pace. His hands now trying to chass the pleasure out of you while you quivered underneath him. You were close, so close to tipping over the edge.

"I love you"

With those words that you so desperately fantasized about for years, you felt the heat in your body spread. Milking out your orgasm, Marco continued at the same rhythm, pulling his hand away after he felt you try to shove him off. Getting off the bed as he left you there to calm down, he wiped his hands dry. Smirking at you as if he had just pulled the world's most amazing prank.

"I did good didn't I?"

....What the fuck was that? Why in the hell did you say yes? Why the fuck did he- Looking at him in confusion, you pulled up your pants. Giving him a look that demanded an answer.

"Okayy fine. I just felt like it. Plus it's fun seeing you melt like puddy!"

Huh? You felt dumbfounded as he kept walking around the dark room. The moonlight providing the only source of light to the bedroom.

"It's funny..You like me. I've known that for a while..Even before the notes. You were never really a good liar."

He let out a soft series of chuckles. Staring at you with a pitiful look, showing an expression of fake sympathy.

"I don't love you, and I never will. Not even if you beg and try. "

He leaned close to your face, his hands caressing your cheek.

"I only said it to get your rocks off. And clearly..It worked~"

Well fucking ouch..A pang went through your chest as Marco moved away from you. Disregarding your feelings he kept going, the softness and genuie warmth you felt earlier, disintegrated into nothingness. Like a flip switched inside him, he was back to his comedic cold personality.

"Ohh hun..Please don't be dissapointed. I wasn't lying when I said you deserved every second of that moment.."

Circling the room, he continued to monolog casually.

"Afterall for being such an obedient dog staying put in the room..You deserved a little treat!"

Patting your head to further squeeze out the feelings in your heart, Marco left the room.

"I'll see you tommorow okay? Dream about me~"

Alone by yourself again as you laid your body on the bed. You curled yourself into a ball, grabbing all the blankets, hugging them for some comfort. His words replayed in your head, trying to process what just happened. He was fucking with you. But why? Why like that? Staring up at the ceiling with your back on the bed, you muttered a few words while you felt the shame creep up on you.

What an asshole.

_____________________________

Part 3 coming soon!

You looked at her in horror as she sat there on the chair, tied up and gagged. Her face was stained with fresh tears as she struggled against her restraints. Oh god, did things not go well with her and Marco? Why was she here? You tried calming her down as she thrashed around, threatening to tip over the chair.

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344 notes · View notes

tcwmatchmakingau · 10 months

Text

The Beauty In All, Part One

Editor's note: written by @deejadabbles

Pairing: Echo x GN!reader Rating: General Audience (but minors DNI) Summary: Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice- still shame on you, don't take advantage of my kindness! After so many times of falling for people who mock and manipulate your kind nature, you thought that love, true love, was simply not in the cards for you. Thankfully, Right to Love is here to make sure you and a lucky ARC trooper get your happy ending together. A.N: did you know there's giant garden in the senate building that has tons of different nature environments? I just loved the idea of a reader working there and tending all kinds of exotic and dangerous plant life. Tiio is my Corrie Guard OC and Maura is a matchmaker OC that will show up a lot in my future fics for this AU! Word Count: 2853

Warnings: Mentions of past bad relationships and toxic exes.

His eyes were staring at you with that expectant intensity again, just a shade off of his infamous tooka-eyed stare. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were able to hide behind the felucian ficus you were pruning, you probably would have caved instantly.

“I don’t know, Tiio,” you hummed, looking down at an unhealthy leaf, rubbing it between your fingers and trying not to get lost in memories of previous attempts at romance. “Wouldn’t something like a matchmaker make the whole process seem…” you scrambled for a word and settled for, “robotic?”

Tiio’s eyes went wide, “No, not at all! Oh, vod’ika,” he stepped around the ficus, catching you on the other side so he could keep his gaze on you, “If that’s what you’re worried about, I promise it’s not like that!-”

He paused and looked around, making sure his suddenly loud words didn’t draw too much attention. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be in the garden when he was off duty, but the other guards had gotten too used to him swinging by to chat with you at the end of his shifts to really care. After all, what good was working in the senate building if you can’t enjoy the few luxuries it has?

When he turned back to you, he spoke calmly again, “It’s not like they just take a few basic facts about you and put them in an algorithm or something. It’s done with real people- people who actually care about others finding love and connections.” Tiio ran his hand through the halo of curls around his head, and when he got that far-away look, you knew who he was thinking about, “they want you to find someone who’ll see you for you, who shares values and interests,” then he gave a sigh, a dreamy sigh of content adoration, the kind of sigh only someone deeply in love is capable of making. “Someone who’ll treat you the way you’re supposed to be treated.” That’s when his eyes snapped back to yours, “That’s what I want for you, vod, I think it’s the perfect way to find someone who actually deserves you!”

The determination in his eyes made you smile, Tiio always had a way of making you feel appreciated. Of course, he just insisted that it was ‘returning the favor’, a reference to the event that sparked your friendship in the first place.

Being the head arborist of the Senate Botanical Garden meant that you saw and interacted with the Coruscant Guard every day. During the war, you had been witness to numerous counts of senators and civilians mistreating clones, and like any decent being, it had infuriated you.

About a year into the war, when anti-clone protests had really reached a head, you had asked the children in your volunteer herbology class to help you with a little project. Armed with a barrow overflowing with flower crowns and letters from the children who made them, you spent a whole day passing them out to the guards as a show that there were some out there who appreciated and supported them.

Many troopers took a shine to you after that, and Commander Fox once mock-complained that his men were always begging for guard posts in the garden because of you, but Tiio had become closest to you in the following time. Now, he was one of your best friends, an amazing listener who always reminded you of your self-worth, he was someone who reminded you why it was so important to stay gentle and kind, even when the galaxy tried to make you hard and jaded.

Tiio knew you, and your past, your heartbreaks and string of lovers who took and took and took from your wealth of kindness without giving you a drop of true devotion in return. And he knew how hard it was for you to trust someone like that again, especially after the last one.

So, if Tiio, who was even more protective of your heart than you were, thought this was a good idea, then maybe…

“I know that look!” Tiio was smiling now, realizing he was winning you over and when you tried to hide among the foliage again he laughed. “Listen, I won’t push you, vod’ika, but I really think this is a good idea. I just know one of my brothers will make you happy, and Right To Love will make sure you find the perfect one.”

You reemerged from the leaves, unable to hide how flatter and flushed his words made you. “Sure you aren’t just determined to prove that clones ‘do it better’ than natborns?” you said in a playful tone, paraphrasing something he and some of your other clone friends had said once while discussing your past relationships.

Tiio had the good grace to look away bashfully, “Maaaaybe?”

A laugh made its way out of you at that, “Alright, Tiio, you win. I’ll schedule my appointment when I get home tonight,” and you laughed again when Tiio whooped in triumph.

Dating and love always had risks, and maybe this avenue of dating wouldn’t be any different, but if that was the case, you weren’t any worse off, right?”

You knew that it might be a slow day for the matchmaking service. One of your days off coincided with a day that most were busy at their standard jobs, which was by design. There was never a day when Coruscant wasn’t bustling at all hours, but days like this made shopping and other chores just the slightest bit easier.

There was only one other client in the waiting room, a twi’lek male who seemed to be calm in a way you couldn’t fathom right now. You were fidgeting with the questionnaire they had handed you, struggling to concentrate on answering the questions in the thorough, thoughtful way you wanted to.

When a woman’s voice called out the twi’lek’s name you even jumped in your seat. Maker, why were you so nervous?

About that moment is when you caught the eye of the man behind the front desk, he was smiling at you, in a warm and understanding way that said he had seen your kind of reaction often. When the other client disappeared behind an office door, the man spoke up.

“Having trouble with your questionnaire?”

You looked away from him, opting to stare at the form in question instead, “Something like that…”

There was the sound of chair wheels rolling on the floor, then of steps coming towards you. When you looked up he had just put his hand on the back of a chair near you. “Mind if I sit?”

“Oh- not at all, please,” you waved your hand in invitation, and he immediately took the chair.

He was a clone, not too young like some of the “shinies” you'd met in the senate building, but not one of the older ones like Fox from what you could tell. His haircut looked like he needed to trim it every few days to maintain, even if he only wanted to show off the aurebesh tattooed across his head.

“Do you wanna know a secret?” he asked, something twinkling in his eyes. You raised an eyebrow at him but nodded, and he leaned in a little closer to you, “everyone who comes in here is nervous, some are just better at hiding it,” he said in a dramatic, stage whisper.

That made you laugh, and the thing that had your insides in a vice grip seemed to loosen it’s hold just a little. “Oh yeah? You’re just talking about natborns like me, right? Can’t imagine something like this,” you wiggled the questionnaire, “shakes men of your training.”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” he chuckled, then jabbed a thumb at the wall across from you both, which had the service’s slogan painted in cheerful lettering: ‘Love is a battlefield where we fight for you!’. “Our saying is right, and this is a battlefield we were most definitely not trained for. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to calm one of my brothers down while sitting in these very chairs. And don’t even get me started on easing their nerves before their first dates!”

That time you both laughed together and your shoulders felt lighter now too. “I’m sure you’re very skilled at that- at calming people, I mean, Mr…?” You asked, realizing he hadn’t given his name when you walked in.

“No need for a ‘Mr’, just call me Kix.”

“Well, Kix, your brothers are lucky to have someone like you to help with this new step in life.”

He gave a little shrug, “I hope so. I’ll be able to help them more when I get my degree in counseling.”

“You’re studying to become a therapist?” you couldn’t hide the excitement in your tone. You knew the clone rights and personhood act had a whole section to it regarding mental health resources, which was amazing, yes, but, everything had flaws. Tiio had mentioned that, as well-meaning and helpful as natborn therapists were, there were some aspects of their lives that no one but another clone would ever quite understand. “That’s wonderful, I’m glad your brothers have someone like you working so hard to help them.”

Kix let out a little noise that might have been a cough or a hum or something else. He might have been a little flustered by your comment. If he had been, he recovered quickly and said, “That’s my hope and in the meantime, I volunteer here.” He shook his head at that, trying to get his thoughts back on track. “But we’re not here to talk about my life’s story. I just wanted you to know that it’s okay to be nervous, and, if I could offer some advice?”

“I’d love any you have at this point.”

He tapped at your list of questions yet to be filled out. “Don’t overthink these, okay? I know it’s tempting to get into your head and overanalyze every answer, or worry that you’re not being accurate, but chances are, you know yourself well enough to give us any information we need, without too much trouble.”

You hadn’t realized just how stuck your own breath felt in your chest, until you let out a cleansing sigh at his words. Wow, if Kix was this good now, he was going to make a spectacular therapist.

“Alright,” you said with a nod, “I’ll get out of my head and just say what feels natural!”

“There you go!”

If Kix had any other advice to give, it was lost when the feminine voice from before called his name from the office and he had to excuse himself. With some (not all, but some) of your nervous energy calmed, you turned your focus back to the file in front of you. At one point the other client walked through again, taking his leave, right before someone else came in for their appointment. Thankfully it didn’t take a horribly long amount of time to finish the rest of the questions and pass it off to Kix.

Now there was just the waiting.

You didn’t know what the process was, exactly, or even how many matchmakers were there right now, but it felt like time was crawling by as you waited for someone to call you back to the offices. Eventually, you had to distract yourself by playing a game on your personal datapad, and that at least kept some of your wandering, anxious thoughts at bay.

The moment you heard your name, your head snapped up to see a woman standing beside the reception desk. She was dressed in a flowy blouse with wide sleeves and flared pants, giving her a more casual look than you’d expected. Her dark hair framed her face in waves and her smile was warm, reaching her eyes as she said, “I’m Maura, and I’ll be taking care of you while you’re here at Right to Love. Are you ready to start?”

You gave a nervous noise as you stood, “I thought I’ve already started with that whole personality quiz,” you joked.

All Maura did was widen her smile before waving for you to follow her. Her office was towards the back and inside she had obviously made an attempt to make it feel warm and inviting. Soft-looking, romantic pictures hung on the wall and the dark wood of the furniture made it feel more cozy and less sterile. There was also a stuffed tooka and a handmade blanket on one of the guest chairs.

She gave you a chance to settle into the cushioned chair, before she got down to business. “So, I have a few questions I’d like to ask you. While reading your answers, I couldn’t help but notice a certain…pattern. If you’re comfortable with it, may I ask what some of your previous relationships have been like?”

You weren’t sure if she was just that good, or if maybe you were just too obvious. Still, you supposed if she was going to help you find love, she needed to know your experience with it.

“They’ve been…” Kriff, how do you even put it? “Unfulfilling…? No, no, that's not the right word.”

Maura looked perfectly patient as she watched you flounder, “Take your time, my dear.”

Not being able to hold her gaze, you found yourself looking over at the tooka plushie in the seat beside you as you gathered your thoughts. You didn’t want to come off as someone who couldn’t admit their faults, or as if you couldn’t recognize when the blame was yours, so, you chose your words carefully.

“I…tend to attract people who don’t appreciate certain parts of me…” When she didn’t interrupt you, you went on. “See, I always try my best to see the good in people. I always want to give out second chances, I want to give them a space to grow and be happy, those things are really important to me. I want to be someone who sees the beauty in the world and a lot of my partners have mocked me for that.”

Maura tilted her head. “They think it’s a negative trait, not something to be admired.”

“They think I’m naive-” your eyes met hers again, finally getting some certainty in your tone. “I’m not, though. I refuse to give in to this stereotype that just because someone’s nice and wants to see the good in others, that that means they’re stupid or don’t know how cruel the galaxy is. I do know how cruel it can be, that’s the whole reason I want to see the good, I don’t want to just give up and think there isn’t any good, and become cruel and jaded too. What kind of galaxy does that give us then?” Suddenly, you snapped your mouth shut. “Sorry, I kinda rambled, didn’t I?”

“Not at all. Please, keep going, this kind of honesty is what I want from everyone who comes here!”

A smile to match hers made its way onto your face. “I’ve just had a lot of partners who make me feel like I have to change for them, or like my views on the world somehow made me childish.” You swallowed hard then, smile fading as the memories of fights with your last partner came back to the surface. “Or, they’ve taken advantage of my good nature.” Some relationships left scars, deep ones. “I think I’ve gotten to the point where I’m scared of risking that again. Scared that my next date will be with someone who sees those parts of me, and just sees them as something to manipulate to their advantage.”

You hadn’t noticed that you grabbed the tooka plush until it was in your lap and you were practically hugging it. Maybe that was the reason it was there, talking about love and relationships did mean a certain kind of vulnerability after all.

Maura called your name again, gently, warmly, and you met her patient gaze again. “You’ve obviously been through a lot with past relationships. But I promise you, we do extensive screening here, and I’m going to make sure we find someone who can appreciate those parts of you.” She leaned back in her chair then, looking thoughtful, “I’ll also say that I admire your emotional intelligence. Whoever called you childish obviously doesn’t know the meaning of the word, you’re quite mature, my dear.” She hummed and stared at nothing in particular for a moment, “Give them a space to grow…” she repeated your words to herself almost absentmindedly, then sat up straight again. “Alright, I have a few more questions, but, I’ll say this now: I’m going to make it my personal mission to find someone who will care for you as deeply as you obviously care for others.”

That made your face warm, though you weren’t sure why. It was her job (well, volunteer work) to find you someone to love, but that specific vow made you feel…reassured. Cared for.

Maybe, you really were in good hands here at Right to Love.

#tcw matchmaking au #clone matchmaking au #The Bad Batch

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xelasrecords · 9 months

Text

All That Is Lost

Han Jumin x MC

Jumin is dying from cancer and there is nothing else you can do but wait. Featuring a minor appearance from Jihyun.

CW: Anticipatory grief

Words: 5.5k

Masterlist Read on AO3

When she was young, she used to think grief was reserved for death. And in the period of mourning, joy would not exist. Sorrow would engulf her whole and she would waste away alone in eternal darkness and nothing else would matter. However, time had revealed to her that nothing was ever as simple.

She was grieving for her living husband. Living, but dying. Jumin was behind the hospital door that she teetered in front of. It would lead her to a private patient room surrounded by beige walls and ivory curtains, and she would see Jumin putting on his best smile even as the lung cancer drained his strength. More often now, his best was a single tight smile that took him a lot of effort to manage.

She was always gripped by fear when she came here, wondering how much Jumin's health had deteriorated in the brief absence Jihyun switched with her to stay over. They had tried everything they could to treat him, but there was never any good news.

Time was not on their side.

Clutching her overnight bag, she straightened her posture and pushed the door open—and found that Jumin had been waiting for her. He was propped up on the bed and outstretched his hand when she crossed the threshold, reaching for her as he always did. In the warm hospital glow, she caught the weak smile on his pallid face and picked up her pace to clasp his free hand, one without an IV line attached. His slender fingers were always stiff and cold now, but a tiny relief fluttered in her chest when they finally touched.

She set her bag down beside the couch and kissed his cheek, careful not to knock the nasal cannula strung beneath his nose askew. "Jihyun isn't here? I thought he was with you when I called."

Jumin lifted his brows, but the humour in his sharp grey eyes betrayed his serious expression. "I see you care more about another man when I am right here."

"Only because you're here and he's not," she said lovingly. Though there were deep crevices around his eyes and his sunken cheeks had left a sharp edge to his jaw and cheekbones, he was still handsome to her, his thinning black hair falling just past his ears.

"As it should be," Jumin declared. There was a permanent rasp in his voice that appeared as his illness worsened. "He would have passed out from starvation if I didn't send him away. I never expected him to be so adamant about staying by my side. I was always the one who worried about him, not the other way around."

"He is stubborn," she reminded. She slid her fingers down to the inside of his wrist to feel his pulse. It confirmed what she sometimes feared her sight was fooling her—that he was already gone. "He's so much like you in that regard."

"Perhaps I should have let him stay. Having a roommate would not be so bad. We could even recreate the sleepovers we had as children." There was a certain melancholy in Jumin's eyes, one that often appeared when he talked about his friendship with Jihyun. "I don't know why we ever stopped. We used to stay over at each other's houses all the time."

"You grew up," she said, and squeezed his hand. It felt more brittle than she remembered. "But that change isn't permanent. You've been recreating it these days. Look at how he sleeps here when I can't. Thanks to me, of course," she added. "I graciously spared my precious time with you for him. You're welcome."

Jumin smiled and stared at her with deep, tender attention as if he wished to preserve and immortalise this exact moment before he left. She was familiar with that look. She watched him the same way when he was not looking. She knew all memories faded eventually, but perhaps she could keep some for herself if she tried hard enough. "What a noble sacrifice," he said. "I shall make sure he shows gratitude for your kindness."

She smiled back, trying to keep exhaustion from showing. "It's nothing. I just want to make you happy."

But nothing slipped past Jumin. He grazed her cheek with his knuckles and frowned. "Did you not sleep well?" he asked, unable to keep distraught from his voice. He studied her with the same intensity that never dimmed despite the illness. All these years, those eyes like dark storms that had been nothing but loving to her, were still loving her now. How safe and grounded she always felt looking into them.

"You think I look rubbish," she joked. It twisted her heart that Jumin still put her well-being before his.

"I think you look like someone who did not have a good night's sleep," he stated, and then it dawned on him. "You had been crying."

She nodded. It was not a question and she would not lie. After the first diagnosis, she had anticipated an intense, unstoppable streak of wallowing, but her reality was quite different. In the first few days when she was caught up in the whirlwind of trips to the emergency room and doctor appointments and looking after mundane matters, her emotions had taken a back seat. Only after Jihyun swept in to help that she could find the space to cry.

Even the tears came on intermittently. She was fine on some days, perfectly capable of executing her daily routine with a strength that stunned her. But in the moments she least expected, she would break down and find herself bargaining for more months, weeks, days with Jumin, begging on her knees while knowing there was no one out there who could, that there was no magical cure. She had put Jumin's spell book away and learned to tuck herself into a bed that was too empty for one.

Last night, she noticed that their housekeeper Sunja had placed one of Jumin's ties at a ten-degree angle in the drawer. She straightened it because surely it would irritate him and then it hit her that there was no point, he would never come home and open this drawer again, she would never get another chance to tie his tie before work and soon she would have to refer to this house as hers instead of theirs. He would go. He would go first. She slid down the glass cupboard and crumpled into herself, unable to stop the chest-heaving sobs breaking out of her.

In the morning, Sunja found her asleep on the cold granite floor clutching the blue-striped tie. It was Jumin's favourite tie from her for his first birthday that they celebrated together. It matched his eyes, she had told him. He loved to recount this story to anyone who would listen.

Sunja then guided her to the dining room while she followed in a dazed state. She brewed her a cup of tea and cooked her a light meal, which promptly brought forth another wave of tears. It was not Sunja's job to cook for her, she knew. Altruistic kindness from people who did not want anything from her was rare, yet here it was, served to her when she had not done anything to deserve it.

But she was not in the mood to tell Jumin the long tale of her breakdown, so she sat on the couch beside his bed and wiggled her eyebrows. "My sleeping problem could be solved if someone wants to sleep with me. Right now. I might even cry from ecstasy instead."

Jumin's stare lingered on her. She was aware he could see through her, but he only let out a defeated sigh. "Believe me, I want to," he played along. "I would bed you properly if I could, but my doctor has barred me from doing rigorous activities."

"Well, I can only imagine the horror if your heart stopped mid-act," she said. "Like, what would your tombstone say? 'He came so hard he literally saw heaven'?"

Jumin laughed. She took in his quirked brows, the impish glint in his eyes, and the rasp in his laughter and committed them to memory. "He might not find heaven to his liking and decide to come back down," he said.

"The press would have a field day during your burial. Your reputation would be ruined. Legacy, over."

"It's fortunate—"

But Jumin doubled over with violent coughs that rattled his frail frame before he could finish his sentence. She jumped on her feet and rubbed his back repeatedly, feeling powerless to do anything else. His shoulder blades were sharp through the thin hospital gown, and his arms and calves had barely any muscle left, skin clinging to limbs desperately. She thought she had more time. His change had seemed slow and gradual, but now she saw how much the illness had taken away from him.

Jumin brought his hand away from his mouth, revealing an alarming amount of blood. He tensed and she willed herself to swallow her panic. Quickly, she snatched a handful of tissues from the nightstand and wiped his trembling hand. Though Jumin was silent, she could feel his helplessness rolling off him as he watched her clean his blood-stained mouth. It was not the first time he had coughed up blood, but it had never been this much.

Jumin attempted a weak smile. "It's fortunate I won't be here to see my downfall."

"No, not fortunate." She closed her eyes and steadied her breath. "Because your downfall would be mine."

"My love." His fingers encircled her wrist, but his hold was so fragile. "I am sorry to have brought so much pain upon you. I wish I could ease it somehow."

She tossed the tissues aside and fixed her gaze on him. "And what of yours?" she demanded. "You just coughed blood, Jumin."

"My suffering will not last long, but yours will. It is my most desperate hope that it won't last forever." He shook his head when she started to refute. "You're shouldering this unfair burden of taking care of me while I am simply lying here, useless to be of any help. I feel myself tearing apart from the inside knowing that I am the cause of your tears."

"Let me cry for you. It's the evidence of my love, nothing unfair or burdensome in that."

"Do you remember my vow at our wedding? I promised to be there with you every step of the way, to never leave you when you are struggling." His face twisted in agony that sent a sharp pang into her heart. "But it appears that I have become your problem."

"I'd rather you be my problem than cease to be my anything," she said fiercely. "But as it happens, you're not. I worry because I care. I stay here because sleeping on this couch and waking up with a stiff back is better than losing sleep alone in our bedroom. That's our home, Jumin. You should be there with me to make it feel like one, and if you can't, then I'll go wherever you are. Don't be sorry that I love you. I chose you too, way back then, and I still choose you now."

The look Jumin gave her was haunted and unseeing. She had the sensation that he was peering into the years that stretched out behind them. "I never thought there would be a day where I'm completely reliant on you without the ability to give you anything in return. I never thought it would be so soon."

"You can do nothing and I will still love you." She sat on the bed and tucked a thin strand of hair behind his ear. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same for me."

"I can't." Jumin groaned in despair. "God, I can't. Even as my life is coming to a close, you still show me how wonderful you are." He buried his face into the dip between her neck and collarbone and held her tightly, as tight as his weakening body could muster. She put her arms carefully around him and laid her chin on the side of his head. This was her love, her love that she was losing. He no longer smelled like the expensive cedar cologne he sprayed on every morning before work. This Jumin was covered with a stinging antiseptic scent and it was terrifying. He was changing at a rate that she could not keep up. "How can I ever leave you?" he whispered, his voice caught.

Jumin sounded so broken it almost broke her. "I don't want you to leave either," she murmured. "I wish I could follow you instead of being here alone."

Jumin withdrew and held her at arm's length. "Don't you dare entertain that thought. You have a life here." His face grew stricken when she was silent. "You will not throw it away for me. I will not ever forgive you if you do."

She made a choking sound. "My life has no meaning without you, Jumin." She knew she was speaking out of hysterical delusion, that her real life was more than a single love, but he was the love she lived with, that lived in her. She knew the pattern of his breathing like her own, knew what cunning retorts would come out of him before he could speak them. How would she live without him? What would there be to live for once the person who put sense into her life was gone? "You've changed my life with your presence alone," she said. "I've always looked to you for peace and comfort. My highest happiness is amplified because you're here to share my joy, and my deepest sadness is pacified because you sit with me through it all. I hear your voice every day. I see your face every day. How do you expect me to lose all that? I don't want to learn to be alone, not yet."

Jumin held her face in the palm of his hand. "You won't be alone. Jihyun is still here. He will accompany you—"

"But he's not you!" she shouted. "Every day I'm grateful that he's here and I know how much he means to you, but he is not you. I love him in an entirely different way from how I love you. He's my friend, but you're my husband. You're irreplaceable, you hear me?"

To her surprise, there were tears in Jumin's eyes. "But you will survive. I know you. You have a tenacious soul that persists in the face of adversity, and you will have a good friend to lean on. I can think of no one better suited for emotional support than Jihyun. You will not be alone. That fact itself placates my heart more than anything."

She rested her forehead against his. His skin was so cold. "You always say you'll give me anything I ask from you. I have one now: stay a little longer. Your birthday is only a few months away. Stay until then." Her voice cracked. "Please."

Jumin looked at her with great sadness. "That is the one thing I cannot control."

At that, her emotions broke through. She wept and wept and wept and it was Jumin's turn to reach for the tissue and dabbed it across her face. She had not wanted to cry in front of him for the guilt it would induce in him. It felt cruel to seek comfort from him when he was in the most pain, but it was Jumin she thought of telling whenever she was hurt. It was Jumin she went to for everything good and bad. Years of habit could not be unravelled in an instance, but beyond that was the familiarity and trust that she could find in nobody else. He knew her so well and so intuitively that she knew that when he left, he would carve out something crucial of herself and take her with him.

Jumin laid her head on his chest and pulled her into the bed with him. In the haze of her crying, she was aware that she should not put her entire weight on him, that he already had enough difficulty breathing as he was, and she cried harder. She tightened her arm around his waist, relishing in the realness of him, dreading the day she could no longer feel the warmth of his embrace. But when she felt his tears falling on the top of her head, she knew that whatever illness that would separate them would not truly sever their bond. Together they mourned for the loss of their planned future, for the life Jumin would never have, for the loneliness that would come for her in the days without him.

"Do you know what my worst fear is?" Jumin asked hoarsely.

She lifted her head and wiped the tears from his face. She imagined her eyes were as red as his. "That I'm only pretending to be sad when I actually can't wait to inherit your wealth after you go?"

A small smile played on his lips. "Now don't you instil more fears in me." Jumin poked her nose without any real offence. If he noticed that she had been avoiding the word "die", he didn't let on. "I fear losing my possessions and everything I deem important. I know nothing is absolute in this world, but I harbour an irrational hope that I could protect them with the power I have accumulated." He gazed at her with adoration so deep that her heart could have cracked in half. "You are on top of that list."

She caressed his face, and he leaned into her touch. "You're not losing me now."

"I know, and I'm grateful for it. I can see with clarity that my worst fear will not come true, for you have never left me." Jumin took her hand and splayed it against his heart. She could barely feel it beating beneath her palm, but it was there. It had not stopped beating. That was enough. "You stand by me through my endless treatments. You don't recoil from me after witnessing me in my worst state. I know you love me. You don't have to say it to make it true. But..." He sounded constricted as he tried to get the words out. "I'm sorry you are going to lose me."

"You're still thinking about me. You still worry how I will fare without you." She bit back fresh tears that threatened to fall, hearing Jumin's concern beneath his words. She could not yet bring herself to imagine a life without him, preferring to hold on to the slightest hope that he might get better no matter how impossible, but it hurt her more to see him fearing for her. "I can't promise I'd cope well, but I'm never really going to lose you," she said. "I keep you close in my heart. You are my heart. You will always be alive in me."

A sad chuckle escaped from Jumin. "I laugh the most with you, did you know that?"

She blinked. "I know I'm moderately funny, but I don't see the connection with what I just said."

"You make me happy. You have made me so happy this whole time, love," said Jumin softly. "I can see myself through your eyes. I see how much I am loved. Thank you for loving me."

The memories from the past pierced through her like an arrow. She remembered the first time she came to Jumin's penthouse and he was quiet for a beat too long before saying, Sorry, I just stared into your eyes. Even then he had seen the truth she held for him. She remembered the day she was seasick on Jumin's private yacht so he sat with her in the cabin for the rest of the journey, holding her while she curled in his arms instead of enjoying the breeze. She remembered the park under the rain where they were salvaging their ruined picnic and a kid came over and told her she was very pretty and Jumin had flashed him a proud smile and praised him for being an excellent judge of beauty while suggesting him to find his own match in the same breath. Jumin had been very pleased for the rest of the day. He was the only person she wanted and would ever want. If she could not have him forever, then she would have no one at all.

"You deserve it, my darling. Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done." She pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. They might be chapped, but they were more familiar to her than her own.

Jumin smiled against her mouth. His eyelids were fluttering close, but his fingers were tracing over her brows, her cheekbones, her ears as if he was trying to remember her. He mumbled a quiet I love you and she said it back, silently begging this would not be the last time they proclaimed it to each other. She was beginning to learn how resilient a heart was. How it could break and break yet never really shatter. How hers had been made invincible by the love she had for him and the love he returned tenfold.

Before she looked up, she already knew that Jumin had fallen asleep. His breathing was slowing to a steady but harsh, heavy rhythm. It frightened her. What should be effortless was painful to him, yet he never complained. She untangled herself from his arms, covered him with his blanket, walked towards the door, and paused. She turned around and gave him one last glance, in case it was the last time she could see him. It was a habit she had adopted since Jumin was admitted to the hospital.

Jumin's quiet presence used to have a strong, charismatic quality that pulled everyone's attention to him. Now her husband was a ghost of someone he used to be, a copy made by a printer running out of ink. The essence of what made him Jumin had not disappeared, but his defining marks had blurred. His calming confidence and childlike excitement felt out of reach. She could see them in her periphery, but she could not quite reconcile those traits and shape Jumin into the person he was, back when the fear of losing him was merely conceptual.

She also knew she would see Jihyun sitting outside the room because that was what he did. What they all did. They gave each other time with one another because there was never enough time.

Jihyun turned to her as she slid into the seat next to him and offered her a smile, but she did not miss the dark crescents under his dulled green eyes. Even his teal hair seemed unattended.

"Jumin's taking a nap," she informed.

Jihyun nodded and laced his fingers together on his lap. "He sleeps a lot now."

"That's good, right?" she said. "He should get as much rest as he can."

Jihyun stayed quiet and looked down at his hands.

She averted her gaze. There was not much time left. She was not so deep in denial as not to see it. "I know the signs of someone going away. I know."

She felt they were hurtling down the dark unknown faster than they were ready for. No matter how hard they resisted, they could not win. There were times when Jumin would seem better and a tiny hope flared between her and Jihyun, that perhaps they might not lose him after all. A chance of recovery was all they needed, but it never lasted long. By next week he would be worse than they ever imagined, and they would sit in fear and silence after discussing possible solutions with the doctors and among themselves and hitting another dead end. What else was there to do except to hope that he would not go so soon?

"I admire your strength and faith in his health," Jihyun finally said. "I feel as if we have switched roles. I used to do whatever I could to save the people I care about, but now that we have tried everything and will still lose him..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I feel lost. I'd like to be more like you if I could."

She put her arms around herself. She was not sure if it was the cold hospital air or more likely, how much she needed to feel less alone in her own acute helplessness. "It's cowardice. I can't bear to accept the reality," she said. "If I stay hopeful, I don't have to move on to the next phase. I don't have to picture a life without him. I feel like vomiting every time I receive an update from the doctors. We've never got any good news since the first diagnosis."

Jihyun nodded slowly with the lethargy that always seemed to hang above him. What enthusiasm he used to have had faded. With a renewed cold dread she realised that in denying herself the acceptance of losing Jumin, she had failed to see that she was losing her friend as well.

"I regret not being more present for him," Jihyun said. "I travelled the world to search for my reasons to live, but it was right here all along. I lost count of the times Jumin had asked me to catch up with him over wine and I foolishly postponed them. I thought there would be a next time. He's the steady fixture in my ever-changing life, so I thought…" He shook his head. "I wasted so much time, and what was it all for?"

"You live for a lot of things," she said, making her voice as gentle as she could. "Your friendship is only one part of it. Jumin is glad that you found yourself through those travels. You know him. He doesn't think physically being there for him is the most important thing. You care about him even when you're not here, and now you've been trying to stay by his side every day. He notices that. There is nothing but gratitude and admiration whenever he speaks of you."

"Jumin is such a good person." Jihyun looked over at her, ocean-green eyes glazed with tears. "I cannot believe someone like him exists, and I'm even more amazed he chose me to be his best friend all those years ago."

"He's always had faith in you a great deal." She smiled. "That's one of the best things about him. He believes in the good of the people he loves."

"He believes in me when I cannot believe in myself. When I forget how to," he said in wonderment. "He has always done it for me and I didn't even know it."

When she thought about Jumin and Jihyun, she saw two men whose lives were so deeply entangled since they were boys that to be separated meant losing half a story that defined them as who they were. There was no part of their history that did not include one another in some way. When Jumin recounted their childhood stories and brought Jihyun up in conversations, he always spoke with a fondness that she had never heard for anyone else except her. Jihyun, she noticed, spoke with the same gentleness.

They were fortunate in a way that most people were not. She had seen one's whole face light up when the other visited, had noticed how Jumin sometimes would have something on his mind and relaxed after he talked to Jihyun. They never had enough time together. She hurt for them, for the time they had lost and could never get back, but was also relieved that Jumin was not as alone as he might think. He had someone who worried about him as much as he would if it was the other way around.

"Jumin made a request to me," Jihyun began.

"Awfully demanding even when sick, isn't he?" she interrupted with a laugh, but it sounded miserable coming out of her mouth.

"It's for you," he said. "He made me promise to be there for you after—after he's gone. I think he's trying to help by creating worst-case scenarios and backup plans. He is afraid you won't handle the loss well." He stared at the wall. "And that I would run off the cliff from madness if I don't do anything of help."

She locked the love in Jumin's plea away in her chest, a precious memory to recall when she missed him, and nudged Jihyun playfully. "'Run off the cliff'? Sometimes I can't tell whether you are repeating his dramatics or if it comes out right out of your head."

A flicker of amusement passed across his face. For one second, the past livelier Jihyun resurfaced. "It might have been both."

"I shouldn't have expected any less." She chuckled and sighed. "It sounds like he was tying up loose ends before he goes. I wish he wouldn't. He's in enough pain as it is. When was the last time he could walk more than a few steps without assistance? He can't visit his vineyard anymore. He can't hold the stitching needle without his fingers trembling. He hasn't met Elizabeth the Third for a while. She misses him." Her voice shook. "I'd bear all his suffering for him if I could."

Jihyun's arms came around her, and she let herself sink into them. "I'm sorry. Your misery must be greater than mine. Your life was upended when his was. It can't have been easy to get used to these extreme changes. You have built a life together, but now you lost everything that's been your normal for years."

"I wish I could go back to the person I was," she admitted, tears spilling over. "I miss loving him without the threat of death looming over us, when I could sleep and not think about how today might be the last time I see him. We were so happy—we are still happy, but this happiness is tainted with anxiety. We feel it even if we pretend not to notice."

"You can be sad for yourself," Jihyun said. "You lost that innocence, that peaceful ignorance of simply living when the thought of either of you dying is far-fetched. It didn't seem like it could catch up to Jumin when he's probably the most health-conscious person on earth. No one could have expected this."

Time did not heal all wounds. Every second of it pricked at her skin, a reminder that she could not save the person she loved the most. No matter how hard she steeled herself against the loss yet to come, nothing could prepare her for it. Last night she had a dream where she and Jumin sat side by side at a secluded beach on a quiet morning and they looked at each other's wrinkled faces and smiled, amazed that time had never worn out their love as their bodies had been. But Jumin's hair would always be black while hers would turn grey now.

"I will miss him so much," she whispered, and pulled back to wipe her tears. She used to wonder how people could cry and make a scene in hospitals without shame. She understood now. Shame did not matter in the face of loss. She would gladly make a fool out of herself if it meant she could save Jumin.

"So will I," said Jihyun quietly.

She thought of her nightly strolls with Jumin along their city that lit up in the dark, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder, steady bright lights guiding them home. Of the wine they spilt on their white carpet because Elizabeth the Third had jumped on them and Jumin chuckled because she must be jealous of his undivided attention for his wife. Of Jumin's pure, undistilled laughter that carried her through her darkest days. She would have to live with these memories alone.

She did not want the torturous waiting to end, no matter how exhausting it was. The pain was a reminder that she loved him, that he was real and still here. She was not a child anymore. She had grown into a capable adult, a loving and grieving woman, a wife soon to be without a husband.

This was grief, she thought. This. They wouldn't go back to how they used to be and Jumin wouldn't get to live out the rest of his life. This was it. The rest of his life was so short.

She held fast to Jihyun's hand and listened to the clock ticking.

Footnotes:

-I've seen a lot of fics about Jumin receiving the news that MC is rushed to the hospital or diagnosed with a terminal illness or his reaction to MC's death, so I wanted to focus on the aftermath of the panic. What happens when the drama dies down and the hopelessness of knowing someone you love won't be alive for long rises, and the things you do and feel when you're forced to sit in the quiet.

-I didn't plan to include Jihyun since I thought it'd be sadder if MC had no one left after Jumin died, but it didn't feel right for this story. Jumin's character has a best friend who has greatly influenced his life, and I wanted to show how grief is handled outside the dying person and the main loved one. I think it's important to have a support system when you're grieving. It's even better if you can talk to someone who understands how you feel because you're both losing the same person, even if the form of that love isn't exactly the same.

-And yet the loneliness is still there because, at the end of the day, you still go back to an empty home.

-I noticed that all my fics so far have the inherent optimism of everything may be shit but there is love and you've done your best so that's good enough including my breakup fics, so I gave this a twist of what if there is love and everyone has done everything right but it's still not enough?

-Mentioned Sunja Kim the housekeeper guest from the game because realistically if they could afford to hire one, Jumin definitely would. It would lessen MC's burden who's going through a hard time and still has to hold down the fort. It's also my personal experience that when I'm going through something horrible, the glimmers of hope that I get that perhaps life isn't all bad are when strangers randomly show me kindness. This is for them.

-But really I could only write this story because of my best friends' encouragement. One who inspired Jumin and Jihyun's friendship in The Love We Live For and one who inspired MC's friendship with Jihyun here. Mostly, I think of the latter when writing the waiting room scene. If you're reading this (and you will because I will force you and point it out if you skip this), thank you.

-MC saying "I love him in an entirely different way from how I love you." about Jihyun is probably the most unrelatable line that I've ever written btw. I love him in a very un-platonic way.

-I added the canon line by Jumin "Sorry, I just stared into your eyes" in later edits so it was a fun surprise when it connected with the previous line "I can see myself through your eyes. I see how much I am loved. Thank you for loving me." Then I quickly reworked the paragraphs to make them flow.

-Considered including a scene between Jumin and Jihyun but scrapped it due to length and POV constraints.

-The feeling of drowning in grief is what I went for in the header. The ocean-to-sky ratio is slightly off from the traditional rule of thirds to evoke an overwhelming feeling while also making it seem like it's about to engulf the "this was her love" line, the love being the sky.

-For the longest time, I didn't want to understand grief.

Buy me a glass of something that's definitely not coffee because I can't stand it but it is the website's name if my story touches you in some way? No worries if you don't. I'm still grateful you've read all the way through here.

#my footnotes are getting longer each time i post #xela writes #jumin x mc #jumin han #jihyun kim #mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #jumin han angst #mysme #jihyun kim platonic #mystic messenger v #jumin han fic

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dk-thrive · 5 months

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New Year’s resolutions are penny-ante prayers.

New Year’s resolutions are penny-ante prayers. You are this way, but you hope to be that way. You used to want this, but now you want that. The assumption behind resolutions is that something must be corrected and improved. One vows to be better than one was the year before.

Part of the nature of resolutions, particularly for those of us north of 60, has to do not only with the new year before us, but also with time already spent, or misspent. We reflect on the years we’ve lived, on the past resolutions made and broken. Another New Year’s Eve come and gone. Every time the ball drops, the heart sinks. You are running out of time, and time is what we value most. […]

Thus there is always a melancholic desperation and urgency when we shout, “Happy New Year!” Will this new year, in fact, be any better than the last? We resolve that it will. We resolve to be fitter, healthier, cleverer, richer, more successful, more popular, more productive, better dressed, happier. And so restarts the whole vain, foolish, inevitably disappointing cycle.

The trouble with all such self-oriented promises is that they deal in chicken feed. What does the great wide world care if you lose weight, or work out, or work harder, or quit drinking or smoking? Quit smoking or smoke three packs a day. Work out daily or let yourself go. It’s your choice, your life. Your little life. Meanwhile, the world — the whole tortured, self-destructive, polarized, endangered, extraordinary world — spins on. […]

If you’re looking for a worthwhile resolution…we can start small.

Personally, I vow that I will frequently visit a children’s hospital and try to distract kids with stories, the funnier the better. I vow that I will phone every lonely person I know — and there are plenty — at least twice a week, just to chat and make them feel part of the living world. I vow to give alms to everyone who asks, and to those who don’t, and to stand up for the stupid and crazy, the stupider and crazier, the better. I promise to keep an eye out for strays (cats, dogs and people) and bring them safety and comfort. I vow to see every wrong as a menace, every wound an opportunity.

What will you do — right now, this week, this month — to make a better world? Stage a protest. Send a letter to right a wrong, or to proffer friendship. (A thoughtful, sympathetic letter to a friend in sorrow or distress is a powerful thing.) Lend a hand. Offer a word of comfort or inspiration or support or love. Donate money or, most valuable of all, time. There are so many ways to move this world, right within reach.

The great beautiful irony of all this, of course, is that selflessness is not the opposite of self-improvement. Selflessness is self-improvement — the most meaningful and lasting kind.

Practice it, and you may just find that the new year is, in fact, a step up from the last. You may find that, all at once, you look and feel better than you would have after any amount of dieting or exercise. Unburdened of ego. Lighter on your feet. Say, haven’t you lost weight?

Practice it, and suddenly you will find that your little life has gotten big. Big life, grand life is like art. It is not done well unless the artist dreams expansively, ridiculously, by making a glorious Whitman-size fool of herself in seeking to enhance everything, cure every ill. Nothing less.

— Roger Rosenblatt, from “This Year, Make a Resolution About Something Bigger Than Yourself” (NY Times, December 26, 2023)

#Roger Rosenblatt #new year #new year's resolutions #resolutions #charity #volunteer #forgive #help #2024 #exercise #diet #health

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figthefruitfaeth · 1 year

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Mail, Murder, & Other Mysteries

From the Nancy Wheeler Files

Chapter Two: The Anonymous Letter(s) (prev chapter) (ao3 link)

Eddie wakes up to the shrill ring of the landline and stale taste of sugar rotting his teeth. A weak ray of mid-morning light streams in through the windows. The ringing stops. The faint sound of traffic and city life drifts into the quiet of the apartment. He breathes, in, then out.

Just when he starts to relax, the ringing starts up again. He groans, rolling over and shoving his face into the back of the couch.

Eddie knows what he’s doing is stupid. Not just stupid, but a fool’s errand, because trying to avoid Chrissy Cunningham is about as easy as avoiding sunrise. Bright, blinding, and only averted by the machinations of the solar system or God himself. He should write that down…

The ringing stops. Then, a click and—

You’ve reached Nancy—and Eddie’s—apartment.

Christ, she’s leaving a message.

Looks like we’re unavailable at the moment, so leave your name and number at the tone and we’ll get back to you when we can—BEEP.

Eddie! It’s Chrissy. I know you’re there, unless you’re checking the mail again, which I guess means you’re not there. Well, if you’re actually busy then give me a call back when you can! And if you’re not, I’d really appreciate if you’d stop avoiding me. I know it’s a foreign concept to you, but most people would consider that rude! Alright, well I’ll call back later, we’ve got a lot to talk about. Byeeeee!

He sighs, rolling himself flat on his back. This wouldn’t be so hard if she wasn’t so nice about it. For their five years of friendship, he’s never seen her get mean, not even when her shitbag ex-boyfriend showed up at her house drunk and calling her every name in the book (Eddie keyed his car for that, because of the two, he’s the mean one). Worse than that, Chrissy knows it too, using her sweet small-town charm to weasel him into meeting his deadlines. He works best under pressure, and guilt is a motivating pressure alright.

The ceiling is the same ugly off-white color that dominates the rest of their apartment, but it’s also got a popcorn design, which he knows Nancy can’t stand, but he likes it. Maybe not like—intrigue is the better word. It’s a bit like TV static, in that if he stares at it long enough, his brain will drift past himself and the answers to all life’s problems will sail in. It’s how he figured out the twist ending of his last novel (that the Queen’s guard had survived after all) and what to get Nancy for her birthday (a lock-picking kit you could only get at specialty stores).

He lingers in a patch of sunlit popcorn near the edge of The Board. It’s not like he wants to avoid Chrissy’s calls and it’s not like she deserves it either. She’s a good friend and she’s good at her job, which means she won’t let him sulk around in his writer’s block no matter how much he wants to. And God, does he want to.

His latest work, the next in the series, just won’t come together. Nancy had balked at his villain’s third name change, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. His plot is all over the place, the dialogue stilted, motivations out of character. His editor keeps saying it’s fine, that it’s exactly what the readers (all six of them, he’s not exactly flying off the shelves) want, but it feels wrong. It’s overplayed conformist bullshit he doesn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole.

The phone rings and Eddie is suddenly very aware of the gnawing pit in his stomach. So much for those answers.

You’ve reached Nancy—and Eddie’s—apartment—

He shoves a handful of store-brand cereal in his mouth, washing it down with the rest of the milk straight from the carton. He ditches the takeout containers in the trash, wipes down the table, and starts a load of dishes.

I’m trying to contact a Nancy Wheeler. This is John from KX News. Like I’ve said before, we don’t have the capabilities—

He sits at his keyboard for five minutes, then makes himself a sandwich.

Eddie, it’s Jeff. Can’t make the next jam sesh, does Thursday work?

The couch would look better against the windows, actually. Or if he moved the coffee table—

Ms. Wheeler, please stop calling me, I don’t know—

You’re not happy with it, I get it, but I can’t help you fix it if you won’t talk to me about it—

You’ve reached Nancy and Eddie’s apartment—

2:30 pm, his watch beeps. He breathes a sigh of relief, throws on a pair of jeans, grabs his keys, and heads downstairs.

Though Nancy may tease him for it, to Eddie, the mail is serious business. Though his fanbase is small, they’re a dedicated bunch, and he gets a nice little chunk of fan mail. He’s particularly fond of the ones he gets from a local group of high schoolers, who send weekly letters with theories about his newest novel or asking for his opinion on movies they’d seen recently. The highlight of his life had to have been when he dedicated, The Battle of Starcourt, to them, and received a 20pg letter in all caps from the group.

It also gives him the chance to get out, or close to out, of the house during daylight hours, which is apparently important according to Chrissy. When he eventually calls back, he can at least give her that.

On the second floor, he passes Mrs. Romero, a withered old woman only ever dressed in floor length floral nightgowns. He waves, she rolls her eyes.

It also, also gives him the chance to, outside of Nancy which apparently does not count according to Nancy herself, engage in more regular social interaction. If maybe one of those interactions includes seeing the cute guy from 3B, would that be so wrong?

He jumps the last few steps, landing against the black and white checkered tile with a satisfying slap. The lobby, which is really just a long hallway with a few signs and a wall of mailboxes, is empty.

Eddie tries not to pout. It’s not like he sees the guy from 3B every day, but when he does, it always seems to be about now. If Nancy’s Nancy Drew act is anything to go by, which, it usually is, then he doesn’t have a reason to check the mail anyway because he’d already picked up everything he’d end up getting for the week. Not unless he’s actually flirting with him, which after yesterday’s fiasco, isn’t likely anymore.

Maybe it’s better this way anyway, Eddie reasons, jamming his key in the lock when it won’t budge open the first time. No 3B, so at least he won’t have to face his humiliation so soon. Big boy? He couldn’t have gone with something a little more casual? And the guy’s face—

He lets his head fall against the mailbox, cold metal biting against his forehead.

“Bad news?”

Eddie’s never been a particularly lucky guy. He failed his last year of high school twice, been arrested for weed that was actually his friend’s, and always dies in campaigns he isn’t DMing. Today, however, luck definitely isn’t on his side because the voice behind him is none other than 3B.

3B saunters up next to him and leans against the mailbox, a hand at his hip and an eyebrow cocked, like he knows just how good he looks. Which, Eddie bites back a groan, is particularly good today—snug in a pair of the world’s tightest Levi’s and a yellow sweater brighter than the sun. It’s just a tad dated—something he’d see the popular kids in high school wear rather than the loose fit everyone’s starting to sport now. He can’t tell if that means 3B is trying to hang on to the last vestiges of his high school glory days or is sticking to his guns despite the popular opinion, and more concerning, knows the answer wouldn’t change much.

It’s actually really unfair how much Eddie is into him.

“No news, actually,” he swallows, tugging on his key for effect. “I can’t get the stupid little door to open—” he tugs again, and the door swings open, and with it all of his mail.

“Oh shit—”

“Here, let me—”

Together they collect the mail, which isn’t even a lot this time around, but spread out across the hall it takes an awkwardly long time. Eddie can feel his face flush red, and while he hopes it isn’t noticeable, the look 3B is giving him suggests otherwise.

“Well, that’s a newsflash for you,” Eddie mutters more to himself than anything.

3B tilts his head.

“Cause, you asked if I had news…”

“Oh,” he nods. “Right, yeah.”

If the ground could open up and swallow him whole that would make the situation a lot better.

“Well, thanks for the assist, I guess—”

“Oh, hold up,” 3B stops him, a hand clutching his forearm. He lets go just as quickly, but Eddie stays kneeling in his black square, struck still by the other man’s order and the ghost of his palm along the soft of his arm. 3B leans over to the far side of the mailbox, sweater riding up just past his hip, revealing a thin strip of scarred skin. They’re relatively new, still pink and shiny near the bone, but they must feel fine if the way he’s twisting is any indicator. Eddie thinks back to Nancy’s observation, and desperately hopes it’s not true.

“Here we go,” 3B smiles, pushing a few loose strands back with one hand and flashing Eddie his bounty with the other. It’s the latest edition of Fangoria, one Eddie had finally managed to get an article in. “My kids love these.”

“Kids?”

“Not mine!” He scrambles, cheeks tinting a rosy pink. “Not that I don’t want some of my own someday. Or, they don’t have to be mine mine, adopting is just as good, better sometimes in fact, actually. But I’m not ready for kids now, obviously. I mean the apartment is way too small and Robin—” he winces. “I’m going to stop talking now.”

“No, go on,” Eddie grins. Getting his terribly hot neighbor to fall apart on him, well, it’s certainly a confidence boost that’s for sure. “You got names picked out yet?”

“Haha, very funny.”

“Oh, I haven’t heard those before. Family names?”

3B pushes him, but laughs as he does it, the sound a bright and clear echo in the hall. Eddie falls over with little resistance.

“God, this floor is disgusting,” and then there’s a hand in his face. Eddie grabs on and is heaved up with a surprisingly little effort on his part, bringing him close to the warm, sunny chest of 3B. He’s got a soft smile, one that pulls at the corner of his mouth and leaves a crinkle at his eyes. Eddie’s solidly on his feet now, and still, 3B is holding onto him.

“I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Buckley.”

Steve. It’s exactly the kind of name a yellow sweater wearing prep would have. Steve, a guy’s guy, who plays sports and flirts with pretty girls and who lives a nice, normal life. It’s such a cliché it should turn him off.

“Eddie Munson.”

“Ah, so now I know who’s name to yell when Metallica comes on at 3 am.”

“I thought you didn’t know who they were?” He squints, desperately ignoring the part of his brain playing the idea of Steve yelling his name on a loop

Steve shrugs, “I might’ve picked up a CD yesterday on my way home from the center. Not really my thing, I think. Too much noise.”

“Too much noise? What are you, sixty?”

“Fifty-nine, actually,” he smirks, drawing another laugh from Eddie.

Steve is leaned in close enough that Eddie can get a good hard look at him. He’s got a few dark moles dotted across his face and trailing down his neck, almost black where they meet the collar of his sweater. There’s a whisper of a mustache on his otherwise clean-shaven face, like maybe he forgot to shave this morning. And although Eddie can’t imagine he’s actually any older than himself, Steve’s already got a few lines along his forehead. Not a lot, and they mostly fade when he relaxes his face, but enough to make him think he spends a lot of time frowning. Or laughing. He hopes it’s the latter, he wants to be the latter.

“Well,” Steve says after a few moments, finally letting go of his arm and pressing the long-forgotten magazine into Eddie’s unoccupied hand. “Try to hold onto these this time.”

Steve leans back, like he knows he should go, but expects Eddie to say something else. Maybe even, Eddie hopes, wants him to say something else.

“So, the Buckley twins are fans of horror?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s leaning back into his orbit.

“Again, I don’t actually have any kids. I’m a Big over at Big Brother, Big Sister. Technically, I’m only a Big to Dustin, but his friends are clingy so I end up driving all of them around when we hang out. They love all this kind of nerd shit,” he points at the cover, featuring a sickly pale Dracula leering over the title, “and apparently their favorite author’s in it or something. An Edwin something?”

Eddie sighs. Of course, this would happen, of course—

“Edgar M.W.?”

Steve snaps a finger, “There you go. Yeah, they go crazy for those books, won’t shut up about them. You know him?”

He bites down on a panicked laugh.

Edgar M.W. His pseudonym. His publishers had thought ‘Eddie Munson’ wasn’t a right fit for his brand, which was bullshit, and almost made him keep it just to piss them off. Ultimately, he’d wanted the anonymity a little more than that, so he’d made up Edgar and added the ‘W’ for his Uncle Wayne.

He’s got six fans, and they’re definitely not adults. They don’t sign their full names off, but he’s got more than a sneaking suspicion that the letters he’s been getting, always signed Yours Faithfully, D. and Company, may in fact belong to Steve’s children. Of course—

“Yeah…we, uh, run in similar circles. I’m a writer, too. Fantasy horror.” It’s technically a lie, but it doesn’t feel like one since he’s not legally Edgar M.W. It’s also not a lie in the way he really hasn’t felt like Edgar M.W. in a long time.

“No way,” Steve’s eyes light up, honey brown in the dead of winter. “Publish anything I’d know? Or, that the kids would?”

“Nah, not lately.” The last work he’d published under ‘Eddie Munson’ had been in high school. Not to mention his work in progress, Untitled (1), which he hadn’t touched in the New Year.

“Why’s that?”

It, or, some variation of it, is the question that’s hounded him since he first started writing it. Where his work was, when was it going to be ready, why couldn’t he pull it together. The question he can’t avoid try as he might, what sends him running, because at the end of the day, Eddie’s only brave in stories.

That’s what should be happening now. He should be giving Steve a polite answer and excusing himself back to avoiding his responsibilities. But…

Steve is watching him. He’s not flashing a smile, but the crinkle around his eyes is still there, still happy talking to him. He’s only an inch taller, if that, but he’s got his head titled down the way tall guys always do when they’re trying to listen—trying to catch what Eddie’s going to say, the same way he had pointed at his bleached-out tour t-shirt yesterday. The t-shirt he’d asked about, and then went and bought a CD just to understand what Eddie meant.

Eddie feels…maybe not brave, but less like a coward.

“Cause it’s shit.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow.

“It is! Grade A, 100% bullshit, as my roommate would call it. It’s overwritten and predictable, it’s got absolutely no heart. And the worst part is, I mean, I’ve written something that could be published. It’s a pile of garbage, but it’s ‘sellable’,” Eddie laughs bitterly.

“My editor loves it,” he continues, everything that’s been rolled up tight in him all pouring out at once, “and the guys who sign my checks really love it. Forget making a statement or art, forget trying to wake people up and do something for a change. Sellable is good! Sellable means the readers get to enjoy a nice bedtime story and we all get to pop champagne. It certainly shouldn’t be a problem, because I do like being able to afford more than canned meat and cold showers, but, uh—” God, he sounds stupid, doesn’t he? He could still be stuck in the trailer selling poppers to high schoolers. He could be Munson Senior, behind bars for a rap sheet longer than his IQ, and he’s worried about selling out. Back then it was easy to talk about artistic integrity when he didn’t have shit to lose.

“Sounds hard,” Steve nods sympathetically.

He rolls his eyes, “Thanks, but it’s really not. I mean—”

“Give yourself a break man,” Steve jostles him, the arm just barely grazing his stomach a shock down his spine. “It sucks, trying to live up to expectations and shit and not getting to be who you are. It’s not fair. And maybe it’s not the biggest deal in the world, but uh…it still hurts. Just, quietly.”

Eddie nods.

“Well, whoever said life was fair, huh?”

“Yeah…yeah, you’re not wrong,” Steve hums, eyes still on him but looking past Eddie to something painful. He wonder if Steve would tell him what he’s thinking, which lines in his face hurt and which he’d wear with pride.

Just when Eddie thinks he’s really brought the mood down just after salvaging yesterday’s mess, Steve comes back to him. He smirks, and he can tell it’s a little put on, but not disingenuous.

“Shame though, I was looking for something new for my bookshelf.”

“I thank you for your artistic integrity, but honestly, if I’m selling out, I’m gonna need you to buy a copy,” Eddie grins at the laugh the bursts from Steve. “Maybe even ten. Something to sandwich between all those Sports Illustrated and the high school copy of The Catcher in the Rye I know you’ve got squirreled away.”

He casts Eddie a wary eye. “How’d you know about those?” He asks, leaning back just slightly, a razor thin edge to his tone.

“Just look the type,” Eddie shrugs, uncertain where he’d fallen off track. “I’ve met a lot of jocks and they’ve all got the same library. And you, Steve-o, with the polos, and the hair, and the clear lack of fine musical sensibilities, well. You fall right into that sweet, sweet preppy jock stereotype.”

Quick as it came, the tension melts from his shoulders, and Steve is back on him again.

“Ouch. I’ve got layers, you know.”

Eddie gives him a considering once over. He’s not exactly the tough guy he’d expected, but there’s something in Buckley he wasn’t prepared for. The flat, small-town plain he’d anticipated had suddenly turned off into a forest without a clear path. Deep, winding, and though perhaps not frightening, something to tread through with a clear mind. An adventure.

“Oh, I’m not saying you don’t,” he smirks, pocketing Steve’s little moment for further inspection. “I’m sure there’s a lot under there I’d like to see.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve breathes, eyes dark and focused. “And what would that be?”

Eddie swallows, throat dry and wanting. Steve’s eyes dart with the movement, before slowly trailing back up to meet him, a smug smirk playing on his lips. The distance between them is barely a foot, just a few inches at most. They’re not touching, but Eddie can feel every carefully measured breath between them, the warmth emanating from Steve seeping into his usually freeze-numb fingertips.

“Well—” he starts, when there’s a beeping, and Steve is out of orbit in a snap. Eddie blinks, the temperature drop an unwelcome wake up call.

“Oh shit—I gotta go,” Steve resets his watch, other hand buried in his hair. “It’s my day to pick up Dustin and his freeloaders, and the last time I was late I got chewed out for an hour.”

“Right! Can’t delay the esteemed royal court,” Eddie says, still dizzy.

Steve snorts. “Royal somethings alright.”

He takes a step back, then stops, and before Eddie can think of anything cute to say, Steve’s tugging at his mail. He pulls out a thick white envelope, one of the square ones that always means someone’s in trouble, and he’s got a cap between his teeth and he’s writing—

“I’m usually home after seven. If Robin answers, hang up. She’s being the most right now,” he presses the letter into Eddie’s chest, keeping his hand there.

“You can throw it away if you want, but if you need someone to talk to. Or see what’s underneath,” he winks.

Eddie blinks. He blinks again, mouth dropping open for a response he simply no longer has the braincells to muster. This is—

He looks down, and he notices three things in an order of increasing despair. The first being that Steve’s got nice handwriting, and he signed it ‘Stevie’ with a little heart over the ‘i’. It’s cute for someone who just technically committed a federal crime, so he’s going to be obsessing over that for the next few hours. Second, the number lands directly over the mailing address, which isn’t Eddie Munson. The means Nancy’s letter, an official looking document spelling only trouble, has been scribbled over by his crush. She’s going to yell at him. Or laugh. Probably both.

And thirdly, Eddie notices Steve’s hand. Pale, with those same dark moles just lightly dotted along the smooth skin and up his well-manicured nails. He hasn’t had a life of hard manual labor, but there’s strength there. The fingers spread wide across his chest, keeping the letter pinned in place, are holding back. Eddie knows he’s also going to be thinking about those fingers later, when he sees it. A little flash of gold gleaming cruelly in the thin winter light.

Steve takes a step back, snapping a finger gun at Eddie.

“See you later, big boy.”

He trips a little on the outer door, then exits with a wave.

Nancy was right. Steve Buckley is definitely flirting with him. Steve Buckley, who is also married.

—

Eddie trudges up to the apartment one stair at a time, letters heavy in his hand. He walks in, slips his shoes off, and slumps into the seat by the window overlooking the alley.

You’ve reached Nancy—and Eddie’s—apartment.

He tosses aside a few credit card offers, and sets Fangoria to the side for himself, same with the letter from the kids, which is particularly heavy today. Star Trek VI must’ve been good. D. & Company. Steve’s Dustin. Steve who’s good with kids and cheats on his wife.

Eddie groans, letting his head fall onto the tiny side table. This, this is why he didn’t want to see the signs. Because just his type is also code for unavailable. From ‘straight’ boys wanting to experiment in high school to sleazy one-night stands in the city, he has a knack for attracting the worst guys. So of course, his cute, flirty, kind and considerate neighbor is legally spoken for and less than morally upstanding.

Why else would a guy and girl move in together? Why else would he mention wanting kids?

If Robin answers, hang up. He’s met Robin before, mostly in passing and never for a terribly long conversation, but she’s funny and a little weird the way he likes his friends. There’s also something distinctly not-straight about her. She’s got a pink triangle pin on her bag and she manages to bring up Nancy in every single one of their five-minute conversations. Maybe she’s just a great ally, a true feminist, but it’s more than that. It’s the way she carries herself, the carefully placed confidence along her shoulders, like she’s not used to being loud and proud but fighting for it anyway.

Steve didn’t have those shoulders. His spoke confidence, a lightness to them that detailed a life of things being handed to him, of smiles and pats on the back and the easiness that came with being blissfully unaware of slurs thrown out car windows and nightmares of hospital rooms.

Just, quiet. The lines in his forehead. The tender pink of his hip bone. The CD he bought and the book he wanted to read.

He shoves his hands into his hair, rings knotting up in the greasy roots, and pulls hard, hissing at the sharp pain along his crown. He’s being stupid, he’s acting desperate. Sure, Steve’s hot and good to kids, but at the end of the day, he’s like every other guy. He’s a straight guy bored with his happy marriage. They’ll hook up and maybe it would be fun for a weekend, but he’ll always get The Look. A sneer of disgust and shame, a blank stare when Eddie mentions breakfast. No, Steve’s nice, so he’d get a pitying smile and a pat on the cheek before he leaves to pick up Robin for t-ball practice.

No. Fuck. He’s not going to be another repressed guy’s outlet. He’s not going to call, he’s not going to think about the little heart, and he’s not going to get the look.

Determined, Eddie pops up, sorting through the remaining pile for his number and does his best to crumble it up, the thick cardstock texture unwilling to bend very far. He doesn’t get the ball he wanted, and he’s a little sweaty at this point, but the symbolism is there. He chucks the envelope out the window before realizing that one, it’s still Nancy’s fucking mail, and two, that the window is in fact still shut tight, bouncing back on his face.

You’ve reached Nancy—and Eddie’s—apartment.

He only screams a little.

Outside, a flock of birds fly over the adjacent apartment building. A car horn blares. That’s when he notices an unfamiliar face leaning up against the trash bin. Cities are big, sure, but their alley isn’t one you exactly wander into by accident. The guy’s got tight blonde curls, a gold tan unhindered by anything more than a short-sleeve button-down, and a cigarette dangling from his lips. There’s a distinct edge to his stance, one Eddie recognizes from his dad’s old buddies. This guy’s done time, and he did it well.

Unease itches along his spine. Eddie might scare easy, but there is definitely something wrong with this guy.

As if sensing his thoughts, the guy looks directly up at him. Logically, Eddie knows he’s not really looking at him, the vantage from the alley into the living room is pretty shit, but there’s a smirk on his lip more akin to a snarl than anything. Like a predator that’s finally caught sight of its prey.

Quick as it came, the cigarette is crushed under the heel of his dark boots and he struts back out to the street.

Eddie sighs. This city is so fucking weird sometimes. God, he’d kill for a cigarette.

What he settles for instead is curling up on the couch with a Lucky Light and the rhythmic flick of his lighter. He misses their TV. Not by much, but it was always a nice distraction. More than anything, he misses the old westerns Wayne used to watch, misses his gentle snores and the death grip he had on his stone-cold mug of coffee. No cigarettes, no TV, no goddamn luck. Not unless you count the bubblegum, which ain’t much.

At some point he falls into a restless sleep, tossing and turning, each time almost drifting off until another call comes in or the radiator screams randomly.

“Hey,” and there’s a short, strong tug on his shoulder. He jerks up, blurry vision focusing on Nancy setting down a take-out bag on the table. “Got Thai tonight.”

“Oh, thank God,” Eddie mumbles, digging into the first plastic container she hands him, groaning as grilled chicken and sweet and sour sauce hit him full force. “Cross that—you are God, Nancy Wheeler.”

“Jesus, okay. Did you eat today?”

“Yes, dad. Had a sandwich with bread and everything.”

She raises a brow, “That’s it?”

He rolls his eyes. It’s not his fault his brain doesn’t tell him he’s hungry till three hours later. At least it wasn’t a nothing-in-this-house-is-edible day. “Oh, yeah? And what’d you have?”

Though she doesn’t have the same malfunction, Nancy is just as bad as him, regularly skipping meals in favor of shitty office coffee. A cliché if he’s ever seen one, though he can’t blame her. He’s right too, because suddenly, she seems very interested in her spring rolls.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he smirks.

“Anyway,” she breezes through, shoulders clinched tight, “How was your day? Did you call Chrissy back yet?”

“…no.”

“Eddie—”

“I know! I was going to but—” he sighs. She’s going to get it out of him one way or the other, might as well submit to the inevitable. “I saw 3B again.”

“Oh?”

“His name is Steve. As always, you were right, he was definitely flirting with me and it was going, if I say so myself, really well. That is, until I saw the ring.” He hums a few notes, miming a piano with one hand.

The heavy pit in his stomach from earlier grows twice in size at the sight of Nancy’s face. Mouth pinched, eyebrows slightly upturned. It’s the look he gets whenever he tells her a story from his childhood, even though some of those are actually funny just in an admittedly fucked up kind of way. He shifts uncomfortably.

“It’s whatever, Nance. Life sucks, and then you die,” he shrugs, trying to play it cool. It doesn’t work, it never works with her, because she’s still got her look. “Probably better not to get biblical with the neighbors anyway. Don’t shit where you eat and all that.”

He itches under her gaze.

“Eddie—"

“Just—leave it. Okay? Honestly, it’s not even that big of a deal. I’m just sorry for Robin if anything.”

The radiator clanks.

“I told you she wasn’t into me,” she says, just as cool.

“I wouldn’t say that, I mean—"

“What would you say, then?” Her voice has the razor-sharp edge to it, the kind that tells him if he pushes, he’s getting cut, and Eddie’s had enough slashes to the heart for one day.

She goes back to her spring rolls, skipping the usual third-degree he’d be getting over his feelings and what exactly he saw. Great. Fucking great. As much as she’s the rock in this relationship, he forgets how sensitive she is underneath it all, and now he’s gone and fucked it up. He sinks further into the couch.

The rest of the meal is quiet, both of them stewing in their own take-out container of disappointment. When they’re done, Eddie cleans up, a quiet apology for ruining the mood.

Nancy’s with The Board now, back turned to him. He slouches over to the couch, burying himself in one of the pillows. It’s always easier for him to sleep with someone else in the room, something about the noise of cohabitation lulling him to sleep, but the weight of 3B presses in on him.

He turns over, still deciding between a joke and a more sincere apology, to find Nancy not where he left her. Instead, she’s by the window, opened envelope clutched in one hand and its contents in the other, brow furrowed.

“What is this?”

Panic floods over him, “Oh, shit—listen, he wrote it down before I realized—”

“No, Eddie—” she crosses the room, thrusting the letter in his face. “What is this?”

Instead of anger or frustration like he expects, her face is almost completely blank, just the slightest twitch of her lip like she’s holding herself back from firing off. She raises a brow at the mail, wiggling it for effect.

At first, Eddie’s sure he’s somehow still halfway asleep, because it won’t come into focus. He blinks, then wipes at his eyes with a clumsy hand. The first page, creased from his earlier attempts, has a row of columns with a series of numbers running down the left-hand side and dotted throughout the main text. The text itself is strange, letters he recognizes but strung together wrong, forming half a word before falling into gibberish. Some of the letters themselves don’t look right, ‘N’s that face the other way or ‘O’s with slashes through them. Wait—

“Is that—”

“Russian,” she nods, eyes shining bright as she shuffles through the pages, “And look. No sender, no return address. Just this.”

The last page has the same column structure but is almost entirely empty save for a few notes in Russian at the top. Scribbled across the center in thick black ink are two distinctly English words:

KEEP. DIGGING.

Holy. Fuck.

“Barbara Holland was murdered,” Nancy says. “We’re going to find out why.”

#stranger things fic #steddie fic #ronance fic #steddie #ronance #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #robin buckley #st4 #my writing #my work #this chapter got long dude #next chapter i fear will be WAY longer asdfghjkl #next chapter also heavily featuring ronance and ms buckley herself soooo look out

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letsasoiaftogether · 2 years

Text

Martell Gif Imagine...

A/n: Sorry, anon, that it took so long for me to post this! I ADORED this! Definitely going to have to try and turn this into a full one shot at some point! Hope you all like it :D

IMAGINE…going to your father, Prince Oberyn Martell, about having a crush on your (female) friend

Word Count: 680 (a little long to be titled a simple gif imagine but...oh well!)

(GIF ISN’T MINE, if it’s yours and you want it removed, please let me know)

You were one of nine of his bastard daughters, the middle one between the older four and the younger four. Shy and gentle, you often preferred to stay in the background and not to be noticed by anyone – even your family. You tried your best to keep any problems you faced to yourself, feeling like a bother if you went to anyone for help.

And so it must have surprised your father a great deal when you stepped into his apartments at Sunspear with a determined look that faltered only slightly when Prince Oberyn looked up from some book he was reading.

“Papa,” you greeted with a quick but proper curtsey before you moved closer and placed a kiss to his cheek “I am glad to see you are doing well.”

The younger brother to the Prince of Dorne watched you closely as you sat down, the corner of his lips twitching into a playful smile as he said, “Daughter, I’m glad to see you as well. Any man would be happy to see your beauty.” Reaching out, he grabbed your cheek and then leaned over to place a kiss to your forehead, “But a father especially for you, and your sisters, are the greatest delight in my life.”

You blushed at his words, more out of joy from hearing the words than of your natural shyness.

“But why have you come to me today instead of venturing to the Water Gardens with the others?”

You huffed in playful annoyance, slouching ever so slightly into the cushions as you pretended to be upset with his question. “Am I not allowed to simply come and see my father?” you giggled, scooting closer to him so you could rest your head against his arm.

Prince Oberyn wrapped an arm around your shoulders and held you to him while whispering, “Of course you can, my sweet Y/n. I would never deny any of my girls a visit.” Any sort of amusement or hidden meaning to his words was absent now. As it always was when he had private moments with his children. While the Viper was known for his sharp wit, those closest to him knew how dear his daughters were to him and how serious he could be when he sensed they needed it.

Sighing in contentment, you closed your eyes and let yourself soak in the comfort and safety of your father. You may have been born a bastard, but Oberyn Martell would never treat his daughters like they were mistakes or beneath him. He was loving and gentle and thoughtful and, overall, protective. It was why you were there. While you liked to solve your problems yourself, sometimes you needed your Father to help make things better.

“Papa,” you whispered some time later, breaking the silence that had comfortably fallen over the two of you, “I…I think I’m in love with Y/B/F.”

He just chuckled. He knew. Of course he knew!

As much as you should have been, you weren’t surprised. Your father was too great of a parent to not have noticed.

“Tell her then,”

You shook your head, fiercely, “What if she doesn’t feel the same way? I would make a fool of myself and ruin our friendship!”

Your father smiled and shifted so he could cup your face with his hands, “Y/n, if you do not tell her how you feel, you will be sad and you will regret it.”

“But…”

“No,” he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips, “It is frightening, the unknown, but that is one of the best things about life. The unknown. Not knowing what is ahead of you. But if you do not reach into that void…you could miss out on the greatest things the world has to offer you.”

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you asked with a shaky voice full of emotions, “And…what if she does feel the same way?”

His dark eyes were alit with amusement and love, “If Y/B/F feels the same way as you, then I suspect she will make you so very happy.”

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youredoingg8sweetie · 6 months

Text

Pre-Jily concept

I have a lot of thoughts about That Day at The Lake™ and how Lily/The Mauraders recover. I also think a lot about the fact that Peter was as ingrained in the group and that he was GOOD before being corrupted by fear and zealots - which is what makes the betrayal so heart-wrenching. Sirius x Lily is my BroTP but I wanted to consider a moment of connection between Peter and Lily that may have that might lead to a deeper friendship and trust. This is what got spat out of my brain.

I haven't written since high school and I overuse commas, sue me.

----

She was hiding. She knew she shouldn’t be out on the grounds. The sun was already beginning to set but Lily rationalized that all of the things to happen today–the potential of losing house points for being out past curfew is hardly her main concern.

When she stormed away from the lake this afternoon, she didn’t have a plan, she just couldn’t keep standing there with everyone looking at her. Lily had stalked away so quickly after yelling at James–so hot-headed–that her original path back to the castle had been a blur with her body on autopilot. When she was taking the stairs to the tower leading to the common room she intercepted Mary and Marlene. They weren’t even there, maybe they didn’t know? Her question was quickly answered by the way they were looking at her. Like she was a wounded, broken thing.

“Lily!” Mary started, “Remus is looking for you, he told us every–”

Lily had turned without a word racing down the stairs. Ignoring the call of her friends after her. She crossed the entire castle to stop by the kitchens, knowing that dinner in the great hall was out of the question today. Too many peering eyes, too many silent ‘I told you so’s.’

She considered taking solace in the potions classroom. No. Too close to the Slytherin common room, and the first place Sev would look for her, if he had any intention of doing so. She had wandered outside, past the whomping willow, and reached the greenhouses as her stomach started to grumble. Lily unbuttoned her cloak, laying it on the ground as a cover for her makeshift picnic for one.

As she started in on the bread and fruit she had nicked from the kitchens Lily couldn’t stop her mind from racing. She was sitting still, but the day continued to spin around her. Lily’s anger was quick and strong, but short lived. It and the adrenaline had mostly relinquished in her long search for a place to hide. She was left with the buzzing need of trying to cope with the madness of the afternoon.

Severus. Her first real friend, once her best friend in this world, had publicly denounced her by reducing her to the blood he had always preached didn’t really matter. Tears welled in her eyes. She may never know when that changed; when her blood mattered more than their friendship… as distilled as it was now. After today, she could never fool herself that their friendship could survive.

She had tried all year to bargain with herself, convinced that they could maintain their friendship as they grew older despite his new friends, despite her growing power as a witch, despite the growing tension between their houses and the world outside of Hogwarts. Lily blinked away the tears threatening to fall. Hurt and rage and stubbornness rising. Severus Snape had made his decision, loudly and publicly, and she could not pretend the boy who once made her flowers would stand by her when push came to shove, when it counted.

And James. Prideful and arrogant and cruel, picking a fight with him in the first place. Cocking it up further by asking her out as a way to embarrass Snape. To embarrass her too, really. And her pride couldn’t have that, so she yelled at him and she turned down his flagrant proposal with all the hurt she couldn’t swallow. She wanted James to hurt. Wanted him to cut him down at the knees for teasing her for a laugh.

She thought they were finally starting to get along too. Like maybe they could be friends afterall. Like maybe the way he sometimes looked at her wasn’t just a joke to make Black laugh. She was such an idiot for believing them both. Her breath caught in her throat - Lily couldn’t decipher if it was the beginning of a sob or a sardonic laugh. As she reached for the water she had stowed away in her bag, the happenings of the afternoon continued to play in her head as the sun started to hide behind the trees of the forbidden forest.

Go out with me. Giant squid. Mudblood.

Go out with me. Giant squid. Mud–

“Lily!” Lily jerked at the voice who pulled her out of the trance.

“Peter?” she looked at the young man who was peering around the corner of the greenhouse, his face flushed in what looked like relief that he had indeed found her. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was sharp, still poised to slice despite her exhaustion. Of the people she may have expected to come looking after her, she wouldn’t have put Peter Pettigrew at the top of the list.

His body tensed, halting his approach to her and standing what he must have ascertained was a safe distance away, “I–” his hands tightened around the small bag he was carrying, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. And to bring you this.” He stuck his arm straight to her holding the brown paper bag out for Lily to grab. “I thought you might need it.”

She didn’t answer him, eyeing him curiously in the silence that followed. Lily dropped her gaze to the package and stood up from where she had been sitting against the greenhouse to meet him. Taking the bag and peering inside she found a large corked bottle. She pulled the cork out and brought the bottle to her nose, her brain instantly recognizing the sweet scent of butterbeer. Lily’s brow twisted as she replaced the cork on top of the bottle. How had he managed to get this? They hadn’t had a day in Hogsmead day in over a month, anything purchased would have gone sour by now. When she looked back at Peter, a small smirk was threatening to show on his face.

“Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies.”

Gaining no reaction from Lily, Peter’s face grew solemn again, looking down he spoke again, “I am sorry about what happened at the lake.”

Lily stayed silent, her gaze not quite meeting his eyes as she considered punishing him too. But her rage had simmered into sadness and frankly she could use a drink. Peter was being kind, in his own way.

“Do you have anything stronger?”

Pete’s eyes snapped to hers in surprise, “What?” Confusion knitting his brows.

“Wherever you procured this,” she looked back down at the bottle, removing it from the bag and now holding it loosely in her hand, “can you bring me anything stronger?” When he didn’t say anything she continued, “You’re right. Today has been shit.” A rueful too-tight smile pulled at her lips, “but if we are going to begin toasting to new beginnings, then I am going to need something stronger than this to believe them.”

Peter looked unsure if he should laugh or run, “I-Uh,” he scratched his head, “Yes. I could.. But–” he stepped closer, moving to join her rather than make his way back to where he came, “but I wouldn’t get away with it. James won’t notice for days that I nicked this from him. Sirius, however? Keeps a much closer eye on his... procurements.”

Lily rolled her eyes, of course Sirius had hard liquor at his disposal. Lily will need to tease Remus about that next time they meet in the library or on rounds. They were prefects after all.

“Fair enough,” Lily said to Peter as she sat back down. “Did you bring cups? Or are we pulling straight from the bottle?” Lily eyed Peter. From the way he shifted under his gaze Lily could tell he was nervous, despite seeking her out.

“Didn’t get that far,” he confessed. “I wasn’t sure you would talk to me let alone believe you would accept it” his eyes darted between her and the bottle as he sat down beside her. “I–Uh, I could transfigure a few goblets if you would like?” He fumbled to pull his wand from his robes but Lily stopped him with her hand.

“Don’t bother. We can share.” She pulled the stopper from the bottle and took a long swig. Not stopping to think why she had decided to accept the bottle or his company instead of sending him away. Savoring the warmth of the drink as she swallowed, her hand extended away from her inviting Peter to take the bottle. He didn’t move to accept it.

“Lily,” Peter looked down again, his voice somehow softer than before, “I feel responsible for what happened today. And–”

Lily bristled. Accepting his company was one thing. His pity, another.

“Not your fault” she dismissed, hoping he would just take the damn bottle from her. He eyed her, unconvinced. “You aren’t innocent,” she conceded. “Certainly you played your part in encouraging them. I am sure you laughed, as you always do when they decide to make a mockery of someone in the name of their own entertainment, spurred from nothing but their boredom and a need to feed their unending egos–” she huffed, “but you’re not the one who took it too far, Peter. You’re not the reason I’m out here.”

Peter finally reached for the bottle. “Why are you out here? I mean,” he took a quick, small swig from the bottle, biding time before asking “why are you out here alone?”

“I am not alone.” Lily answered too quickly. Her words sounded hollow, even to her own ears, unsuccessful in her sad attempt of cheek.

“But you tried to be.” He countered, his tone remaining serious.

She can’t think of the last time she and Peter had spoken to each other with no one else around. Can’t remember the last time he asked her anything so directly that wasn’t related to coursework. She reached out and he handed her the butterbeer. Her eyes shifted to the castle grounds again. The sun is completely hidden by the trees. It’s definitely past curfew now.

“Are you close with your family, Peter?”

“My family?” he questioned, surprised by the quick change in subject. “I love my parents, sure, but prefer to be at school if that’s what you mean. My fri–my brothers, are here. Why do you ask?” His eyes widened in panic, “are you going to ask to go back to Cokeworth? Oh Lily please don’t leave Hogwarts” Peters words were quick and pleading.

“No” She interrupted him. He let out a deep sigh and waited for her to elaborate. Lily took another swig of the bottle. “Sev–Snape. Snape was like a brother to me once. Estranged as we may have been this year, I couldn’t not step in today when Potter chose to torment him."

“Believe it or not, the worst part isn’t even that he called me a mudblood.” Peter flinched at her casual use of the slur, “I am angry, sure. That they got to him. That I could see that he believed it when he said it. But I am more upset that he said he didn’t want my help, that he didn’t want… me, anymore.” The silence of the truth hung between them. “The fact that he called me a mudblood just confirms that we will be fighting on opposite sides of the war when we get out of here.” She outstretched her arm, holding the bottle out for him to take, “I am out here alone because I needed a chance to come to terms with that.”

Lily nearly asked if there was veritaserum in the Butterbeer. The truth spilled out of her with more clarity than she possessed. She was in a tizzy when she had parked herself on the side of the greenhouse, figuring she would cry or scream to fight against the storm of feelings and memories in her head. And yet, in the moments after her confession her mind is silent with calm.

Peter moved the bottle to his lips. After the pull, he wiped a drop of liquid off his chin with his sleeve.

“Snape’s an idiot.”

Lily nearly laughed at that, his words pulling her out of her thoughts. “He’s not the only one.” Peter glanced at her, catching her eye for the first time in minutes.

“Do you mean James?”

“After the shit he pulled today? Of course I mean Potter.” Lily grabbed the bread from her bag, shaking her head as she pulled off a piece and ate it.

“He was really worried about you when you didn’t show up for dinner.” Peter defended, “We all were. Especially once we realized that no one knew where you were. I know he wants to apologize to you, too.”

“Potter is only sorry he got told off.” Lily replied, not trying to hide her frustration. She decided not to comment on the worries of her classmates, her friends. Choosing instead to reach for the butterbeer bottle and take a drink. They were approaching the end of the butterbeer now by the weight of it. The sun had completely set, and the dim greenhouse lights were the only thing keeping Peter in view. Lily peered inside the bottle and handed what was left of it back to Peter.

“You can finish it. Thank you for sharing it with me.” After he took it from her grasp, she stood up and grabbed her cloak from the ground, shaking it to remove the dirt and earth that clung to it. “It’s getting dark. You should get inside.”

“What about you?” He vanished the now empty bottle and tilted his towards the castle. “Aren’t you coming?”

“In a bit. I am going to collect a few Lacewings Flies.” She lied.

Lily tried to conjure a small smile, encouraging him to take the bait that she was alright. Or at least alright enough. Peter didn’t head towards the castle.

“Truly, just a few minutes.” Lily tried again, “I’m practically right behind you. You can tell anyone that’s looking after me that I am okay. It would actually be a massive favor!” Peter considered her.

“I’m sort of terrified of Marlene.” Peter confessed. “If she knows I left you out here alone, I know she’ll curse me. If Remus doesn’t manage it first.”

“I was alone when you found me,” Lily countered. The guilt of running away from her friends earlier hitting her in the chest.

“Sure, but that was your choice. If I turn my back on you, that’s my choice.”

Lily wanted to curse Godric Gryfindor himself - for brandishing nobility as a house trait. Wishing for a moment a logical Ravenclaw might have discovered her hiding place instead.

“I could dock you points for being out after curfew,” she threatened. She was reaching now and they both knew it.

“I would deserve it,” he admitted. “I really am sorry, Lily. About everything. But you have to come inside eventually. Please come with me.”

So she did.

– – –

#jily #mauraders #lily evans #this is the only scene that exists #its the whole concept #one shot #fuck transphobes #fuck jkr

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panandinpain0 · 2 years

Note

Please do a 2nd part to Letter Exchange

Quidditch Field Confessions

Part One

Yes, of course!!! I can't promise it'll be as good as the first one though, sorry. I'll try my best.

Requested by: Anon

Neville Longbottom x Male!Ravenclaw!Reader

Again: Hermione x Pansy

Warnings: None that I know of

Enjoy, enjoyyyyy

Neville and (Y/N) have been doing this whole tutoring/dating thing for a while, and both of them were getting a little distressed at the fact that nothing had been made official. Neville was feeling insecure, wondering if (Y/N) just didn't want that with him- but if he didn't want that then why would he keep encouraging Neville? Maybe for friendship? But Neville was positive (Y/N) flirted with him on multiple occasions... And then there was the chaos with (Y/N). (Y/N) didn't want to rush things, but he wanted to take the next step and wasn't sure Neville was ready.

(Y/N) sat on the edge of his bed thinking exactly this, running his hands through his hair and letting out an exasperated sigh. What was he going to do? He needed to find out how Neville was feeling before anything- he didn't want to jump the gun and he didn't want to keep him waiting either. But how was he supposed to bring it up? "Oh, hey Neville, do you want to be my boyfriend or have you just been being nice to me and playing along this whole time?" No. Thinking of no other way, he figured he could just wing it. What could go wrong?

He stood up quickly and walked over to the chair that accompanied the desk in his dorm, pulling his robe he had draped over it off and tugging it up his arms, tucking something quickly into the pocket.. On his way to the door he grabbed his scarf that was wrapped around his bed post and beanie he had lying on his blanket, putting both on as he left Ravenclaw tower.

It was the weekend so he wasn't worried about finding Neville, he knew where he'd be. (Y/N) walked down the halls, passing fellow students and greeting them with a wave or nod, towards the Gryffindor portrait.

Once (Y/N) reached his destination he put his hands in his pocket and looked up at the Fat Lady.

"Excuse me, miss," he asked with confidence. This wasn't his first time talking with the Fat Lady.

"Oh, hello, dear! What can I do for you?" Her rosy face smiled down at the Ravenclaw boy.

"Is there any chance Neville Longbottom is in the Gryffindor common room at the moment?" he asked as politely as possible. He didn't want to be on the Fat Lady's bad side.

"I'm sorry dear, he isn't!"

"Hmm..." (Y/N) tried to think of where else Neville would be at noon on a Saturday. "Is Hermione Granger in there?"

"Yes, she is. Would you like me to fetch her?"

"Would you? That would be wonderful. Thank you so much."

"Of course! Anything for a polite young man such as yourself." She left and after a minute appeared again, just to have her portrait swung open by Hermione.

"(Y/N)? What is it?" Hermione asked, stepping out of the portrait and standing in front of (Y/N).

"I was wondering, do you know where Neville is?"

"Oh, that's right! He said he was looking for you and left," Hermione explained, sticking her hands in her pockets as a gust of wind breezed past. "I still don't understand why they can't put a heating charm inside the castle, or at least close the windows!" she complained. "Why, if you don't mind my asking, are you looking for Neville?"

"I, uhm... I would like to ask him to, make it official, I suppose," (Y/N) said hesitantly, trying to find the words.

Hermione's face lit up. "Really?!"

"Yes," (Y/N) chuckled out breathily. "I need to ask him how he's feeling. I don't want to push him into it, you know? He's too kind for his own good sometimes. But how about you and Pansy? Have you talked to her since the, you know...?"

"The accident where I made a complete fool out of myself? Yes, actually. She came by to see if I was alright. It was a surprise but it was so sweet." Hermione's face pinked at the thought of their interaction.

"That's amazing Hermione, I hope you guys make each other happy. Oh, and please keep me updated, you know how much I love hearing about relationships," (Y/N) gushed, leaning forward with a teasing smile.

"Thank you. I was considering going out and finding her after I finished this paper. I'm nearly done."

"If I see her, would you like me to send her this way?" (Y/N) asked with a kind smile.

"...Yes, please." Hermione's cheeks were pink with slight embarrassment.

"Alright, I'll be on my way. Good luck, Hermione." He patted her on the arm and walked away as she waved and walked back into the common room.

(Y/N) walked down to the library, knowing that's where Neville usually found me. Neville wasn't to be seen, but Pansy was.

"Oh, Parkinson?" (Y/N) whispered over, remembering what he had said to Hermione.

"(L/N)?" She raised an eyebrow and put her finger in the book she was reading to hold her place.

"Hermione was looking for you. She said to meet at the Gryffindor common room." (Y/N) smiled at her and motioned out the door.

"Oh!" Pansy looked surprised, looking away from (Y/N) to be sure he didn't catch the excitement in her eyes. "Thank you."

"Of course." (Y/N) nodded and exited the library, going to the Quidditch field next.

He walked down to field with his hands in his pockets, the wind blowing his hair back and making him squint his eyes.

"Neville?" he shouted out into the air, seeing him in the distance.

Neville turned around and waved, smiling at (Y/N) as he walked the rest of the way. Even the blades of grass beneath their feet bent in the wind, the trees swaying with the force of it.

"(Y/N)," Neville greeted, the two joining hands when they got lose enough.

"Neville. I think we need to talk," (Y/N) admitted with a gentle smile, trying to not cause a panic in Neville.

"I think I have a better idea," Neville admitted, taking back his hand to pull something out of his pocket. He held up a letter with (Y/N)'s name written across the front. (Y/N) let out a surprised laugh before doing the same action. His cursive font spelled Neville's name across it.

"Great minds think alike!" (Y/N) laughed as they exchanged letters.

"Open mine first," Neville prompted, wanting to watch (Y/N) read it.

(Y/N) looked up at Neville from under his lashes before opening the letter.

"ᴰᵉᵃʳ ⁽ʸ/ᴺ⁾,

ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵛᵉʳʸ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢᵖᵉᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ⁱˢ ʰᵃʳᵈᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ, ˢᵒ ʰᵉʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵃʳᵉ. ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ. ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵒᵐᵉʷᵒʳᵏ ᵗᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ˡᵘⁿᶜʰ, ᵗᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵉᵉᵏᵉⁿᵈˢ, ᵃˡˡ ᵒᶠ ⁱᵗ. ᴬⁿᵈ ᴵ ʷᵃˢ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ʷᵃʸ ᴵ ᵈⁱᵈ.

ᴸᵒᵛᵉ,

ᴺᵉᵛⁱˡˡᵉ ᴸᵒⁿᵍᵇᵒᵗᵗᵒᵐ"

Neville bit his lip and fiddled with the paper in his hands, looking at (Y/N)'s expression for a reaction. When he got none his heart started racing.

"Open mine," was all (Y/N) said in return.

Neville gulped and looked down at the letter, opening it.

"Dear Neville,

Will you be my boyfriend?

Love,

(Y/N) (L/N)"

With wide eyes Neville looked back up at a beaming (Y/N). He started nodding vigorously and smiling and (Y/N) laughed loudly, taking Neville into his arms and spinning him around in the air.

When (Y/N) put him down Neville looked nervously up at him before hesitantly leaning in. (Y/N) quickly reciprocated and they locked lips, (Y/N) holding Neville's waist while Neville's hands went to cup his jaw.

"We're boyfriends," Neville giggled as they pulled apart. He couldn't believe it.

End

I like this one too, I know it's shorter than the first part but still.

-Author Max <3

#harry potter #neville x reader #hermione x pansy #neville longbottom #x reader #fanfiction #writer #reader insert #oneshot #x male reader #fluff #gay mlm #fandoms #x male y/n #x he/him reader #neville x male!reader

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ask-spider-lore · 2 years

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Your name is Gwen Stacy, and you have been waiting under a tree in Central Park for the past two hours.

You have sufficiently gotten to the point where your boredom has reached heights you once never thought possible, and your pastime of trying to appear as though you're meant to be here alone (doing nothing, no less) was starting to get old.

Your thoughts turn to the person you were meant to be meeting here. Peter Parker was... a multifaceted beast. Kind. Considerate. Most importantly, he was your best friend. You feel as though you know him inside and out, and you take care of him as much as you can. But as of late, he has become increasingly distant with you. He has shirked your usual hang-outs after school more and more often, citing "circumstances" and nothing more. You chalk it up to him having found real hobbies that he can engage with outside of you, and attempt to shove the thoughts to the side.

It's not as though what he's doing is making him happy, you think. It's been ages since you've seen him truly smile.

This is not something you want to think about.

It is at this moment, standing alone under a tree in Central Park, holding a blue hand-knitted scarf in your hands, that you start to feel remarkably silly. You have become a blubbering fool, caught up in your own sentimentality to see the reality that was staring you in the face. That even the friendships you held dearest to your heart were not meant to last.

You take a deep breath, willing the tears burning behind your eyes to stay where they fucking are, and turn to leave.

"Gwen!"

And there he is. Despite yourself, you giggle as you see Lore stumbling up the hill, sweating and panting, clearly having raced to get there as quickly as he could. Just before he reaches you, he trips and tumbles to the ground, landing flat on his back with a tragic thud. For a long moment he just lies there, staring up at you, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

"...Hi," he says.

"Hi," you say back, sitting down next to him.

He sits up, brushing the autumn leaves out of his bright red hair. "So... what did you need me here for?"

You balk. "...It's your birthday?"

He blinks, and remains silent for a very long time. Normally, you would laugh this off, but, despite yourself, a growl emerges from your throat.

"Ugh, what is with you?!"

Lore blinks. "Pardon?

And just like that, a switch in your brain is flipped, and all of your frustrations and fears about the past few weeks come spilling out, because, goddammit you have been trying so fucking hard to keep what little friendships you have together-

"Gwen..."

-and every single day it feels like Lore, the one person who has kept you grounded throughout your entire life, is drifting away - does he have any idea how terrifying that is?!

"Gwen."

You don't even know what the hell he's doing with his time - not that you need to know his every move, but it sure would help if he, you don't know, TALKED TO YOU FOR ONCE IN HIS FUCKING LIFE-

"Gwen!"

"WHAT?!"

Lore doesn't say anything at first, and for a fleeting moment, that just pisses you off even more. His mouth opens and closes at random as he fumbles to find the words to say. You're about to tell him to not even bother when he finally speaks.

"I'm sorry."

The wind rustles the leaves in the trees around you. The sounds of people's passing conversations dance through your ears, but in this moment, none of it matters. All that you can think about is the expression you see on his face.

He looks... ashamed.

"I-I know I haven't been talking to you as much as I should have been..." he stutters. "I just... life has been. A lot, lately. And I feel like I haven't been able to keep up."

"Well, that's what I'm here for. I can help, y'know."

Lore shakes his head sadly. "Not with this."

He doesn't elaborate, and you know him well enough not to pry. Instead, you fiddle with the scarf still in your hands and wrap it around his neck, leaning your head on his shoulder. Through his tears, Lore laughs.

"W-what is this?"

"It's your birthday gift, dumbass. And you better appreciate it, it took way too long to make."

He lets out something between a sob and a laugh, and you wrap an arm around his waist. This level of physical affection was, frankly, new to both of you, but you figured it felt appropriate.

"You're my best friend, you know that?" you say.

Lore smiles. And that's all you need.

#verse arc #ooc: i tried

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khaleesiofalicante · 2 years

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ive been relating timeline 2 max with the first half of "my boy" by billie and now a sassy song hurts 😃

i do have a question, if you don't mind explaining what must be obvious to you, but what's exactly holding mavid back now?

at first it was max not wanting to love david so he won't hurt later if/when he leaves, right? but he already admitted to himself he loves david and that he won't ever stop loving him, already pictured a whole future, there's no going back.

and he's not dumb to fool himself david wouldn't like him back. so if he's willing to give himself up for friendship with benefits knowing it would hurt to let go even now, why not go all the way if he knows he wants more?

unless he's trying to protect david from the media? but i had gotten the vibe max's trauma was more about "love not being enough will hurt me" and less about "my love will hurt him". on the contrair, he knows all the things he didn't say and the times he didn't stay hurt david. so like, why?

and yes i accept "he's malec's offspring did you really expect him to communicate his hard feelings?" as an answer but idk with you there always seems to be something more im not picking up

Not me writing this while listening to 'my boy' lmao.

for me (from max's perspective) the issue is quite simple. Max put it very succinctly at the beginning of the fic.

"I'm not scared of love, I'm scared of love."

I think Max's biggest fear - and what keeps him from reaching out and confessing to David - is his fear that David will leave him.

Max as we know has serious abandonment issues - which of course stem from his birth itself. It did not help that Magnus left him - twice. We know Alec is always there for him, but perhaps sometimes he perceives it as 'responsibility' than 'love'.

Max very much knows David loves him. As you say, only an idiot wouldn't see how much David loves him. But he is scared that he will chase David away by 'fucking up' as he had done in the past. He also feels that who he is "as a person" might eventually drive David away - because in his experience it is true.

He is distancing himself from david (in this way) based on a purely hypothetical possibility of David leaving him. (this is of course is also reinforced by David leaving for Cambridge)

But what Max fails to realize is that (in some situations with magnus) but mostly with David, his coping mechanism of distancing himself is actually pushing these people further away.

I hope this makes sense. we will definitely dive into a lot of these later on!

ps - I don't think his abandonment issues are doing much better with rafael fucking off :)

#tlnd

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emmetrain · 2 years

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@sekizein asked: 🎶 !!!!!!!!!!!

Send 🎶 for me to make a five song playlist for our muses

Confessional - Sopor Aeternus & The Ensemble Of Shadows

Walk With The Noise - IAMX

The Dark Side - Muse

Graveyard Shift - Battle Tapes

Ordinary Life - Simple Plan

Lullaby - Lord Huron

Explanations, lyrics and commentary under the cut :D

Confessional - Sopor Aeternus & The Ensemble Of Shadows

Where do I begin, where should I start? So much to tell... or nothing at all. At the end of the day it is all the same, 'cause that's how things are.

No-one ever writes, no-one calls, only replies, so I have to go first, which is tiring and sad, but all that I have, so I just go ahead with it. Because: I DO believe, I DO believe, I DO believe, I DO, I DO believe in friendship...- in FRIENDSHIP and in TRUTH.

I often try picturing what it would be like to have a friend, someone who spends his time with me, enjoys my company as much as I like him. Someone who calls for no reason at all, simply out of a whim...- whom, at the end of the day, I don't have to pay like everyone else.

Someone, who has no gain from knowing my name, my weakness or strength, who doesn't pretend and isn't afraid to share pleasure or pain, is honest and true.

COPY-PASTED WHOLE LYRICS COS THIS SONG. THIS SONG IS SMOL & KITTY FRIENDSHIP SONG. The sadness, desperation, all the mixed feelings of hope, love and trust but also fear, disappointment and longing?? Smolmet wants to be close to his kitty twin, but also, they are both deep in despair due to their circumstances, so it is so hard to play pretend, being happy when they cannot, being friends when they have no time or energy???

Walk With The Noise - IAMX

We were born into this fools' world And we will die before we play the game So many blows ripping apart our gentle souls And I shudder 'cause I know what I don't want to know

And it's killing me, killing me, laughter Wanna wash those smiles away

Oh it's killing me, killing me slowly Wanna wash those smiles away I walk with the noise, it’s reaching out to me I talk to the world, face my devils When I’m losing my touch the terror, the terror I walk with the noise, face my devils

Smolkitty twins!! The song's beat and the energy of it fits them so well ;;; All their efforts, their grief. It feels like their theme song ;;;

The Dark Side - Muse

I have lived in darkness For all my life, I've been pursued You'd be afraid if you could feel my pain And if you could see the things I am able to see

I hail from the dark side For all my life, I've been besieged You'd be scared living with my despair And if you could feel the things I am able to feel

Break me out, break me out Let me flee Break me out, break me out Set me free

;;;;; The Dark Side is especially the Kitty Emmet with the bottomless pain and despair he is. Smolmet is hopeful by nature and he can hold onto his belief in a happy future if things went too dark for him. But I do not think Kitty Emmet has the same luxury? So this song signifies the bridge between them, with how they are same but also verrry different in their pain, yet how they still try to reach out one another?

Graveyard Shift - Battle Tapes

I used to think that these words wouldn't go anywhere My fever wouldn't start to break until they stopped and they stared I keep on when you won't 'Cause I know what you don't, don't, don't, don't I took the risk, I took the bid I took the blame every time I took to knock, knock, knocking down your door I took to taking what's mine

I fell asleep at the helm of a runaway train And laid myself at the feet of what I couldn't slay

To keep you where they can't find I need you more than I realized I sip your glass and wave goodbye I need you more, the rest alive

And everything they said was true To keep you lost and cast away I'd never sold your heart of gold To keep you lost as days just fade away

Alright, these twins' energy is high and I tried choosing the 'electrifying' sort of songs for them. This one stars with Smolmet's worry about the 'risk' he takes by being close to his twin and trying to keep up with him when they do not mesh well at first, but also, it ends with Kitty Emmet's perspective, like "I would never sell your heart of gold"??? Like, deep down, they both care about each other with their flaws, weaknesses and all. They are Emmet, and they are different, but still they care deeply??

Also, RUNAWAY TRAIN??? IT IS YOUR EMMET'S SONG.

Ordinary Life - Simple Plan It's just another Monday I'm just another face in a face-less crowd I'm going down one-way Caught up in the machine and I'm spit right out I'm living in a rat race I'm looking for my soul in the lost-and-found

I'm sitting in the same spot Counting every tic, toc Gotta hit the punch clock When's it gonna stop-stop? Another day in black and white One, two, three, four, five Another week goes by I'm half alive I'm getting sick I'm faking this I'm over it Don't wanna wear no suit and tie I gotta live before I die So I'm done, done, done With this ordinary life

IT'S THEM IT'S THEM IT'S THEM. (Also b&w part just makes me smile so much). How they are left to pretend to be okay and functional in their ordinary world when nothing is??? Ingo is gone, yet no one allows them to take their time to fix this or cares about how maddening their whole situation is?? But also, they have to keep things as it is since Ingo will return one day, but it is so hard??

It just reminds me so much of them ;;;;; Karaoke night with just them singing this on top of their lungs, pls.

Lullaby - Lord Huron

You arise along with the sun Where have you been, darlin'? What have you done? You were out finding trouble againThere's a fire in your eyes and there's blood on your hands

Come inside and lie down to sleep You ain't gonna run and you know that you're beat Rest awhile, they're coming for you There's a price to be paid for the things that we doFall asleep and forget all your troubles Dream of laughter and old friends and lovers Dream of when you were innocent Dream forever

Lord knows you've been 'round in your day But this kind of trouble, won't just go away Darlin', now you're adrift in the deep So just lay down your head and I'll sing you to sleep

tHIS SONG!!!! THIS SONG!! This is like the extra song to their playlist to unwind after the other fast ones, and it captures the other side of their friendship so well? All the things they had done since Ingo went missing, all the troubles they make... And how when the morning comes, they still got each other's back? ;;;;; You mentioned Beemmet singing to his bees and now I am thinking both Emmets singing lullabies to each other after a bad night of trouble of the other?

It is them mourning what they have lost, who they used to be, but also, having a moment to support each other at the very least??

I love them so much;;;;

#sekizein #verse;; searching for the truth #//i love all of the songs in this list but confessional and lullaby hits harder like ooof the softness the despair the understanding #//i love them so much ;;;;#eye strain cw #ooc;; out of station

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