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#that song needs a suicide content warning
milky-aeons · 1 month
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𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆
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౨ৎ . . . in which a man with no reason to live finds an unlikely one through the tribulations of being a father.
warnings: emotional dysregulation, slight angst, unplanned pregnancy, alcohol consumption, poor parenting (in the beginning), conflict, suicidal ideation, depression, depictions of birth, female reader, healing, w.c 2.4k
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♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ dancing on my own — vitamin string quartet ꒱ ˎˊ-
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: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who wasn't ready to be a mother. Not now, perhaps not ever — was a rule you had laid in stone for yourself as a free-spirit intent on enjoying life to its fullest. It was why the world had tuned out into white noise when Yosano Akiko held the small test in her hand and spoke those terrifying words. With a shutter of sympathy in her eyes, coming to place a hand on your shoulder to give it a firm, comforting squeeze. She knew just as well how much you didn't want this to be true. Her touch felt condemning. You felt like you were going to vomit, just like you had been for the last four mornings in a row. Because how were you going to tell him?
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who didn't blink, didn't draw breath, didn't do anything when you let the words stumble from your mouth in one panicked rush. It was a bright afternoon deep into summer and the Agency's café was quiet — private enough for the two of you to have this conversation. You and Dazai Osamu — you were not an item, had been content to have casual shared nights together when either of you wanted to blow off a little steam. But that night, you had said to him, do you remember that night? When we were both drunk and stupid, so stupid?
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who, in that moment, decided not to grace you with any words. Instead, he did something far more uncharacteristic of him; he stayed quiet. He gave one shallow nod of his head and placed a hand softly onto the table so he could stand up. To steady himself, to ground himself back down when you had turned his world completely overhead, you did not know. And Dazai, who left you there, excusing himself in order to get some fresh air. The raking bastard that he was. Not once did he turn back to look you directly in the eye. Not even when you stood up, shouted his name, screamed at him, until tears spilled over your cheeks and your throat burned with the pain.
: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who saw life through a lens of grey in the couple of days following. Sometimes, you would feel so heavy that you did not wish to rise out of bed. The word swam around in your head like the song of a haunting ghoul — a mom, a mom, I am going to be a mom. Yosano would drop by your Agency apartment after work to see how you were doing, feeling your forehead, bringing you remedies to help with the nausea that roiled in your stomach. Every time, you would resist the temptation to ask where he was. And yet every time, Yosano would still tell you;
"He didn't come to work today, either."
: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who slowly came to grips with the fact that this was how it was going to be. The initial shock of it all was as relentless as it was condemning, but it was not infinite. The sun rose the next day, and the next, the world kept moving and you decided that you would have to, as well. That there was a little life growing inside your warm belly that needed a mother, no matter how unprepared you were for that fact. And, if you could do something about it, needed their father. You were not letting him just walk away from you, from the both of you, that easily.
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who was exactly where you thought he would be when you set out that evening to find him. Of course, if he wanted to, Dazai Osamu had both the cleverness and the connections to absolutely disappear from the streets of Yokohama without a trace. If he wanted to, he could have abandoned you and this baby completely. But he didn't. Instead, he was here, laying sprawled long and lazy on his messy, unmade futon in his messy, unclean house, as if waiting to be found. When he heard you pass over the threshold of the door he didn't lock, he gave you a long, languid smile.
"My bewitching Beeella~! At looong last, she has come to tempt me!" He slurred his speech, bringing your attention to the heavy scent in the air and the dozen or so bottles strewn about haphazardly. His hair was matted and unwashed. He looked just like you, curled in your bed, refusing to move for days. But unlike you, he was completely and utterly intoxicated. "You look awful." You said in a low voice. Hurt at how he abandoned you in the coffee shop was still a fresh, gaping wound. As if his head was too heavy, Dazai let it flop back down onto the cushions. He waved his hands about. "And you... look just as beautiful... as always. But—It is a trap...! A ruuuuse! A beautiful Bellaaa, sent from my torment... to tie me to this mortal coil!"
: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who let him ramble his litany of incoherencies. If only for a few merciful seconds. When you felt like you had had enough, or perhaps fearful with how far he'd take it, you kicked one of the empty glass bottles. It skirted across his floorboards and hit a neighbouring wall, exploding into countless little shards. He looked up then, attracted to the noise, trying to focus on you with his glazed whiskey-coloured eyes. In that moment, you stood your tallest, and just like the bottle you mustered up every last shred of yourself until you built it all back together.
"You." You pointed at him, feeling your voice come on thick, but strong. "You listen to me and listen to me well, I'm only going to say this once, and if you're too fucking drunk to remember it, then more is the pity. But I'm carrying your baby—our god damn baby. And if you're not going to step up and be the father they're going to need, then I'll be that for you. Just say the word, Dazai. Say the word and I'll leave. You'll never hear from me or this child ever again."
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who said nothing in contest to that statement, but also said nothing to affirm it, either. His wide, unfocused eyes studied every feature on your face, trying to make sense of something you didn't know. And for a second, your heartrate kicked up. Because somewhere deep down inside, you wanted him to tell you to stay. You wanted him to sober up, to wear that charming, all-endearing smile and convince you that everything was going to be alright. But he didn't. And that was the moment you deflated with a sigh — laying out all the feelings you once had for him on the floor, ready to cast it to the wind. You had made it to his doorway when two strong, heavy arms came around you and all of his weight collapsed against your shoulders.
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who buried his head into the crook of your neck, who's hair tickled your face and made your eyes sting with tears. He, who smelled of whiskey and liqueur, but in that moment, held you so tight, crushed you against his taller frame and croaked;
"Stay."
"Please... just, stay."
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who seemed like he had undergone a transformation overnight. He always did have a strange knack for that — changing his persona so easily, crafting masks and façades. And maybe it was just that, at least in the beginning. But he had started to come back to work, again. You would enter the familiar doors early in the mornings to the tell-tale sounds of his teasing tone and Kunikida's threats. When you would walk in, he'd straighten up from whatever headlock the blond had trapped him into, and catch your eye.
"Good morning." You would whisper. "Good morning, beautiful Bella." He would murmur right back.
: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who became used to the weight in your tummy growing heavier each day. It was Atsushi, at first, who recognised the shift in your scent and the sound of a little heartbeat in your belly through his superior feline hearing. Soon after, everyone in the Agency were offering you gifts and well wishes. Dazai received a less warm ovation. Especially from Kunikida, who threatened to flush him into the drainage system if he even thought about being one of those shitty laid-back dads who let the mom do all the work.
"That's cruel, Kunikida-kun!" Dazai whined at him. "To think of the rigid, torturous lifestyle your children will have to endure!" He just barely dodged the office chair that was hurled at his head.
: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who, after a short while, began to let Dazai close to you again. And maybe it was foolish of you, to let that thing which always existed between you two take spark and kindle with new life. First, it was sitting together in the same booth in the coffee shop. Then, it was gentle, quiet touches — his hand brushing your back as he walked past, your fingers twining together underneath the desk where no one could see. He stole you away for long walks in the nearby park when you should have been working. To your protests, he'd pout, and say, but a pregnant lady needs to enjoy as much rest as she can~! And then, he'd kiss you. Underneath the great spurting fountain at the centre of the park. Long and sweet and promising.
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who one time, when you were especially close to your due date and he was feeling especially silly, drew a large smiley face on your swollen belly. Or peppered a shower of kisses along the stretched skin, telling you she was taking too long, that he couldn't wait any longer and had too many kisses saved up for her, already. And on that day where you did go into labour, he held your hand, he placed those lips on your forehead and whispered gentle encouragements as you screamed through the pain.
"You are strong, my beautiful [Name]. Come on, can you give one more push? Just one more." "You're doing so great. You are so unbelievable, so resilient and brave. My beautiful Belladonna, that's it. You can do it."
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who, along with the chorus of elated cries from the Armed Detective Agents, made a sound of disbelief when his baby girl came into the world. Slick and wet, red and crying, but beautiful. A copy of her mother's features but with a wild head of curly brown hair. An emotion Dazai had not felt in an extremely long time crept up the back of his throat. It made him laugh, it made his eyes smart with tears. And when he came to your side to see your baby be placed onto your bare chest, a single tear escaped from the side of his eye and got lost when he buried his head into your hair.
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who never thought he would ever grow attached to someone. There was you, of course, but if he sat with the discomfort of viewing his life without you in it, it could be done. But trying to see his life without her — his little baby girl — his mind would simply draw a blank. It was unbearable, impossible. Before long, Dazai had insisted you move into his apartment so he could be closer to you. After, of course, you threatened him to scrub the entire place from head-to-toe and remove anything non-child friendly in a black plastic bag. And he did. He used those nimble, clever hands to build the baby a little wooden crib. He would rock her to sleep and place her down, only to watch her for minutes, hours, contemplating how in the world he was ever bestowed with such a blessing.
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who sang lullabies to her. Who sang at every given chance he had. For he was such a lovely singer, his soft, velvety voice would be a common thing amongst the walls of your little apartment. Who would sit down with the toddler and teach her all the words he knew.
"Can you say 'Kunikida' my little star?" "Kuni—Kuni—Kooni—!" "Kun—ee—kee—dah!" On the 'dah', he'd pinch her nose. "Kun—eeeee—keeeee—dah!" "Wow~!" Dazai pinched her nose again and she giggled. "Darling, did you hear that? Our little star is a genius." "She takes after her father." You would say from around the bend of the kitchen. Praises and chuckles and the shrieks of a delighted baby would fill the air. Dazai would then drop his voice, thinking you wouldn't hear, and say, "Now, can you say, 'is a bore!'" "Dazai!"
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who always took his little girl to work with him. Everyone in the Agency fell in love with her very quickly. Atsushi would transform his hands into that of giant tiger paws, pretending to growl, letting her pull at the little tufts even though it hurt him just a tad. Ranpo would ask the little baby mind-numbing riddles, then laugh, proclaiming how she barely had any braincells, but not to worry, because when she's old enough, he'd take her as his apprentice. Kunikida, who would let her handle his little ideal book, and then hold back tears when she ripped one of the pages out of it. The little girl would hold the page up high and from her little perch on the table, shout,
"Kuneeekeeda... is... a boooore!"
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who was still laughing when he met you on the terrace roof of the Agency that night. He went straight for his little girl and held her up in the air, proclaiming that he was so proud of her. You would settle down together, just the three of you, huddled on the concrete tiles and watching the sun set over the skyline of Yokohama.
: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who would hold your daughter on your lap until her curly brown head of hair tilted into your shoulder and she snored softly. In that moment, you would crane your head onto Dazai's broad shoulder, and whisper;
"I'm glad I stayed."
: ̗̀➛ 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, who would run his long fingers across his sleeping daughter's face softly, so softly, so as not to wake her. Then, he would reach up to you and cup the side of your cheek, captivating you, looking at you with an expression so warm and tender as he whispered right back;
"And I am forever grateful."
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✎ . . . requested by the lovely @ringsofsaturnnnn!
WRITING REQUESTS
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moyazaika · 1 year
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Love your content so much! Keep up the good work. How do we feel about yandere! Slasher x final girl reader? :33
lover boy’s final girl ˚୨୧₊♱
thank you baby! i did get a liiiitle carried away cus i'm a sucker for this concept but i hope ya like it <3
note: tho the term final ‘girl’ is used, reader is written to be gender neutral because fuck that
also tw talk of suicide and gore !
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“sugar, don’t you get it?” the painful sound of a baseball bat being dragged along the cabin’s walls, leaving the wallpaper a peeling mess. dean’s words are accompanied by a low laugh. “you can run and hide s’much as you want, but i’ll always find you.”
you try to tune him out, but the world is silent save for his voice, so you cling to every word. “like a cute game of hide and seek,” you curl into yourself and don’t dare to breathe, press one hand over your mouth and curl the other around the knife you’d haphazardly swiped from the kitchen, whilst running for your life.
“wonder what you’ll give me when i find you,” dean muses, and you hear him push open the bedroom door, start humming something under his breath. “not that you need to, you’re enough of a prize for me!” it’s something that sounds like a sweet melody you once knew, but is now twisted and dark, when it leaves his lips.
summer camp was supposed to be fun. it was supposed to be meaningless sex and stupid gossip, lazy days around the pool and flicking through glossy magazines with your friends —
“y’know, i’ve been wanting to do this for a some time now.” dean says, the words so light on his tongue, like a confession.“get rid of everybody around you, and keep you all to myself.”
your friends, who’d warned you that nothing good would come about getting back with your obsessive ex boyfriend, dean. there was no way his presence here was a coincidence.
“when you broke up with me, i wanted to kill myself, y’know? but then i realised that none of this was my fault — you left because your friends,” he sticks his tongue out as if the word leaves a bad taste on his mouth, “were filling your head with stupid, fuckin’ ideas.”
your friends who tried to remind you why you broke up with him the first time: after he threatened to destroy anybody who so much as looked at you, and then came home with bloody hands. your love and his affection shouldn’t have cost someone their life, he was only going to ruin you.
“so can you blame me for getting’ rid of them? you just drive me insane, baby!” dean gushes, kicks open another door and rummages behind wardrobes and under the beds. “i feel like every inch of my skin is burning when you so much as look at me.”
your friends, who’d told you time and time again that he needed psychiatric help, that he relied on you too much and it was only going to end in flames for a second time.
“i know you’re scared, and i’m sorry you had to see me kill your friends, but hey! nobody can keep you away from me now.”
your friends who couldn’t say they told you so after dean swung a baseball bat, embedded with nails, at their heads. and then, he had hunted down the counsellors and the nurse and every other camper.
“after this, we’ll go somewhere far away and adopt a cat or two. just the two of us, alright?“ dean asks, though you know your answer wouldn’t matter, can’t change dean’s delusions. “lost you once already, so i’ll have to keep you under lock and key this time.”
your friends, whose bodies lay littered across the camp’s grounds, bloody and broken and brutally battered. but their corpses weren’t alone, kept company by everybody else unfortunate enough to have gotten on that bus to summer camp.
“all that’s left now,” dean’s steps get closer. “is to find you, baby.”
and now, you were folded into a kitchen cabinet, a dark, cramped space that had you aching everywhere and absolutely terrified. dean’s song was crooked in the way that only he could be, and the sound of his voice had you on high alert, focusing on where he was so that the moment he left the cabin — you’d bolt out the back door.
until the humming stops, and dean’s steps falls quiet. silence descends the cabin and all you can do is wait, in both trepidation and anticipation. did he leave, or is he playing with me?
you shy away from the cabinet door, inching back as much as the small space will allow you. your heart hammers in your chest and you don’t dare blink.
and then the cabinet doors swing open, and dean’s crouched in front of you with his bat swung over his shoulder. every screw embedded in the bat is covered in skin slicked with blood, and your grip on the knife falters.
he reaches out, gently takes the knife from your hands, tosses it aside, where it clambers on the kitchen tiles and sits out of your reach. you’re at a loss for words, but dean doesn’t mind. he’ll do all the talking, just having you there is more than enough.
your ex boyfriend tilts his head to the side, and the corners of his lips quirk up in a crazed grin as his eyes trail over your quivering body with a sick amusement.
“found you, sugar. ♡”
dean wouldn’t lose you again.
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incognit0slut · 11 months
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REQUESTS GUIDELINES
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Masterlist
KINKTOBER 2023 NSFW
One-shots based on songs
Lock your door NSFW Billie Eillish - Billie Bossa Nova >> All Reader wanted was for her coworker to pay attention to her. Spencer was more than happy to oblige.
Take it off Taylor Swift - Dress >> Spencer has a hard time keeping his hands to himself.
Buried in the pillow NSFW Chase Atlantic - Slow Down >> A night of restless sleep ends better than expected.
Body on mine NSFW Justin Sky - Collide >> Reader and Spencer find a way to spend the night together on a team retreat.
Lose Control part 1 of 3 NSFW Sickick - Mind Games >> Spencer finds himself locked in a room with his rival.
↳ The Last Laugh part 2 of 3 NSFW Sickick - Mind Games >> Spencer finds himself sharing a room with his rival.
↳ Better for you part 3 of 3 Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.
Dance with the devil NSFW Chase Atlantic - Swim >> Spencer reassures Reader that sex toys are his ally rather than his enemy.
All I need NSFW Daniel Caesar, Kali Uchis - Get you >> Spencer realizes how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with Reader. What better time is there to propose if not in the middle of making love?
Heaven to you NSFW Julia Michaels - Heaven >> Spencer couldn't wait to touch you after he's released from prison.
Play our fantasies NSFW Doja Cat - Streets >> The FBI agent visiting your workplace wants more from you than answers to his questions.
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One-shot #Gifwriting
Pretty Boy NSFW Spencer was too pretty for you to resist.
Pretty when you sleep NSFW As newlyweds, Spencer couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Even when you were asleep.
Sweet agony NSFW After a tragic event, you believed you were unworthy of love. Spencer decided to prove you wrong.
Tempting the Cowboy NSFW The team has been trying to bring Spencer back to the BAU after he hung up his badge to live on his ranch peacefully. It’s a good thing you’ll do whatever it takes to persuade him, even if the rugged cowboy wants to bend you over in the barn.
Beyond the limit NSFW Spencer was hesitant when you asked him to be rough, but when he realized how much you enjoyed it, he wondered just how far he could push your limit.
↳ The breaking point NSFW Spencer realizes that being dominant doesn’t always require him to be rough, especially when he has complete control over your body.
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Series
Right Kind of Wrong
Genre: Romance, mystery, crime, suspense Warnings: 18+ explicit sexual content (MINORS DNI), graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA status: complete
She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation when she suddenly became a witness. She also never thought she’d encounter her one-night-stand again—the awkward stranger who isn’t exactly that good in bed… Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong. But the more he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, the more he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.
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dividers by @cafekitsune
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pshcomforts · 2 months
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➳ line without a hook | psh.
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collegestudent!sunghoon x fem!reader (feat. sanha from astro)
“all my emotions feel like explosions when you are around”
synopsis: you and sunghoon have been friends since high school and though you guys can’t admit it, you two are in love with each other.
warnings/content: written in third pov. college au. friends to lovers. idiots in love. fluff! slight angst? sunghoon gets jealous (i always make him get jealous hehe). happy ending. sickly amount of “loser” & “idiot” used a lot as nicknames. suicide jokes. cursing and not proofread. i think that’s it?
comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)
word count: 6.2k
a/n: fictional characters — dae (jungwon’s boyfriend), min-su (heeseung’s girlfriend), and ji-woo (jake’s girlfriend). another personal oneshot fav.
༘˚⋆𐙚。masterlist⋆.✧˚
current song playing: line without a hook by ricky montgomery
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
0:32 ──|───────────────── 3:36
the early morning made its peaking cracks of sunshine as y/n arose in her bed.
she rubbed her eyes awake, hands reaching for her phone for the time.
[ 7:48 am ] — it read.
the girl groaned out a sigh. ‘whose idea was it to register for a 9am class again?’ she thought before swiping her screen to check her missed notifications. almost immediately, she jumped out of her blanket when finding a text from her friend, sunghoon.
hoonster :) :
y/n, you awake??
Wake up loser, I’m on the way
You better be awake when I come
“aw shit!” she yelled, pushing her tired body.
in a rush, y/n exhibited loud thuds of footsteps as she ran back and forth from the bathroom to get ready.
“don’t be here yet, don’t be here yet!” she uttered under her breath.
her hands shakily found some casual clothes once she was done with the bathroom area.
just then, her phone furiously buzzed.
“hello??” she spoke.
“hey loser, you ready yet?” she heard sunghoon ask on the other side.
immediately, her heart thumped. she felt the butterflies of a high school type of crush hit her stomach. she swallowed down her feelings for her friend as she murmured, “you’re already here?”
hoon gave a quiet chuckle that exerted more butterflies to flood her abdomen. “yes dummy, i’m waiting at the front of your house. hurry up, we’re gonna be late!”
y/n groaned out a sigh after coming into the realization that her crush was still her asshole friend after all. “okay, okay! i’m coming out now!” she yelled, digging her feet into her favorite shoes before running out.
a few seconds later and sunghoon found the girl he’s liked since high school burst out of her house. a half smile tugged at his lips as he watched her quietly fume out a few words that he figured was most likely about being late.
his eyes formed into half moon crescents in a glistening look, heart and mind directly falling in the thought of being in her presence.
his car doors clicked and in came y/n.
she huffed out a few breaths of air before buckling her seat in. “now why the hell did i choose a 9am class??” her hand reached to her chest, feeling her heart beat like crazy.
sunghoon chuckled. he was in complete love and there was no doubt about that. “because you wanted a class with me, loser.” he joked, hands reaching down to his cup holder.
the girl shot him a glare — “excuse me? you were the one who said ‘let’s do chemistry 2A together,’ and now we’re both struggling!”
he cackled out another laugh as he merged the car into the next lane. “yeah yeah, you know you wanted that class with me.”
y/n huffed out a sigh in annoyance. “hoon, i swear-“
“got you some coffee, i know you’ll probably need it.” he said, quickly cutting her morning anger off.
there it was again. that nervous sensation bubbling inside of her. “you did??” her head tilted down to find her attractive friend hand her the cup of coffee.
this is what friends did right? pick them up? get them coffee? have a class together? surely, sunghoon thought of her just as a friend?
no. the two were idiots in love, but they liked it. the mixed signals. the chemistry. the tension. they loved the game of push and pull, and it became obvious to everyone but them.
“don’t act so surprised,” the handsome male intruded her thoughts. “i’m nice to you.”
y/n automatically scoffed at his words. “nice?? you are anything but nice, park sunghoon.”
the car screeched to a stop with a red light in front of them, causing him to glance back at her. “so if i’m not nice to you, what’s this then? picking you up, hm?” one of his thick brows raised in question as his inner lips softly curled.
the girl had to look away with how handsome he looked. just a simple stare could set her heart off.
“shut up, hoon. we’re friends, this is what we do.” she playfully rolled her eyes as he widened his smile.
“yeah.. friends.” he murmured. his heart lightly sank at the friend zone but he couldn’t dare to do anything else other than stare back at the road. “take the coffee, will you? i need to drive, unless you want us to crash.”
y/n gasped at his suicidal joke but quickly turnt it into a mount of giggles. “do it, sunghoon! crash us! i don’t want to go to chemistry.”
sunghoon immersed into laughter as well, shaking his head at how his favorite girl just joked about death. “sorry, looks like we have to make it through another day of torture.”
she sighed. “fine but if the professor asks why we’re late, i’m blaming you.”
“right back at you,” he snorted with a head shake, causing the girl to nudge his arms.
y/n rolled her eyes before turning her attention to her phone.
jake’s girl 🫂:
are you guys almost here??
sunoo’s been wondering
y/n <33:
almost!
well tell sunoo to hold on bc we still have to find parking!
jake’s girl 🫂:
girl your class starts in like 20 minutes!
jungwon’s bae 🩶:
Just get your butt over here!
hee’s fav 🤍:
hee and i are about to leave before you guys show
y/n <33:
LMFAOO we’ll be there soon!
“hurry up, hoon! they’re waiting!”
sunghoon made a ‘tsk’ noise with his tongue as he said, “i can’t go pass the speed limit here y/n. what do you want me to do?”
she groaned out a sigh before crossing her arms. “geez hoon, you’re driving like a grandma.”
“i’m sorry, speedy, i don’t want to get a ticket this early in the morning.”
the girl smiled as she watched him pull up to a parking spot. “finallyy! you parked far but..,”
“just shut up and walk, loser.” he responded, ruffling her hair before walking out of the car.
she clicked her tongue as she obeyed, slinging her heavy bag around her shoulders. as she did so, she felt the weight suddenly relieve off of her.
y/n turned her direction to where her friend was, and found him carrying her bag.
“hoon what-“
“i can see you practically struggling and well.. you’re weak so i’ll carry it for you.”
she rolled her eyes before letting him in proceed. “that’s sweet but that’s still asshole-like.”
hoon chuckled at her words as he held her bag around his shoulders. “come on, we’re gonna be late.”
the two rushed to their friend group, legs speeding through campus to find them huddled in a corner.
“finally! you guys took so long,” min-su groaned.
y/n laughed before sending a smack to her arms. “shut up, we’re here now!” she yelled back as she gave a soft nudge.
sunghoon chuckled, laying his arm on his friend’s shoulder in comfort. “she woke up late as usual,” he said, ruffling his own hair. “that’s why you don’t see her with her usual makeup on.”
the girl took offending, gasping in shock before harshly hitting his arm. “i hope that bruises, loser!” she cackled out a laugh as she proudly nodded.
hoon rubbed his arm while displaying a smile on his face. “never, i’m too strong.” he teased with a shit eating grin.
the group shared their laughs before ji-woo intruded — “stop being lovey dovey, your class starts soon!”
y/n groaned, ignoring her teasings about her and sunghoon as she replied, “you just had to remind me..,”
“shut up and go!” her friend yelled back, pushing her arm with a wide smile.
soon, y/n, sunghoon, and sunoo walked to their dreaded chemistry class while the others stayed together.
“why don’t we just ditch??” the girl murmured in a pout.
“you know we can’t y/n,” sunoo scowled.
“you guys suck.”
“just stay for the lecture, our exam is next week anyway,” responded sunghoon.
before she could give another remark, the three entered in the class.
with them being a little late, scattered seats filled the room, causing the three to separate. sunghoon and sunoo sat near each other while y/n sat about two seats away from them.
she huffed out a soft sigh as she plopped down. “let’s just go through this for the day..,” she murmured to herself.
hoon glanced at her from afar, pupils basically forming heart shapes in his eyes that had sunoo scoffing. his attention landed on the male who was only shaking his head.
“what?” sunghoon seethed through a clenched jaw.
“nothing.. loverboy.” sunoo snorted in a laugh afterwards, causing an irritating sigh to come out of hoon’s mouth.
“don’t call me that.”
“it fits you, surprised she hasn’t noticed yet with how much you stare at her.”
the older male quietly fumed in his seat, rolling his eyes as sunoo was spurting out every ticklish bone in his body.
“seriously, hoonie” sunoo teased — “she’s gonna notice at some point.”
“shut up,” sunghoon harshly whispered back, hands almost raising to send a smack like y/n always does.
“see? you’re picking up on her habits too.”
right when hoon was about to speak, the professor intruded in with a clear throat, hinting that class would be starting in seconds.
“deny it all you want, but you like the girl.” the younger boy softly said with a lean towards him. “don’t take too long though, someone else might steal her.”
sunghoon’s head popped up. he instantly looked at his friend with confusion/betrayal plastered across his face.
“not me, dumbdumb.” sunoo tilted his head towards y/n. “look who’s talking to her.”
almost immediately, hoon found his close friend talking to sanha — a guy in their class who was a few years older. he sat next to her, taking the empty seat and made small talk towards her.
“sanha??” he repeated the name with a scoff.
“you don’t have to be so obvious about your jealousy.”
“i’m not jealous,” hoon lied, an oblivious amount of red tinted on his ears.
the taller male began to ignore the remaining words sunoo spewed out, tuning it away so he could distract himself from the hurtful sight.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
when what felt like long hours had finally passed, students scattered out of the class.
y/n stayed behind as usual, taking her time to gather her things when sanha approached her.
“hey, you said your name was y/n right?” he asked with glistening eyes.
“yeah, yours was.. sanha?”
her response that turned into a question caused a chuckle to erupt out of the tall boy.
“sorry, i have bad memory.” y/n quickly defended, allowing him to holler out a few more laughs.
“you’re okay, don’t worry. i was just wondering if we could exchange numbers? just if you want to have a study session together or something.”
the girl stood still in her stance. she’s never really been approached this way before. even if he was just being friendly, it’s definitely been a bigger step to how guys were upfront with her.
“oh.. yeah, sure!” y/n reached down for her phone and gave him the desired phone number.
it was then that sunghoon and sunoo walked in on the scene. “you ready?” the shorter male asked with lips pressing into a line.
“yeah, let me just finish this up.”
hoon took a quick glance down to her hands; watching how they softly grazed against some strangers burned his heart. he felt his blood boiling at how she was so politely nice to sanha.
“we don’t have all day,” he grumbled, causing a confused and annoyed glare to be shot at him from y/n.
she quickly turned back to sanha with an apologetic smile. “sorry, they’re in a rush more than usual. i’m always the one who has to rush them,” she cheekily said.
the older boy reflected the smile back as he warmly replied, “don’t worry, y/n, i can wait all day for you.”
sunghoon’s ears perked up at his words. ‘what is he trying to do? flirt with her?’ he thought to himself with a clear scoff in his throat.
the puff of air that left his mouth caused the three heads to turn to him. sunoo cackled out a laugh, hands on his mouth to shut himself up with amusement. he hit hoon’s chest while murmuring, “sorry he’s really cranky, he didn’t wake up on the right side of the bed today.”
y/n’s head cocked to the side. ‘but he seemed perfectly fine today,’ she thought. what an idiot.
“um, okay… well just text me when you want a study session.” she said to sanha, who began to furiously blush, pissing sunghoon off even more.
“hurry up, you’re taking a long time.” the boy who was jealous uttered in an eye roll.
she sent a glare towards him before turning her head back to sanha in a smile. “see you soon, sanha.”
he beamed an ear-to-ear grin to her before nodding and taking off from the scene.
“couldn’t have been more obvious that he liked you?” hoon unintentionally blurted in an eye roll.
“are you okay or what? why are you suddenly so bitter?” y/n shot to him with a side eye.
“yeah hoon, what’s wrong? cant handle seeing your friend get hit on?” sunoo intervened, raising his brows ever so slightly to display how much of an asshole he was being. he slung an arm around the girl, bringing her closer in his embrace as they walked out.
sunghoon let out a ‘pft’ before walking side by side with them. “why wouldn’t i be able to handle it? i’m shocked that some guy was even willing to ask for her number.” he said, causing a harsh push to be made from y/n.
“uh do i act like this when some girl asks you out?? no, i help you by giving advice..,” she rolled her eyes, ignoring the burning sensation in her heart before scooting her body closer to sunoo’s — allowing him to just chuckle alongside their bicker.
hoon huffed out a sigh. “can’t give you advice on this one then. sorry, loser.” he murmured. his attempt to play it cool was stupid, but the girl still bought into it with how annoying he was being.
“i didn’t ask for your advice, did i?” y/n snickered, causing another holler to be heard from sunoo.
sunghoon rolled his eyes and poked his tongue through his cheek. he hated how close she was suddenly becoming with their friend. usually, she’d be in his arms, his presence, and his care.
but all he could do for now was make snarky comments about some guy that asked for her number.
“so what? you’re gonna go out with this guy now? he’s gonna come to our hangouts now?” the annoyed boy half-heartedly joked, trying to let it come off as something playful with an awkward laugh.
his words only made sunoo and y/n look at each other. and with that, it only filled every inch of his body with more jealousy. he was a protective boy, what can he say?
he wanted to pull the girl he liked back into his arms but as much as he wanted to do so, they were still only friends — friends who joked and pushed each other around, not hugged.
so he scoffed once he realized it got quiet after what he said.
“what? our group is already big enough.”
“don’t tell me.. you’re jealous?” y/n replied, brows knitting together in shock.
sunghoon’s face began to blush in red, heart racing at how she suddenly figured him out. “what?? no. you’re stupid for thinking that.” smooth, sunghoon, real smooth.
she scoffed out a laugh as sunoo remained giggling. “you can admit it, i know you’re jealous.” she said with a tinting red starting to hit her cheeks as well.
her heart dropped at the thought that her longtime friend could be just ever so slightly jealous with who she was talking to. with their passing years of friendship, he never really took interest in her love life — or at least that’s what she thought.
the girl would tell him and he’d do his best in hyping her up, but she always secretly wished that he was the one she was excited about (and he did too).
but yet again, they were idiots in love.
“so are you gonna admit it?” she poked.
sunghoon rolled his eyes, jaw clenching with how well his favorite girl was provoking him. “what is there to admit?” he seethed.
sunoo laughed at his reaction. “geez, hyung, you don’t need to get too mad here.”
a scoff came out of the older male. “sunoo, stay out of this.” he murmured with a turned head.
y/n immediately took notice of hoon’s uncomfortable state and felt the need to stop. her light manner of stupid, silly jokes halted as she uttered — “okay let’s move on from this. should we meet with the others?”
“aren’t they in different classes right now?” sunoo asked, also attempting to move on from what just happened.
“well ji-woo’s in psych right now, i think min-su and dae are free, heeseung’s with them, jake’s in philosophy & ethnics, and jungwon’s in microbiology. and jay and niki are in.. forensics i think?”
sunoo and sunghoon looked at her in bewilderment.
“what?”
“do you just know everyone’s schedule or what?” hoon asked, mouth gaping open in shock.
y/n sent a quick smack to his arms. there’s the girl he knew. “i have their schedule in my notes, don’t judge me! i just want to know our available times..,”
her crush grinned, eyes twinkling in delight of how thoughtful she was. “looking at everyone else’s schedule.. you’re such a loser.” he teased, smiling wide at her defended gasp.
she continued to bully him with a mount of insults and hits. sunoo watched it happen, shaking his head at how he suddenly began third wheeling.
“okay, okay, enough! dae and them are near us, let’s go meet them.” he intervened, swatting a hand between the two.
sunghoon’s heart filled with joy as he ruffled her hair. he heard her give a soft grumble, smacking his hand away that only caused him to laugh even more.
the three continued like this until they eventually reached the others.
“you guys got here a little late..,” dae murmured, side eyeing them.
“sorry, we got held back because some guy wanted her number.” sunghoon responded, feeling a hint of jealousy seep through.
min-su and dae immediately bopped their heads up. “oh??” they asked in unison, earning a chuckle from their friend.
“it’s nothing, this cute guy was just sitting next to me the entire lecture and asked for my number at the end.” y/n replied with a shrug to her shoulders.
“girl, nothing???” dae guffawed.
“cute? mm, i’ll have to see about that,” min-su added in.
with that, her boyfriend, heeseung shot his head up. “you want to see another cute guy when your boyfriend’s right here?” he pouted, causing his girl to melt right at the spot.
“no, baby, i just have to make sure he’s good for her!” she quickly defended.
the group giggled at the couples quarrel before sunoo intruded — “his name’s sanha though.”
sunghoon subtly rolled his eyes but it didn’t go unnoticed by heeseung. the older male looked at him in the eyes that spoke — ‘this must be bothering you huh?’ but hoon chose to ignore and act like he didn’t see it.
“hmm.. sanha.. do you have a picture?” dae questioned.
“she just met the guy, why would she have a picture??” the undeniably jealous guy spoke with anger in his throat.
y/n pushed her brows together before agreeing. “yeah i just met him so i don’t have a picture but..,”
“i guess we can’t see if he’s good for you, y/n..,” dae said. “i do know who’d be good for you though.”
the girl tilted her head to the side. “uh.. who?”
her friend wore a cheeky smile, brows slightly raising as he shifted his gaze to sunghoon, who immediately caught on and began to panic.
“yeah, who is this guy..?” hoon blurted, scratching the back of his nape.
“well he’s been jungwon’s friend for a while now and i’d like it if he had the courage to ask you out, but he’s been too fucking shy.”
y/n looked as if she was confused but she wasn’t stupid. she knew dae was talking about sunghoon, she just wanted him to actually admit it.
“who’s the guy? do i know him?” her coy tone was obvious to min-su and dae, and possibly sunoo but not her crush. no, he stayed oblivious but mainly because he was scared.
as dae was about to speak, sunghoon stopped him — “hey is that jungwon?? that’s him, right?” he pointed behind the boy’s back; and lo and behold, it really was him.
hoon’s ass just got saved and all he could do was sigh out in relief.
while jungwon’s boyfriend ran to the man in the distance, y/n exchanged a look with min-su that could only emphasize their telepathy.
heeseung noticed their look since he was alarmingly close to his girlfriend, and because of that, he spurted out soft laughs.
once jungwon came into everyone’s view, the topic was changed.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
after about an hour, jake texted that he was waiting for ji-woo and eventually, they came together, and then jay and niki as well.
“so are we gonna go eat?” niki asked.
“yes please, i’m starving!” y/n beamed, causing sunghoon’s heart to thud in his chest.
“where at?” jake’s voice spoke, scooting himself closer to his girlfriend’s embrace while pushing his glasses up.
“just anywhere,” min-su replied as her fingers clung around heeseung’s hands.
“okay let’s go to ‘anywhere,’ i heard that place is good!” yelled dae. the stupid joke earned a shrieking laugh from jungwon, popping his dimples as he kept hollering — “that was funny, babe.”
the group laughed as well, maybe not as much as won, but just enough.
eventually, they agreed on some fried chicken place and set out to leave. before doing so, the question that min-su just had to pop to y/n caught everyone’s attention — “so are you gonna bring your boyfriend?” sunghoon shot his head up, thick brows furrowing at the joke.
“boyfriend?? you got a boyfriend and we haven’t even met him yet?” jay instigated with a brow raise.
y/n nervously laughed once she felt aware of everyone’s stares. “that’s what we’re calling him now?”
“what the hell did i miss??” ji-woo asked, turning her head to min-su and dae.
as the two teasingly smiled, a low voice suddenly spewed, “he’s not her boyfriend.”
the attention that was once on y/n had now shifted to the voice that was evidently sunghoon’s. the girl he liked cocked a head tilt in confusion with how upset he sounded while the others were silently judging him.
jungwon had the look of — ‘you’re busted,’ and jake had the look of — ‘too obvious bro,’ whereas heeseung spoke with his eyes that said — ‘min-su and i are definitely debriefing about this later.’
the rest of the members also exchanged glances that were somewhere along the lines of jungwon’s and jake’s.
as they all stared at him, sunghoon’s cheeks flushed with a deep color of red. “i was just um.. there to witness it, they’re not together.” he tried to play it off, but ji-woo was obviously not convinced.
“so you just witnessed it? that’s it?” she questioned towards the awkward male who was just nodding.
hating how quick the atmosphere became awkward, y/n broke the ice by saying, “okay okay, that’s enough. i’m hungry, let’s go.”
the tense moment passed and each couple went in their own transportation (as did sunghoon and y/n), allowing jay to drive sunoo and niki.
while hoon drove, y/n controlled the music.
“oh come on, stop putting this song on.” he grumbled.
“what! come on, it’s cute!” she defended, lightly slapping his arm.
the boy sent a scowling look as he replied, “it’s not cute, it’s sad and depressing.”
“hoon, it’s lily of the valley, how can you hate it??”
“it’s not the vibes right now,” he uttered while making a signal turn.
y/n rolled her eyes. she played the song because it was thee song she associated him with. “fine..,” she groaned, fingers typing fast to change the music.
silence filled the air for a second before another slow and steady song played, causing sunghoon to shoot her another look.
“what!”
“this song is still sad, y/n.”
the song that she put on was ‘everything’ by the black skirts — another song she associated him with.
“excuse me, you like sad songs! that’s what we have in common, loser.” the girl fumed while crossing her arms together.
hoon let out a low chuckle that sent goosebumps down her spine. “play something more upbeat, these songs are like something you slow dance to.” exactly.
her heart pounded at his words before grumbling out a low sigh. “fine… but just because you never shut up about this song.”
a click to another song was made and ‘mad’ by neyo began to boom in the car.
sunghoon instantly wore a huge smile. “that’s more like it!” he beamed, glancing over at her to shine that deathly grin.
y/n felt a butterfly tingle in her stomach but ignored it with her random karaoke session with him.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
soon, the group found themselves gathered around a table with large mounts of fried chicken and fried goods in the center.
“let’s eat!” yelled one of the boys.
everyone began digging in and enjoying the food in front of them.
the couples sat across from each other, being love sick in watching their partner eat and be full on their tummies.
meanwhile, the single friends were in absolute disgust. every face morphed into horror as niki uttered — “we’re trying to eat here, stop that.”
ji-woo rolled her eyes at him as she squished her favorite boy’s cheeks, causing his glasses to slightly fall to the tip of his nose. jake gave a cheeky grin afterward as he muzzled his head further into her hands.
y/n nudged her. “ew ji-woo, don’t do that.”
“we’re cute, shut up.”
the single girl turned her attention to sunghoon who was also mirroring her facial expression. she cracked a laugh as soon as she saw him side eyeing his close friend.
“alright, just because you guys aren’t together, doesn’t mean that you guys can judge us.” min-su murmured. “but that is disgusting, ji-woo.”
the group erupted into harsh laughs afterwards, allowing a few to choke here and there on their chicken.
the night continued on and everyone soon went back to their light jokes about other things.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
eventually, the gang gathered out of the restaurant and left in their separate ways.
the couples left together of course, and jay took niki and sunoo — giving just sunghoon to take y/n home.
“are you gonna play better music?” he asked while getting in the car.
“um.. sure!” she beamed back.
he let out a soft chuckle before driving off to her address.
once the car ride that was filled with endless talks of past high school memories reached its destination (sorry that was long), sunghoon stopped the car with a soft screech.
“so i’ll see you tomorrow?” the tall male asked with a slight eyebrow raise. he leaned his head closer towards her, causing her heart rate to rapidly increase.
she gulped down her saliva before nodding her head. “yes, i’ll be more ready tomorrow..,” she murmured, voice weakening at the end to highlight her vulnerability.
he chuckled at her empty promise — “yeah you keep telling yourself that, i’ll be here around the same time.” his sparkly eyes trailed down from her lips and back to her eyes.
a nervous gulp was taken as he leaned in just an inch closer, leaving an obvious gap between them. the gap that defined their relationship. the clear boundary that was between friends and lovers.
it only lingered for a second before sunghoon pulled away, not letting any suspicions creep in with his feelings for her.
y/n panicked for a second. she felt the yearn for their lips to connect, but she, too, ignored it with the way he pulled away.
the girl rolled her eyes as she slightly smacked his shoulder. “whatever, bye hoonie!” she tried to break the awkward atmosphere.
his cheeks instantly grew red at the name call. she’s only used it on serious occasions and for her to just randomly call him that throbbed his heart.
“b..bye,” he nervously stuttered, mentally smacking his head afterward.
y/n beamed a smile, waving goodbye as she rushed out to avoid any other tension-filled moment.
soon, hoon drove off once confirming that she entered in safely.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
a week had now passed, and their exam for chemistry was coming up.
y/n walked into the class, shoulders slumping down as she was reminded of their test. a pout formed on her face while taking her seat next to sanha.
the boy beamed a sweet smile towards her, catching sunghoon’s attention and causing him to almost break his pencil in half.
“hey y/n.”
her head whipped up to sanha in an instant. “since our exam is coming up, i was wondering if we could have a study session soon?”
“oh.. yeah, sure! when did you want to do it?”
hoon’s ears were colored red with every word that was processing through, but still, he was eager to hear more about the plans.
“how about today? are you free?”
“yeah, i should be after 4.” y/n responded, displaying a half smile towards the cute boy.
“okay, i’ll text you where to meet me at the library.”
she nodded in agreement before turning to the professor’s attention.
sunghoon scoffed like he always did, loud and clear. “study session my ass,” he mumbled under his breath.
sunoo laughed at his reaction as he softly ridiculed the older male. y/n didn’t catch on though, remaining attentive to the lecture; while hoon silently fumed in his seat even more.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
when the day was almost coming to an end, y/n found herself already done with the study session.
sanha and her walked out while he apologetically said, “sorry that i’m not able to drop you off, i would but i have to rush home.”
she shook her head at his expression of regret. “don’t be! it’s okay, i’ll find a ride home, a family member will come!” she lied.
he walked away from the scene after uttering out another sorry. in return, she waved goodbye as she huffed out a breath of air.
“i’m alone.. and it’s dark… and i’m on an empty campus.. great!” the girl cursed to herself.
she sighed as she reached for her phone. “my last resort..”
y/n <33:
hoon..
um are you awake…
hoonster :) :
??
It’s 6, of course I’m awake
You need something?
y/n <33:
oh… LMAO
um..
hoonster :) :
???
What happened? Are you okay?
y/n <33:
can you..
pick me up….
hoonster :) :
Yeah I’m on my way
You’re still on campus?
y/n <33:
yeah…
hoonster :) :
Okay I’m coming right now
“that easy?” y/n questioned to herself.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
a few minutes passed and sunghoon pulled up with his car.
a sigh of relief left her mouth as she rushed to her passenger princess seat.
“thank goodness,” the girl mumbled with a clench to her chest.
“so this date of yours couldn’t even take your home?” hoon asked, giving an unbelievable scoff afterwards.
y/n rolled her eyes as he turned into a lane. “shut up. and it wasn’t a date, we just studied together,” she replied while looking out the window.
“you’re saying it wasn’t a date but i saw how you tried to make it subtle in touching up your makeup.” he paused for a second. contemplating whether he should say it or not, he impulsively spoke, “you looked pretty.”
her head quickly shot up. “what?”
“nothing,” the male swiftly shot back. “you really went out with him though?”
her heart began to burn at his question. “i mean.. it was just a study session, nothing more.” she nervously picked at her fingers, nails scratching at the barrier of skin.
a loud ‘pft’ left sunghoon’s mouth. “yeah that’s how it starts, idiot.” jealousy seethed through his body as he poked his tongue through his cheek.
“sunghoon-“
“can i just tell you something real quick?” he asked, letting the car come to a harsh halt at a semi-empty parking lot.
y/n cocked her head. “sure..?”
hoon avoided eye contact for a second, turning his head away once he felt his cheeks heat up.
“you okay..?” he heard his favorite girl ask.
his throat cleared and he finally locked eye contact with her. “i can’t take it anymore, y/n.”
“take what?”
“i can’t stand seeing you talk to some guy you barely know. i can’t stand it, i hate that you’re talking to him like he’s your boyfriend when you…,” he stopped in a breathless voice.
y/n didn’t say anything, hinting that he should continue — “when you should be doing that with me.”
“hoon-“
“i know we’re friends and i know i probably just made matters worse but i can’t stand it anymore. i want you, y/n.“
sunghoon’s hand firmly gripped onto the steering wheel in fear, heart almost beating out of his chest with how abrupt he was being.
“i’m sorry, i understand that you probably don’t like me back but i-“
his constant ranting was shut up with a soft peck on the lips. immediately, his eyes widened and he choked a little on his saliva with how quick the kiss was.
y/n breathed out a laugh at his reaction, grinning wide as she replied, “i like you too.. loser.”
sunghoon bit his lips in an attempt to hide his smile. he was feeling shy for a second before immediately pulling her back onto his lips. they smashed against each others, causing a satisfied groan to leave his throat.
he was finally kissing the girl he’s been liking since high school and all he could do was groan.
his hands cupped her cheeks as hers laid on his shoulders. his lips continued to firmly press against hers before pulling away.
hoon heavily breathed, eyes closing shut at the weighing relief that lifted off of his shoulders.
“like you.. so, so much.” he whispered in her ear.
y/n giggled, feeling the ticklish breath linger around her. “shut up, i heard you.” she teased.
he cackled a laugh as well before bringing his gaze up to her, letting his eyes stare at her heated face.
the girl quickly noticed and nudged his head away. “stop looking at me with those eyes,” she shamed her own head away before glancing at him again.
“what eyes?” sunghoon questioned, brows teasingly raising with a mischievous grin. his eyes trailed up and down as he stayed in a complete daze.
y/n groaned out a sigh as she pushed him away again. “stop it, hoonie.”
he felt blood rush to his cheeks with every heart throb that was taken. that nickname would now permanently be only for her to use.
“call me that again.”
“what? hoonie?” y/n poked, lips curling into a smile.
the male grinned ear to ear before pulling her into another soft kiss.
a second passed and he pulled away.
“i should take you home but i can’t stop kissing you.” he whispered gently against her skin.
“take me on a real date and then you can kiss me all you want.”
his hands intertwined with hers and brought it up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss at the back of it.
“okay i’ll take you on one tomorrow, show you what sanha couldn’t do.”
y/n playfully rolled her eyes — “yeah yeah you do that.”
he kissed her cheek before backing the car out of its parking spot.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
soon, the two arrived to her place late at night, and it was then that sunghoon promised her an actual date for tomorrow.
“i’ll see you tomorrow, gorgeous.”
“gorgeous??” her head bolted at the name, and he only cheekily smiled.
“yeah.. gorgeous.”
“shut up.. good night.” y/n’s cheeks flushed with red as she left the car.
he watched her safely get in and soon drove off with silent giggles and warm heart throbs.
sunghoon and y/n were officially a couple. no more being idiots, and no more being friends.
★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★
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absolutebl · 5 months
Text
Okay, FINE, the shows you should watch for BL's QUEER AF roots
You ready to go hunting?
Many of these are difficult to find. Also many of the images of them and their posters have been block/banned by tumblr, so, no screen grabs for you! (Good times.)
I don't necessarily *like* any of these, but if you are queer and in this fandom and need to dialogue around BL's queerness - these are going to provide a foundation for you. They are important for various industry, reputation, directorial, and cultural reasons. As seeds often are.
Trigger warnings throughout.
The true beginnings:
Boys Love, Japan's 2006 movie is a REALLY rough start featuring a journalist + hot model = murder gay, mild necrophilia, cheating, abuse, rape, and suicide for love. Start as you mean to go on, why don't you, Japan? Is it queer... maybe? Is it BL... honey, I am very sorry to inform you, this started BL.
Note: Yoshikazu Kotani is famous in og BL circles since he acted in 3 early BLs, both Boys Loves and then Same Difference. Also he v tall and hawt.
Eternal Summer, Taiwan 2006 - unlike Japan, Taiwan did NOT start how it would, eventually, go on. But what a messy way to start. A high school story of 3 besties in a love triangle, self discovery, and sexual awakening that fucks it all up.
No Regret, Korea 2006, is a very unhinged queer catastrophe piece about a lost gay man who ends up a host and then almost a murderer because of both his job and his identity.
Note: This is the directorial feature film debut of Lee-Song Hee-il Korea's (so far as I know) first openly gay director who specialized (to this day) in queer content.
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The Love of Siam, Thailand 2007, this was Thailand's queer awakening, sure they would backpedal for YEARS after, but in 2022 they began to remember what this movie was (and did) and overtly referenced this quiet little masterpiece. This movie is sad but stunning in that way that the best queer works from Thailand can be (like Present Perfect or ITSAY.) It has Thailand's quintessential softness around theme and character, which you'll understand perfectly when highlighted against the backdrop of the early 2000s works from Japan, Korea, and Taiwan. Thailand will never lose this soft style and it's one of the most attractive qualities of Thai BL: it's never very harsh with us or its characters. This movie very easily COULD have been quite harsh indeed.
I thought long and hard about including Rice Rhapsody AKA Hainan Chicken Rice (Hainan ji fan) on this list and finally decided it doesn't really qualify. Still let me mention Hong Kong's 2005 movie. It is amazing, fascinating, and very rough going for an ostensible comedy. It wasn't the actual beginning because few saw it and Hong Kong never really picked up or ran with BL let alone QL, but it was hella queer. It's also hella homophobic.
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Just Friends? (2009 Korea) - this is Korea's first (kinda) upbeat version of a BL featuring already established boyfriends, one of whom is on military leave, trying to decide on coming out, family life, and the future. All of these are themes Korea will pretty much never tackle again, retreating as they would to their bubble. But what a fun little offering this little show was and is to this day. You should watch it.
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Like Love 1 AKA I Love You As A Man: Part 1 - China's 2014 offering is actually pretty classic early form live action yaoi with things like whipping boy, a university setting, rich/poor jock/nerd pairing, hard grumpy/sunshine and a very odd title. It's pre-censorship with an HEA, also explicit, yeah China once did that. This is a lot less queer that it is classic BL and classic Chinese romance, neither of which have any kind of connection to reality. But hey, that's what I'm here for. But it's important to note the drifting away from queerness beginning to occur.
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Love Sick - Thailand's 2014 "boys in blues shorts" high school set soapy (in all ways) offering is widely considered the true beginning of Thai BL and by default, eventually, BL as we know it today. (As the biggest producer they somewhat dictate taste and trends in the genre.) This is one of those BLs that owes almost nothing to yaoi, although it started a number of tropes that are now endemic to Thai BL. What it is, instead, is a well scripted story of bisexual self-discovery and the inherent chaos of loving someone of the same gender for the first time, all wrapped up in hormones, existing relationships, and communication issues. It is high school queer angst at its messiest. Nothing is going to be easy for these boys because queer isn’t easy but also because life isn’t easy… welcome to adulthood sweethearts. Is is overtly queer? For 2014 Thailand? Sure is.
Love Next Door 2 a movie from 2014 and one of Thailand’s early very high heat pieces, it’s odd, but sexy I guess? Some unexpectedly decent queer rep including femme characters getting screen time + HEAs. (Part one from 2013 has the same high heat content and features the same lead character (and actor) discovering he is gay with the sex worker next door, but isn't as good nor is it relevant to this installment.)
A few other unknowns, for the queer babies
Wait For Me at Udagawachou AKA Udagawachou de Matteteyo - from Japan in 2015, this is a story about two boys in high school one of whom is a repressed outsider and the other who has a terrible secret (body dysmorphia & cross dressing). When the first boy discovers what's up with the second one, his reaction is very much fetishization. "Oh Japan must you?" kinda started for me with this show. But in this case, Japan, weirdly MUST. This is the ONLY show laboring under (and testing) a pointedly straight lens (or is it?) and identity examination (yes but which boys' identity? that's the question) that I've EVER seen even edge into the BL genre. It is crazy queer, even as it mostly focuses on the fetishization of identity from an outsider's perspective. I WISH more people in fandom would watch it so I could at least talk to someone about it.
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The Lover (BL Cut) Korea's 2015 series had multiple couples in an apartment complex, one pair of whom is a BL romance between a Korean man and a visiting Japanese tourist (played by a Kpop idol). It's comedic, slapstick sexy only (no kissing), but basically starts up Korea's bubble and use of idols in BL. It's kinda fascinating to watch them dodge around and still represent gayness in what (is sadly destined to become) a very Chinese way, but which Korea in pursuit of Hallyu and market share would morph into the bubble.
Mr. X and I from China in 2015 is a compilation piece and, I think, the first of this kind of multiple narrative shorter grab bags AKA "Sampler Pack BL." Two of the stories are very queerly sad, but the third is CLASSIC BL of the kind that would become China's best (and last) true BL, Addicted.
Sweet Boy, (Thai 2016) Chimon's first gay role and it is quite sad, oddly sexy, and similar to Dew the movie or My Bromance (just so you know what you are in for) but the acting is on point. When Thailand goes dark, this is how they do it, but this is rough going for baby queers because that's the darkness it is exploring. Our old thematic friends: the pain of self discovery and coming out into a homophobic environment and unfriendly reality, and the cost of being the one able (and willing) to stay in the closet.
Method (Korea 2017) this movie is a May/December actor/idol pairing, that should have been everything I wanted in life but is more about the older character cheating on his wife and their weird “artsy” relationship and frankly, I hated it. And I don’t say that lightly. Is it queer? Who tf knows, but is sure has some interesting things to say about the nature of PERFORMATIVE queerness.
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Red Balloon is Taiwan's 2017 precursor BL to their biggest and most famous prestige piece Your Name Engraved Herein. If you're making a choice, choose that instead, but this series certainly paved the way for it to come into existence. Both shows tackle the pressures of culture and social structures on self acceptance and identity and the loneliness inevitably caused by conflict between the two.
(As indeed does Life Love On The Line, Present Perfect, Grey Rainbow, Tropical Night, My Sky, and many other queer meets early BL pieces that revolved around coming out and family acceptance.)
China's 3 2017 "they tried to censor the gay... and it went HORRIBLY wrong":
Beloved Enemy,
The Fairy Fox,
Mr. CEO is Falling in Love with Him.
Honestly these 3 are basically the uncanny valley of BLs.
The Novelist AKA The Pornographer series (2018-2020). Messy psychological machinations, gaslighting, fetishization, sexual corruption, and more good times from "well, what did you expect?" Japan, but also no holds barred queer, just well and truly fucked in the head (and arse) about it.
The Cornered Mouse Dreams of Cheese AKA Kyuso wa Chizu no Yume wo Miru (Japan 2020) - Drama llama queers so queer and so dramatic it's like Japan is trying to PROVE something: obsession, cheating, break-up, reunion, then break up again, all of it explicit. This show is just SO JAPANESE. I can't even, but you should watch it and you'll know exactly what I mean. Something like My Personal Weatherman owes it's lineage to this kind of BL. If you like Japan naked, boney, emo, and smoking (hot & ciggy) you will love this, and should watch it. It's objectively amazing, I can't stand it, but I NEED people to talk about it more.
More Queer Stuff about BL from moi
BL Linguistics & Queer Identity - I Am Gay versus I Like Men 
Will BL Get More Honestly Queer? 
Actually gay, not BL gay - the idea of “by queers, for queers, about queers,” the BL bubble, sanitized gay, and a queer lens
Queer lens (from the director) and chemistry (from the actors) in BL (A Tale of Thousand Stars)
Touch & Daisy in Secret Crush On You - Queer Coded Language and 3rd Gender Identity
BL in Taiwan & Gay Marriage
Debating Queerbaiting in BL ( + Devil Judge… is it queerbaiting?) 
BL Actors and the Assumption of Queerness - outing actors, coming out, being out, more:  Is that BL actor actually queer?
So is it really fetishization? straight women loving bl 
Some BL fans are sasaengs, and it’s a problem in this fandom 
BLs That Highlight How Society Treats Queers
10 BLs That Are Honest to a Queer Experience 
If you like these kinds of shows try the "Moody Arthouse Smackdoodle" section of this post too.
Happy watching!
(source)
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Talk Too Much 💘
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Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Female Reader
Genres: Hurt/comfort, angst, drama, fluff, romance
Content Warnings: flashbacks of emotional abuse (reader has emotionally abusive mother), self-harm (briefly graphic), implied suicidal thoughts, brief strong language (mild throughout), intimate moments (very steamy makeout session, but nothing further)
Word Count: 3195 words
Summary: When Reader excuses herself to the bathroom, Seonghwa begins to grow suspicious as minutes turn into an unusually long absence. Can he unravel the truth behind her melancholy, and perhaps something deeper?
Inspirations: During the sadder parts, “Kamihitoe” by Uru and this slowed/reverbed version of Lolo Zouaï’s “Desert Rose” were my comfort. And then for the cute parts, BLACKSWAN’s “Cat & Mouse” :)
(I love the title GIF for this 🤭 but I also am still recovering from the Arriba one…I swear, I will not be the same when the full song drops in a week 😩🥵) I had something like an epiphany while writing this…the comforting words resonate on many levels, and I had to remind myself that people like that do exist out there. Even if there is someone in your life who throws harsh words or vibes your way, that’s not to say someone who does the exact opposite might not cross paths with you, too ✨🫶🏼
Also please note: This is in no way supposed to represent or depict the actual Park Seonghwa; this is just created for storytelling/entertainment purposes only :D
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A hard swallow, followed by the relentless jab of another burgeoning stomachache. You set your fork down again, barely scraping the potatoes at the edge of your plate. 
“Hwa, I…I don’t feel too good. I can’t eat this right now.”
He gave you a sympathetic smile as you got up from your seat. “It’s alright. Just…let me know if you need something. Okay?”
You offered a small smile, biting your lip. “Y-yeah. Okay.”
The bite dug deep enough to draw blood, but you tasted nothing like iron on your tongue. It was a flavor you had become all too accustomed to, one too bittersweet to fully enjoy or shy away from.
As soon as you were out of your friend’s line of sight, you bolted down the hall for the bathroom, only slowing down once you’d gone inside and shut the door. 
A click at the knob. A snap of the fingers, idiosyncratically, to distract yourself from the sudden echo the lock gave. Did he hear that?
You hoped to God not. 
Seonghwa was your most trusted confidant, but even the strongest of bonds could harbor skeletons in the closet, so as far as you were concerned, it would need to stay that way until you were able to get over this on your own.
Slumping against the door, you let yourself slide down to the ground, hugging your knees as they bunched up against your chest. 
You didn’t know what you would ever do if he found out. About the thoughts, about the self-hatred…
Heck, let alone the self-harm.
Seonghwa was the twinkling star in your life, lighting up any room he entered, constantly finding ways to make you crack a smile from absolutely nothing. He was too precious for this world, you were sure of it.
Which is why, on this otherwise fine and calm evening, you found yourself yet again questioning why in the hell he put up with you as much as he did.
What if you were just fooling yourself? What if this persona you felt from your very core was nothing more than an act, masquerading from the demon that had hidden inside you from years long past?
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A silent cry threatened to surface. You took a sharp breath and reached in your pocket, fumbling around until you felt what you had been looking for: a rusted metal nail file.
The lump in your throat made you feel guiltier. It’d been mere days since you’d promised yourself that this wasn’t going to be an option…
Again.
But though time could heal wounds, it could only erase so many still embedded within your subconscious, still playing like a broken record during your moments of uncertainty and vulnerability.
“Do you ever shut up?! I swear, one more word and I’ll rip your tongue off!”
You bit your lip harder, genuinely wanting to taste the pain. What did it matter anymore?
“Sure, keep doing that shit. So we can all feel sorry for you and tiptoe around your stupid feelings? I don’t think so!”
You gasped with every memory, tears blinding and blurring your bearings, the file now slashing oh-so elegantly through your flesh like a knife through butter. 
“Slam your door again and I’ll make sure your head is the next thing that slams against the wall!”
You almost didn’t notice the crimson streaming down your arm, or the way it cascaded onto your other hand, dyeing the creases of your palm in a heartbeat, while numbness continued feeding your indifference.
Maybe there is no purpose to my life. Maybe I’m just meant to be a casualty and —
“Y/n?” You jolted, the three knocks on the door vibrating through your skull.
But you said nothing, afraid even a single syllable would give away your current state of mind.
“Y/n?” Seonghwa repeated, the worry carrying in his voice.
Panic kicked in and you started hyperventilating. Much to your chagrin, however, that only alerted him more.
“Okay, I-I’m coming in.” You heard the twists and click of the knob — darn it, I forgot he has keys for the place — and hastily shuffled over to the adjacent wall as he squeezed his way into the bathroom. 
A sharp gasp hushed within the small room. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene before him: the rusted nail file still in your hand, the blood-stained arm, the haunted look on your face — it broke your heart, to have him see you like this.
What you didn’t realize, though, was just how much his heart was breaking.
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“Hwa, I…I’m sorry.” You hugged yourself tighter, wanting nothing more than to be a turtle hidden inside its shell. 
“Y/n…what happened?” His voice was laced with worry as he carefully approached you.
You tried to conceal the evidence, quickly slipping the file back into your pocket and attempting to wipe away the blood with the hem of your sleeve. But the damage had already been done. “I…I just had a little accident, is all. N-no big deal,” you stammered, furrowing your eyebrows as you looked away. 
He crouched down in front of you, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes. “Y/n, don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”
A lump formed in your throat, and for a moment, you debated whether to spill your darkest secrets or to continue this facade. But when you saw the hurt in his eyes, you knew what your answer must be.
“I…I’ve been struggling, Hwa. There’s this darkness inside of me that just won’t go away,” you whispered finally, trying not to cry mid-sentence.
His expression softened, and he pulled you into an embrace. “You don’t have to face it alone, Y/n. I’m right here for you, always.”
The warmth of his hug felt like a lifeline, a tether grounding you in this moment of many that felt overwhelmingly chaotic. Tears streamed down your face as you clung to him tightly, slowly but surely releasing the weight that you had been carrying alone for far too long.
Seonghwa pulled away slowly, his hands holding yours gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? And then we can talk about this, together.”
You nodded, rubbing your thumbs against his in return. “Okay.”
He helped you to a standing position, and from there you both walked over to the medicine cabinet: you leaning slightly on the sink countertop, him removing a roll of gauze, bandages, and a few creams. Grabbing a nearby cloth to run it under warm water, you inhaled nervously. As he began tending to the wounds on your arm, still streaked in raw red, you hesitated, grappling with the storm of emotions brewing deep down. The bathroom felt like a fragile sanctuary, and you were on the verge of shattering its peace with the weight of your confessions.
“Hwa,” you began hesitantly, “I’ve…heard things. About myself. Terrible things that echo in my mind every day.”
He looked up at you, eyes brimming with a warm understanding. “It’s okay. Tell me as much or as little as you need to.”
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With a shaky breath, you started to unravel the web of painful words that had been haunting you, from the cruel insults and relentless belittlement at home to the internalized hatred that had since taken root in your heart.
“I’m a failure. That’s what she says. My own blood mother.” You shuddered. “That I’m a disappointment, a burden…that her life would have been better if not for the presence of such an ungrateful bitch like me…t-that I ruin everything around me.” Your voice wavered as you stopped to catch a breath.
Seonghwa’s expression tightened with anger. “Y/n, believe me when I say you are none, and I mean absolutely none, of those things. You are strong, kind, and worthy of love. Don’t believe those lies. Please.”
You just shook your head. “I can’t accept your kind pity, though, Hwa.” Tears welled and clouded your vision as you continued. “She said I should be grateful that anyone tolerates me at all, that I’m lucky to have friends because I don’t deserve them…that I’m not good enough for anyone out there.”
His eyes softened with empathy. “Y/n, you’re more than good enough. You’re fucking incredible, and I…I care about you deeply.”
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Your eyes widened at his choice of words, confusion and hope written all over your face. “Why, Hwa? Why would you care about someone like me?”
He sighed, setting aside the cloth, and cupped your face with his hands. “Because you’re not just someone, Y/n. You’re a remarkable person. Your strength, your kindness — it shines through even in your darkest moments. And…” He chuckled slightly. “I like you. More than just as a friend.”
A gasp caught in your throat, and time became still within the room as his confession hung in the air. Seonghwa’s eyes searched yours for a response, but you remained silent, the weight of his words sinking in. 
A spark of worry flickered across his face. “I-I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said —”
You placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “No, Hwa. I’m honestly really glad you did. I just…I need a moment to process everything. It’s a lot, but I really appreciate your courage to tell me that.”
His shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile breaking through. “I understand. Take all the time you need.”
He resumed cleaning your cuts, all the while as you couldn’t shake the startling but exciting realization that maybe, just maybe, someone as wonderful as Hwa could see past these insecurities, could see you for you.
An almost eerie silence hung between you two, broken only by the sound of running water as you rinsed off spots of leftover blood. Hwa glanced at you, debating whether or not to break the ice.
“To be honest,” you admitted in a voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt good enough for someone like you.”
He scoffed lightly, covering your hand with his. “Y/n, you’re more than enough. You’re perfect just the way you are.” 
His words lingered in the air, a poignant moment of vulnerability shared in the dimly lit bathroom.
And then something shifted.
With a playful smirk, you couldn’t help but bring up your insecurities, caught in a suddenly desperate vying to test the waters and see how he would take it. “Come on, don’t be silly, Hwa. I mean, look at me!” You raised an eyebrow at him, the hint of a smile teasing at your lips.
He took the bait. “Okay, and? What about it?”
Now it was your turn to scoff. “You gotta be kidding. I mean, for starters, I’m not even skinny, my face is rounder than the boba in that milk tea you were swirling around the other day” — he broke into a fit of laughter at this, prompting you to punch him gently on the arm (“Hwa, I’m being serious!”) before resuming your, he thought, rather dramatic speech — “and my body is far from what’s considered attractive these days.” You sighed, clenching and unclenching your fists before inspecting yourself through the bathroom mirror. “Especially with these…” You gestured vaguely to your rounded backside and thick thighs.
Hwa’s low, throaty chuckle reverberated in the bathroom, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n, you really think any of that matters to me?” He shook his head, his gaze intense. “You’re focusing on things that turn me on more than you could possibly know.”
To say you were surprised — curious, even — was an understatement. “W-what do you mean?” you dared to ask.
He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Your curves, the roundness of your face, that body you seem to underestimate so much — they’re all things I fantasize about more when I’m around you.” His words sent a thrill down your spine, and you felt a warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach.
“But why?” you managed to stutter out, genuinely baffled.
Hwa pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning you up and down. “Because, Y/n, it’s those very things that make you uniquely you. There’s…an allure throughout, if I’m being honest…and your body is nothing short of perfection in my eyes.”
He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And let me tell you,” he continued, snaking his fingers across one of your thighs, massaging it with his thumb, “these parts of you aren’t just attractive. They’re downright irresistible.”
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Your breath caught in your throat, desire rushing through your veins as he leaned in again, his fingers tracing patterns that left your skin tingling. “I think about you in ways that would make you blush,” he admitted, his voice a low murmur. “You’re beautiful, Y/n. In every way imaginable.”
With that, he closed the distance between your lips, initiating a kiss that held the weight of his confession. The bathroom seemed to vanish into the distance as Hwa’s lips kept meeting yours in a slow, tantalizing dance, each kiss a revelation of shared desire. His hands, warm and possessive, explored the curves of your body with a deliberate sensuality. Fingers traced the contours of your back, leaving a trail of trickling sensations in their wake. As the kiss deepened, his touch became more fervent, a silent promise of passion yet to unfold.
Your hands found their way into his soft, tousled hair, fingers threading through the strands as you pulled him closer. His tongue prodded your bottom lip playfully until you indulged him, allowing the sensation of his tongue to slide against and around yours, igniting a fervor that sent electrical currents through every nerve ending.
The room seemed to get hotter and hotter, but nothing could have curbed the chill in your spine by this point. Hwa’s touch was both gentle and confident, a melody of desire that crescendoed as his kisses lingered longer and he began sucking your tongue slowly, making you moan ever so softly into his mouth.
Your own hands mirrored his movements, traveling across the edges and ridges of his chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your touch. The bathroom echoed with intertwined breaths and whispered promises.
As the intensity built, you couldn’t help but straddle his lap, your bodies pressing together with an urgency that mirrored the passion between you. Hwa’s lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses. Moans continued escaping your lips as you felt his teeth grazing gently down the side of your neck. You clung to him, lost in the intoxication of the moment.
Your heartbeats all but synchronized as his lips found their way to your collarbone, his whispers of passion mingling with your soft gasps. He pulled back slightly, eyes looking deep into yours.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in to place gentle kisses on your earlobe, his breath sending a flutter of anticipation through you. “I want you to feel cherished, desired, and free from any doubt about your body,” he whispered finally, his tone laced with sensual liberation.
His hands, like flames against your skin, caressed the small of your back. The room was filled with the harmony of your shared desire, moans and breaths alike embellishing the melody sounding strong.
As sweat dripped down your foreheads, the intensity reached its peak, and with a shared understanding, you both began to ease out of the fervent exchange. Hwa’s lips lingered on yours for a moment, a final note in the passionate composition.
His arms wrapped around you, nestling you within the sweet scent of his aroma, heaving heavily, slowly, as you both took a moment to catch your breath. You could spot the glimpse of a tender smile dancing on his lips. “See, Y/n, you talk too much,” he teased, his eyes alight with affection.
You chuckled finally, feeling a warmth enveloping you. “Maybe I do,” you agreed, “but I think I like it that way.”
Hwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he smirked at you playfully. “Well, you better, because I enjoy every word,” he smiled, leaning in to peck you briefly on the lips.
As you both settled into a cuddle, an air of contentment permeated within your space. Hwa’s fingers traced soothing patterns on your back as he spoke. “You know…I think we should have a date tomorrow. I want to take you out. Just the two of us.”
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You couldn’t help but smile at the idea. “A date, huh? Where are we going?”
Hwa’s playful grin widened. “Somewhere nice, but you better promise me you won’t just order a small appetizer. I want you to enjoy the food, Y/n.”
You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Alright, alright. No small appetizers. Got it. But you’ll have to deal with me talking your ear off about how delicious everything is.”
Hwa leaned in, stealing another quick kiss. “I can’t wait. And besides, I enjoy every word, remember?”
The banter continued as you both playfully argued about your plans. Hwa grinned mischievously, glad that you were cutting loose for a change and genuinely enjoying yourself now. “And promise me, no salads as the main course. We’re going for the good stuff if this is a date.”
You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse me? Salads are healthy and delicious.”
He chuckled. “Healthy? Yes. Delicious? Debatable. We’re going for flavor explosions, Y/n, not the world’s best landscape on a plate.”
You countered with a smirk. “Okay, first of all, tabbouleh is to die for. And maybe I like my explosions with a side of greens.”
Hwa pretended to gasp, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “You’re breaking my heart. And here I thought we had a connection.”
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You burst into laughter, eyes watering within seconds. “Oh, we have a connection, alright, but my connection with tasty salads might just outdo it this time.”
He pouted. “Fine, have it your way. But if that’s how it’s gonna be, I’m ordering the biggest, heartiest dish on the menu just to torture you.”
You grinned. “Challenge dutifully accepted. I’ll enjoy my dish while you tackle your food mountain. We’ll see who’s satisfied in the end.”
Hwa leaned in, whispering. “Well, just so you know, if you end up trying a bite of mine, you might never go back to salads again.”
You smirked at him. “We’ll see about that. You can’t deprive me of my greens forever, you know.” You pretended to think hard for a moment. “I know, I’ll revolt! I’ll revolt and you won’t know what’s coming to —”
He pressed his lips against yours in a sudden, actually sweet kiss. When he finally pulled back, he was grinning slyly from ear to ear.
“You were saying?” he teased.
You snorted. “Well, I was going to say that no matter how tempting your ‘food mountain’ may be, my love for salads will endure. Just like my love for you, even if you try to sabotage it with impeccably irresistible dishes.”
He tried and failed to suppress another laugh. “You talk too much.” You grinned in satisfaction.
“Maybe I do, but you love it.”
118 notes · View notes
reidslovely · 7 months
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When My Time Comes
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Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of:gun violence, murder, blood, throwing up, and panic attacks. Suicidal ideation, and a few swear words. Reader goes by the name 'Angel' throughout the story. Slightly supernatural/horror I'm not sure how to take it. Very different than anything I've written before please just hang in there lol. It's also unedited because I wrote it in a one day and wanted to get it out as fast as possible before the inspiration left me.
Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader/OC
Word Count: 5k
Genre: Angst with happy ending
I told y'all Mob!Peter was making a comeback..this is his rebirth. Thanks to Hozier's Work Song.
Please reblog and/or leave a comment instead of liking or hearting this post! Thank you.
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There’s an uncomfortable frigid feeling in the room. It’s like that moment when giving a class presentation and everyone is looking dead at the person. Waiting for them to drop because they can tell the speaker doesn’t want to be here, and that they’re waiting for the worst to happen and the other shoe to drop. 
“Angel-” 
Felicia’s voice carried throughout the room. The legs she stood on grew wobbly, her vision narrowing. A mix of bitter bile and anger grew in her throat as she shot the platinum haired girl a heated look. 
“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me-” She shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her. “This is your fault!”
 It wasn’t. But it was easier to blame her, the person delivering the blow than it is to blame others. 
Harry’s hands grabbed the distraught girl from under her armpits, to keep her from falling and approaching Felicia any closer than she already was. Harry tucked her into his arm, hand flattening out against her back, trying to soothe the heart he knew was breaking. The smell of the iron on his shirt flooded her nostrils, and only provoked more tears. She fought against Harry, who only held tighter. 
“I wanna see him. Let me see him. I-”
“Angel, that’s not a good i-”
“Let her, Harry. Let her.” Felicia’s words were soft yet firm. Her lip was tucked in between her teeth as she wiped at her face. Harry looked between the two women, and at Miles who was standing in front of the door. He was fighting his own losing battle, and denying her would put him in his own grave. Once he released the girl, she ran as fast as she could and wobbled up the stairs to the bedroom all the way at the end of the hall. Vision so blurry from anxiety, and tears that she couldn’t even make out May, who'd just left the room shutting the door behind her. 
“Angel, you can’t go in there. You shouldn’t. Pete, he wouldn’t want you to see him like this. Just stay out here for a li-”
Usually she’d respect May’s wishes, and listen to her wise words. Angel knew deep in her heart of hearts that she was right. That this was an event that would stick with her for life and couldn’t be treated so loosely. But, her husband, Peter, was sitting on the other side of that door and you needed to see him. 
Pushing May aside, nothing, absolutely nothing, could prepare her for what laid on the other side of that door. 
“Pete.” Her words faltered seeing his entire torso bandaged, a deep red of blood already seeping through the clean white color of the bandages. Angel carried herself as far as she could before dropping to her knees, crawling across the floor to the bed. 
“A..Angel.” 
Peter’s eyes wouldn’t open, but his voice was somewhat there. Tired and strained, her hands grasped his, as she bowed her head against the memory foam of the death bed. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. 
“Shhh, I’m right here.” There was a sense of dread crawling into the bed with him. It’s the same bed they’d shared for years, but it’s different now as he lays dying. Out of pure reflex her hand reaches out, resting on his torso. He’s too weak to even flinch, her hand soaking with his blood. They’d been trying for hours to stop the damage the attack did to his insides.
“It happened all too fast and there were..too many. His body isn’t healing as fast as it usually does.” Felicia’s explanation came back to her. So much for being superhuman. Angel’s head pressed against his temple, as tears trickled down her cheeks hitting his bare collarbone. 
“Oh Angel..” Peter whispered, pressing his head back against hers. “Don’t cry over me.” 
She shook her head. “‘M not crying Pete, cause you’ll be fine. May gave you more of your blood, and your body is gonna speed up its process. And..and you’re gonna be okay.”
“I’m dying, Angel.” 
‘Shut up.” 
“No listen okay.” He used what strength he had to open his eyes, looking at her through half lidded eyes. “I am going to die. I know it and you..” 
He coughed, blood splattering out of his mouth. “You kn-kno-know it.” She wiped the blood off his mouth letting tears fall. 
“I love you…so much. You have been..the best part of my life.” She opened her mouth to respond. He closed his eyes again. Bringing his hand to hold her side close to him. “Just..just lay here with me okay?” 
His chest rattled with a shaky breath, she hiccuped choking on her sobs. Laying her head against his cold one. She'd always pictured dying in this bed with him. But she thought she’d be older, thought she’d at least have had some kids- some grandkids. Thought it would be both of them on a quiet, average night. One where she’d go to sleep and just never wake up. 
Never did she think Peter would be lying here dying at only 31 one years old. Angel knew what Peter did for work was dangerous, deadly even. It killed her father, it killed his uncle. Both knew these actions had consequences.  Yet, Peter wasn’t human like everyone else. He had altered DNA from being studied as a kid, from being bit by a spider at seventeen that gave him powers that he used to climb his way up the ladder of organized crime. Yet, those same powers and abilities were what had him lying here fighting to keep going. 
“Peter..” She whispered against his cold skin. “Peter.” Nothing. She put her hand over his heart and felt nothing. No warmth, no movement, nothing. Her hands shook, looking around in panic for anything..anyone. 
“Peter!” 
The yell was louder this time. One that burns the lungs. She shakes him, and shakes him trying to get him back. Starting to attempt her own CPR screaming for him to come back, to not leave like this. Being so engrossed with her own grief and anger, she doesn't even process everyone rushing in. Harry and Felicia pull her off of him kicking and screaming, as May calmly pulls the sheet over his head, before kissing his forehead. 
Angel hated her. She raised him and she’s not even fighting for his life right now. 
Not her, not Harry, not Felicia. None of them. 
“He’s gone.” Harry spoke sitting on the floor with her, holding her as she screamed through the sobs. His legs pinned hers down rocking up back and forth. The smell of the iron from the blood on Harry’s shirt and her body wafted through her nostrils. Between the smell of her dead husband's blood and the pure panic seeping through the body she couldn’t hold back any longer. Angel’s body hunched forward on reflex as vomit spewed out of her mouth and onto Harry and the floor. 
The blonde man didn’t even flinch, rubbing her back as you slumped forward and cried. A part of her laid dead on that bed with her husband's cold body. 
-
The days lingered, in a still limbo. None of it felt in order. Felicia fed her some cocktails of sedatives, to keep her sane as they both helped May plan the funeral. “He didn’t want a shiva.” Angel spoke from the couch, biting down around the cuticle of her nail. 
“I know we aren’t giving him one, just a wake and funeral and a remembrance party.” Felicia spoke, her hand reaching out to hold the woman's leg. Her free hand pulled her fingers out of her mouth. 
“A fucking party?” She spat. “Is that what his death means to you? Some fucking excuse to get shit faced, so you can live with yourself for walking him into that fucking warehouse.” 
Felicia bit down on her cheek, and took a deep breath. She could almost feel Peter’s hand on her shoulder and his stern yet soft demand for an apology to Felicia. 
“I’m sorry. I should-”
“It's fine.” Felicia says, pulling the widow into a hug, letting her head rest on her shoulder. Angel thanked Felicia for her patience, because at this point she had none left. May’s shaky hand covered her own mouth holding back a sob, Angel pulling her into the hug, the three of them taking a moment to cry. 
-
Harry and Miles had dealt with the dirty part. Harry had come home with a bag of medical supplies the night Peter died. He and May injected him with more of his blood that Harry had altered at Oscorp, both hoping for some last resort. Angel sat on the chair in the corner watching them. She had volunteered to wash and dress him before the coroner took him away. The man, Mr. Weekes had dealt in Peter’s dealing before, and he was listed specifically as who Peter wanted to treat him post mortem. 
“Your death wishes list in your will is super morbid.”
 She spoke in a low monotone voice, washing the blood off his arms. It was weird to see him like this: cold and still. Not bantering back and forth with her. “I appreciate it though, I just wish you’d told me about all this sooner. You’re demanding even in death.”
She washed his face next, and stitched up some of the wounds on his chest before dressing him in some of his more comfortable casual clothes. 
“If only you’d tell me what suit you wanted to be fucking burried in. Planned everything else out..” 
Shuffling through his suits, she started fighting back the tears as she came across his wedding suit. Again, feeling his hand on her back, trying to talk her through it. He always knew this was happening before she did. Angel pressed the palm of her hands into her eyes as she started to cry. Heartbeat racing, it felt like it was crawling up her throat and getting stuck. It felt like choking on nothing, causing her to gasp for breath. She dropped herself down into the soft green chair in the back of the closet, crying and gasping for air as she progressed. She started walking herself through it the best one could. Putting a hand on her chest following the breathing techniques, she tried to alter her breathing as much as she could. Once she started coming down, her vision settled back into normal. She looked up at the racks of clothing and let out a shaky, yet normally paced breath. She had settled on the grayish green suit he’d worn only a couple days before. Slamming the closet door to the closet behind her, she shoved the suit into the bag wanting to be done with it all.
“I shouldn’t hate you..” She started, sitting on the bed with him. Putting his watch on him and staring at him. “And I don’t..I don’t think I do. I’m just so..fucking angry. At everyone, at myself, at you. I shouldn’t have let you go, I should have gone with you.” 
Angel laid next to him, his body cold and their sheets still slightly stained in blood. Maybe it was gross and fucked up. However, next to him, was the only place she felt peace. There was a brief staring contest with the syringe filled with some  liquid that laid on a night stand. One stab to the heart would make everything go away, she could be with him again. Maybe the cocktail of sedatives everyone kept feeding her would do it for her at some point. 
“Mrs. Parker.” Mr. Weekes says walking in, rolling the gurney in with him. Harry and Miles in tow behind him. “I have to take him now. Is that okay?” 
“Angel..” Harry’s voice sounded pitiful, she felt her heart squeeze as she sat up.
“Yeah, yeah.” She sighed, scurrying out of the bed. Flattening out her clothes, watching Harry help Mr. Weekes transfer Peter to the gurney. Miles comforted her, his arms wrapping around her rubbing her back. Harry nodded his head towards the door, telling him to walk Angel out of the room. He followed directions sitting her in Peter’s office downstairs, both sat in their grief. 
“Why does everyone call you Angel?” Miles asks, wanting to take her mind off Peter. Funny enough, Peter was the reason why she even had the nickname. 
“When Peter and I started dating he brought me home and everyone was there with him at the time. They were ready to meet me if they didn’t know me already. Him, May, Gwen, Felicia, pretty much all of us…he walks me in and he goes "everyone this is Angel, Angel this is everyone.” 
Shr laughs, and Miles smiles. “Everyone just kept calling me Angel till he realized about 30 minutes later that he’s called me Angel instead of my real name. So it was just a pet name that became a nickname. So everyone, including my own mother, calls me it now.” She watched Miles walk around Peter’s office taking in every piece of him. 
“I’m really gonna miss him. He taught me so much, he helped me and my mom. I just..he was like a brother to me.”
“He thought a lot of you too. He cried on your 21st birthday, talking about how much you grew up and how proud he was of you.” She looked at Peter’s will open on the table, her and Harry had gone over it earlier. “You should head home Miles.”
“Are you gonna be okay? I can stay here.”
“Yeah, I have Felicia and May..and Harry.”
Miles nods, engulfing her in a hug. Angel smiled sadly, hugging him back, sliding an envelope from Peter’s desk into his pocket. “No questions. It’s what Pete wanted you to have. There's a note in there you should read it.” 
Miles nodded and patted his pocket, taking the keys off the desk and headed out the office doors. 
-
Grief was a funny thing, it’s a terrible gutting feeling one minute that had her laying in the bloodied bedsheets with your dead husband one minute, and sitting in the bathroom with her high school best friend laughing at memories another. Gwen had flown in from London the moment she heard, she helped get Angel out of bed and bathe her for Peter’s funeral seeing as she could barely bring herself out of the guest room.
 “He really loved you.” Angel whispered, her head resting on her knees as Gwen sat by the tub with her. Gwen tilted her head to the side laughing, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder. 
“He loved you more.” Gwen says. “I remember when we broke up and I told him if he didn’t ask you out I was going to do it for him. And I think that terrified him more.” They both laughed. “I knew he was going to marry you before he knew, before you knew even” 
“Yeah?” Angel asked, smiling at her, tears rolling from her eyes. 
“You two were made for each other. And I was lucky enough to love both of you.” Gwen whispered, taking her hand. “Let’s wash your hair, yeah?” 
“Okay.” Angel nodded leaning back in the tub.
-
Standing by his coffin was awkward; she felt like a little girl at her daddy’s funeral again. Not knowing how to stand next to the body, not liking the way the pity filled stares felt, so she focused on his body. There was a rosy tint to Pete’s cheeks, and he almost looked alive. She rubbed his cheek looking at the gifts lining his coffin, stuff people wanted to lay to rest with him. “It’s only been five days, and I’m losing my mind.” Her voice whispered to him, her hand holding his.
 “I don't know if I can do this without you.” She flattened out the white shirt under his tux and took a deep breath. 
“Let's sit dear.”
 May sniffles, holding her side reassuringly. Angel nodded, wrapping an arm around May, rubbing her shoulder. No one knew her pain like May Parker. She’d become her rock in the haze of grief. She had lost her husband and her nephew who was more her son than anything. She’d been staying at the house with Angel and everyone, she’d even climbed into bed with her most nights like a child seeking comfort from her mother. She was thankful for her and thankful Peter had brought May to her. They were the two most important women in his life and bonded like no other. 
-
“Peter Benjamin Parker was the love of my life, and he was an amazing man.” Angel spoke into the mic standing before friends, family, and acquaintances. She looked down at him in the coffin, and smiled at him, already wiping away tears. 
 “I know to many of you he was frightening, and strong. He seemed unforgiving, cold, and inhumane on occasion but he was my best friend, and my soulmate. He was a complex human and that…is what brought his life to such a short stop. I’m no good at public speaking. I'm sorry, this was always his thing. He was so charming and knew how to talk to you all, and I stood behind him every step of the way. But in the last few days, I discovered he was actually the one standing behind me every step we took together, and he also stood behind many of you and helped you all in numerous ways. I think he left a part of him in all of us, and I hope we can all be half the person he was one day..I- I’m sorry. Harry..Har-.” 
“I got you go, go.” Harry ushered Angel off the podium covering her crying frame from onlookers. She sniffled, wiping her eyes stepping off the podium into Gwen’s arms sitting back down between her and May. May kissed her head, assuring  that it was all going to be okay. Her hands comforting and cradling her face as Angel tried to quietly bawl her eyes out. She stared at the casket in front of her during Harry’s speech, slowly turning everything around her out. 
-
“Angel.” Eddie Brock smiled as she stood outside watching Peter be lowered into the ground. She smiled at him in return, letting him engulf her in a hug.
 “Oh I’m so sorry, Peter was such a good guy. Kind of scary..but..good.”
Angel laughed sadly, squeezing his shoulders. “I know he meant a lot to you Ed.” 
“He did, he really saved my ass more than once. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.” 
She tilted her head, and tried her best to smile at him. “Hopefully stay out of trouble.”
Eddie shook his head back and forth, giving a smirk that said ‘We’ll see.’
They exchanged sad goodbyes and she watched him leave heading towards his car. She was thankful that Peter’s death was kept out of the headlines, it took some begging and bribing Betty Brant but it was worth it for such an intimate and private time. 
She watched the grave diggers starting to fill in the dirt, and she contemplated staying the night on the bench. But May came, wrapping her arms around Angel, a jacket you immediately identified as Peter’s from smell alone. 
“Why don’t you come home with me tonight?” May offered, pushing hair from the girls face. 
“That’d be nice, yeah.”  Angel whispered. “How have you not lost it yet? All I want to do is crawl in that hole with him.”
“I know you do. I was there once, it’s a terribly awful feeling Angel, I know.” May frowned, holding her arm with hers as they walked together to the car. “Peter, bless him. I love him, he was my son no matter what anyone said he was my boy. But because of that I saw every side of him and Peter had been ready to go since Ben died. And I find peace in thinking that they are together again, and that he is safe and protected..and- I’m sorry” May’s voice broke and she fanned her face. “And they are here in any way we want them to be.”
There was quiet for a moment before Angel let out a soft, yet grief riddled laugh.
“I need what you have.” You laughed sadly, both of you crying now. 
May let a teary laugh burst from her chest. “We’ll go make some tea and talk about it.”
That's what they did. The two had a girls night with Gwen and spent it remembering Peter in their own way. About twenty minutes in She had wandered off into Peter’s old bedroom. Smiling as she stood in the doorway, and she knew grief was a funny thing because she could see the two of them about fifteen years younger dancing in his bedroom practicing for prom. 
“Ouch that was my foot!” She yelled out. Peter dropped to his knees dramatically, grabbing her leg inspecting her foot playfully. 
“Not broken.” He placed a kiss on the top of her foot before jumping to his feet. Watching her smile and scrunch her nose.
“I didn’t say it was.” 
‘Well I had to make sure I didn’t hurt my girl.” 
She shook her head in response, rolling her eyes. Hands rubbing his shoulders, placing his glasses on the top of his head. “Are you gonna do that at our wedding too?” She teased. 
Peter pulled a face laughing, racking his head back and forth thinking. “Maybe! But since when are we getting married? What have you and Gwendy been planning, mhm?”
Angel looked over at his desk where she’d found her engagement ring tucked away only a couple years later. 
“I couldn’t find the blue quilt but I found the gray one and everything is set up and ready when..”
They both froze looking at the green velvet box in her, now shaky, hand. 
“Shit I knew I should’ve put it in the safe. My girlfriend is so nosey.” He laughed it off taking the green box from her hand. “You just couldn’t wait a couple weeks till your birthday mhm?” He laughs, kissing on her face. Angel could feel warmth wash over her face and body, tucking her hair behind her ear. 
“I was just looking for those pictures from our trip upstate you had processed.” 
Peter smiled tugging up his gray sweatpants, dropping onto one knee. 
“Angel, my sweet girl. I have loved you for years, for far longer than I remember. Ever since we were in middle school, and I got lucky enough several years ago to have you want me. Maybe we are a little young to get engaged, but I know I want to be with you forever. I’m not asking for a wedding anytime soon, I just want to know that eventually in-”
“Yes.” You cut him off excitedly, hands cupping over your mouth. “Sorry, sorry.”
Peter scrunched his nose, standing up as he slid the ring on your finger twirling you around. 
“She said yes!” Peter yells throughout the house, the announcement bouncing off the walls and making a home in its fixtures. 
May’s excited cheer could be heard all the way up the steps. You laughed, wrapping your arms around him as he spun you. 
Walking towards the perfectly made bed, she mentally thanked May for never changing it. For keeping it the same all these years later. She took her shoes off, crawling into the bed closing her eyes waiting for sleep to wash over like a wave. For just a second she swore the other side of the bed dipped down, and in instinct made room for his tired frame to crash beside her. 
-
“A distraught man was seen walking up around the streets of Harlem this morning, the man was described as looking dirty. Wearing a green suit, and was seemingly distraught and confused, mumbling to himself.” The anchorwoman spoke, reading off her cue cards shocked by the news herself. Angel scrolled on her phone wrapped in one of May’s quilts as she made breakfast.
 “Witnesses say the man seemed distraught, and in a rush. Looking like he had climbed out of a hole, his suit askew and ran past anyone who offered help. Seemingly not wanting to be seen.” 
She switched the channel before she cared to hear the other stories, not thinking she could handle the grief of another depressing story right now. Angel wrapped the blanket around herself, walking to the kitchen to talk to May. Her phone pinging, the front camera at the house notifying her that motion had been detected. 
“I’ve gotta get to the hospital after I eat, are you gonna be okay getting home? I know it’s not that far of a wal- everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I actually should get a cap and head that way. I just got a weird notification I need to check out.”
“Okay yeah. Do you need me to go with you?” May asked.
“No, no. I, I don’t know what it is. Could be nothing or an error on my end.” Angel says, pulling herself out of the chair rushing towards the door. Quickly calling a cab she climbed into the back refreshing the ring app trying to get it to load. The dark screen freaking her out. She had called Harry, bouncing her leg in the back of the cab watching the houses fly by. 
“I was just about to call you.” Harry’s panic was evident from his voice. “Someone dug up Peter’s grave. Kicked the headstone over and everything.”
“You don’t think it was Fisk’s guys do you?”
“Could be..could be anybody. I love Pete but he had a lot of enemies.”
“I got a notification that there's motion at the front door, but it’s not loading now. It's a network error.” She spoke as the cab pulled into the neighborhood, already unbuckling her seatbelt waiting for the sudden stop. 
“Okay listen to me.” Harry says starting the car. “I’m thirty minutes away, there’s a gun hidden in a fake drawer in the table by your door. It’s loaded, and I know you know how to use it. Let’s just be prepared for the worst.”
“Yeah..” Angel nodded, rubbing her forehead wishing Peter was there to talk her through this. “Okay I’m heading in. I’ll let you know.” 
Angel handed the driver a hundred that she had on her and hung up the phone, tucking it into the pocket of the pajama pants she’d been wearing at May’s. The front door was left ajar and slightly off its hinges. She looked down seeing a track of dirt leading from the front walk away all the way into the house. 
Quietly she found the gun Harry was talking about, leaving the safety on till otherwise needed and slowly following the muddy footprints. The fridge was left ajar, food and drinks sitting on the counter. Whoever broke in was pretty hungry, having pulled out the pastrami and other gatherings for a sandwich. A soda poured into a glass and half gone. She checked Peter’s office, his file cabinets open and a couple files pulled out. As she went to open the files to see who it was research on, she heard the water upstairs turn on. Slowly and as quiet as possible she snuck up the steps, and through her bedroom. Her jewelry box was left open but nothing was taken out, everything in the closet was practically untouched except for a couple of Peter’s items thrown onto the floor. Taking a deep breath she pushed the door to the bathroom open, and nothing could prepare her for what stood on the other side of the door. 
“Angel..”
The voice nearly caused her to drop to her knees. She knew grief was a funny thing, because Peter Parker was standing before. Dirty and clearly sore, his voice strained from not using it for a couple days. Her knees fell out from under her, Peter using his reflexes to catch the gun and her all in one go. Smearing mud and blood lightly on her as he caught her. He placed the gun on the counter away from them as he slid down onto the floor with her. 
“Shh, shh I know. I know. It’s scary. It’s okay, Angel. Breathe okay. In and out.” 
She couldn’t even find her voice to scream, she reached out hitting him trying to get him away from her. A ghost from her nightmare.  The harder she hit though, the faster she realized he was real..this was all real. 
“You’re dead.” 
“I was..technically. Kind of yeah.” 
“Not technically, legally.”
Peter laughed shakily holding her, tears starting to pour out of his own eyes. His lips pressed against her forehead letting out a gasp of air. 
“Spiders..play dead when they sense danger. Meaning their bodies shut down completely out of their control, as a way to replenish and prepare to attack and prevent further damage.” She watched intently as he explained his mad man ramblings. 
“I guess when I got bit that’s something my nervous system developed the ability to do. I read about it all those years ago after I got bit. It just never happened until I took so much damage. So, yes. I was..I did die. However, the amount of my own blood that Harry and May pumped into me. Helped me heal in that shut down state.” Peter laughs hearing himself. He sounded fucking crazy. Angel reached her hand out cradling his face, gasping at his warmth. His heat radiating off his body again. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she lunged forward holding him in a hug sobbing happily. 
Harry’s feet pounded against the hardwood floor as he yelled for her. 
“Oh fuck.”
“Hey Harry.” Peter laughed awkwardly. “Long story.” 
Harry, in shock, stumbled out of the room immediately making phone calls. Letting out a scream of shock and awe.
“Angel..” Peter whispered. “I need to shower okay. You can stay with me though if you want.”
So she did, she washed his hair and body. Rubbing her fingers over the held wounds that once littered his chest now just scars in their place. So much for being superhuman.
“We’re never gonna have a normal life are we?”
Peter shook his head, kissing her head. 
“No, no we won’t. But we’ll have each other, and no matter what happens. No grave will hold me down.” He laughs holding them together, making her look up at him. “I’m coming back here, back to you everytime.”
 She shook her  head holding him close listening to the beat of his heart, finally feeling that piece she lost crawl back home into her chest.
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I know that was different...I hope you guys liked it. I really wanted to bring Mob!Peter back but I'm nothing if not dramatic..so :)
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blueywrites · 1 year
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new skin
The diner’s signature dish: Fresh-baked soft pretzel knots with sweet Georgia peach jam, topped with bitter trauma. Recipe includes a dash of pining, a sprinkle of faith, and a generous heap of healing love.
Linecook!Eddie x Waitress!Reader. 60s Diner. Slow Burn.
Follows canon, except Eddie lives, and Vecna is defeated after causing the 'earthquake'. This is written in second person 'x reader' format, but you've been given a name. The name and nicknames that appear throughout the story are listed below; use the InteractiveFics extension to replace them if you'd like!
full name: emmaline louise. nicknames: emma, emmy
series content warnings -> eventual sexual content (18+), fem!reader, plussized!reader, fatphobia, domestic violence, domestic abuse, miscarriage/pregnancy, discussions of suicidal ideation, significant religious themes, found family, hurt/comfort, slow burn, angst with a happy ending
chapter content warnings -> 18+ for mature themes. mentions of blood, numerous Christian religious references, disordered eating habits, anxiety, references to emotional abuse and manipulation, body image issues, internalized fatphobia
one: an empty room (10.3k) | next | masterlist | playlist | AO3
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You surrounded me
and my windows are breaking
Something is rotten inside of me
I have to find it and
cut it out
House Song — Searows
It was a mortal man who drove you away but divine providence that guided you to Hawkins.
You’d been dropping off the key to your motel room when you saw it: a cockeyed paper pamphlet in the dusty wooden holder mounted beneath the counter. Stuffed beside “Indiana Caverns” and “The World’s Largest Ball of Paint,” it advertised a place where fissures had unfurled like the spindly legs of a spider, all radiating out from the center square. ‘Visit the town that hosts the gates of Hell,’ it read. You knew the town couldn’t really host the gate of Hell because Hell is a lake of fire and not a crack in the earth, though even the thought made a chill of foreboding shudder through you. Still, as you gazed at the name written in big red letters across the faded paper, you rolled it around in your mouth, seeing how it felt against your molars and exploring the way it tasted on your tongue.
Hawkins.
You’d expected bitterness. Ash and fire and brimstone, if the leaflet was to be believed. Instead, Hawkins tasted of pine, of sweet corn, and drugstore laundry powder. And that was odd, certainly. But maybe odd was what you needed— something wholly unfamiliar, nerve-wracking in its foreignness but peaceful in the knowledge that, if nothing else, you know he would never expect you to escape to somewhere like this. 
You’d been cutting a path from your home in Georgia due north, aimless and wandering, restless like a frightened prey animal consumed with nothing but thoughts of flee, flee, flee. The instinct had brought you from parking lot to roadside fuel-pump to motel six day after day, bouncing as the stacks in the cashbox wedged beneath the passenger seat began to dwindle. A pawn shop helped resupply your reserves, and your ring finger was lighter for it, but the running is beginning to wear on you. And there's just something about the taste of Hawkins lingering in your mouth, yeasty like wheat and clean in a way you haven’t felt since the day after Christmas when the bleeding began.
Your fingertips twitch before you snatch up the folded paper from the holder, spilling out into the gray of early morning. You cut a path back to the crack of warm light leaking from your room, where you’d wedged a stone against the metal edge of the door to prop it open. You slip inside one last time before you depart. 
There isn’t much to gather. Inside, there's just a musty floral bedspread and a side table with a bolted-down lamp. You flick the switch, leaving the room cold and dark in preparation for your departure. Your few personal belongings are already packed away in the car waiting outside, and it’s with a sense of familiar shame twanging at your heartstrings that you duck back into the tiny tiled room nestled in the corner of the bedroom. The pamphlet crinkles as you fold it and slip it into your coat pocket, freeing your hands to do what they will. 
This place is just one in a long line of stark rooms, transient nests that shelter you briefly as you flee. It's what made you think you were aimless and wandering, but you weren’t. Not really. 
During your flight from Georgia, you’d stopped in Lexington, Kentucky. And when you drove on, you could have, just as easily, chosen to go northeast, toward Columbus, perhaps curving over toward western Pennsylvania. But you decided to go northwest instead, dipping into the southern edge of Indiana, avoiding Cincinnati and its choked smog until you nestled into fields and farms again. It was divine providence that guided you that way, that bid you stop at this motel for the night, that helps you now discern the notes of flavor you hadn’t noticed back in the office as the leaflet crinkles in your coat pocket. Because beneath the unfamiliar— pine and corn and laundry powder— there is the familiar musk of fresh hay, mown on a sweet summer morning by your pa as soft whinnies huff from the stable. It warms you, though the January wind cuts through to the bone as you scurry back out of the motel room and let the door thump closed behind you. Your eyes dart for lookers-on, though the sting of self-consciousness isn’t quite as acute now as the first few times you’d waddled to the pastel blue Lincoln and fumbled the back door open with laden hands.
When you found that pamphlet and chose Hawkins, Indiana, as your final nesting place, God was calling you home. You will know that in the end, but you don’t know it now. Now, you’re just a scared girl carrying toilet paper, satchets of soap, and tiny bottles of mouthwash in your fists, pilfered from yet another temporary room. They tumble to join the pile of stolen treasures in the backseat, right beside the pillow from Tennessee and the scratchy blanket from Kentucky.
You've known since you were small that you aren’t a lamb— only Jesus is the lamb. Still, you'd hoped you are a sheep, pure and white, close to Him. Yet it turns out you’ve been wrong all this time. It turns out you're just a dirty, thieving crow, poking your beak in the dirt to search for shiny things to sustain you. As you stare at the pile of your baubles, the shame tugs again at your heartstrings, clawing up to settle heavily in the base of your throat. Thick like the beginnings of tears.  
You slam the back door and climb into the driver’s seat, sitting motionlessly for a long moment as you speak with your Father. You've always talked to God as long as you can remember but never had your prayers been so consistent as they've been this past week. First the waiting. Then the bleeding. Then the forsaking. Then the stealing. In all, you ask the same.
Please, Father. Forgive me.
 You pull the leaflet from your coat pocket, unfolding it carefully, avoiding the inflammatory language about gates and fissures as you search until you spot the tiny map and the star in its center that demarks the location of Hawkins. The instructions say that, from the south, you should take route four-thirty-one to route three north. 
Your aimless crawling has suddenly gained a clear direction; with it, your prayers shift for the moment. A hymn comes to mind, and you close your eyes as its melody plays in your head: Lead me, guide me, along the way. For if you leave me, I will not stray. Lord, let me walk each day with thee.
“Lead me,” you sing, a breath of a whisper as your eyes open. “Oh Lord, lead me.”
Beside your Lincoln, a businessman is loading his trunk into the passenger seat of his station wagon.
You crank down your window hastily, resting your fingers against the doorframe as you peek out without making a sound; working yourself up to speak with this strange man takes some effort. He has just closed the door and is about to cross around the front bumper when your voice finally comes, timorous but sweet as Georgia peaches. “Excuse me, sir,” you say, brows tipping as he turns to you. “Do you happen to know the way to route four-thirty-one from here?”
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The cloud cover never wanes as you meander along the highways that lead to Hawkins. Even as the hour deepens to late afternoon, there is no glow of warmth from the sun; only cold bright grayness follows you as your gas gauge edges toward a quarter-tank, and you pull off to find a gas station and something to fill your aching stomach. You shade your eyes as you stand beside the pump and squint across the street, gaze catching on a familiar mascot: a swirl of hair like a dollop of black whipped cream and the red suspenders of Frisch’s Big Boy. The sight promises cheap food which will almost certainly be filling enough for your single midday meal.
The place isn’t overwhelmingly busy inside, but you still need to wait by the empty hostess stand before you’re taken to your seat. Against the long smudged window, shiny stickers and little childish baubles crowd the twenty-five cent machines, but your interest lies in the considerably more drab newspaper dispenser beside those colorful globes. You aren’t quite at your destination yet, but you’re close enough that local ads will likely provide you with a taste of your chosen home before you reach it. You purchase one quickly, wedging the newspaper under your arm and jumping almost guiltily when the hostess returns and finally chirps a greeting at you. You feel as if you’ve done something wrong as you trail after her, though as she hands you a menu and leaves you with a pleasant smile, she implies nothing of the sort.
You don’t spend long perusing the menu before you make up your mind. You order with a soft voice as the waitress scratches across her pad, promising to bring your orange juice and coffee in a jiffy. “Thank y’ma’am,” you say, small with your hands folded one over the other in your lap. 
You wait eagerly, stomach rumbling in earnest now that it knows your meal is well on the way. If you had to choose one type of food to eat for the rest of your life, breakfast would surely be it. A smile plays on your lips, and your mouth wells up with wanting as you picture it: crispy fried potatoes, eggs any which way, fluffy sweet milk waffles, cream of wheat with maple syrup and cinnamon. That one’s mama’s favorite. Pa’s is country fried steak, with a crunchy crust but tender and pink inside. Paul’s is—
You hedge from the thought, skipping quickly along to yours: dense, crumbly biscuits and thick, well-seasoned gravy, with little savory bits of sausage mixed in. They hadn’t had that here, so you ordered the pancakes and sausage links with a side of over-easy eggs, plus the coffee and orange juice. You’d gotten into the habit of eating once a day, mostly because it was easier to eat one big meal than try to stop for several smaller ones. That means that, as you sit there waiting, the scents of the kitchen and the clinking of silverware quickly become a dizzying reminder of your hunger, one that necessitates a distraction. So you spread the newspaper out against the table, turning each page slowly as you scan for the town that tastes of fresh laundry and hay.
You spot it once you reach the classifieds. It’s in an ad blazoned with one bold word across the top: vacancy. Forest Hills Trailer Park, the paper reads. Ready-to-move-in trailers, spacious for singles and small families. Just a five-minute drive from downtown Hawkins. In tiny font, tiny enough that you need to scrunch your nose and draw your face close to the paper to read it, the ad remarks, No background check or references required. First month’s rent plus deposit due at lease signing.
Forest Hills Trailer Park will clearly be a far cry from what you’ve left behind, but it checks all the necessary boxes, especially the most important ones.
You fold the newspaper, creasing it carefully with your fingernails before tearing bit by bit along that manufactured edge until the advertisement comes free. You’ve just carefully deposited the clipping into your pocket as the food comes, steaming and succulent, making your mouth instantly water. 
“How’s it look?” Your waitress asks as if you aren’t itching to pounce on the plate the second she goes away, devouring your sustenance like a starved animal.
“Looks great,” you assure her, tiny and sweet and small and docile. “Thank you so much.”
But even once she leaves you to it, your manners forbid you from such a thing. You keep your elbows off the table and cut the pancakes with little even saws of your knife, spearing each square daintily with your fork before raising it to your lips. You eat your meal as if everyone around you is watching, even though no one is.
When your waitress returns with a refill for your coffee, you ask her for directions to Hawkins. For the first time, her eyes rove over you, taking in the winter coat you haven’t removed and the glinting silver cross at the base of your throat that peeks above the collar of your starchy dress. She squints at you and asks, “What, ya visitin’ family?”
When you don’t reply, she gestures with the coffee pot. “Take thirty-five west and keep drivin’ ‘til you reach the barn with the cow out front. Then turn left there. Y’can’t miss it.”
The ‘cow out front’ turns out to be a cow statue, bigger than any real cow you’ve ever seen and certainly not one you could miss, as she said. You slow and turn left, finally abandoning the highway for a scenic road lined with pine trees that stand like silent sentinels as you carefully guide your vehicle along the road to… 
Home.
Your new home.
Now that it feels so imminent— this decision you’ve made to build your nest at the feet of the supposed ‘gate of hell’— doubt begins to creep in, freezing at the edges of your ribs and creeping toward your center. You’ve driven more than twelve hours from your origin-place, and America is vast— so vast— with more motels than stars you can count across the expanse of the sky on a clear summer’s night. 
And you’ve set your mind on this place because you saw it in a pamphlet? 
Your fingers tremble as you pass tree after tree, branch after branch, leaf after leaf, a sea of unending forest stretching to enclose you and the road you follow. Might as well’ve spun myself around at the treeline, pointed a finger, and started walking, you think to yourself, the leather of the wheel creaking under your wringing hands. It is one thing to run aimlessly; it is quite another to plop yourself down the same way.
'Trust in the LORD with all your heart; and lean not unto your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct your paths.'
“Proverbs,” you whisper, your trembling beginning to subside with each exhaled word that passes through your lips. “Chapter three, verses five and six.” The fingers of one hand unpeel from the steering wheel to clasp instead around the silver at your throat. And by the time your fingers have warmed the metal, your doubt has calmed, and a sign on the right interrupts the treeline, declaring you’ve arrived. 
Hawkins, Indiana. The forest gives way to typical small-town life, though the evidence of what occurred here almost three years ago is still evident in the divots of scarred earth now frosted over with ice, like sharp gauze packing a wound. Some buildings are in permanent disrepair— collapsed, crumbled, roofs caved in, wood and brick sinking into the earth like sinew and bone, partially covered over by hairy weeds that expose the steady march of time. But as you drive slowly toward the center of town, where is rebuilt is teeming with small-town life, not unlike the place you’ve come from. As the sun begins to wane, warm lights slowly blink on inside cozy split-levels and ranches to take its place. Wives welcome husbands home from work before sitting down for supper; children are called in from the streets as mothers stand in breezeways, dropping bikes to be left abandoned in the frosty grass until tomorrow. Despite the present bleak midwinter and the past tragedy that befell them, life goes on for the people of Hawkins, Indiana. That fact conjures a sense of peace as you wander through, searching idly for Kerley— the road that leads to the trailer park. This is the place described as hosting the gate of hell? As you pass bare cornfields and sleepy suburban streets, Hawkins feels so far from it that your earlier fear seems suddenly silly.
You meander the town in your pastel blue Lincoln until you happen upon Kerley Street. By the time you finally reach the turnoff for Forest Hills Trailer Park, the black of night has fallen like a curtain over the vague rectangular structures that crowd beyond the gravel entrance. Your headlights swing and illuminate a slapdash sign that designates the land manager’s residence, and you’re relieved to see a vague glow seeping through the crack below the door and between the curtains, persistent despite the clear attempts to keep it concealed from the outside world. You park the car and hold onto the doorframe as you emerge onto gravel, which you waver over in your low heels until you reach the stairs at the base of the porch. There’s a cracked flowerpot on the bottom step, but instead of the husks of flowers you expect, it’s loaded with cigarette butts, decaying in layers of paper and used nicotine. 
You stare at the door for a moment before announcing yourself. You’re nervous to be confronted with the unfamiliar person beyond; foreboding clenches in your chest, but it can’t be helped. A rap of your knuckles conjures the man who’d tried so valiantly to hide that he was home. His shirt is dirty, his pants sag, and his shave isn’t close to even; he eyes you wearily as you stand on his stoop. “Locked out?” he asks dully, and you flounder a moment before replying, swallowing to wet your throat and hope your voice stays steady. 
“I don’t live here,” you say, “but… I’m lookin’ to. That is, I saw in the paper you had vacancies—” You shove your hand in your coat pocket and pull out the newspaper clipping, passing it over. The man surveys the ad perfunctorily, one bushy brow quirked. The toothpick between his teeth bobs as he plays with it, his eyes sliding to you as you ask hesitantly, “...Do you still have vacancies?” 
His chuckle comes so fast it’s startling. The sound is raspy, like he needs to clear his throat. “‘Course I have vacancies.” He pulls the toothpick from between his lips, flicking it heedlessly away. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
When you shake your head, he jerks his toward the doorway spilling light across the porch. “Come on, then. Let’s get this done.”
You forget his name almost as soon as he tells you, but your land manager seems nice enough. Brusque, sure, but harmless as you sign the papers and pay for the first month’s rent. He waives the deposit— literally waves your words away like irritating wings are fluttering near his ear— and explains, “Place is mostly unfurnished, but you got a bed at least.” 
You can’t do anything but stand there stock still as he tells you your house number— seven— and drops the key into your open palm. “Don’t bother callin’ me f’somethin’ breaks. I’m useless at plumbin’ and ‘lectrical. You’ll need to call someone in the profession.” You curl your fingers over cold metal, and the grooves of the key bite your palm as he wags a finger at you. “Y’lose your key, it’ll cost you a fiver to replace.” He waits until you’ve nodded enough to satisfy him, and then he sends you on your way, closing himself away again. The light leaking from the crevices is extinguished by the time you reach your car door.
You guide your car carefully along the gravel path, driving past darkened trailers, past a red dome made of bars and a picnic table, past a trailer with a caved-in roof you stare at as you pass. A great crack churned up the porch floorboards, and between them now sprout tall, dry, brittle grass made feeble by winter’s bite. There's a streetlight nearby, but it's broken; the moonlight that plays on the dilapidated structure makes you shiver. Still, there isn’t much time to react before you’re at your place. Your trailer is a carbon copy of the well-kept rectangular box beside it, except the other has a chain-link fenced-in yard at the front. A clothesline denotes the edge of your side yard from your neighbors’. 
As you cut the engine, the world goes quiet. You sit in the stillness, and for a moment, there’s just you, your car, and your new home beyond a scraggly dirt yard.
You think of the other places you’d called home before your temporary motel rooms. You think first of your childhood home, and your mouth fills with peaches, with the hollowness of piano keys and the rich dirt from under the wraparound porch. You think of that tall white house, where your delighted shrieks echoed through warm wood hallways as you ran out the back door toward the stables beyond. Your clumsy fingers had carved your name over your bedroom door in elementary scrawl. Pa’d been so angry when you did that, but he relented and ruffled your hair in the end, shaking his head. He always was too fond of you.
Then you think of the home you could call your own— not your parents’, but yours. Yours and Paul’s. Stately, proud, with more of a brick landing than a porch leading up to the dark oak door. Inside are gauzy curtains and rich wallpaper; plump pillows line the couches just so, and the servers display decorative crystal. As you remember, your mouth fills with powdered sugar and water lilies, the gloss of fine china and the silk of ruffled bed skirts. But there’s metal on the back of your tongue, the copper acrid and biting as it overwhelms the rest. You shudder a breath, breaking from your recollections to finally emerge from the car and face your newest home.
In the moonlight, you can see that it also has a porch, but it’s sagging. You mount its stairs, and they’re rickety, creaking under your heels. Inside, when the screen door cracks back into place behind you, the interior of number seven Forest Hills Trailer Park feels like a void of stillness. The light switch flickers erratically before coming to life when you nudge it with your fingertip as if it hasn’t been called to do its job for quite some time. A long narrow hallway directly across from you leads into darkness, with a living room on your right and a kitchen on your left. All of what you can see is empty aside from a thick layer of dust coating the window frames, which are cracked with dried paint, the drips of sloppy workmanship forever preserved in lacquer. There’s mildew growing at the corner of the wall in the living room, and you hesitate to explore it further, opting to head left instead.
At the threshold of the front door, you’d landed on a filthy, matted-down rug. You clack forward with hesitant steps as if afraid to disturb anything, as if this is someone else’s place, not yours. When you edge into the kitchen, cautiously pulling open the refrigerator door, the cold air leaking from inside is reassuring. But when it suddenly kicks and rattles as if sick or angry, the sound makes you tense and jerk away quickly. It’s empty in this room, too— every drawer and cabinet is barren when you tug them open, aside from the dried corpses of flies mounded in a strange pile on the linoleum in front of the kitchen sink. At least the land manager said there’s a bed. Vague unease begins to well in your chest; you hurry down that dark, narrow hallway, flicking the switch as you pass, but nothing changes. The light does not come on. In the back room, the bed is nothing more than the vague lump of a mattress, lonely on the floor. 
The screen door snaps closed behind you as you rush back down the rickety porch stairs. When faced with the choice, you elect to wrap yourself in your scratchy Kentucky blanket, your winter coat, and some extra socks to sleep in the Lincoln despite the bleak midwinter.
Because number seven Forest Hills Trailer Park trips off your tongue; it doesn’t taste like home.
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The sun streams cheery light through the windshield, and you wake at just after six, mouth dry as cotton weeds. Your back and neck are sore, cricked from their position against the headrest all night, and the muscles spasm when you stir. You rub your bleary eyes clear, holding your palms against your lashes as if reluctant to remove them and see the state of your new home as it was last night. Eventually, you relent; in the light of day, you peek again at the worn trailer with its gray siding, faded and covered with moss at the concrete base, that rickety porch, and the dull brass knocker concealed behind the screen door… 
You take a moment to consider but can’t decide if it’s any better in the light of day.
With a handful of your stolen toiletries, you venture back inside, and the screen door makes you jump as it snaps closed while you’re standing closeby. Your heart hammers, blood rushing in your ears, and you chastise yourself lightly once it calms. I have to remember to lower the door closed, otherwise people’re gonna get mad with me making such a racket in the morning. 
A quick glance past that closed door you hadn’t explored yesterday reveals that the bathroom is in a bad state, so you avoid it aside from what’s necessary. You brush your teeth at the kitchen sink, setting the toiletries— tiny bottles and sachets of soap— in a carefully-laid line along the side, conscientiously avoiding the pile of flies near the toes of your kitten heels. With minty freshness on your breath, you feel finally awake, and it’s clear what your first order of business should be: getting this place spic and span. No use living in a pigsty, as mama would say.
You take a moment to survey the trailer more carefully, walking in circles around the living room, the kitchen, and the singular bedroom as you peek into nooks and crannies and compile a mental list of the supplies you’ll need. You move gingerly as if you still do not want to disturb this place, though it’s not quite as foreboding as it was last night. 
It’s just an empty box, after all.
You don’t bother unloading the rest of your meager belongings before driving into town for your cleaning supplies and other essentials: bedding and bath towels and cooking utensils and furniture to provide you with somewhere to sit and eat. It hits you then, as the ranches and yards subside into businesses and parking lots, how little you truly have. How much you’d relied on others before, how much you’d taken for granted.
Downtown Hawkins in the daytime is a bustle of quaint activity. The streets aren’t overly crowded because the town is not overly populated, but you can take your time perusing the shops you drive past. And you do— your eyes scan them almost desperately as you try to stamp down on the feeling rising inside that writhes in the pit of your stomach. A video store. An arcade. A laundromat. None of use to you right now, though the laundromat has you thinking of the dress you’re wearing, the way it pinches your arms and pulls tight around your stomach as you drive. You’d managed to ignore the feeling during your flight, but now—gasping and huffing on the comedown as you stop running, and with the enormity of your situation looming before you— the writhing is spreading from your stomach to your chest, pressing outward as if you’ll burst, and the wardrobe you’ve been wearing for months now is finally beginning to suffocate you.
Seeing the thrift store feels like a gust of fresh air has been breathed directly into your lungs, and you don’t even need to ponder it before parking and throwing the car door open to access the backseat. After all, there is no reason to endure any longer; no one is stopping you now. So you dump the contents of your two trash bags onto the Lincoln’s backseat and the remnants of your old life spill over onto the floor. Almost detachedly, you sort the contents into ‘keep’ and ‘sell’ piles; you keep your undergarments and pantyhose and shoes, and you stuff all the dresses— all their linen and gauze and luxurious cotton, all their structured hems and nipped waists and darted busts— into the trash bags to be sold.
If the employee behind the counter is surprised to see the quality of the items you’re selling, more suited to a department than a thrift store, he doesn’t show it. Calmly, you pull out each dress, laying the fabric out carefully before you slide it over the counter towards him. As the garments emerge from your trash bags, their associated occasions flash in your mind. The yellow gingham you’d often wear when visiting family. The pink peony was often seen in your kitchen, protected by an apron covered in flour. The blue linen, one of your old favorites, makes you think of Sunday mass. All get passed to the man on the other side of the counter, all but one that sticks in your memory, left laid against the bedspread back in Georgia. 
The man examines each dress and punches staccato numbers into a calculator with the eraser of his number two pencil until they’re all gone from you, and in their place is a wad of bills you can use to shop for a new wardrobe.
If the employee behind the counter finds it strange that you’ve sold your department store dresses to buy thrift store ones, he doesn’t show it.
Gathering your replacements doesn’t take long because you know exactly what you want. Your new wardrobe should be modest and comfortable, comprised of a practical assortment of casual dresses and cardigans, a couple of nicer frocks for your Sunday best, and some loungewear for the house, including a bathrobe that makes your cheeks burn when it slides across the counter toward that same employee from before. After making your purchases, you carry the plastic bag into the dressing room, slipping behind the velvet curtain and pulling one casual dress out at random.
You rip down the tiny zipper on the starchy dress you've been wearing since yesterday, and the release of pressure is bliss. Though the cotton of your new dress is a little scratchier than what you’d been wearing before, you don’t hesitate in kicking the old fabric aside before gazing at yourself in the mottled thrift store mirror. 
The new dress buttons up past your decolletage. It’s almost long enough to skim your ankles, and it is at least one size too big, maybe two. It looks more fitting for a forty-year-old than your twenty-one years; some might even call it frumpy. But it’s what you want.
Because when you think about the clothes you’d been wearing— think about how, over the last year, your breasts and hips and thighs and stomach had gradually broadened, softened, begun to press uncomfortably against the fabric even after your mother had let out the seams as far as they could go— frumpy doesn’t compare with what you’d experienced.
You remember the sympathy in Paul’s tawny brow as he stared down at you. ‘No, Buttercup, I’m sorry. Think of it as an incentive,’ he’d said kindly when you’d asked for an allowance to purchase bigger clothes. ‘I’m just trying to help you.’ You remember how the ladies in town could see the way the beautifully tailored dresses, once so flattering, now bulged and bunched around the heft of your changing body, especially around your midsection. And you knew, though they were always too polite to say it, that when you gathered with them after church or ran into them at the grocery store, they couldn’t help but glance at your tummy and wonder if you were pregnant. But you weren’t pregnant. You were just…
Fat.
The reflection in the mirror suddenly doesn’t feel like you. That’s not your soft jaw; those aren’t your round cheeks. Your dress wouldn’t balloon so far outward over your breasts and stomach, and your thighs wouldn’t rub together because that isn’t you. But those are your eyes, and your hair, and your lips and fingers. And when you twist to look at your backside, so does she; when you smooth your palms over your ample hips, she does too. So she must be you.
You just wish she wasn’t.
You pull your attention from your body and focus instead on your dress, trying to detach from that knowledge again. The important part is that this dress doesn’t restrict or cling or reveal any unsavory lumps and bumps, and that’s what you want. You pull on some woolen stockings and a loose cardigan since it is still January, and after sliding on your low heels once again, you leave the thrift store behind.
You can run from that dressing room— can slip back into your car, load the new plastic bag into the backseat and coax the engine to life— but you cannot run from your feelings. And seeing yourself in the mirror has left you hollow and wanting, exposing the void inside that begs to be filled in that familiar way, the way you’ve grown used to over the last year. Your kitchen at home may be bare, but from beyond your windshield, you can see what will help you fill it. There’s a bright spot down the road and across the way in the lot beside the general store.
Miss Daisy’s Diner.
As you leave your purchases behind in the car, your eyes glaze over the help wanted sign written in beautiful script in the diner window; you’re more focused on filling that hollow place inside you. And inside Miss Daisy’s Diner is more than enough to satisfy the ache.
There isn’t just the promise of good food waiting for you at Miss Daisy’s. There’s the scent of grease and salt on the air, sure, but there’s something else there too. Something that beckons you forward, light and almost ticklish, like the heat of panting breath, the softness of a furry ear dragging under your chin to the tip until it flicks off. Before you know it, you’ve taken two steps forward, and a waitress in a swish of skirts and a flick of her manicured nails has plucked a single menu from the stand.
“One?” she asks, chipper as you nod. “Booth or table?”
“Table,” you answer, and she leads you to one. 
She leaves you with the menu, but you don’t yet look at it, consumed by the crowded atmosphere around you. The restaurant seems almost suspended in time with its black and white tiled floor, the retro-patterned tabletops, the chrome, the beveled glass windows, the teal and white booths and chairs that squeak with vinyl when you adjust in your seat. The walls are loaded with pictures and posters, memorabilia of the 50s and 60s: Coca-Cola bottles, old cars, Elvis and Marilyn, novelty signs advertising products for cents on the dollar. The effect is charming, made even more so when you realize that each table, including yours, is decorated with a white daisy in a glass of water. Somehow, the interior of this restaurant feels jubilant and comforting, like the bright joy of Easter, even though it’s January. Maybe that has something to do with how full it is— though it’s around ten o’clock on a Thursday, the place is no less than three-quarters full.
“Hey there, dear. You decide what you want yet?”
The croak interrupts your reminiscing, and you startle upon seeing a different woman than the one who’d brought you here— older, with gray hair coiffed into a beehive and pink lipstick crackled on her lips. “Oh!” You are immediately repentant. “No, ma’am, I’m sorry. I haven’t looked yet.”
The woman snorts, but it’s all in good humor. “Ma’am,” she echoes you, though where yours was respectful, hers is slightly sardonic. “No need to go reminding me I’m old, dear.” You crackle with nerves, but she grins at you with slightly yellowed teeth. “I’ll come back when you’re ready. Just flag me down, all right?”
You manage a nod, nerves easing as she taps the table with her wrinkled hand and leaves you to it.
The menu is not overly vast, but it takes some time to decide what will fill that void you feel, what you’re really yearning for. In the end, you settle on a Reuben sandwich with french fries and a chocolate milkshake. Though all the waitresses are dressed the same here to fit the theme, you’re grateful for your waitress’s distinctive beehive as you catch her attention, peeking at the nametag she has pinned to the right of her collar when she arrives. ‘Sherry,’ it reads, and oddly, there’s a little doodle of a shamrock beside it which looks to be drawn on in permanent marker.
“Comin’ right up, sweetie,” she promises you.
“Thank you, m—” you swallow the ‘ma’am,’ and Sherry’s smile widens as she wags a finger at you.
“Watch it, you; I heard that,” she says, her voice a croaking tease. “Don’t you start.”
You giggle, and when she leaves you again, it isn’t just the promise of food that makes you feel better.
The sandwich comes quicker than you expected, considering how busy it is, and it's delicious: creamy Russian dressing, salty corned beef and mild Swiss sliced thin, piled together with tart sauerkraut. The outside of the bread is grilled crisp and not too greasy, and the fries are hot and crunchy, a perfect balance with the thick, sweet coldness of your milkshake. It’s perfect; you couldn’t have asked for more.
As you eat, you watch the waitresses flit about in their matching yellow dresses with white collars, aprons, and cuffs, gathering behind the bar counter when not visiting their tables or pushing through the swinging doors to the kitchen. You watch them laugh and chat with one another, and it pricks at something familiar inside you. It’s been years now, but you still remember what it feels like to flit from table to table, to smile and serve, to share in that camaraderie behind the bar, though the place where you’d done it was nothing like this. 
Once you’ve thoroughly cleaned your plate, Sherry stops by again just as the jukebox kicks on to play Baby I’m Yours by Barbara Louis.
“How was it?” she asks, and you tell her it was very good. “Any room for more?” She follows up, eyeing your empty plate, and there’s a sudden hot flash of shame, a moment where you think she might turn wolfish. But her tone and expression remain nothing but sincere, so it wanes. Still, you hedge on an answer, deliberating whether to accept the offer.
She notices your hesitation and perks her brows, coaxing, “We’ve got a mean pecan pie.” A little encouraging smile plays on her crackled lips. “Sounds like that might be right up your alley, judging by your accent.”
It is true— you love pecan pie. And that void was lessened by your meal but not quite filled. So you accept, and Sherry brings you the slice.
And you think maybe this is what does it— this slice of pecan pie. The crust all golden brown, the pecans placed so carefully on top, the filling gooey but not falling into a gelatinous heap upon the plate. Your sandwich had been so good, and your milkshake, too, and this, now— this just looks so good.
You take a bite of the mean pecan pie, and it is not good.
You chew slowly, nose scrunched, brow furrowed just slightly. It’s not… horrible. But it’s not good. Certainly not as good as the pecan pie at home.
Miss Daisy’s Diner is so inviting inside, suspended in time, straight out of the glossy world of dreams. The chrome is shiny, the teal booths pleasant, and each table is adorned with a single daisy. The doo-wop of the jukebox mixes with the hum of conversation; the waitresses in their yellow dresses laugh with patrons as they fill up their coffee mugs and emerge from those swinging doors with plates loaded with delicious food. But the pie isn’t delicious, and you would hazard a guess, as you crane your neck to peek at the display of cakes and muffins beneath the far end of the bar, that the rest of their baked goods are the same way: good-looking under the lights, but nothing compared to what you’re used to.
Nothing compared to what you can do.
'Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.'
When Sherry stops by the table to ask if she can get you anything else, your reply comes swift and easy. “I saw the sign in your window. Are y’all still hiring?”
It’s a quick affair, becoming a waitress at Miss Daisy’s Diner. 
When you ask that question, Sherry’s brows flash, but she sits across from you right away, crossing her legs smartly as she asks you a series of quick questions. You used to work at the restaurant in a country club back home, and though it’s been a few years now, you know how to answer them all sufficiently. That kind of knowledge— the knowledge you gain from experience— never really leaves you. When you finish, she looks at you discerningly before shrugging. “Well, y’seem alright to me. Just wait here. I’ll get Willy.” She pauses half out of her chair as if a thought has just occurred to her. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Emma,” you tell her, and despite the croak of her lungs, your name flows like molasses off Sherry’s tongue when she repeats it back to you.
Willy is the owner of Miss Daisy’s Diner, and he looks nothing like the ‘Miss Daisy’ pictured on the menu. Where she appears crisp and plucky, Willy is doughy and lax. You learn that there is no real Miss Daisy, though Willy jokes, "All my chickadees here are Miss Daisy. That’s why they dress alike." He doesn’t even interview you after learning Sherry already talked to you; apparently, that’s good enough for him. Instead, he just rambles about scheduling, uniforms, and payroll, speaking in slow circles that loop back and around again until Sherry cuts him off.
“I’ll get her up to speed, Willy,” she says, and his face splits with a lazy smile. 
“Sher’ll get you trained up,” he concludes as if it was his idea.
He begins to turn from the table, and you pipe up before he can leave. “When can I start?” 
Willy shrugs lazily, looking towards his employee. “Tomorrow?” he offers, and Sherry concurs, and that is that.
When you leave Miss Daisy’s Diner, your Lincoln is parked down the street where you left it, the white plastic bag of your new clothes visible through the backseat window. When you get in, your pillow and blanket are beside you, reminding you of the lumpy mattress and the pile of dead flies that need to be tidied. Your original goal for the day still looms ahead.
But, God, you aren’t complaining. You swear it. Because Hawkins is a refuge, and you have a job, and the bleeding finally stopped this morning. And there’s security in the first chore you’ve decided to begin your new life with. You’re intimately acquainted with mopping, dusting, and scrubbing, having learned to clean well in the last three years. While you don’t particularly enjoy it, there’s comfort in making something dirty into something clean. By tomorrow, your trailer will no longer be a pigsty, and maybe you’ll sleep in your bed tonight. Tomorrow, you get to go back to Miss Daisy’s Diner, back to Sherry and the jukebox and the flowers on the tables, and maybe you’ll be laughing behind the bar this time.
‘For I know the thoughts that I think concerning you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you the end that you wait for.’
Thank you, Father.
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In the few days following your first day in Hawkins, you learn many things. You learn that the daisies on the tables of Miss Daisy’s Diner are made of fabric and wire, and the water is dried glue. You learn that Willy— given name Wilbur— might own the place, but the girls run it. You learn that the coffee maker sometimes doesn’t spit out water unless you smack it hard and that you won’t get a shiny nametag to match the others until Willy orders one from a special shop, which may take a while. You learn that the yellow dresses and aprons might look cute, but they aren’t all that comfortable, though Sherry kindly accommodated your request for the largest size she could get. It's not quite as big as the dresses you'd picked for yourself, but she did her best.
Still, these cracks in the facade of Miss Daisy’s don’t make it any less charming to you. The pace is hectic, and though each restaurant has its own way of doing things, you fall back into that ebb and flow quickly with the help of all the girls, who don’t hesitate to welcome you into the herd. That’s another thing that helps— the waitresses are all kind and helpful, though more curious about you than you’d prefer, sniffing at your hair and shoes when you aren't looking. It becomes apparent very quickly that they’re all the same: goats who bleat at one another across the floor and nibble at the strings of one another’s aprons in friendly affection, yours included. You aren’t quite one of them, but they don’t seem to notice.
You can’t hide your accent, of course, so they know you're not from around here. There’s always that awareness in a small town— even your tables ask you about it. You remain vague about your past, reserved but polite with your coworkers and charming with your customers, treating them with hospitality just like mama raised you. The beatitudes guide your manner: meek and humble, righteous and merciful, pure of heart and generous. A peacemaker, bringing harmony to those around you. 
It’s almost enough to make you think you might have white wool after all, though you can’t quite shake the raven feathers that shudder when you return home to your nest with its barren sticks and its piles of stolen trinkets you gathered on your flight to Hawkins. That’s why you spend as much time as you can at work, soothed by the dulcet tones of the jukebox as you flit from table to bar to kitchen and back again until all begins to feel familiar and comforting.
Safe.
By the end of your first week, you’ve also grown accustomed to the back of the house. Even the sight of Harry, the line cook, begins to comfort you. He is large, broad-shouldered and thick, but his movements are measured and gentle, set with a pace that speaks assurance that things will get done when they get done. In fact, his movements are so predictable that every time you shuffle through the swinging doors into the kitchen at the start of your shift, you anticipate the repetitive sound of his thick bull hands scraping the spatula slow and even as he works the cooktop. 
So the sight that greets you now as you catch the door from Sherry is quite jarring. 
Before the cooktop stands a man who is both shorter and thinner than Harry but somehow far more imposing. He’s angular and jagged, frenetic in his movements: booted foot tapping tile, elbow jutting sharp as he jerks the spatula, a wild mess of curls shaking as his head bobs exaggeratedly. And the sound of the kitchen isn’t at all soothing in his presence. There’s some kind of tinny howling coming from him, some unholy noise that nearly makes you halt at the threshold of the swinging doors before you realize it’s coming from underneath his hair and not from him, exactly. You quickly spot the thin cord running down to the tape player clipped to his tight dark pants, though the handkerchief swaying at his hip— old and spilling loose threads, black and white and emblemed with eerie skulls— has your nerves kicking up again just as quickly.
Sherry’s voice is hoarse from smoke and age but, to your surprise, not filled with even a hint of the same nerves as she greets the man. “Afternoon, Ed,” she says, sounding almost fond as she shouts to be heard above the music. 
Almost instantly, the headphones are jerked down to hang around his neck, and when the man spins abruptly from the cooktop to face you both, your chest clenches again. His voice is brash and warm, mouth split wide to flash his eyeteeth as his gaze finds your coworker quickly. “Afternoon, Sher,” he says, mimicking her fond inflection, a teasing grin dimpling the corner of his plush pink lips. “How’s my best girl?”
Your eyes quickly dart from him to Sherry and then back, face frozen so as not to reveal your reaction: a mixture of wariness and confusion since he looks almost thirty years younger than her. Sherry just rolls her eyes and purses her lips, which are crackled with deep pink lipstick. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all your best girl, aren’t we, Eddie?” It’s said with long-suffering sarcasm like this exchange is akin to slipping on an old pair of shoes— worn in and comfortably molded to one’s foot. 
The man, Eddie, doesn’t reply, though his smile does widen. Sherry nods your way but addresses him. “This is the new girl. Be nice,” she warns, wagging a gnarled finger.
“Whaddya mean, Sher? I’m always nice.” Eddie huffs through his nose, showily stretching his arms above his head and holding his clothed elbows as his eyes slide to you. Yours dip to the dark stains beneath his pits, the evidence of his toil and sweat that begs the question of why he’d be wearing long sleeves if he’s that hot. “Hello, new girl,” he says lightly, and his voice hums like there’s a secret joke he’s holding back from laughing at.
The cock of his hip, the sharpness of his limbs, the narrowness of his waist where the apron is tied hastily, the stretch of his ribcage against the dirty long-sleeved shirt, the tilt of his lips— it hits you suddenly what he is, just as suddenly as you’d realized that Sherry and the girls are bleating goats and Harry is a gentle bull.
This man is a coyote.
Suddenly, that feeling of safety is threatened. What else could explain that rush of tingling awareness pricking up your neck when he acknowledges your presence, if not the fear that a predator is near?
Instinct drives a prey animal when confronted in such a way. You’ve seen it yourself back at home: hens clucking and skittering in the dirt when they sense a fox, horses swaying uneasily in their stalls when a wolf prowls the woods beyond the paddock. And like a prey animal, your body can either freeze or flee. It chooses the latter. 
You squeak out some semblance of a greeting— even fear can’t entirely overwhelm the graces you’ve been taught— and hurry around Sherry to duck into Willy’s office. You want to close the door, to wedge a physical barrier between yourself and those dark eyes and flashing white teeth, but you resist the urge knowing Sherry will be coming in right behind you, and the gesture is not only futile but potentially rude. 
You’re tying your apron when she enters, and she catches your eyes immediately when you look up. Sherry purses her lips at the sight of your flushed cheeks and wide eyes; she chuckles, but there’s an edge of sympathy. “Oh, come on now, dear," she consoles you. “Eddie might look some type of way, but he doesn’t bite.” Her wrinkled eyes soften as she regards you, the tease in her voice gentling as she adds, “He’s a good boy.”
You force a smile, but her assurances can’t dispel the goosebumps prickling along your flesh. They don’t calm your trembling fingers as they slip your notepad into your white apron, smoothing along scratchy cotton afterward as if attempting to press out the bulge it makes against the front of your body. Your body whispers danger and your mind does, too. And if the spirit guides the flesh, then you know you feel this way for a reason. 
Sherry’s platitudes are no match for instinct and belief.
After your initial spook, your shift progresses much the same as any other. You greet your tables, fetch them drinks, faithfully record their orders, deliver their plates, ask them if they need ketchup or hot sauce, chit-chat just a tad, drop the check, and bid them ‘have a good day now,’ parting with a smile. Your voice doesn’t even waver when you push open those double doors; your call of ‘corner’ is sweet and stable, less tremulous than how you began earlier this week. The only time fear squeezes your chest is when you must clip up your tickets. Because that means you’ll have to approach the coyote, draw near to his jagged elbows, those dark, angular legs, and the abundance of curls that cling damply to the edges of his pale jaw and conceal his expression from your view. At least facing Eddie’s back or side is considerably easier than his front; luckily, he’s so thoroughly occupied by the cooktop that he doesn’t acknowledge you before you scamper off. Your fear becomes a predictable wave: with each step toward him, your chest tightens, and with each step away, you feel the clench begin to ease. 
You’ve just swung returned to the floor, loose and nearly chipper, when Samantha hurries over, holding a loaded plate, her ponytail and yellow skirts swishing as she skids to a stop before you. “Emma! There you are.” She beams brightly, and the words huff out of her as if just the sight of you is a relief. It makes you feel warm inside, and that warmth blooms in the smile you answer her with before asking, 
“Is that mine?” 
You look down at the plate as she nods, noting that the steak has just barely been cut on the corner, not even all the way through. “It’s from table four. She wants it cooked a little more. More like medium-well,” she explains, and you take the plate without a thought.
“Sure thing,” you say, and it isn’t until you’ve pushed back through those swinging doors into the kitchen that you realize what this task will require.
Your throat dries as you approach Eddie, eyes darting over the white of his shirt, how the fabric has gone somewhat translucent where it sticks to the planes of his back. His shoulders roll as he stretches to the side to reach a hoagie roll without moving his feet, which still tap along with the rhythm coming from the headphones slung around his neck. The sound of howling has since subsided to resonant thumping and the faint melody of some screeching instrument, which grows clearer as you edge closer with your plate. 
Closer and closer still you draw until you can detect the faint scent of sour sweat, pungent smoke, and something earthy as the coyote turns his head back to the cooktop, still oblivious to your presence. You halt then, feet sticking as your clenched chest whispers that you’ve come close enough. Eddie continues to load chopped beef, peppers, and onions into the hoagie roll, and you hover some steps away until his chin happens to edge left, and he catches you in his peripheral.
His long eyelashes flick up as his gaze flashes to you, eyebrows jerking in mild acknowledgment, mouth soft and slack. The eye contact makes you hasty; you push out your voice and plate together, squeaking, “Can you cook this more? …Please?” You tack the pleasantry on, nudging your elbows forward as if urging him to take the plate as quickly as possible.
You want him to take the plate, but still, you must resist a flinch when his hand outstretches to receive it from you. His palm is broad, with callouses dotting along the meatiest sections, and his fingers are long and ruddy at the tips. Your breath hitches at the sight of his hand’s approach, but all Eddie does is grasp the plate. As soon as his fingers close around its edge, you snatch yours back toward the safety of your body. “Thank you,” you say, and you hazard a glance at his face.
A dimple forms on Eddie’s cheek as he grins, and his voice is warm and brash when he meets your eye and replies, “For you, sweetness? Anytime.”
And then he winks, a quick flash of those long lashes to conceal a sparkling brown iris. 
Such a small thing, really, to say and to do. Thrown just as casually as a smile for a stranger who holds the door for you, just a brief moment of banter between coworkers as they cross paths in the diner kitchen. 
But the swell of emotion Eddie’s words and wink conjures within you is not a small thing. You jerk away from him, a fierce spasm of your muscles to match the fist of fear that seizes you tightly and shakes you until you’re left trembling. The feeling is visible all over your body— in the tightening of your arms against your middle, the shrinking of your shoulders, the blanching of your face, the quiver of your lower lip, the widening of your wet eyes.
The sudden violence of your reaction clearly shocks him. Instantly, Eddie’s spine straightens, and his face falls. Those dark eyes go wide to match yours, confusion sinking into ruefulness as your back begins to bow— feet planted but spine arching, upper body inching back as if your only desire is to get away from him. All the warm brashness in his voice has deflated as he stutters, “Look, I– I was just— I’m—”
Had he gotten it out, would it have been an apology? An explanation? Would it have put you at ease, unclenched that feeling inside? Who’s to say. Because desperate to repair, to stop your backward flight, Eddie reaches out a hand toward you again. Soft, palm upturned, fingers slack. An entreaty to stay and let him fix things. Suddenly and acutely, your wrist aches at the approach of his palm; with that shock of pain, your freeze finally turns to flight.
In a burst of white and yellow, you skitter and spin toward the swinging doors, leaving your predator behind.
It’s a temporary balm, of course. You cannot avoid the coyote in the kitchen forever. After all, you have a steak to retrieve. This is your responsibility, and though the temptation to ask Samantha to fetch it for you is there, you know it would be wrong to give in to that impulse.
Out of the kitchen, in the front of the house, Miss Daisy’s Diner carries on as if nothing has happened. All is calm; all is bright. You hear the familiar clinking of utensils against ceramic, the swish of yellow skirts and the squeak of sneakers, the bleating of the girls mixed with the crackly doo-wop of the jukebox. Someone has put on Try Me by James Brown, and you whisper the words along with him as you shake off the tension like feathers ruffling to wick off water. ‘Try me,’ ‘hold me,’ ‘need you,’ you sing, the words repeating over and over like the lazy spin of a record on the turnstile. The slow beat eases you back into the rhythm of the floor as you steal precious minutes before you must return to the kitchen.
When you can delay it no longer, you edge back through those doors, breathing slowly to keep yourself from turning away as you anticipate the sight of his body, angular and jagged, coiled tight. But the slope of the coyote’s shoulders is low, and the frenetic swaying of his hips is still now. The howling has quieted, and the jerking of his spatula is slow, slow like Harry’s, which you’re used to. It helps to ease your cautious steps as you reach him, stopping a short distance away. You can see that the plate of your steak is prepared for you to retrieve it, resting on the counter just on the other side of him.
It doesn’t take as long for Eddie to notice you this time, and your chest threatens to clench when his chin turns your way. You try to push out a reminder of what you need. “C-can you—”
Eddie doesn’t make you ask. “Yeah,” he interrupts, “No problem.” 
The three words do not sound angry or sad; they do not sound like much of anything, really. His mouth does not open wide to say them. Instead, his white teeth hide behind his pink lips as he passes you the plate with no other words exchanged between you. And as soon as you receive it, Eddie turns his face away.
Each successive visit to the kitchen that afternoon proves the truth of the matter. Since that first encounter, the coyote’s tail has since been tucked between his legs. The points of his teeth have been filed, and with them, over the course of those hours, your fear of his bite finally begins to ease.
So why, then, does your wrist still ache? 
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chapter two: I'll be seeing you is coming soon.
taglist: @emma77645 @ashlynnkennedy @luna-munson83 @micheledawn1975 @gaysludge @hazydespair @ebaylee422 @thebrookemunson @a-time-for-wolvess @lightmelikeamatch @live-love-be-unique @daleyeahson @bexreadstoomuch @devilinthepalemoonlite @screaming-blue-bagel @mcueveryday @ethereal27cereal @vintagehellfire @razzeith @josephquinncore
@h-ness1944 - not taggable
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When you bite their cheek Ft. BSD
Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs
Pairings: Dazai, Chuuya, Atsushi X Fem!Reader
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Suggestive
Format: Headcanons
Warnings: Very suggestive content on Atsushis part but not actual smut :)
Word Count: 0.8K
A/n: Who else loves biting? hehe~
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↬Dazai
Would be the most satisfying to bite out of them since hes a huge tease, using every opportunity to get you flustered. He seriously deserves a lesson.
And beside all of that, be honest with me, who wouldn't wanna bite this handsome jerk? T^T
So oneday, hes sitting on the couch, carefully reading his suicide book as he whispers his suicide song; when you come to him, casually getting on his lap and look at him like a tiger whos watching his prey before starting a feast Lmao.
He notices this and wonders what's on your mind "Hey Bella! What's u-"
And that's when he feels your teeth on his cheek, biting him out of the blue, and definitely not in a gentle way.
Yep you deserve it Dazai! And you have no right to be this tasty you bastard! -_-
Anyway, hes super duper shocked and confused; like, what the hell? This has literally never happened to him! How should he even react!?
When you finally let go of his cheek, he looks at you with his eyes widened and places his hand on the spot you've bitten.
"…What was that for?"
"Just wanted to have a taste…hehe"
Dazai: 0-0
Y/n: :D
Still oblivious but says "Ok…"
That's literally the first time that he looks this innocent to you.
↬Chuuya
He looks so tasty I swear to god.
I'm really curious about his reaction when he finds out that so many people want to lick and bite all over him.
Yup, not just his cheek but lets start with that :)
Anyway…
This guy is the most adorable when he blushes, so you just cant help but want to have a bite.
You haven't seen him all day, so when you see him walking and chatting with Kouyou, you ran toward him.
He notices you but before he can say anything, you suddenly cup his cheek and bite him off.
Poor guy lol
Chuuya. exe has stopped working.
Literally freezes, and not just because of how unexpected your action was; but because C'mon! You did it in front of Kouyou!
When you slowly break contact to look at your masterpiece, and see his surprised reaction, you just cant help but to smile evilly.
"Delicious, hehe"
The guy turns into a tomato as he watches you running away while winking at him; and that's when he hears Kouyou giggling.
"Your girlfriend is a rather naughty one, I see"
Tries to cover up his blush as he thinks about how youre going to be the death of him <3
↬Atsushi
Do I even need to give a reason?
This guy is gold! Hes kind, lovable, respectful, loyal,…
Its really natural want to have a taste of his pretty squishy cheeks <:
But don't you dare leave a mark :') I can never do that to this innocent boy.
Youre both sitting next to each other, scrolling through your phones as your head is on his shoulder; when you come across a tik tok video where boyfriend holds his girls face and bites his cheek and the girl screams and laughs.
Well, youre a grown person and have a lot of needs, so, like, why not? :(
"Um…babe?"
"Yes honey?"
you give him the puppy eyes while slowly getting a hold of his hand, gently rubbing your thumb on his skin.
"Can you… let me… um… like… bite you?"
Ok. He was not ready for that.
You know there are a couple of things you shouldn't say to guys when you don't actually mean it, and "I wanna bite you" is definitely one of them.
Now Atsushi is pure, but when you told him that, he cannot help but to think that you wanna give him a blowjob 🚶🏻‍♀️
Lmao I'm sorry kids but hes a grown man too and he can have dirty thoughts.
So you become very happy when you see his face heat up as he smiles at you "O-oh! Really? O-ok! I mean! If you- Um- Want to!"
He closes his eyes, ready to feel your mouth on his junk, but instead, hes met with your brutal teeth on his cheek.
Lmao why god why.
When he looks at you with pure confusion and a big question mark above his head, you look back at him in the exact same way.
"What? Did it hurt too much?"
And that's when he realizes what going on. "Oooooooooh! you meant real biting…"
And that's when you realize what he was thinking about and your face heats up too.
Yup. He shouldn't have said that out loud.
Both of you are sitting in an awkward silence when you mumble something quietly.
"…What?"
"I said… I can do that too… if… you want me too…"
The rest is not suitable for children so I'm gonna stop right here :D
Reblogs and comments are wildly appreciated! :>
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her-power · 2 months
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Last Chance to Dance (Part Six: Rockstar! e.m x fem reader)
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🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide
Eddie Munson Masterlist
Last Chance to Dance Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five
Summary: Full Summary on Part One
Word Count: 8k
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Fifteen years ago… “Fuck.” You mutter after poking yourself in the eye with your black eyeliner. You press your finger under your eyelid and smudge it, so it looks like you were doing it on purpose. You were renting a room close to your college; your roommates were two older women in their mid-seventies, both widowers and they made you feel like you were a part of their family for years. Your mother had got a new boyfriend, who had tried to make advances on you, and it got to the point where you punched him in the face. Your mother took his side naturally, and you had to do everything you could to make sure Eddie didn’t go back there to finish the job. 
You were getting ready to head to the Hideout; Corroded Coffin had a small gig. Robin and Steve would be there, you haven’t seen them since you all graduated. Thunder was rumbling in the distance; there was supposed to be a rainstorm later tonight. You check your phone, no text messages from Eddie. He had been acting weird the last few days; weirder than normal, and you noticed it after the gift you had given him. He had lost his favorite guitar pick a few months ago, it was a dark red, with red flakes in the design that made it look like marble. You had found one that looked exactly like it when you had gone into the city, and you knew you had to give it to him. You had attached it to a necklace, and when you had given it to him, he immediately put it on, but there was something in his eyes that didn’t sit right with you. He stopped telling you he loved you, and that also didn’t sit right with you. Not that he needed to tell you it every day, but every time you would say it to him, he would just smile, and kiss you. 
You tried not to think too much of it, you were excited for tonight. You threw on your black ankle combat boots, a dark gray dress, and an oversized denim jacket over it. You let Millie and Sandra know where you were going, they were on their way out to Bingo, and Millie had made a comment that she was trying to look her best for George, who had asked her on a date. They had given you a spare key, and you place it in your pocket as you laugh overhearing Sandra tell Millie that she better make sure she cleared the cobwebs from her “undercarriage”. The Hideout wasn’t far from where you lived, you still needed to drive. The thunder and lighting was still booming in the distance, something about this night made you feel like something was off. 
The Hideout was full, bodies on top of bodies. You, Robin and Steve had found a little corner near the stage where the three of you could sit and chat comfortably. Robin could sense something was off with you, and with Eddie. Eddie barley kissed you when you walked into the Hideout, it was just a graze on your lips. You had knocked back a few shots to settle your nerves, the overwhelming feeling was too much for you to bear. The show was amazing as usual, the stage presence from the three of them was always such a treat to watch. You knew that one day, they would go somewhere, and their faces would be plastered on every magazine, their songs on every radio station. You just knew it.  
Steve invited everyone back to his house after the show; the rain had started, and you felt relief knowing that you could just walk to Steve’s from where you lived. Eddie had met you there, you could already smell the booze on his breath as he kissed you. Kissed you. So much passion was behind that kiss you forgot how to breathe, and you were so confused. It was almost like he was a different person, someone who wanted to be in your presence, and so many questions swirled in your brain, but you couldn’t find the right words. So, you kissed him back with that equal passion, stumbling up the stairs to Steve’s spare bedroom, locking the door behind you. He had pushed the front of your body into the door, his mouth was on your neck, his hands gripped your thighs over your dress from behind. You didn’t know what had gotten into him, but you didn’t stop him. His hand tightens a hold on your hair, pulling your neck back into his shoulder, his mouth meeting yours as his other hand reaches down to finger you over your underwear. You moan at the sensation, the slight pain from his hair pulling, the roughness of his hands, the feeling of his tongue on your neck. You feel him lift your dress up, and you adjust your palms on the wall in front of you as he goes down to his knees and you feel his hot breath on your pussy. He buries his face into your folds and your head falls back in pleasure, his tongue lapping you up, tasting and devouring every inch of you. You grip the wall, moaning loud as his tongue fucks your dripping hole. His moans vibrate your entire body, and you feel him slide his way up your back, hear his zipper on his jeans, and the feel of his velvety cock as he pushes into you with ease. You both moan loudly, he holds on to your hips as he fucks you from behind, angling your ass up to get better friction. Broken moans were escaping your lips, and you were happy that Steve kept the music on loud downstairs. The tip of his cock was hitting you at the right angle; he pulls your face back to his by your hair again, his tongue licks your lips, begging for entrance and you massage his tongue with yours. He pulls out slowly, and then slams back into you. You cry out, the sensation and euphoria was causing your very core to tingle. He does it again, and again until you're practically begging for him to fuck you on the bed. He pulls out of you, turning your around, crashing his lips into yours, he grips the back of your head, groaning as he drags you over to the bed. He pushes you on your back, pushing up your dress, exposing your full naked breasts. You hear him growl under his breath, and he takes your nipple into his mouth, biting and sucking as you squirm underneath him. He pulls away from your breast, looking up at you with those big brown eyes. 
“You want me to fuck you?” 
You nod. 
“How bad do you want me to fuck you?” He says, sticking his tongue out, tracing circles around the skin of your nipple. You groan at how fucking hot he looked, and your pussy got even wetter. You open your legs wider for him, and an almost sinister smile graces his lips. He glances down, smiling big. “Mmmm, looks like you want me to really bad.” He crawls up your torso, catching your lips in a kiss. He moans against your lips, and he grits his teeth, he slams his cock into you, so fucking hard you think you go cross eyed. He pushes your leg up by your ears in a Vulcan like grip, his fingers bruising the skin, but you loved that feeling, you needed it. 
“Unnnnnnghhhh, want me to go harder baby?” He asks you, biting his bottom lip as he continues his fast pace with the roll of his hips. You feel like a magical being, something that was sent down from the cosmos, you didn’t want this feeling to go away. 
“Ohhhh my god…” You moan hoarsely, he was hitting you there, that sweet, sweet spot. “Faster, Eddie…ohhhh!!!”
“Yeah?” He growls, his pace quickens, the headboard slams against the wall as animalistic grunts and whimpers spill out of him. “Fuck…ungh you’re so fucking tight.” 
You felt the pleasure build in your lower belly; you meet his lips in a passionate kiss as he thrusts into you faster. You feel your orgasm approaching, you moan loudly into his mouth, and he pulls back from you, watching as you cry out, your orgasm rocking your entire body. He comes right after you, exploding inside you as his entire body trembles and he holds onto your hips for support. He pulls out of you, resting his head on your chest as you both catch your breath. He cups your cheek, leaning up to kiss you softly. 
The two of you had hung out a little longer at Steve’s, you and Robin had beat him and Steve at beer pong and when it was getting late, Eddie said he’d walk you home. The rain had stopped but the ground was wet. The two of you walk in silence, you had glanced up at him as his face was scrunched in concentration. You continued walking but realize he had stopped, you turn to him, pulling your jacket tighter. 
“Are you okay?” You ask him. 
He’s looking down at his feet and then meets your eyes. You didn’t like the look he had in his eyes. “I need to talk to you about something.” 
“Okay…” you say softly. Your skin prickles with nervousness, your stomach was in knots. 
He stares into your eyes, trying to fix his eyes on both of them, and you notice they are glassy and sad. “Me and the guys had made contact with someone in the east coast. He has managed a few pretty well-known bands; he wants to meet us. Get us a few gigs. We leave tomorrow.” 
A smile forms on your lips. “Eddie, that’s amazing!” You had wrapped your arms around him in a hug but feel him stiffen, you pull back as if he electrocuted you. “Eddie, what’s going on?” 
You stare up in his eyes, you see them fill with tears. “I can’t do this anymore.” 
You move back a step, your stomach clenches. “Can’t do what?” 
“Us…this. I can’t do it anymore.” 
You stare at him, trying to process what he just said to you. Can’t do this anymore? What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Your eyes narrow and a laugh escapes you. 
“Okay, I get it. You’re leaving tomorrow, probably for good…so you’re breaking up with me because I’m sure you’re gonna be looking for brand new pussy.” It’s out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, you were seething. 
His eyes widen. “No…that is not why, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Then why?” 
He doesn’t answer you, and you feel hot tears sting your eyes. You stare up at him, and you shake your head. “What the fuck was that then up at Steve’s? A goodbye fuck?!” He still doesn’t answer you and you swear it feels like bug are crawling under your skin, you whimper, looking away from him. He goes to reach for you, but you step back from him. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re disgusting.” Your eyes are wild, and he moves towards you again, you shove him away. 
“I’m sorry.” He says, tears streaming down his face and the rain starts up again. 
“No, you’re not.” You shake your head; the rain pelts your hair, and you stare up at him. Your anger seething. “You just threw away a lifetime of fucking friendship. A LIFETIME. I should’ve known this would happen. You never loved me.” 
He whispers your name and shakes his head at you. “No…no…that’s not…”
“Fuck you.” You scream at him. “FUCK YOU!”
You stand there in the rain, and he just stares at you. “I’m sorry…”
“STOP SAYING YOU’RE SORRY!” You cry, tears streaming down your face. “Stop. Just stop. Get away from me, I can’t believe I’ve let you touch me…do all those things with you…you’re fucking FILTHY. I hate you. I fucking hate you!” You shove him hard by the chest and shove him again. He grabs you by your wrists hard pulling you to him, he looks angry now, and tears continue to spill from his eyes as you squirm against him. 
“Believe what you want to believe but these last few years fucking meant something to me, and you can hate me all you want but don’t stand there and say that I didn’t love you.” 
“You didn’t.” You sneer, pulling out of his grasp and you walk backwards away from him. “Enjoy your life, Eddie Munson. I hope you never feel the pain I’m feeling right now, and if you do, I hope it fucking destroys you.” 
You turn from him, walking the opposite direction of your place and the rain comes down harder. You speed walk towards Lover’s Lake, laughing at the irony. You go towards the water, the rain pelted harder against you, and a loud boom of thunder cracks as you scream at the top of your lungs. 
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(Eddie’s POV) I jump awake when I hear the sound of a car horn. I had pulled off onto a rest stop in Vermont at three o’clock this morning. I rub my eyes, tossing the fleece blankets off of me from the backseat of my truck. It was almost seven in the morning; and I wish I had more blankets. The temperature gauge read that it was 14 degrees outside when I started up the car, I blow warm air into my hands and zip up my leather jacket, throwing my jean jacket on over it. I had double checked your return address on the letter about sixty times, making sure I had the right one. The gps said I would be getting to you in about four hours. 
I needed coffee. 
I had found a Dunkin Donuts a few miles off the highway and had ordered myself some food. The young girl at the drive thru immediately recognized me and had asked for a selfie. I was happy to, she was very sweet, and didn’t want me to pay for my coffee. So, I gave her a one-hundred-dollar tip that she had tried to give back to me, but I had smiled and drove off so she couldn’t chase my truck. 
A sudden thought crosses my mind. 
The girl from the meet and greet. Who had the cancer. I pulled over again into a parking lot, scroll down until I find Gareth’s number. He answers on the first ring. 
“Dude, where are you?” He sounds panicked. “I can back to your house and you’re not here, but your door is unlocked and there’s shit everywhere.” 
“I’m on my way to Maine, listen…”
“Maine? What is in Maine?” 
I close my eyes, leaning my head against the seat, waiting for him to make the connection. “Oh…oh!!! Dude why are you calling me?! Go to her! Drive!” 
“I’m trying to, but can you listen to me for one fucking second please?” I laugh into the phone. “Remember that girl we met who had the terminal cancer, do you have the email of her mother?” 
“Uhhhhhhh, hang on.” I hear a shuffling as the line goes quiet. “Wow, I actually do. Do you need it?” 
“Can you email her? I just need to know how she is…attach my number to the email.” 
“Eddie…that was almost a year ago and she was really sick when we met her,,,I don’t want to get your hopes up.” He was right and I knew that. 
“Just…please. I just need to know.” 
He sighs on the other end. “Okay. I will. Be safe driving please, there’s supposed to be a snowstorm hitting up here in a few hours. I’ll make sure your house doesn’t blow away.”  
“Appreciate that, man.” I chuckle. 
“Go get her, man.” He says teasingly. 
I laugh loudly. “Shut up, Freddie Prinze Jr.” 
I hang up the phone and start my journey towards you. I had no idea what I wanted to say, or what I could say. I knew you didn’t reach out to me because of pity, deep down I knew that. But I remembered how bad I hurt you. How you looked when I told you I couldn’t be with you, the anger in your voice, the sadness. And I thought you were just trying to hurt me, but why would you? You don’t have that in your character. You’re too good. 
You’re just a fucking moron, kid. Ted’s voice echoes in my head and I bite back a smile. 
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you, dead man.” I turn on the music and drive on the stretch of highway. I was trying to think about what I wanted to say to you. How every moment these last few weeks have been nothing short of wonderful. How I fell more and more in love with you; how I should’ve just married you all those years ago. How I should’ve just listened to my gut and let you in. 
How you saved me. 
In more ways than one. 
Even when I was at my worst, you were there. Somehow, in some way. 
That’s why I never take the necklace off. Not anymore at least. When I got high, I think maybe I didn’t want you apart of that, it was like I thought your own eyes were watching through the necklace. I feel the shame when I think back to how bad it was for me, to how I didn’t care about anything, how getting high was the only thing that mattered to me. I didn’t care who I hurt, who I fucked. 
I didn’t care what happened to me. But now, I actually did care about myself. I was too young to give up now, I was too stupid to give up on us. Not when it mattered, not when someone who cared about me so deeply, wanted to see me survive a disease so horrendous, and brought me back to you. I probably should’ve called you, but the way we left things, I knew you wouldn’t answer. I needed to prove that I was in it for the long run, that I was willing to commit and love you for the person you’ve always been. 
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(Reader POV)  You tug at the snarls in your hair. The fluorescent lights in the bathroom did nothing to help your tired features. You were on your third day in a row at the hospital, maybe slept five hours in between that time. You were able to shower, which was nice, but it still didn’t help the pure exhaustion you felt. 
The utter sadness you felt in your gut. 
You weren’t sure if you were sad or angry at Eddie. Maybe a little bit of both, but you couldn’t blame him for thinking the way he did, for assuming. But fuck him for assuming, he should know you better, if you didn’t want to reach out to him, you wouldn’t. You grip the porcelain sink in front of you, closing your eyes. Every time you closed your eyes, you felt the feel of his lips against your skin, the callouses on his fingertips, the way he said your name. All of those feelings that you kept buried for so many years came flooding back the second you locked eyes again. You hated how he made you feel, he still had that chokehold on you, and you knew you had some sort of grip in him. 
You open your eyes and groan at your reflection. You had to get back on the floor. You already had three new patients in the span of twenty minutes: an elderly woman who had broken her hip from a fall, a seven-year-old boy who had split open his chin from falling off his bike, and a middle-aged drug addict who had to be restrained once he awoken from the help of the narcan. He was a stubborn son of a bitch, and he was mean. Meaner than most patients you dealt with, but for some reason, you were the only one that could calm him down. You tie up your hair and places her stethoscope over your neck. You walk to the room where your addict patient was, he was scowling at you. 
“What’s going on, Ben?” 
“They won’t give me anything for the pain.” He says through his teeth. 
“I can order you Motrin.” You smile at him and check his IV bag. 
“Sweetheart, come on.” He groans. 
“Honey, you told me you were an addict. Withdrawing from opiates and you want to get clean. I’m not getting you anything stronger.” You say with a raised brow and a smirk. “I can get you chocolate.” 
He grumbles. “Fine.”
You grin and he tries to hide his smile. “Cake or ice cream?” 
He actually smiles at you. “Both?”
“You got it.” You say with a smile, typing away on the small computer screen. “I’ll get you that motrin too.” 
He groans and you laugh. “Ben, work with me here.”
“You’re lucky you’re beautiful.” 
“Aww, don’t make me blush.” You wink at him and exit the room. You hear a commotion in the hallway as one of the doctor’s calls your name, you stop what you’re doing and start running. The paramedics are wheeling in a young man, a mask over his face, and his shirt ripped open. He was strapped to the bedrails by the rubber restraints, fighting and screaming through the mask to be set free.
“What do we got?” 
“Twenty-eight-year-old male, found outside a local bar. Friends said he had drunk a copious amount of alcohol, and had found him vomiting blood on the sidewalk. Four narcans have been administered and he is becoming violent. His stats are abnormal.” 
“Get me the fuck out of here!” He screams. “I will blow this place up!” 
“Calm down, sir, we’re trying to help you.” You shout at him, holding his shoulders down.
“Fuck you! I don’t need any help.” He yells at you, his voice muffled through the mask. The coloring on his face was concerning you, he was almost ashen, with yellow tints and you realize with the vomiting of blood and the skin coloring, he was in full liver failure. 
“He’s going into liver failure; we need to get acetylcysteine in him now.” You say to the doctor, and they immediately wheel him into the ICU. You had put in an order for the medicine, had checked for his next of kin, because deep in your gut, you didn’t think this man was going to be making it out of this hospital alive. The only relative he had listed was a sister who lived in Portland; you were dreading making the call, but you had to. 
Once they had got the patient settled and stabilized, he had calmed down a lot. It was almost seven o’clock in the morning, and you could feel the delirium settle in your bones as you gently go through his belongings. He had everything in his pockets: cell phone, wallet, keys, a capped needle. 
A loose bag with a white substance. 
You suddenly realize you’re not wearing gloves, and the powder is on your hands. Fuck. You back up slightly, and bump into someone’s chest. You turn. 
It’s Eddie. 
You look up at him, your heart was racing. You blink a few times…
“You shouldn't…be here.” You tell him, but your voice sounds weird. 
He says your name, confusion on his face. 
You felt dizzy…something was wrong…
What did you touch? 
You smile when you look at Eddie. “I should’ve worn gloves.” 
Everything goes black. 
(Eddie’s POV)
I had made it into your town; you were right when you said you lived in a cabin in the woods. There was a small dirt road that led up the way to your house. I was lucky I was in my truck; the rocks were a pelting my tires and the wheels were spinning because the ground was icy. The snow looks so beautiful here, it made everything seem still, silent. I drive a little way and I saw your house approach my line of sight. I’m amazed at how gorgeous your house is. It was very quaint, with a small wraparound porch and a small garden. I didn’t see your car. 
“Dammit.” I mutter to myself; I get out of the car and jog up the steps to your front door. I knock, I don’t know why I’m expecting an answer because you’re clearly not home. The hospital, the one I passed on the way here. That has to be the one you’re working at. I rush back into my truck and turn around in your driveway. I don’t know why I was rushing, maybe I was afraid I was going to lose you forever. That there would be no turning back from it at all. 
I see the tall building come into view as I pull into the parking lot; I remember you saying you worked in emergency department and ICU. I realize that if y0u were actually inside the department and not the waiting area, there is no way they’d let me in. So, looks like I had to be creative and go back to who I was when I was teenager. 
I still knew how to break a lock. I park near the emergency entrance and see the doors that lead to the ambulance drop off. I had to be quick and careful about it, because if I was caught, I would most likely be going back to jail. It would look like I’m breaking in to steal drugs; but little did they know, the hospital had the shitty stuff. I jog towards the back, peeking my head behind the brick, seeing an ambulance but not seeing anyone outside. The doors were automatic, I realize. I had maybe about ten seconds before someone came out and saw me. 
This is the stupidest thing I think I’ve ever done. 
I pull my hood up and immediately take it off, like that wouldn’t cause suspicion. I scoff at myself and go into a sprint towards the automatic doors and let out a breath once I’m inside and I see no one. I had to keep going, because I knew my luck was gonna run out. 
Because well, it’s me.
I hear a commotion coming through a doorway, and I see people running. I follow the crowd, make myself blend in, and I’m in the emergency department. I push past a few medical personnel, it was so chaotic in here no one passed me a second glance. I’m looking up and down the hallway, trying to see if I can spot you. I had no idea where the fuck I was going but something was pulling me to just walk. 
I freeze when I see you rush out of a room, you’re holding a pair of men’s jeans in your hands and I watch as you go through his pockets. I walk towards you, and you stop what you’re doing, I see your shoulders heave and you begin walking backwards. Your back collides with my chest and you turn around, your eyes meet mine and your hands are upright. 
Your eyes look weird. 
“You shouldn’t…be here.” My heart was racing, something was wrong. I say your name, and you look down at your hands before looking back up at me. 
“I should’ve worn gloves.” 
I don’t know what’s happening but one second, you’re standing in front of me, the next your eyes are rolling in the back of your head and you’re collapsing into my chest. 
I shout your name, my knees buckling underneath your dead weight. Your eyes were half lidded and your lips were turning blue. I hear a ringing in my ears. This can’t be happening.  This can’t be fucking happening. A nurse came over and asked me questions I wasn’t sure I answered, and I felt bile rise in the back of throat when I see the nurse pick up a baggy with a white substance in it, along with other belongings I assumed belong to a patient. I feel tears sting my eyes and suddenly you’re lifted out of my arms. 
I stand, my eyes wide. The nurse looks at me, snaps her fingers in front of my face asking me who I was. I tell her I’m family, and they’re wheeling you on a gurney into an adjacent room. I kept hearing the word carfentinal…what the fuck was that? Did you do that? Did you touch it? I don’t even realize I’m walking, but I’m following closely to the room you’re in. Your shirt is ripped open, and I see them give you narcan, once, twice, three times. 
I flinch. 
Ted’s dead face, bloody mouth. 
No please. 
It feels like my body is dying. I can see the bloody foam pool from my mouth. 
I can’t move my legs. 
Your face is bluer. Or am I just imagining things? 
“Clear!” 
I watch in the doorway as your chest rises with the shockwaves. 
Ted’s dead. Dead. Am I dead? 
You’re dying, aren’t you? 
No. No. No. No. No. 
“Sir, you need to step back!”
I try to speak; I taste my own tears. What the fuck? 
Ted won’t wake up. Neither will you. I feel my legs start to buckle as they give another shock to your heart; your skin was almost ashen. A nurse grabs my forearm so I don’t hurt myself, I can’t see her, or hear her. I’m just staring at your form, unmoving, just like Ted’s. Just like mine when Gareth found me in my hotel room. Except I survived. Ted didn’t.
Where did they put those drugs? I need them. I’m dying with you; I can’t live without you. 
No. NO ONE is dying today. 
You’re still flatlining. 
No. Please don’t go. 
I think I’m yelling now.
No.
I’m wailing. 
“PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T GO!” 
There are warm hands on my shoulders, comforting me. I’m still wailing, and sobbing, and my throat keeps closing. I can’t see you anymore, you’re just a blur. Something hurts inside me; what is that feeling?
Oh, it’s pain.
It’s unbearable, fucking gut wrenching pain. You’re dying…you’re dying. You’re the one leaving me. This felt worse than my withdrawals. This felt worse than Ted dying. 
Ted…why did you bring her back to me? She would still be here…
No one is dying today. Ted’s voice.
I can’t breathe. I’m hyperventilating. I shouldn’t have let you go, I should’ve ran after you when you left my house, I should’ve told you that you were everything and more to me. 
No, please don’t leave me. 
Please don’t leave me.
Don’t leave.
Please…please, baby…please come back to me…
A sound reaches my ears, a long, deep, gasp for air and suddenly nothing is blurry anymore, and I see you jolt up, vomit projectiles out of your mouth onto the floor. I can’t move from where I was, I’m convinced my eyes are playing tricks on me and you’re actually dead, your beautiful body and mind just a shell, your soul gone. 
“Eddie…” Your voice hits my core, spilling into the vessels of my heart, pumping more blood, vibrating my skin. Your voice sounds raw, pained. 
I scramble to my feet, and before anyone can stop me and I’m by your side. I can see you; you’re looking up at me, your beautiful eyes staring into mine. “I’m here.” I say, my voice trembles. I take your hand, it’s cold and clammy. 
“You came back.” Your eyes are still half lidded. 
I nod, a small sob escaping me. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
“I saw him…he told me to turn back.” You swallow hard, tears falling down your cheeks, I could tell the drugs were still taking affect. 
“Who?” I stare into your eyes and your head slightly nods to the side. I squeeze your hand. No. No. No. Don’t go. 
“Ted…he looked…he looked so good.” Your eyes full close and they put an oxygen mask over your face. 
I begin to panic again, and confusion settles in my gut. Ted? What?
“Baby? Sweetheart…sweetheart, wake up.”
“Honey, she’s stabilized, but she’s gonna be going in and out of consciousness from the drug effects. We’re gonna move her to recovery.” A nurse tells me, and I don’t take my hand away, afraid if I do, you will be gone forever. I stare at your face, not moving from my spot. The nurse gently cups my forearm. “She’s okay, love. I promise you.” She gently pulls me back, and I let go of your hand and watch as they wheel you out of the room. 
“I’ll bring you to the waiting area. Is there anyone we can call?” She asks me and I just stare at her. My eyes are still wide, the tears are still hot. 
“When can I see her?” 
“Soon, just walk with me. Let’s get you some water.” She says kindly and I nod, following her to the waiting area. I asked her what had happened, and she told me that you were exposed to carfentinal, which is a drug that is strong enough to take down an elephant. She believes that when you were going through your patient’s pockets, you had touched the plastic baggy with the substance, and since you weren’t wearing gloves, it had absorbed into your skin faster, causing the overdose. I didn’t know what to think when she told me and left me sitting in the waiting room. I had just witnessed you teetering on the line between life and death, and in one instance, you could’ve been dead. And I had teetered on that line for years, I played with death, I welcomed it. 
What kind of monster was I back then? My friends, my family…they saw me choking on my own vomit, blue lips, flatlining and I continued on with my habit after that. Because I thought I was invincible. 
I’m not invincible. 
No one is. 
A pain hits my chest and I groan. I’m thinking about the what ifs. What would I have done if I watched you die in front of me? Would I leave the hospital, go find a dealer and shoot into my veins enough heroin to kill me? Probably. The first time I lost you, I knew you were safe, living your life, like I knew you were still thriving. But watching you, a few minutes ago, so close to death, I felt something in me snap, like a rubber band. A tether that held us together for our whole lives was snapped the second I heard that machine flatline, a tether that kept my heart beating. 
And I lost that.
For a moment. 
A small moment that had dictated the rest of my life. A small moment, and I would’ve been dead hours after you. 
Love is wild. 
I must have fallen asleep, because when I come to, the same nurse is gently shaking me awake. “She’s asking for you.” She tells me. I rub the sleep from my eyes and quickly get up from the seat, my legs feel like jello. I follow her to a set of double doors, and she presses her name badge to the lock, and it opens with a beep. She stops outside a room and looks up at me. 
“I didn’t get your name.” I tell her; she has been nothing but kind to me, and I feel like I owe her my gratitude for making sure I didn’t fly off the handle. 
She smiles at me. “Kelsey. You’re Eddie."
I smirk, raising my eyebrow and she laughs. “She has talked a lot about you. I honestly didn’t believe her when she told me she grew up with and dated a famous rockstar, but she proved me wrong.” She looks through the doorway, towards you I’m assuming, but I couldn’t tell. “She’s my best friend here…and when I saw…it doesn’t even matter, because she’s okay, but I feel like if you weren’t here…she wouldn’t be. So, thank you.” 
“I should be thanking you.” I tell her softly.
She smiles. “Not necessary.” She nods her head to the door. “It was nice meeting you, Eddie.” 
I nod at her, watching as she walks away, and I sigh. I walk into the room, and I see you curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow to your chest. You were hooked up to two IVs; you still looked pale, but when you heard my footsteps, you open your eyes. I can’t stop the noise that comes out of my mouth when I see you smile. I go towards you, taking your face in my hands and I press my lips to yours. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” I cry against your lips and your fingers curl through my hair. I press my forehead to yours, caressing both your cheeks. “I thought I lost you forever.” 
You peck my lips gently; your eyes look tired. “It was my fault for not wearing gloves. I forgot.” You shrug and let out a sigh, wiping my tears away. “You came back. Why?”
“Because I was stupid for letting you walk out of my house that night.” I smooth back your hair; I couldn’t stop touching you. “Because the thought of you being completely gone from my life, killed me more than the drugs did.” 
You lean your head back on the pillow, listening to me, tears filling your eyes. 
“I spent so many years of my life chasing something that had been right in front of me for so long. So many years of filling my body with poison when I should’ve been filling it with love. Love that I didn’t think I deserved.”
“Do you think you deserve it now?” You ask me, entwining our fingers. I stare into your eyes, and I smile. 
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” I sit near your legs, leaning my arm over you. “I promise you; I am never letting you go again.”
You lean towards me, kissing my lips, you smile. “If it weren’t for Ted…”
“I know.” My voice trembles and I squeeze your hands. “I know.” 
“I think he saved me.” You whisper, and I let out a small sob. 
“Yeah, yeah baby I think he did too.” 
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I meant it when I said that I was never letting you go again; because a month later, I moved into your house, our house now. I had sold my cabin; it was time. There were too many dark memories there. I needed a fresh start, and Maine was now my home.  We were still working on the new album, after your overdose, I had written about four songs, two of them were heavy with the music, and since I stopped using drugs, I was able to scream again. 
Gareth wrote a couple after Ted’s death, and Jeff had overcome his fear of singing, and had sung the most beautiful rock ballad I have ever heard. I didn’t know why he kept that voice away; it was smooth like Hendrix, and soulful like Miles Davis. 
I loved my new solitude; I spent all morning today watching a black bear and her cubs roam around the front yard. I never realized how beautiful the world was. I spent so many years shielded by darkness and pain, I never bathed in the sunshine. 
I sit in my office, my hand cramping from all the writing I was doing in my notebook. I was done with mandatory therapy, but I kept Dr. Ryan on twice a month. The bing of the email notification goes off on my desktop; I place my pen down and open my email. My brow scrunches, it was from a name I didn’t recognize. I click the message, and as soon as I read the first sentence, I’m weeping.
Dear Mr. Munson, Can I call you that? Is that weird? Eddie? Hi! It’s me, Caitlin. The girl who was dying. Guess what? I’m not dying anymore. Two months after your show, I had a routine appointment, and they said the cancer was almost gone. They didn’t understand how it was possible, because a month before your concert they told me I only had six months to live. Now I’m in remission. Isn’t that crazy?  Gareth, your drummer had reached out to my mother a few months ago and had given her your phone number. I didn’t want to call because I’m still nervous and star struck over the fact that I had met you. And I’m better at conveying my thoughts with words anyway. I still remember what you said. And I never stopped thinking about it. Not only did your music save me, but you saved me that day. You got me to keep fighting, to keep that strength inside me brewing because my story wasn’t over yet. Thank you, Eddie Munson. Thank you for brightening a girls day with just your kindness and your words. I’ll never forget it. 
Love, Caitlin xx P.S. Look! I have hair now!
I’m laughing and crying all at once as I stare at her picture. Her eyes are bright, her beautiful red hair was curled just above her shoulders, and her smile was glowing. She was alive, she fought it, and she won. I wipe the tears from my eyes just as you’re walking into the room with a coffee in your hand. 
“What’s wrong?” You ask me and I tell you, I tell you everything, and you’re hugging me, telling me that even in my darkest days, I still made a difference in someone’s life. And you were right, I’m finally able to see it now. 
We have dinner with Julie about once a month; Nellie will come with the kids sometimes, and every time we are laughing over something Ted had done or said, and just reminiscing about him. 
I miss him. Man, do I miss him. I wish I could tell him how grateful I was that he had reached out to you, that he had brought you back to me. I wish he could see me now. Could see that I’m approaching a year of sobriety, that I plan on starting a foundation in his name that helps youth and musicians who are struggling with addiction, to get access to resources, housing, help and therapy when needed. 
Rolling Stone had done a long interview about my addiction, and I was surprised they didn’t make me out to be a monster. I had so many social media messages from fans saying how they related to everything I said, how they were struggling, how brave I was. Even Nikki Sixx from Motley Crue reached out to me, I couldn’t believe it. 
I wasn’t brave though. I was human. 
A real life human, with real life flaws and trauma. 
I’m looking at you now; I’m leaning against our doorframe of our bedroom, just watching you do your nighttime face wash routine in front of the bathroom mirror. You had on one of my t-shirts, naturally, and your hair was draped in waves passed your shoulders. You catch my eyes in the mirror, and you smile at me. “What are you staring at?” You smirk at me, flirting. 
“You.” I say, walking towards you. “All of you.” 
You pat your face with the washcloth and turn to face me, leaning back against the his and hers sink. You smile at me, and I pull you by your waist, pressing my lips to yours. You drape your arms around my shoulders, deepening the kiss and I lift you onto the bathroom counter. You squeal with delight, and I laugh, curling my fingers through your hair, feeling you wrap your legs around my waist. I knew you could feel how hard I was through my sweatpants, and like some sort of magnetic pull, you’re using your legs to pull me closer to you and I groan. Your fingers dig into my back like talons, and I move my lips to your throat, nipping your skin. You gasp and I run my tongue along the bite, moving my hands up your sides, cupping your breasts. Your nipples harden under my touch and your head falls back in pleasure. I peel off your shirt, quickly moving my lips to your breast, tasting your skin, pulling your nipple with my teeth. You push my face to yours hard, kissing me with so much passion and desire I almost forget to breathe. I lift you up by your ass, carrying you off the sink, and towards the bed. I lay you on your back, and I slide my way down your form, until I’m on my knees on the floor, pulling your legs towards my face. I hold your thighs, leaving soft kisses on the sensitive skin by your sex, and you arch your hips, helping me pull off your underwear. You lean up on your elbows to watch me, your chest heaving, your face flushed, and I spit right on your clit, burying my mouth into you. You groan, pulling my hair as I move my tongue in circles around your little bud, tasting your sweetness, moaning at the sounds you were making. You start grinding your hips against my face and I bring my hand down to my cock, fisting myself as you ride my face. 
"Ohhhh, fuck…Eddie…”
I pull away from your cunt, looking up at you with a smile. “Keep riding my face like a good girl, but don’t come yet baby.”
You cry out as my lips suck on your clit, biting on it gently, my tongue lapping at your hole like I was a starved animal. You tighten your hold on my hair as you continue to grind against my tongue. Your breathing was picking up, and I keep tasting you, I’m not stopping, not yet. 
“I’m so close…oh god…baby…please…”
“Please what?” I mumble against you. 
“Make me come, please…make me come.”
I growl at your words, I take your clit into my mouth, suck hard and I’m moving my way up to your mouth, kissing you passionately. I push myself into you and you cry out, I grip your thighs, rolling my hips into yours, feeling every inch of you, moaning at how amazing you felt, how you just molded into me. My head falls back as I groan, and you let out a sob, whimpering and moaning as I feel you tighten around me.
“That’s it, baby.” I coo in your ear. 
“Oh, oh my god…ohmygod…unghahhahhahh, Eddie…Eddie…fuckkk.” Your orgasm shatters through you, and I moan loud with you, feeling you clench around me as I come inside you at the same time. You hold onto my back for dear life, and I’m holding on to your waist, your thighs so tight, afraid if I were to let go, it would be over, and we would be no more. My lifeline, my love, my reason to keep going, the reason why I wasn’t dead at thirty-four, or thirty, or twenty-seven, or eighteen. The little girl who befriended me over a pack of Power Rangers trading cards, the girl who made me watch Titanic seventy-five times, the girl who wiped my tears away when I thought about my mother, the young woman I fell in love with, the woman that was living, breathing, right in front of me. 
You, it had always been you. 
fin.
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A/N: Thank you for reading and being on this journey with me! So many of you have given me such wonderful feedback and support and I cannot thank you enough. This is has been so amazing for me and if I can make a difference in someone's life with just my words, I have done my job. I love you all. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE CONTINUED SUPPORT FROM MY TUMBLR FRIENDS, seriously, you guys are amazing.
Special shoutout to: @fearless-wretch-insanity - girl...I literally feel like I've known you forever. Yay internet Tumblr friends! <3 Thank you for being my muse.
New series posting in a few weeks!
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theetherealbloom · 1 year
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UNEVEN ODDS - CH. 8
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Chapter Eight: Darkness Exists To Make Light Truly Count
Summary: The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold or will she be able to change what was already written?
Paring: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Age-gap Romance, Violence, ANGST, LOTS OF ANGST IM SORRY AGAIN, Swearing, Suicide, FLUFF, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, the pandemic, character death, INFECTED, MY SCIENCE IS WONKY, probable plot holes, rusty writing, TLOU is dark please read at your own risk!
Word Count: 9.6k
A/N: Did I drag myself through hell and back writing this last chapter? YEP. Was I anxious writing this meaning that this would be the end of this series? YEAH. Did life get in the way and forcibly had to make me catch up with my schoolwork? UNFORTUNATELY YEP PLS– 
Song: Someone To Stay by Vancouver Sleep Clinic
Previous Chapter -> Epilogue | Series Masterlist
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TLOU WORLD 2023
SILVER LAKE, COLORADO TO SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH – ONE WEEK LATER…
The bitterness of winter as time month moves on, you are greeted with the sweetness of spring. When did your life become a series of countdowns? Was it all just a grain of sand in an hourglass? One moment you were stumbling through the snow, away from Silver Lake. Next, you’re on the outskirts of Salt Lake City, Utah. Roughly 3,534 miles and you’re counting down the hours of today, vaguely knowing about what happens in Saint Mary's Hospital, the operation on Ellie, and the death of a surgeon triggering a chain reaction to stir violence with the former fireflies to kill Joel.
Each step into the city meant the possibility of losing them both to the future you seem to believe is set in stone, their stories already written and their fates chosen long before you had even stepped foot in the reality you couldn’t have possibly imagined existing. So you are standing and listening to him in that glistening emptiness, scavenging the remaining vehicles that contained any items to use. You hear your childhood sympathies banging against each other in a giant communal eardrum circle, trying to drown out melodies you can’t help but hum to. It feels like a part of your past follows you everywhere you go, a ghost you can’t shake, someone familiar but every time it places its hand in your hand, neither one of you could feel it.
Your weight is resting on the counter of the dilapidated kitchenette in an old RV, Joel tries to call your name, but you are now too deep into the thought that you don’t hear his rich and rough voice telling you about the broken guitar he found. Every part of you is somewhere else, a distant and dazed look in your eyes as you feel your vision blur. Joel approaches you cautiously, not wanting to startle you as he gently places his large palm on the side of your arm, rubbing it gently as he spoke softly, “Birdie… what’s wrong?” You blink up at him, your expression weepy and choked up, “Joel… there’s something you need to know.” He’s quick to ask, “What is it? What’s wrong, Darlin’?”
You feel your body melt at the nickname, but you gently place your hand on his, squeezing it as you said, “Joel… I know how all of this ends. I know how you die.” You watch as his shoulders rise, his breathing becomes still, and his expression was mixed with realization, curiosity, and despair. He swallows as he asks, “How… I thought you didn’t know everythin’?” You nodded, “Yes, I swear to you, there were parts I didn’t know or couldn’t remember. Everything except how all of this ends.” He frowns and grimaces, but never lets go of your hand, gruffly he says, “Tell me.” You move a little closer to his warmth, wanting to be close to him as you spoke, “Everything that will happen at Saint Mary's… the decisions and choices you make in the next few hours will be the cause of your death in the next few years or so. The Doctor you kill and um… You and Ellie… I don’t know if there’s a chance of a happy ending in this world or any way out of this besides going back to Jackson and convincing Ellie that she doesn’t have to go through with this or… fighting our way through the upcoming obstacles in our way.”
Joel shifts his weight from one leg to the other, bringing his eyes to yours, and at that moment you knew, the heat that radiates in his stare as he looks at you, every inch of skin comes alive as he drags his hand along your arm to your waist, sliding it and carefully securing you closer to him. Now, you are inches away from your lips to his, his nose touching the tip of your own with your foreheads pressed together, you breathe him in, close your eyes, and sigh in comfort. He cradles the side of your face and you lean into him, he gently asks, “What would you like me to do, Sweetheart?” You place your hand on top of his, leaving a soft kiss on his wrist and then replying, “I need you to stay alive. Ellie needs you… I need you to be here with us. Next, when the opportunity presents itself, please, I beg you, spare the surgeon.” He whispers his inquiry, “Why?” You sniff and feel your eyes well up, “Because his daughter will be the reason for your death. Look, I don’t care who else you decide to kill, just if you can… leave him alive.” 
He holds you closer as he shakily asks, “Why are you tellin’ me this now, Hon’?” You lick your lips nervously, placing your head on his shoulder as he fully embraces your figure, slowly speaking, “I… I’m scared, Joel. I’m honestly terrified of what’s going to happen next. I don’t want to lose you… I can’t lose you.” You shudder at the thought, the mere idea of it brings you to clutch him tighter, and he cradles your figure closer as he soothes you, “You won’t lose me. I’m persistent, remember?” You weakly laugh at that, and he wipes away the tears from your cheeks while saying, “Let’s go show Ellie what we found.” You open your mouth to speak but he has already read your mind, “We’ll figure it out and cross that bridge when we get there. Okay, Birdie?” He has changed all of your circuitry, the red and gold, writing all over your being. How he looks at you, his eyes say everything without a single word. You nod and whisper, “Okay.” He presses his lips to yours with passion and promises, “I’ll keep us safe, I swear.”
You step out and leave the abandoned RV, grabbing an old board game, and canned food. Joel yells out, “Ellie! Ellie.” Still, no response from the teenager sitting at the back of an old blue truck, and her mind seems to be somewhere else. “Ellie!” Joel yells a bit louder, which causes her to turn around to look at him, preoccupied, remote, distracted perhaps by the magnitude of what their arrival in Salt Lake City could mean.
“D’ya hear me?”Joel asks through the loud wind blowing through everyone’s hair, Ellie shakes her head, “No. What?” Ellie asks, and Joel excitedly shows Ellie that he found a can, “Well, we found this in there. Beefaroni. Chef Boyardee.” Calling back to their campfire meal, to which Ellie tries to sound enthusiastic, but ending up sounding flat, “Oh, cool.” Joel approaches Ellie, shaking the old cardboard box game, “And have you ever played this? Boggle? It’s a word game.” She politely and quietly shakes her head, seemingly uninterested but still trying to please Joel, she hands him back the box and he says, “Well if you wanna beat me at somethin’, it would be this.”
Ellie manages to nod her head, and you frown at her lackadaisical nature, noting that this isn’t like her at all. You walk to Joel’s side as he calmly spoke again, “Well, all right then. We’re gettin’ close. Hospital that way. May be the one we’re lookin’ for.” Ellie pushes herself off the back of the truck, the sound of dirt crunching beneath her boots as she replied, “Got it.” She grabs her pack while Joel shoves the canned food and board game into his backpack. Ellie approaches you both and Joel rolls his shoulder, showing her the rifle, “Take this for me?” Ellie grabs so he can throw the strap of the backpack across his shoulder, “Thanks.” He grabs the rifle once more, carrying it while Ellie nods in acknowledgment.
As the three of you walked along the ruined highway, Joel begins to talk, “They had a guitar in that RV. It was all smashed up but got me thinkin’ maybe I should find one. I haven’t played in forever. In fact, I was thinkin’ maybe I could teach you. I bet you’d be great at it.” Ellie merely hums and Joel asks her with a sort of hopeful tone, “Do you wanna learn how to play guitar?” There is no response from Ellie, your eyes shift from her to Joel, and you see him frown in concern, “Ellie?” She looks up, blinking at him as she hums in response, “Oh, yeah. That’d be great.”
Surprisingly, the entire walk into the city was quiet, there was no chatter from Ellie or Joel, no melody leaving your lips as you pass by abandoned cars. After what seemed like thirty minutes, Joel finally broke the silence once more, “Okay, so this is what I’m thinkin’...” Ellie already knew what he was talking about, “Cut through that building to get around that stuff, find the skyscraper, go up and look around.” You look at her impressed, while Joel says, “Actually, this time I was thinkin’ we blast our way through that rubble. I found some dynamite in that RV back there.” This catches Ellie off guard, “Really?” While you give him a suspicious look, “The fuck has gotten into you?”
Joel confirms he was joking around as he replied to you both, “No, so we’re gonna cut through that building, find a skyscraper, go up, and look around. But I had you both goin’, didn’t I?” You playfully rolled your eyes while Ellie nods once more. The group decides to cut through the building on the way to the hospital, and decide to climb an abandoned skyscraper to get a better vantage point and lay off the land. The red tarpaulins hanging over the scaffolding, “Look at this place,” Joel says as you all take a good look around your environment, “Talk about bad luck. Military drops bombs, not one of them hits the building you’re trying to demolish.” You peek through the rubble to see the sunlight streaming through, Joel cranes his neck to look up, “No way up.”
He approaches the fence gate inside the construction, the steel rattling loudly as he does, and walks through with you and Ellie trailing behind him. Joel spots a ladder peaking from above as you stand next to him, “I get Ellie up there, you can drop down that ladder down, maybe we go through that way. Come one I’ll give you a boost.” You both turn to look for her to find her looking through abandoned blueprints, you watch as Joel is more attentive to her as he asks, “You okay?” Ellie brings her head up to look at him, “Yeah, I’m fine.” Joel doesn’t buy it, “It’s just you seem extra quiet today, so.” Ellie feels the guilt bubble in her, “Oh… I’m sorry.” While you and Joel shake your heads, “No, it’s fine. Did you hear what I…” Ellie is quick to nod, “Yeah, boost. Got it.”
Joel steps on top of the wooden scaffolding, and Ellie grabs his outstretched hand, readying his stance while saying, “One, two, up.” You watch as Ellie pushes her body weight up while Joel asks, “Ya got it?” Ellie responds, “Yeah. Okay.” She’s just about to put down the ladder, however, the usually attentive Ellie is caught off guard by something and instead ends up just dropping the ladder and running off to look at something. Joel barked out, “God dammit, Ellie! Shit.” You also call for her, but there is no indication she hears you. You and Joel lift the ladder while he yells out to the teen, “You stay there!” To which Ellie yells back, “You gotta see this!” You climb the ladder first while Joel follows behind you, your voice echoes as you spoke, “Ellie? Where are you?”
“Up here!” Ellie says while you and Joel pursue her, perhaps worried at first that she’s in danger. Grumbling, Joel says her name but Ellie is quick to run, “Come on!” You and Joel wonder what the fuss is about, he calls her again, trying to get her to stop running so damn fast, “Ellie.” Again, she doesn’t relent, pushing faster to chase whatever caught her attention. Joel is breathing heavily as he mumbles, “Just wait. God damn it.”
After another flight of stairs, you pass by a ruined wall, as you sidestepped it, what you both find is Ellie, standing awestruck by the sight of a giraffe, peacefully munching on some leaves growing on the building. The feeling of enchantment rushes through your body, the familiarity of the scene that you had a glimpse of during your time back in your other universe. How important this meant to both of them.
Joel quietly approaches and stands next to Ellie, while you are to the left of her. Though time is ruthless, it showed you kindness despite the effects the Infected have wrought on the hope and innocence of the world in the end. But showing and by slowing down enough, a second chance to make amends. Ellie pointedly looks at Joel, “Don’t scare it.” To he replies, “I won’t.” He sets down his rifle, draws his weapons, and gives himself and Ellie a welcome reprieve from the darkness so that the balance may be restored. When the world welcomes you in, you’re closer to Heaven than you’ll ever know. They say this place has changed, but strip away all of the technology and you will see that you all are hunters, hunting for something that will make us okay.
Joel grabs a couple of leaves from the side of the tree and Ellie’s voice is in alarm as she asks, “What are you doing?” He reassures her, “It’s all right. Come here, hurry up. Come on.” Ellie walks towards him, a little closer to the giraffe, while you stand there nervously rubbing your arm. Joel spots your discomfort but quickly reassures you, “You too Hummin’ bird.” You exhaled deeply, trusting Joel and walking closer to the giraffe.
He passes leaves to you both, and there is a form of uncertainty between you and the giraffe, but eventually, you stretch out your hand and the giraffe approaches you, grazing on the leaves you have presented to the creature. When you were out of leaves, it then went to Ellie, happily munching on the leaves she had with her. There is something so precious about Ellie’s laugh. The whole is so much greater than the sum of these parts. You've heard the truth before, for in beauty there echoes a speck of our source. There's a voice inside your soul, that resonates through your skin and bone. Crooked mouth, quiet down, you let your fists come undone. The understanding that miscarried love will be reborn. There is hope in our eyes when we truly see each other.
Joel smiles lovingly at her joy, the honoring of every shadow, and gratitude for all that follows. Overwhelmed, wave after wave, you are more afraid to lose what you have found, even after all this evolving, it still feels unnatural, still pulls tight the muscles, and strains the arms and spine. Ellie’s laughs are melodious as she states, “So fucking cool.” There are no more leaves left for the giraffe to munch on, seemingly done, she begins to trot away. Ellie whines, “Aw, where is she going?” She begins to race after her, yelling out to her two guardians, “Come on, come on, come on, come on!”
As Joel was about to turn and call after her, you grab his wrist, causing him to look at you with concern, “What is it, Hon’?” Your heart melts at the nickname, you give him a soft smile as you took in a breath before speaking your heart out, “I have to tell you something.” He frowns in concern, “Now? Ellie might–” You cut him off while nodding, “Yes, now.” Joel leans a little closer, “What is it? Tell me what’s wrong.” You weakly laugh at his statement, knowing him too well to know that whatever is wrong he’d immediately want to fix it for you because that’s how he cares. 
A beat passes between you two, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the huffs of the giraffes from outside, and even a few birds chirping, seemed like everything was right where it should be. Joel opens his mouth, and at first, no sound comes out, but he gathers his courage and says, “Not that I wouldn’t say it first, ‘cause I would.” You smile at him knowing what he was implying, and you shake your head, “It’s no big deal,” You try to finish your statement but he cuts you off, his southern accent is more prominent as his voice goes lower, “I’ll tell you soon.” You hold the side of his face, as he looks at you while holding his breath ‘cause you both could, in a voice so soft and sweet, you say, “Until then, I love you.”
The darkness that hangs over him at first tries to reject it as his lips parts in astonishment and bewilderment. He would drag you through the muck while telling you that you belonged to a cleaner lifestyle. He thinks you'd be crushed underfoot by him, that you'd be able to see right through him, that he's just spewing hot air, that you'd be always racing after him as he chases after more svelte models, and that it would be a never-ending cycle. His mouth quivers and his beautiful southern accent is accentuated as he asks, “Are you sure? After everything I’ve done? After all the people I’ve killed?” 
You held your breath while you thought about it for a long, quiet moment. “I am willing to fit into any spaces you give me since I am aware of your sharp edges and have seen your beautiful curves. Bring on the muck if loving you takes becoming filthy,” you said. “And right now, I’m pretty in love with you, if that’s okay.”
He leans it to place his lips to yours, kissing you with such fiery passion you had only ever dreamed or seen in moves and read about in romance novels. His lips were warm and soft. They parted slightly, allowing my tongue to slip inside. Your bodies pressed together heatedly, breathing heavily as our lips pressed together. You could taste your shared breath, and feel the thud of your combined heartbeats. And just like that, he did not crave the language he always thought he needed. The warmth and softness of his lips, the taste and scent of his breath, and the subtle movements of both of your tongues. But even though he couldn't say it out loud, it was undeniable that both of their love for each other was palpable. It was in the way you laughed together, the way you touched each other's hands, and the way you looked at each other. Pulling away, to cup your face, and just like that a hand reached backward into a faraway dream and said, “Come on then, we better catch up to Ellie.”
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Moving to the rooftop of the building, Joel pulls the door open and you see Ellie happily observing the herd of giraffes. The rusty door squeaks as it shuts behind you, looking over the towers of giraffes walking around the greenery that has taken over the ruined city. You walk over to Ellie’s side, making her the center between you and Joel. The weight of family and the pull of gravity. It seems like growing up didn't take long, you were a family pulled from the flood, you tore the floorboards up and let the river rush in, not wash away.
You recognize the parallel to the first time you stood on a rooftop with Ellie and Joel, looking over the view of a ruined city to find some absolute answer to a world that seemed so hopeless. Joel places his hands on the ledge of the rooftop, and he gruffly asks, “Is it everything ya hope for?” You look at Ellie, her lips forming a little smile, “It’s got its ups and downs, but you can’t deny that view.” It set your hearts ablaze, and every city was a gift, every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips. Joel looks at Ellie concerned mixed with uncertainty, “Look, I don’t know exactly where this hospital is…” The teen’s determination is unwavering as she swiftly said, “Yeah, we’ll find it.” 
He releases a shaky breath, he feels his parental nature returning, “Sure. It’s just… Maybe there’s nothin’ bad out there, but so far there’s always been somethin’ bad out there.” Ellie shrugs, “We’re still here, though.” Joel nods, “I know. I’m only saying there’s risk.” Ellie looks away but Joel shifts his weight to lean closer, insisting, feeling a presentiment of losing her, “We don’t have to do this. I want you to know that.” Ellie turns to look at him with furrowed brows and a frown, “What do you mean? What else are we supposed to do?” To which Joel responds, “Nothin’. We just go back to Tommy’s. We forget the whole damn thing.”
“After all we’ve been through? Everything I’ve done? It can’t be for nothing,” Ellie replies evenly. “I know you mean well. I know you want to protect me. You have. And when we’re done, we’ll go wherever you want. Tommy’s, sheep ranch, the moon. I’ll follow you anywhere you go. But there’s no halfway with this. We finish what we started.” She finishes giving her a touching speech with clear-eyed dignity. After a beat passes, Joel reluctantly nods in agreement. It becomes clearer now, if you listen just right, you can almost hear it. The symphony of secrecy, life, the search for love, but finding fear. We could hold our breath forever, or maybe for a while. The best will surely come, until then you’ll feel nothing at all.
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You three proceed to cut through an abandoned emergency medical center left over from the outbreak. You see the ruins of triage tents outside, and a brief moment of déjà vu creeps over you, remembering the makeshift facilities and tents from your universe during the outbreak. Some vines overgrow the poles of the tents, there are rotting medical supplies and vehicles. Taking it all in, Ellie wonders, “Was it a FEDRA thing?” Joel shakes his head, “No. Army. They put these places up all around, the first few days after the outbreak. Emergency medical camps. Obviously didn’t last. They had me in one just like this.” Ellie quickly assumes he had his daughter with him, “With Sarah?” 
You look at him concerned and afraid that he would begin to lash out in anger as a defense, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shakes his head in disagreement, “No, she was gone already. So what was wrong with you?” Joel points to his scar, “It was for this.” Ellie nods in realization, “The guy who shot and missed. I figured that would’ve happened later.” There’s a shift in his voice that you catch, “No.” He slows his pace to a stop, “Second day.” You stop to look at him but Ellie continues to talk, “I’ve gotta hand it to the Army people and Birdie. They are way better at stitchin’ you up than I was.” 
“It was me.” This causes Ellie to freeze and turn around to see the rise and fall of her chest falter. Your eyes begin to gloss over and sting and the thoughts seep into her head with a terrifying blankness. It was nauseating. Joel baldly confesses, “It was me,” he says. “I was the guy who shot and missed.” He then moves to sit atop a concrete barrier, while you and Ellie also move to sit beside him, “There’s no story. Sarah died. And I couldn’t see the point anymore. Simple as that. And I wasn’t scared, either. I was ready. I couldn’t have been more ready. When I… When I went to pull the trigger, I flinched. Still don’t know why.” The raw admission, of him opening up himself to you and Ellie shows how far you three have come. A great tremor took over your body, a tightening of your throat and a short intake of breath, you try and will yourself to not cry. “Anyway, the reason I’m telling you all this is…” Ellie cuts him off, “I know why you’re telling the both of us this.”
He nods, “Yeah, I reckon you do.” And you hold his hand to stop his thumb from fidgeting with his pointer finger, unsure if you were comforting him or yourself. To remind yourself he’s still here. After a moment of silence and uncomfortable realization, Ellie says, “So time heals all wounds, I guess.” Joel ponders for a moment, before deciding to openly admit how much he truly cares for Ellie and you, “It wasn’t time that did it.” He unwaveringly, and lovingly looks at Ellie and you, squeezing your hand as he does. For Joel, everything you’ve been through, all the pain and death, it’s worth it because he has a daughter again and now you. It brings everything together for Joel. He’s succeeded here. He cares less about Ellie’s potential for a cure and more about not losing a person he loves again. He, is once again, whole.
Ellie quietly lets go of the breath she was holding, “Well, I’m glad that… that didn’t work out.” Joel nods in agreement, “Me, too.” He wipes away the tears with his other hand and then moves to wipe away the tears that you didn’t even realize had streamed down your face. The teen awkwardly shifts to move off the concrete barrier you three were sitting on, “We should probably get going.” Joel automatically agrees, “Yeah.”
There's something about sadness that leaves you wanting more. A sickness that breathes… from holding on to letting go, like the feeling of change is almost like dying. You know from time to time that hope seems but a foreign land. A distance that you cannot reach and a language you cannot speak. In his words, the movement of his eyes, the expressions on his face, the rush of your walking. And through all the things you'll find out and will hold on tighter to the surface of life. Like a moth to the flame, we become helpless to the beautiful ghost that true love sheds.
You continue your journey to the hospital, Joel hasn’t let go of your hand as you walk side by side with Ellie, he then asks aloud, “You know what I’m in the mood for?” Ellie quizically wonders, “What?” Joel smiles as he responds, “Shitty puns.” She laughs and you smile at her delight, rummaging her pack to find her pun book, flipping through the pages she finds one and says, “‘People are making apocalypse jokes like there’s no tomorrow.’” Joel clicks his tongue, making a face in mock offense, Ellie smiles, “Too soon?” Joel shakes his head and smiles, “No, it’s topical.” Ellie lets out a giggle, “Oh, I love this one! ‘Moon rocks taste better than Earth rocks. Why?” The man next to you scratches his forehead before shrugging, then Ellie answer, “‘Cause they’re meteor.’” You smile in amusement while Joel shakes his head, “Oh, that’s terrible.” Ellie throws back, “Fuck you. That was actually good.” He disagrees entirely, “That’s a zero out of ten.” You laugh, “Oh, we’re giving grades now?” His southern accent is prominent as he replied, “Damn right darlin’.” Ellie laughs, “All right, all right. ‘What did the green grape say to the purple grape? Breathe, you idiot.’” Joel rates, “That’s a three outta ten.” But Ellie tries to bargain, “Seven, minimum.” He shakes his head but tries to meet her in the middle, “I’ll give it a five. Five outta ten.”
In the moments that you feel that you three are closer than ever before, the world drops out from under your feet. The sharp sound of metal from something behind you causes you three to turn your heads in alarm, spotting the stun grenade, Joel moves to shield you and Ellie, bringing you three crashing to the ground. There is smoke that hazes your vision, and the ringing in your ears is sharp and painful, the world around you is a blur. You make the muffled sounds of Ellie yelling for you and Joel, tall figures with firearms taking her and you away from him. There is always something there, to take your hearts like thieves, there is always something there. A painful strike to the head and it all goes white, to close your eyes, to end this chase while unraveling the most essential thread.
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ST. MARY’S HOSPITAL, SALT LAKE CITY — DAY
You slowly blink your eyes open, you hear the steady beat of your own heart with the help of the monitor near the side of your bed, and you feel the plush pillow beneath your head, you feel the cotton of a hospital sticking onto your skin while you are trying to get an understanding of where you are. Next, the smell of familiar antiseptic and bleach fills your nostrils, you first spot that you’re hooked into an IV drip, moving your head to the door frame, you feel your eyes widen and they dart across the room to see Marlene. 
You can’t bring yourself to move, as you observe Marlene studying you, finally she says, “You’re finally awake.” You blink once, then again, before swallowing your fears, “Where’s Joel?” Marlene pushes herself off of the wall and uncrosses her arms, “He’s in another room, unconscious but fine. Patrol didn’t know who you were.” Your breathing hitches, “Okay, where’s Ellie?” Marlene replies steadily, as if practiced, “She’s fine. She’s not hurt, mostly worried about you two though.” You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, “You’re going to operate on her.” Marlene sighs, defeatedly she nods, “Yes.” You lick your lips as a nervous tick, “You also know that I’m also immune.” The leader of the rebellion nods again, and you close your eyes to shake your head, “She’s just a kid. She’s everything to Joel… to me. Don’t do the operation on her, take me instead.” Marlene shakes her head in disagreement, “I can’t do that.” You tilt your head to the side, “Why not?”
She heavily sighs, “Your immunity is different from hers.” You scoff, “The cordyceps that she had since birth, grow in her brain, sending a chemical messenger to tell other cordyceps that she is cordyceps. You’re going to have to kill her just to get that damn vaccine. So, just take the plasma from me, it might contain the antibodies that you need to fight the virus.” Marlene places both of her hands on her waist “I can’t let you do that.” Exhausted you frustratingly growl, “Why? This has been the center of debate for years. The fuckin’ goddamn Trolley Problem! Plow into a group of people or turn and hit one person. Forcing you to choose to let other people die, but the solution was so simple.” Marlene takes the bait and asks, “And what is the answer?”
“Sacrificing yourself. And right now, Marlene, I have that choice. Either to let you kill an innocent girl, someone who didn’t ask to be brought into this fractured world to save what little we have left, or save her and all of humanity… with me, someone who never should have been here in the first place.” Marlene hums, “Well, you’re right about one thing… you aren’t from here.” You look at her confused and someone familiar steps into your room, the dark hair, black eyes, his stature lanky and tall, you shakingly exhale, “Adam. How are you even… What?” Another Firefly soldier comes in to retrieve Marlene, whispering that Joel is waking up. She walks away with the Firefly soldier and leaves you and Adam to talk.
He clears his throat, “I’ve been looking for you, and it's been weeks since your apartment burned down with you going missing. Do you remember anything that happened before the fire?” You shake your head, “I remember going to sleep after watching… yeah.” He nods, “You had brought home your research without any of the lab researchers or staff knowing. Your apartment burned down along with the research. I thought it was a little weird since… they didn’t find your body or any indication of you being abducted so I did a little bit of snooping around your desk, found the flash drive of your existing equations and theories before they took it away for evidence, had a hunch you were successful with your research and that you were out there somewhere.”
You manage to let out a chuckle, “Thanks for looking for me… I thought no one would notice if I was gone. It’s nice to have a friend.” He gives an awkward smile, “Did you have to bring yourself into this specific universe?” You rolled your eyes with humor, “It wasn’t intentional, I swear.” He gives you a knowing look but doesn’t tease you any further. Your mind begins to linger on the question you had since you woke up, “Why won’t Marlene just operate on me? It would be the best solution to avoid the upcoming massacre.”
Adam frowns and sighs, “When I first came here to look for you, Marlene had found me and then recruited me to join the Fireflies, but I had told her I wasn’t fit to fight and that I’m a scientist looking for a lost friend in their universe. You could imagine her skepticism but she eventually believed me,” You have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as he continued, “After we made it to Salt Lake City, I had said that if things were to change, if you were to sacrifice yourself, to take Ellie’s place, it would completely cause the boundary between two universes to erode, and collide, destroying one or both entirely.” You look up at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights hanging from above, “Let me guess, our universe is next to this one.” Adam nods, “I’m sorry. I tested the simulation before I got here… There are certain points that you can change but most of it stays the same.”
“Do you know how this ends?” You asked, he raises his eyebrows, “Which part?” You think to yourself before speaking again, “All of it.” He nods then loudly exhales, “Yes. It ends… in a selfish choice. A lie. But you already knew that why do you need to ask?” Unwaveringly, you stare him down, your voice stern and steady as you say, “Because I’m going to make my selfish choice too.” 
It was quiet for a moment, the epiphany kicking in and settling between you and your friend. Adam shifts his weight on the other leg before reaching into his pocket, showing you a small rectangular device, “I managed to figure out the wiring and transmission issue, as well as the power issue with crystalized radium, and stabilized it with other elements. So, I managed to create a portable version of the machine you had. We can go home.”
That is what you were looking for all this time, right? A way back home. Now it’s right here in your grasp, just in reach but you feel no joy. No overwhelming sense of comfort or excitement. Nothing. You swallowed and shake your head, “No.” Adam is taken aback by your answer, “What? But you… your life back home.” You shake your head disagreeing, “That was never my home. You and I both know that. I was already researching a way out of that place, somewhere far away, and now… I’m here, free, and loved.” He shakes his head, “You can’t change what was already written.” You give him a sad smile, “The future is always changing. And I’ll make sure of it.” Adam insists, “And if you can’t?”
You leave all logic aside as you breathlessly say, “Then… At least they don’t have to go through any of the next steps alone.” Adam sighs and waves the device, “What do you want me to do with this.” You raise your eyebrows, “Go home, Adam. Ali needs you there, and as for my research… burn it. All of it, destroy everything.” He disagrees with you, “What?! That’s your life’s work?” You blankly stare into his eyes,  “We aren’t ready for this kind of this discovery just yet. The world is moving so fast over there, if we don’t slow down, we’ll crash and burn.” He tries again to convince you to come home, to go back to the simple life you had before, “But…” You cut him off, “Remember what you told me? All disasters start with a scientist being ignored.” Defeatedly he tilts his head down, then nods agreeing, “Okay.”
You glance out the glass window of your room, there are Fireflies running down the hall, and from a distance the sound of loud pops and gunshots can be heard echoing, followed by yelling and thumping footsteps of Firefly soldiers. You turn back to look at Adam, “Listen to me, you need to leave right now. Burn all of my research. I want everything wiped out from the Cloud and every hard drive to be destroyed, all of it. But seriously, you need to go. Joel figured out what the hell was going on and will kill anyone who gets in his way. I don’t think he’s himself right now… so please just go… and take care of yourself and Ali for me?” Adam achingly smiles with tears in his eyes, “Goodbye and good luck.” With a push of a couple of buttons, followed by a flash of bright light, your only chance, a way back to your original universe was gone.
The sound of people screaming and dying was getting closer, the unmistakable sound of gunshots fill your ears and you feel a sense of dread creep through your bones. It is never safe enough to fall in love in this world. How easy it is to give the thing you want the most and punish you for it. But you’re smart enough to know, you can’t escape the truth of what you want. Every move we make will trigger another, and every small mistake will be a messenger. Your lives are weaving like a thread within each other, faithfully sharing in our joys and miseries and all that the world can give.
A firefly soldier tries to take cover in your room, essentially holding you hostage. You stay frozen in your bed as you observe Joel as he stalks over with an eerie calm expression, easily aiming at him, spraying him with bullets to take him down, and you don’t move as you watch him flick the switchblade open, the silver glimmering in his hand, brutally stabbing the soldier, he screams in agony before his eyes roll back, dead. He picks up the assault rifle from the corpse before standing and making his way to your bedside, a sharp contrast to what you had just seen, he leans in to kiss your forehead, “Hey, Sweetheart. They were tryin’ to take you away from me. Sorry I didn’t come sooner.” You take in the grime on his face, blood, and dust, lovingly gaze into his eyes and wrap your arms around his waist, “It’s okay. I knew you’d come lookin’ for me.” He breathes you in, and for a moment, he can ground himself with you hugging him tightly, close to him, but a dose of reality kicks in when he hears footsteps of oncoming Fireflies, he says to you, “Can you walk?” You nod, “The drugs that they gave me might kick in soon, but for now, yes.” He nods and helps you up while saying, “Let’s go get our baby girl.”
You feel the cold tiles of the hospital floor, wincing now and then over the debris and rocks, you accidentally step on. Joel shoots his way through, cold-heartedly executing anyone who dares and tries and gets in the way of Ellie. You know deep down he’s disassociated, disconnected from himself and the world around him. There is no sign of remorse in his eyes, only clear-cut focus and calmness you can’t quite place.
Eventually, you make it to pediatrics with Joel holding a handgun instead of the assault rifle. A sign points to where the surgery room is, as you walk through the hallway, you notice the different cartoon jungle animals painted on the walls, spotting another giraffe, the gentle giant that represented a holy moment of peace with Ellie. You press forward, slightly limping with the wounds on your feet as you two make it to the end of the hallway and into the operating room.
Joel quietly pushes the door open, spotting Ellie on the table, ready to be cut open and dissected. He then pushes the second door open to stand by the door, and calmly he says, “Unhook her.” The nurses gasp and the lead surgeon steps forward, “How did you get in here?” Joel doesn’t care to reply to his question, pointing his gun at him, “I said unhook her.” Before you knew what you were doing you loudly spoke, “Dr. Anderson. Listen to me, I know what you’re about to do next, the moment you fuckin’ pick up that scalpel blade, he will shoot you with no hesitation. He’s not himself right now. So, for your own daughter’s sake… don’t fucking move and let the nurses unhook Ellie.” He freezes, not expecting what you had just said, he looks between you two and Ellie, “We need to do this. It could work, we could have a vaccine. A chance to win.”
You shake your head, “Vaccines only work if there’s the proper distribution. A collective effort to try and solve this problem together. You have no resources to distribute it, even if you did it would take years to form collective immunity and then we’d have to figure out how to get rid of the infected. We have to share each other's work openly and efficiently. So that together we might achieve what we cannot achieve alone, collective immunity.”
Dr. Anderson takes in the information, the true meaning of your words but eventually settles on a decision, one that would have major implications in the future. He grabs the scalpel from the tray, and points it at you both, “I won’t let you take her.” There is no hesitation as Joel puts a bullet through his head, the loud gunshot causes both of the nurses to flinch and scream in horror. There is a flat tone in Joel’s voice as he says, “Unhook her.” The nurses have their arms up, shakingly cowering as his voice booms, “Move!” They do as they’re told, unhooking Ellie from the IV, blood drips down her arm, “Cover her arm.” Joel said and one of the nurses places a cotton patch on top of it. He then tells them to turn around, which all of them do with no question. As Joel carries Ellie out of the operating room, you quietly say, “I’m sorry. Tell Abby that I tried. But the moment she comes after him, I won’t hesitate to kill her.”
You leave and catch up with Joel who is carrying Ellie’s limp body in his arms, the elevator doors open, and you both step inside. You made mistakes and did a few things right. It will take what it will take, baby that's life, you cannot change what you do not own, everybody knows. But if you live deep and love strong you get pretty damn close. The elevator doors open to the basement of the hospital, and you both quickly spot a car ready to climb into to leave. As you quickly walk towards it, you begin to fade in and out, your energy spent and feeling the effects of the drugs they had given you prior.
“You can’t keep them safe forever.” Marlene walks out of the shadows with a gun pointed at you both, and you feel yourself slip further into darkness, you hazily hear the words from Marlene, “No matter how hard you try, no matter how many people you kill, she’s gonna grow up, Joel. And then you’ll die. She’ll leave. Then what? How long till she’s torn apart by Infected or murdered by raiders? Because she lives in a broken world that you could have saved.” Joel nods, “Maybe. But it isn’t for you to decide.” Marlene throws back at him, “Or you. So what would she decide? ‘Cause I think she’d wanna do what’s right because your girl over there was about to sacrifice herself to spare you both and save the world. And you know it. It’s not too late. Even now,” She tucks the gun away back into her holster, “Even after what you’ve done. We can still find a way.”
That’s when you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, your eyes roll back to your head, you feel your knees give out and your body comes crashing down to the floor. In this sea of change, understanding is our shore, you disappear with no control. The current is strong, your arms are weak. But you are the branch within his reach, though you cannot catch your breath. Joel isn’t able to catch you in time, and it’s as if the world had slowed down to watch your lifeless body crumple and shut down right in front of him and he’s never felt so powerless. He gazes down at you and then at Ellie, considering the rebel leader’s points, then he brings his eyes to Marlene.
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ON THE ROAD, TO JACKSON — DAY
With his closed fists, he will feel like he’s succeeded. Outside of the walls of Jackson is an awful place as far as he can tell. You were victims of a constant loss, you three were not the enemy. He is afraid that his plans will lose their place. Maybe you all could hold your breath forever, or maybe for a while, knowing that the best will surely come like sunshine streaming down or the falling of rain. 
Through your sleepy eyes, contagiously bright, as you stir awake, you are now in the front passenger seat of a truck you do not recognize, stretches of tall trees whiz past your periphery as you slowly crane your neck to look at Joel, who is gazing at you with relief and a little bit of remorse. Slowly, you see it in his eyes. The landscape of being are endlessly competing, back and forth for an answer to existence that you can understand. Perhaps you’re looking far too closely, you can't see all the evidence in its entirety. The air in your lungs and the complexity of both of your love for each other and Ellie. But love travels like a rumor here, losing form with every ear, just a skeleton of something more.
Ellie stirs and starts to wake up confused in the back seat, “What?” Joel is quick to reassure her and says, “It’s all right. You’re with us. Take it slow. The drugs are still wearin’ off.” Ellie mumbles, “I was with the Fireflies, and then… what drugs?” Joel swallows down his guilt before steadily saying, “They were runnin’ some test on you and some others. Turns out there’s a whole lot more like you. People that are immune. Dozens of ‘em. And the doctors, they couldn’t make any of it work. They’ve actually…” There’s a small pause, a wavier in his voice as the flashbacks come back to him in a blur, “They’ve stopped looking for a cure,” he lies, and Ellie then asks him suspiciously, “Where are my clothes?” He fabricates another lie, “Raiders attacked the hospital. Barely got ya both outta there. We’ll find you two some new clothes on the way.” Ellie senses the bullshit, “Were people hurt?” Joel clenches his jaw before deciding, “Yes.” To which she asks, “Is Marlene okay?” His eyes get misty again as he drives, he can’t bring himself to admit the truth to her or spew out more lies, so he settles on something true, “I’m takin’ us home.” She turns over so he can’t see her face in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
You sit there stunned at Joel’s lies and see the strength of his resolve. You turn your head to look at him to find him gazing at you as if asking, begging through his whiskey-doe eyes, imploring you to not tell her the truth right now. You have to trust him, he knows where he’s going. The unbearable weight of a hidden question between exchanging looks, “Will you follow me, still?” You close your eyes for a moment, and Joel nearly falters, readying himself for the fallout, but instead, you take his right hand, with your own, squeezing it with reassurance. Some truths, over time, can learn to play nice and some truths are sharper than knives. No matter what category you fit into, truth's got its sight set on you. The light that we hold must be buried to bloom. And in spite of the uneven odds, beauty lifts from the earth. You’re the deal that everyone breaks when you’re without him. Only love proves to be the truth.
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3 DAYS LATER…
THE OUTSKIRTS OF JACKSON — DAY
After a couple of stops, grabbing clothes and shoes from abandoned houses and stores. The car that he stole from the Fireflies had broken down, Ellie sat in the driver's seat as she traced her arms of the bitemark of the first Infected she ever faced. You were leaning on the other car door, right beside her, before quietly showing your arm the bite mark of the Infected a few weeks prior. She looks up at you in surprise, “You’re also… Immune?” You nod, explaining to her the possibility of now having the antibodies to fight the cordyceps infection along with the speculation of the radiation you had. She dwells on that information for a moment before asking, “Did the Fireflies try and test you too?” You look directly at her, “Yes. I’m not sure it worked though.” The lie that falls off your tongue tastes sour, but she doesn’t pick up on it, sensing that there was enough truth in what you said. Joel loudly shuts the hood of the car, “Well, she got us close enough.” He looks behind him before walking towards you and Ellie, “We gotta walk the rest of the way. Probably a five-hour hike but we can manage that. Remember?” Ellie smiles at the memory of the good times of the journey, “Yeah.” 
You hike through the woods, taking in the earthly smell of pine trees and dirt. The forest resets in hope, with every crunch beneath your feet, and the two people you hold most dear to your heart. Joel brings himself to talk about Sarah, “You know, Sarah and I used to hike like this all the time. I wouldn’t say it was her favorite thing. She wasn’t a fan of the mosquitos and such. But she was a big climber, or scampering. That’s probably the right word. That girl, she’d see a big rock, and just…” He makes a noise with his mouth indicating that she would bolt right through the trees to climb it, “She woulda liked you and Birdie. Not to say you and Sarah are the same. Definitely different kids.”
Ellie asks, “How so?” Joel glances at her and says, “Well, she was a lot more, I wanna say girly. And I’m not sayin’ you’re not girly.” She shakes her head, “I’m not.” Joel agrees, “Yeah, you’re not. So that. She was taller. She had a killer smile. Again, not sayin’ that you don’t. But you know why I’d think she’d like you?” Ellie indulges him, “Why?” The answer was so simple, quick, and witty, Joel says, “‘Cause you’re funny. I think you would’ve made her laugh. Anyway, I bet you would’ve liked her back.” The teen next to you agrees, “Yeah, bet I would’ve.”
Eventually, you make it to the edge of the mountain top, looking over the view of the community of Jackson, and it is absolutely breathtaking. The breeze causes your skin to form goosebumps, and feel the tickle of the wind behind your neck. Joel takes a breath and says, “There ya go. Not much further now.” He continues walking and you start to follow but notice Ellie standing back, she calls out to him, “Hey, wait.” He stops and turns to face her, she curses, “Fuck.” Then takes a few steps closer to him, “Back in Kansas City, you asked me about the first time I killed someone. When I got bit in the mall, I wasn’t on my own. My best friend was there and she got bit, too.” Her admission causes her to falter a little bit before she says, “We don’t know what to do, and she says, ‘We can just wait it out, be all poetic and just lose our mind together. And then she did. And I had to… Her name was Riley and she was the first to die. And then it was Tess. And then Sam.”
You and Joel shook your heads, “That’s not on you,” he said and she tries to argue, “I know…” He cuts her off, “Look, sometimes things don’t work out the way we hope. You can feel like you’ve come to an end and you don’t know what to do next. But if you just keep goin’ you find somethin’ new to fight for. And maybe that’s not what…” Abruptly, Ellie speaks up, “Swear to me. Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.” Joel doesn’t hesitate as he lies, unblinking as he replies, “I swear.” ​​She doesn’t believe him. She knows he’s not telling the truth. But she nods, and says “Okay.”
You hold his hand in support, and then it's just too much, to know that the streets still run with blood. So he tries to push it down, but it comes back faster and harder, tides are changing on a dime. And he’s just trying to keep his head above the water. Surrender's just a word, till you try it out and see how hard it is to hurt with someone else around, you. He’s the worst he’s ever been afraid of almost everything. The skies are clear but storms are always coming. Your gift to him is just to be bracing for the winds he always summons. His home, his heart, thank God you are someone who loves him.
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End Notes:
Holy shit this took WAY LONGER THAN EXPECTED THATS ON MEEEE IM SO SORRYYYYY!
ARE YOU OKAY?? GIRLIE YOU GOOD? THIS NEEDS EDITING LATER BUT I HOPE YOU ARE ALL WELL AND YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER! DRINK WATER! BREATHE!
Its was an ACCIDENT! I established in Chapter 1 that it was all vague and a mystery woOOoo bcs uhhh I don’t think I was supposed to already give that question an answer in the beginning of the series cuz why the heck would u still read this T^T Alsoooo cause you did trYYYyyy to but couldn’t (I.e Tess, Sam and Henry, you voicing out your protests to Kathleen, etc.) And as if you had any other option but to go with Joel, Ellie, and Tess to survive yk the Infected :,))
CONGRATS U MADE IT AND OMG YOU LITERALLY HAD THE CHOICE TO GO BACK TO YOUR OLD UNIVERSE BUT YOU STAYEDDD FOR LOVEEEEE HEHEHEHEH
The Birdie had bits and pieces of what happens in the game, and sHE TRIED TO SAVE THE DAMN SURGEON, but obviously, homie got shot in the head :)) So now she has to figure out a way to stop Abby without having the whole story OR INFOOOOO YAYYYYY
Even though you tried to tell him not to kill Marlene or the Doctor, that it would be the cause of his death. But he still did anyway, a choice that was already made the moment you both were ripped away from him. He was disassociating :,) which I relate to Joel bb
OKAY I MIGHT WRITE AN EPILOGUE BUT LOWKEY LET ME TAKE A NAP CUZ I’VE BEEN WRITING FOR ALMOST TWO DAYS STRAIGHT WITH NO COFFEE O_O
Anyways… AHEM… I LOVE ALL OF YOU SOSOSOSOSOSOSOSO MUCH! LIKE YOU HAVE NO IDEA. I give you hugs and kisses, and cookies for being so incredibly patient and sticking with me for my first-ever multi-chapter fic. CRAZYYYY.
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evanpeterswhoresblog · 9 months
Note
so, i was thinking about tate fitting into the yandere trope (more than he already does lol) and being extremely obsessed with reader and when he decides to tell her about his feelings she tells him she's already in love with someone else. tate doesn't accept that, cause if he cant have her, nobody else cant
oh, i had fun with this one. hope you like it :)
~~~
His Obsession
Tate Langdon x f!reader
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warnings: murder, torture, hints of smut, hints of suicide, stalking, very bad obsession (as the title says lol), abusive relationship, manipulation, idk what else
summary: since the moment he saw you moving in, tate knew you were going to be his. no matter what.
word count: 2.5k
~~~
Tate watches as you flip through the pages of your magazine. You’re lying on your bed, music blasting in your ears. Even if he was visible to you, he doubts you’d even know he’s there. You’re too busy looking at pictures of clothes and celebrities. You hum along to the song playing, your voice soft like velvet. What once made his invisible heart race now makes him sick. He feels a tear roll down his cheek as he watches you. How can you be so content? How?
He’s been watching you for months, half of it without your knowledge. He knew the second he saw you moving in with your family he needed to have you. He remembers watching you unpack boxes, making what used to be his room now yours. Within the first week of you being there, he warned every other ghost in the house to stay away. You are his, only his.
The first time he revealed himself to you, he pretended to be the boy next door. He remembers the look on your face as if it were yesterday. You stared at him with a look that made him almost feel as though he were alive again. It was like heaven. You let him hang out with you in your room, the connection between the two of you forming immediately. He remembers how easily you opened up to him, and how within only a week you wanted to be his friend. It went just as he planned.
On Halloween he took you out to the beach, it was the best night of his life. He often thinks back to how that night went. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore as you opened your legs for him for the first time. You were so willing, it almost made him angry. But he knew it must’ve been hard to resist him for that month before Halloween, so he gave you a pass on it.
He remembers everything about that night. The way you told him he was the sweetest boy you’ve ever met, the way you looked at him as though he was the only boy in the world. Even though he was the one who kissed you, you didn’t object for one second. In fact, you were the one who laid back on the towel and started to slide your pants off. He remembers how gentle he was with you, how he almost let it slip that he was in love with you. The way you made him feel that night was a feeling he never felt before in life or death. You were so warm, so tight. He could barely contain himself. It was everything he had dreamed of and more.
After that night, his obsession only grew. Suddenly, almost every time the two of you saw each other, you had sex. He thought you were in love with him too, so he let it happen. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Each time you came on to him, he felt like he was floating. You wanted him. You wanted him to do things to you that were special, that made two people as close as they could be. It felt like an honor.
“Oh Tate,” you’d moan. “You’re perfect.”
He would look at you, no matter what position, and think about how lucky he was to be with you. You were the girl of his dreams, his obsessions. He loved you more than anyone. If he could, he would die for you, he would kill for you. Both without a second thought. Even now, he still would.
Right now, he wipes the tear that fell down his cheek and reveals himself. He walks over to you, tapping you lightly. You flinch, but once you realize it’s him you smile and take off your headphones, patting the spot next to you on the bed for him to lay.
“Have you been here long?” You ask.
Tate shakes his head and gets onto your bed. “No, not really.”
“Oh, that’s good. All I’ve done today is be lazy. I actually thought about calling you but then my mom gave me this to read,” you say. You turn your head and he watches as you really look at his face. “Were you crying?”
“No, just allergies,” he lies.
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “I uh just came here to talk about what you said last time we saw each other.”
“Yeah...” you say, your smile disappearing. “I’m really sorry for that, I just thought you should know about him.”
“Who is he?” Tate asks. He doesn’t know whether he wants to cry or kill somebody. Perhaps he wants both.
“Just a guy from one of my classes. I don’t really know how it happened, we just clicked. Don’t think this means I don’t want to stop talking though Tate, of course I still want to see you. I just think we should strictly only be friends, nothing like what we were doing,” you answer.
Tate scoffs. “What we were? I thought we were in love, I thought you were my girlfriend. You told me you loved me.”
“And I do love you Tate, just not in the way you love me. You’re like my best friend, of course I have love for you,” you reply, only making the anger build inside him.
“You don’t hook up with your best friend,” he says. He stands up, his anger taking control. He runs his hands through his hair, he needs to calm down. “You told me you needed me. You told me I was your perfect boy. How is that friendly?”
You sit up, looking ashamed. “I don’t know. Maybe I thought I was in love with you but then I met Jake.”
Tate takes a deep breath before climbing back on the bed and taking your hands in his. You look him in the eye, guilt all over your face. He can’t help but want to kiss you. He wants all of this to be some sick joke, he wants you to take it back. How could you have him convinced the two of you were in love for months then one day say that’s never what it was? How could a person do that? More specifically though, how could you do that to him?
“I’m sorry Tate,” you mumble. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“So, take it back y/n, forget about this guy and stay with me. I want you to be mine, forever, I can’t ever just be your friend,” he replies.
You shake your head, tears forming in your eyes. “That can’t happen, it would never work out.”
“Yes, it would. Y/n, I will never let anyone, or anything hurt you, I’ll love you till the end of time I swear,” he argues. He lifts one of his hands and gently wipes a tear from your face. “Please.”
“Tate...” you whisper.
He doesn’t think before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. He needs this, even if it’s the last time it ever happens. It’s no surprise that you don’t push him away, he knows you can’t help yourself either. Your lips move slowly against his. Both of you are crying now, your tears mix. But after only a few minutes he pulls away.
“You want me too, you know you do deep down,” he mumbles.
“It wouldn’t work, we’re not a good fit.”
“Your mind has been poisoned by that other guy; did you tell him about me?”
You nod.
“He just wants to turn you against me, he’s jealous of what we have,” Tate whispers.
His eyes are soft, tears still streaming down his face. He almost lets out a sob when you reach out and touch his face. Your sweet hands could never hurt a fly. He wraps his arms around you and pulls your body against his in a hug. It’s comforting, he loves how warm you are. He can hear your heart beat, it’s beautiful. He lies the two of you back down on the bed, his head resting on your chest.
“I can’t keep fighting without you,” he says.
“I know,” you reply. You move your fingers through his blond curls, he feels at peace.
“You make the bad thoughts go away, you make me feel normal,” he continues in a soft tone. “If you leave me, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
He looks up at you and sees how hard you’re trying not to cry. It pains him. He moves on top of you, his face hovering over yours. Your eyes are full of so many emotions, Tate can’t read them all. He leans down once again and kisses you. There are so many emotions flowing through the both of you and they all come out in this kiss. But this time, it becomes more than just a kiss.
Soon enough the two of you are doing what you do best, and even though he’s hurt Tate still can’t get enough of it. He slides inside of you gently, just like the first time. You drag your fingernails across his back, your head thrown back. Tate loves the expressions that form on your face, so fucking pretty.
He leans his head down so his lips are right next to your ear and whispers under his breath, “No one will ever make you feel as good as this, never.”
You don’t reply.
~~~
The first day you bring that guy over Tate watches darkly from the shadows. He hears what you say to him, the same things you used to say when the two of you were together. It makes him sick. He thought you changed your mind, but the day after everything went down you went back to your previous choice. You want Jake, not Tate. But he’s not going to let that happen.
When he goes to use the bathroom Tate strikes. He knocks him out with one swift blow to the head and drags his body down the stairs and into the basement. He ties him up in a chair and takes his phone, quickly texting you saying he had to go home early. Tate knows you won’t go down into the basement; it’s always scared you. He’s glad.
The guy, Jake, wakes up after ten minutes. He starts screaming, but his mouth is duct taped shut. He wiggles in the chair, it amuses Tate. He moves so fast the chair almost falls over, that’s when Tate emerges from the shadows. Jake stares at him, his eyes wide.
“I bet you’re wondering why you’re here right now,” Tate starts, Jake tries to rip out of the duct tape. “I can understand wanting her, I want her too. She’s the prettiest, sweetest, most wonderful girl I think either of us will ever know.”
He walks close to Jake, his dark eyes locked on him. “Only one of us can have her though and it’s going to be me. You see, once she starts to realize you aren’t returning her calls anymore, she’s going to be upset, and she’ll run back to me so fast you’ll just be a bad memory.”
Jake squirms in the chair as Tate walks back into the darkness. He returns within seconds though, a bloody stained hammer in his hand. The boy in the chair screams into the duct tape, it almost makes Tate smile. He walks to him again, stopping only a foot away.
“She’s mine, and you’re going to die with that thought in your head.”
With that, Tate starts to smash the hammer into the other boy's head, the sound of his skull cracking like music to his ears. He doesn’t go too hard though, no. He wants him to suffer. He smashes his kneecaps, his elbows, all while the poor boy is still alive. But when he gets too close to being dead Tate stops and drags his body outside, being careful so you won’t see. He throws the boy's body over the fence into Constance's yard, his spirit won’t even be able to reach you.
After he’s done, he cleans himself up and returns into the house, a smirk on his lips. You’re his again, he knows it.
~~~
“Tate, can I ask you something,” you speak.
The two of you are in your bed again, you’re lying on his chest. It’s been a week since he killed your boyfriend, and so far, he thinks he’s gotten away with it. The boy’s face was too mutilated to identify at first sight, and besides that Tate hasn’t heard his identification on the news or from you. He thinks it may be his perfect crime.
“Anything,” he says after a few seconds.
You sit up, covering your chest with the blanket. You look nervous. “Um, I know this may sound crazy but, did you kill Jake?”
“What?” Tate replies. How did you find out?
“That body in Constance’s yard, it was Jake,” you answer.
“Why would you assume it was me? Of course, I didn’t kill him that would be crazy,” he lies, pretending to be offended at your accusation.
“You were the only one who had a problem with him Tate, and you live right near my house. Listen I won’t- I won’t turn you in just tell me the truth,” you explain.
Tate sits up too and looks you in the eye. “Why does it matter? You’re back with me y/n, and since he’s been gone there haven’t been any issues between us. I thought you were happy.”
You scoff and get out of bed. “Tate you killed an innocent boy!”
“So what? We are happier without him; we are happier together. Whether I killed him or not those are the facts.”
“Are you serious?” You ask, a horrified expression on your face. “Did you do this so I would fuck you again?”
“No!” he exclaims, getting out of bed on the other side. “I did it so we could be together, I did it because I love you y/n. I love you way more than that jerk ever could.”
You pull on a t-shirt and underwear before heading toward the door. “This can’t be happening.”
Tate quickly pulls on his boxers and follows you. You’re about to open the door but he slams it shut with his hand. He towers over you from behind. He can see your hands are shaking, you’re afraid of him. He can’t have that.
“I’m not going to hurt you y/n, I would never hurt you,” he says softly.
“You’re a killer.”
“You love me, and deep down you’ve known what I’m capable of.”
You begin to cry. “How could I have been so stupid?”
“You aren’t stupid,” he tries to comfort you. He wraps his arms around your torso in a tight hug.
“Yes, I am, I fell in love with a monster,” you mumble.
Tate holds you close, his lips kissing the top of your head. It’s all coming together, he thinks. He knows you’re going to kill yourself soon, you can’t handle this. Once you’re dead he’ll finally be able to tell you the truth of this house. But by then you won’t be able to get out.
If he can’t have you, no one else will.
~~
a/n:
why did i just realize this can kinda be a prequel to a cruel punishment???
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hotchfiles · 3 months
Note
james potter + hold on by chord overstreet
lari's 100th follower bash + send me a song and one of my boys for a drabble
james + chord overstreet's hold on (come back, I still need you; let me take your hand, I'll make it right; I swear to love you all my life)
content warning: fay asked for this now we're all gonna suffer. suicide / character death (reader). do not read if depression, anxiety, mental illness, grief and these sorts of themes trigger you.
you called him, you called him. he kept thinking about that as you were taken to the ambulance, why, why did you call? why if he wouldn't be able to stop you. why? did you want him to come? was he supposed to come faster? did you set him up to fail? did you want him to come at all?
he knew, he knew, he knew he wasn't being fair. he knew those weren't the questions to ask. but you haven't called in months, maybe closer to two years now, what if he wasn't living around anymore?
what if he had gone back to his folks' town?
what if he wasn't home when you called his home phone?
did you even want him to come? were you asking to be saved? were you saying goodbye? he tried not to sob when he was instructed to call your family and meet them at the hospital.
you're not related, you can't come with her.
you're not related, he was just your ex from years ago. he couldn't make decisions for you if needed. he couldn't even keep his hands on your cold cold ones on the ride there, he was forced to shove down his sobs to be able to drive and not cause an accident due to his blurry sight.
you asked him how he was, your voice weak. he was so confused but happy nonetheless, he had missed your voice didn't matter how high or low you spoke. he told you about his new job, his new glasses, his new apartment. but you avoided his questions any time he tried to know more about how your life was.
i just want to hear your voice, jamie, please keep talking. it was such an odd request to have, but he didn't mind, he missed you so much, his best friend, his first love. so he kept talking, he told you about his week, and peter's new girlfriend, and remus' phd, how sirius had gone viral with one of his songs. he only stopped when he thought you were asleep, complete silence coming from your end of the line.
he heard a noise, your phone dropping. a shiver went through his back, he called for you, hoping you would wake up and pick it up, apologize for falling asleep.
you didn't. he had to call the ambulance on the way there. even so he got to your apartment first, he had to break through so many doors to get to you his arm and shoulder were sore, you were stomach down on your bed, arm hanging out of it, phone far on the floor.
cold. barely breathing.
he did cpr to the best of his abilities, his hands were shaking, his own lungs seemed like they were about to give it up as the tears took his eyes, his cheeks, his neck. his own voice breaking, begging you to wake up. telling you to not leave him.
the rescue came in seconds later, finishing the medical predicament and taking you with them.
he shouldn't have left. when you told him you wouldn't be able to keep a long distance relationship for an year so he could go to barcelona, he should've stayed. he should've looked for you when he came back. he knew of your issues, he had his own, you took care of each other. made sure all meds were taken, all doctor's appointments were scheduled.
james wasn't that arrogant, he knew you wouldn't do something like that because of him. he knew he wasn't the reason. still the guilt made him so sick to his stomach he had to stop his car on the side of a road to throw up what he had for dinner earlier. he called your parents before getting back to his car, trying to keep calm not to freak them out even more.
i found her in her bed, she was still breathing, she's going to the hospital. she's gonna be fine.
he arrived just in time to see you being pulled out of the ambulance, so many wires plugged into, a mask attached to your face. he took your hand with his, following the paramedics as they went to some room he wasn't sure for, he left a kiss to your forehead and shivered at how cold it felt on his lips. "i still love you, please, don't—i need you alive and well, don't give up, please." james could feel the stares from the staff, pity. sadness. he tried to ignore it as he plopped down to the floor when he couldn't follow anymore. his head hitting the wall softly as the memories of you washed him over.
you taught him what a panic attack was, and how to deal with his. you were the one to recommend the psychiatrist he was seeing now. you taught him coping mechanisms for anxiety while he was too stubborn to look for therapy himself.
you saved him from himself, from his own thoughts, so so so many times. not only that, but you gave him reason, purpose, calmness. he would remember your smile even in spain, he would wonder what you were doing, and the thought of you happy and free made any uneasiness he felt there, while he was alone and lonely, disappear. he remembered coming back to england, he had so many little trinkets he had bought especially for you on his baggage, and he was going to look for you but you seemed so happy on your socials.
good bloody one, james, trust the social media. he sighed, another hit of the back of his head to the wall. trusting your happy posting as if he didn't live with you enough time to know you always did it, it kept your parents safe from worrying too much. he knew it, he knew it, he knew it, why didn't he look for you before?
your parents ask him if you were dating again, james answers "not yet." completely hopeful this could might as well be some fucked up plan from fate to reunite you two. that you would be out of all of those wires, that mask, in just a few hours. and he would cry and hug you and tell you to never scare him again like that. he would take your hand, now warm, and reach to his heart so you could feel how he still felt for you.
that hope came crashing down when he came back from the cafeteria, coffees on both his hands for your parents.
your parents who were talking to a doctor. his vision blurred again with the awful yell he heard from your mum. both cups straight to the floor as he approached the doctor for explanation.
you're wrong. she's alive. you're wrong.
his knees felt weak and he dropped to the floor of the hospital once again that night. sobbing as he hugged himself wishing you were being embraced by him.
wishing you would be waiting for him when he got home, snacking something so so so unhealthy while drinking diet coke.
but you wouldn't. never again.
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avoxrising · 10 months
Text
True Romance - A Hunger Games One Shot
Finnick x Reader
So this fic is inspired by the song True Romance by Tove Lo. I recommend giving a listen before and after you read this. There will also be ~lyrics~ scattered throughout.
Synopsis: You and your soulmate/fellow district 4 victor Finnick are both reaped for the Quarter Quell. Your worlds shatter as you both realize you could not live without each other… and you won’t.
Note: This fic deviates from cannon as in the story, there is no rescue plan/rebellion plan to get the victors out of the QQ/save Katniss. The rest of the characters are the same outside of you going in for Mags.
Also, I do not own the rights to any of the lyrics I sprinkled throughout this story. They all come from the song True Romance by Tove Lo and thus belong to their respective copyright owners.
Content warnings: severe emotions and suicide - please do not read if you are not in the right headspace. Warning you will cry (I cried writing this). Fluff and angst but no smut outside of kissing. Normal hunger games violence/murder. Mention of bullets in the song lyrics.
Also it’s a long one! About 5.5k words but I didn’t want to split it up into parts as I felt the story was better being one long part. Also sorry for the formatting I write my fics in my iPhone notes. Enjoy!
———
~
“I walk in a vision in red
Your favorite movie playing on my silhouette”
~
He had been your everything for as long as you could remember. You grew up as neighbors in a small neighborhood on the edge of District 4. You remember walking to school with him every day, convinced all you would be was best friends and nothing more would come of it.
That all changed when at the age 14 he was reaped for the Hunger Games. You have never cried so much in your life. Holding onto him as you said your goodbyes in the back of the justice building, you made him promise that he would win and return to you.
He kept his promise, just as he has kept every promise since that day. When he returned to you a few weeks later, you were the happiest person in all of District 4. Even though he was no longer your neighbor, you visited him constantly in Victor’s Village whenever you could sneak out of your small neighborhood.
You grew closer together over the years until at age 16 you were reaped for the Hunger Games.
“I’m not coming back Finn,” you cried as you said your goodbyes to your mentor.
“Yes you are,” he said. “If I can come back then so can you.”
You wanted to believe him more than anything, but at the same time you felt hopeless. When you did actually make it out of the games, you were so completely numb and ready to shut everyone out, but he wouldn’t let you. You were back to being neighbors again, but it wasn’t the same.
Slowly, but surely you returned to him. You became even closer as he became your reason for living. Slowly your feelings started to develop past friendship, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him. He was one of the only people you had left, and you were so scared of losing him and messing up the friendship you had.
~
“You turn to me just for a minute
Do you know my real secret?”
~
Returning to the capital every year to mentor was hard, but at least you got to do it with him. You often spent the night curled up in his bed on the fourth floor, unable to sleep due to the nightmares. You were worried that he would soon catch onto your feelings for him, but you needed him more than anything and we’re too scared to push him away, or let your feelings for him go.
Over the years, he started to catch onto your feelings. He had always felt the same way, but never thought you would feel that way about him. He was equally scared though to voice his feelings in fear of messing up the dynamic you two had. You were his everything, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you over confessing his feelings.
~
“Make my move
Spillin' all my popcorn over you
You're confused
What does a girl like me want with you?”
~
After a particularly long day of training your newest tributes for the arena, you slid into bed with him and curl up in his arms. This was your normal routine, but you could tell something was off tonight. He was nervous and you could feel his chest rise and fall faster than normal.
“What’s up Finn,” you asked concerned as you pulled away to look at him, sitting up on the bed.
“Nothing,” he mumbled as he refused to make eye contact with you.
You raise his head to look at you as you reply, “I know you Finn, you can tell me anything. No judgement, just honesty.”
He tried to hide his nervousness as you looked at him, hoping that you would let this whole topic go for once, but he knew you. And he knew you would keep asking until he gave you a straight answer.
“I love you,” he said nervously. “I’ve loved you since we were 7 but I never wanted to tell you because I was worried it would end our friendship…”
You tilt his head up to look at you again as you pressed your lips into his. It felt so good to finally hear him say those words to you, knowing you had felt the same way for quite a while. He kissed you back slowly pulling you back into his arms.
“I never thought I would have a chance with you,” he mumbled. “You were always the pretty one growing up and I was the class clown who was constantly getting in trouble. I put you through hell and back when I was shipped off to the games and I know you went through hell and back to return to me after yours.”
You kissed him again in reassurance.
“I love you Finn,” you told him. “Forever.”
~
“I want your hands
Your future plans
To the bitter end”
~
Three years later, you were walking down an aisle of rose petals on the beach with a beautiful bouquet in your hands. Your friends and family had gathered for your special day and you couldn’t be more excited to finally marry your soulmate. As you looked at him, you could see tears gathering in his eyes.
“You’re so beautiful my love,” he whispered in your ear.
“Forever and always Finn,” you smiled.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Your kisses were always passionate, but this was the best one of all. You both were over the moon to finally cement your love in eternity for each other, and you couldn’t wait for your happily ever after to finally begin. Unfortunately, that happy ever after was short-lived.
A quick six months later and you were both sitting in front of the TV of your home, anxiously awaiting the announcement of the 75th hunger games. When the words came out of President Snow’s mouth, stating that the tributes would be reaped from the existing pool of victors, your heart shattered into millions of pieces. Finnick was the only living male victor of district 4, and there was no way you were sending Mags into that arena. After her stroke a few years ago. Her health had rapidly deteriorated and you don’t even know if she would live long enough to make it to the reaping let alone the games.
You fell asleep that night, and every night after, completely numb and crying in his arms.
~
“Take a life for me, you know I'd do it instantly
In danger of a true romance
We are meant to be, I'd die for love and loyalty
In danger of a true romance”
~
Mags passed just two weeks short of the reaping. Her funeral was brief and intimate, with only a few gathering. You were grieving the loss of your mentor as well as both you and your husband’s impending end.
Are the reaping was painful as you were forced to look out over the sorrowful faces of your community who gathered for your send off. They knew that they were most likely going to lose their only remaining victors in a few short days.
You held his hand as your names were both called, putting on a brave face for the cameras, but you both knew neither of you were making it out of the arena. Although you both had a good shot of winning against the other victors, you knew he would die for you and you for him.
You held onto each other the whole train ride to the capital, wanting to spend each and every moment together. You were angry at the capital. You would never get to have his kids, you would never get to grow old together and you would never have your happily ever after that you had worked so hard for.
The tribute parade was bittersweet. You were both adored in the capital and were seen as the royal couple of the capital. The people lived vicariously through your love, and were devastated to see both of you back and headed into the arena.
“You look beautiful as always love,” Finnick stated as he took in your parade outfit. Your long, baby blue dress perfectly hugged your curves as it flowed down your body, gently giving the impression of water. Your husband was dressed in a flowy blue dress shirt that matched your dress as well as a pair of tan slacks. You grabbed his hand as he pulled you up onto the chariot, handing you a sugar cube as you anxiously waited for the parade to begin.
Tears streamed down your face as you rode your way down towards the cold eyes of President Snow. You couldn’t bear to look at the crowd or Finnick. He squeezed your hand as your chariot pulled around the circle and started back towards the tribute and remake center.
Finally, the ride was over and you were able to go back upstairs with your husband. You collapsed in his arms, drifting off to sleep under the warm comforter of the bed.
~
“I don't like the real world
I don't like the real world
It's tough out in the real world
Let's go back to our world”
~
Over the next few days, you didn’t leave his side at all. You held his hand as he practiced with the tridents in the training center, and he held yours as you threw knives at the dummies, pretending they were Snow. The rest of the victors gave you both sad and knowing looks as they could see the pain in both of your eyes.
Every night you held him tighter and wished that you could stay in bed forever with him.
“I don’t want to leave you,” you cried as you held onto him.
“You’ll always be with me love, forever and ever,” he whispered as he kissed your forehead.
“I wish we could just run away and escape all of this,” you mumbled through sobs. “Never enter the arena. Never have to leave each other.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I love you forever.”
~
“Bullets fly, you took him down
And now we're honeymooners dreamin' 'bout tropical skies”
~
Peacekeepers had to pry you two off of each other as they sent you to your respective rooms under the arena. You cried the entire way to your room, desperately, hoping that you would find him quickly in the arena.
“It’s a wetsuit so I would expect a hot climate with water,” your stylist stated as she got you ready.
Looking at it, made you sick as you knew this was Snow’s twisted way of separating you from Finnick. He knew that both of you would have the advantage in the arena with there being water and he wanted one of you to survive without the other. He wanted you both to suffer.
Tears began slipping from your eyes as you rose into the arena, but you quickly wiped them away. You couldn’t let the other tributes see you as weak as they would quickly pick you off before you could find Finnick. You desperately looked around for him, but couldn’t locate him. He must be on the other side of the cornucopia. Your hands began to shake as the countdown neared zero.
When the gong sounded, you dove into the water, swimming with all of your strength towards the spoke to your right. You quickly pulled yourself up and sprinted towards the cornucopia, but not before the male tribute from nine tackled you back into the water. You struggled against his grasp as he tried to pull you under, but you knew you could hold your breath for at least three minutes. All you could hope is that he couldn’t hold his breath for as long as yours.
He began thrashing about in the water as he repeatedly kicked you in the ribs. You managed to kick him a few times yourself, but you were mainly focused on holding your breath. Gasping in pain would only allow the water to enter your lungs faster and there is no way you were drowning less than five minutes into the games.
Slowly, you noticed him starting to struggle as he tried to pull you back towards the surface. You yanked him down with all of your strength, trying to stop him from swimming upwards in his panic state you managed to kick him in the ribs enough times to knock the air out of his lungs, he began choking on the water as you were able to get out of his grasp and quickly swim towards the surface. As your head breached the water you heard a cannon go off, and the male tribute’s body floated to the surface.
Panicked, you looked around at the carnage surrounding the cornucopia. Bodies laid everywhere and cannons went off every minute or two. Suddenly, you heard Finnick screaming for you and saw him running around the cornucopia trying to spot you. You were out of breath from your struggle, but managed to pull yourself up on one of the spokes as he came running over to you.
“Oh my god I thought you were dead,” he said as you shook in his arms.
“I killed the male from 9,” you said as sobs racked your body.
“Come on we have to go now,” he said as he pulled you into the woods.
After about an hour of running, you sat down to rest. The adrenaline was slowly wearing off, and your ribs were beginning to bruise under your wetsuit. Luckily Finnick had grabbed some knives for you and a trident for himself from the cornucopia.
Suddenly 11 cannons rang out through the area, marking the end of the bloodbath.
“How many people did you get,” you asked Finnick as you both were trying to catch your breath. The arena was unbelievably hot and you had yet to find drinkable water.
“Two,” he replied. “Both from 5.”
You held onto each other for a few more minutes until you decided to start moving again, desperate to find fresh water.
A few hours later, you still have no luck finding water. You decide to set up camp under some large trees and settle down for the night. You both snacked on some of the food Finnick harvested from the surrounding trees and talked about who was going to take the first watch.
Suddenly the familiar chimes of a parachute grow louder as a gift from your sponsors floats down to your camp. Finnick lets you open it, and you discover a small metal object with a note that says “drink up”.
You turn to Finnick as you exclaim, “do you have any idea what this is? It’s way too small to store any water.”
He laughs at you as he takes it from your hand and walks over to a tree.
“Honey it’s a spile,” he laughs as water starts flowing from the tree. “Come here and drink.”
“Honestly, I have no clue what that is but I’m not complaining,” you state as you start drinking from the tree.
After you both rehydrated and washed your faces, you settled down for the night. Finnick insisted on taking first watch so you could get as much rest as possible. Suddenly the anthem started playing as the fallen we’re about to be shown. There had been no cannons since the bloodbath but you were anxious to see which faces appeared in the sky.
The faces of Beetee, Wiress, Blight, Wolf, and Seeder appeared in the sky along with both tributes from 5, the female morphing from 6, both tributes from 9 and the female from 10.
“Eleven down, thirteen to go,” Finnick muttered.
You squeezed his hand and gave him a sad look as you laid down to rest, quickly dozing off.
~
“In trouble again
When does it end?
Will it ever end?
Save me”
~
You woke to the sound of heavy rain hitting the canopy of the jungle that surrounded you. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since you dozed off but Finnick was still alert and on guard. Suddenly, the rain became heavier and you and Finnick quickly realized that the rain was not water- it was blood.
Hot thick blood coated your bodies as you ran through the jungle, desperate to find anything to shelter you from the rain. You felt like you were suffocating but Finnick held your hand tightly as you stumbled over roots and vines.
After running for what felt like hours the rain finally stopped. Finnick grabbed some moss off of a nearby tree and began to clean the blood off of you. He managed to get the spile working again and you were both able to somewhat rinse yourselves off using the small stream from the tree.
Once you both were clean and had a moment to catch your breaths, you heard the scream of a man in the distance. You couldn’t see anyone but you could sense that they were too close for comfort.
“Which way Finn?” you whispered to your husband.
“This way,” he replied as he slowly started moving in the opposite direction of where you heard the screaming from. Your hands were clasped tightly together as you tried to sneak away quietly but that all changed the second you heard the cannon go off.
“Run!” you whispered as both you and Finnick took off into a sprint away from the other tributes. You couldn’t see them but you had the feeling they were following you.
Suddenly an axe flies past your head as Finnick pushes you to the ground. You quickly get up and turn to face your assailants. You were met with the faces of Johanna Mason and the male from district 10 wielding a spear. You slipped a knife from your belt and quickly flung it at Johanna who was getting ready to throw her other axe. She dodged and it grazed her leg but not enough to stop her from charging at you with the axe. You rolled underneath her as she swung down at you, narrowly missing your head. Pulling a larger knife from your belt, you took a swing at her, slashing a gash into her cheek.
You lose focus for a second when you hear Finnick grunt and then a cannon go off. Johanna and you both look over to see Finnick standing over the body of Johanna’s ally, fresh blood dripping from his trident. You stab Johanna in the arm before she kicks you hard in the ribs and flees into the jungle. You would have bolted after her but Finnick was suddenly by your side to checking to see if you were injured.
“I’m fine Finn she just kicked me in the ribs,” you said as you stood back up. You looked over at him and saw his shoulder was bleeding.
“It’s fine,” he said as he noticed you looking at his shoulder. “He barely grazed me and it’s not deep.”
You gave him an annoyed look as you went to gather some moss to press on his wound. As you returned you both agreed that you should get moving as your fight wasn’t exactly quiet and you didn’t know if others were on their way, eager to capitalize off of the carnage of your fight.
~
“Running from the scene, more money that we could ever dream
In danger of a true romance”
~
You set off back towards the beach. Johanna had run further into the Jungle and you weren’t looking for another fight just yet. Both of you knew the beach was a risk but you wanted to wash the remaining blood off from the rain you had encountered earlier.
After an hour or so of walking you decided to pause for a snack break. Finnick had gathered some nuts and berries earlier that you had deemed edible so you both sat down to eat. Quickly you are both on your feet again as you hear the all too familiar sounds of water crashing- a tsunami. You can’t remember the last time you ran that fast. Memories flooded into your head of the tsunamis you had seen in the past but you had never experienced one first hand. Feeling the water getting closer you looked back, only to notice that the trees weren’t falling from the impact of the water.
“Quickly Finn! We need to climb the trees!” you gasped, out of breath from the running. You only had seconds to spare as he hoisted you up into a tree before climbing up behind you. You both climbed up and up until the branches were too thin to hold your weight. The water had shook the tree violently upon impact but you both held on tight. Looking down, you saw the body of a woman being swept in the current. It was too loud to hear if a cannon had gone off but you think you could make out the dark hair of Cecelia, the woman from District 8.
~
“Bodies left to bleed, they all had it comin'
In danger of a true romance”
~
When the water had finally subsided, you climbed down from the tree and walked the remaining distance to the beach. Finnick went ahead to check if the coast was clear and you followed once he gave you a nod that it was clear.
He gathered some leaves from the trees to use as cushions as you got the spile working again. After a few minutes, Finnick had woven a picnic blanket for you to both sit on. The familiar chime of a parachute sounded as a picnic basket full of bread floated down from the sky. You laid there for hours with him, snacking on the bread and talking about the beaches of home. He quickly dozed off into a nap as you soothingly ran your fingers through his messy hair.
You didn’t realize that you had fallen asleep until he woke you up to watch the sunset with him. There were tears in both your eyes as you realized this might be your last sunset together.
“Thank you for everything Finn,” you said as tears ran silently down your face. He wiped the tears from your eyes and planted a kiss on your forehead.
“You don’t have to thank me love,” he replied. “I would do it over and over again in all of my lifetimes with you. I love you forever”
You both sat their crying until the sky grew dark.
Dread filled your chest as the anthem began playing. The faces of the male morphling, Cecelia, and the district 10 male populated the sky before it went dark again.
You took the first watch, waking Finnick a few hours later so you could rest. He kissed you gently as you fell asleep in his arms.
You slept until dawn when he shook you awake and quickly pulled you back into the forest. He hushed you he pointed you towards the cornucopia where you could make out a fight happening on the rocks. The siblings, Gloss and Cashmere, were taking on Katniss and Peeta from 12. You were terrified that they had seen you but Finnick steadied your breathing and held you tight. He didn’t think you guys had been spotted but he wasn’t sure.
A bloodcurdling scream broke out followed by a cannon, Katniss lay bleeding on the rocks, her throat slit, while Peeta was frozen in fear. He quickly snapped out of it and began sprinting away from the siblings down one of the spokes. He wasn’t running directly towards you, but he wasn’t running away from you either. Maybe he had seen you and was hoping Cashmere and Gloss would be more interested in hunting you down than chasing him.
~
“Thought I watched you die, I killed a man with tears in my eyes
In danger of a true romance”
~
He was partially correct. Cashmere continued to follow Peeta into the jungle but Gloss quickly turned towards you and Finnick. You thought it was stupid that he would try attacking both of you without his sister until you saw the rage in his eyes. He was full of adrenaline and was not messing around.
You threw two knives at him in quick succession as he sprinted straight towards Finnick, holding a long dagger in his hand. One of the knives lodged in his torso but it wasn’t enough to immediately take him down. He dodged Finnick’s trident and jammed his knife into Finnick’s thigh. It must have penetrated a few inches in as Finnick fell backwards onto the ground. Before Gloss had the chance to finish him off you flung a knife straight into his throat. The cannon was almost immediate as he fell onto Finnick.
Relieved, you thought the fight was over until a screaming Peeta was suddenly silent as another cannon boomed. You knew Cashmere was going to come looking for her brother and so you had to act quickly. Finnick was not in any position to move so you gave him a quick kiss before running off into the jungle towards where you thought Cashmere would be.
Peeta had put up a better fight than you had expected as Cashmere was bleeding from her nose and ear. She flung a knife in your general direction but it was clear her balance was effected by whatever damage Peeta had done to her head. You flung your last two knives at her before she had a chance to throw anymore at you. She fell to the ground as your knives had hit her right eye and her heart. The cannon sounded and you quickly picked up your knives as well as the remaining knives she had on her belt and ran back towards where you had left Finnick.
You found him pressing moss to his leg, the dagger laying besides him.
“Why did you take it out! You aren’t supposed to take it out,” you cried as you looked at the dagger next to his leg.
“It’s ok it’s not that bad,” he said as he tried to console you, but you were violently sobbing on the ground next to him.
“No you can’t do that. You’re gonna bleed out,” you cried.
“Shhh it’s ok,” he whispered as he pulled you into a hug. You laid on him sobbing into a parachute made it’s way down through the canopy and onto the ground next to you. Quickly opening it, you found first aid supplies for his leg. You apologized as you pressed alcohol onto the wound and your husband cried out in pain. He squeezed your hand as you gave him stitches and then bandaged the wound. You moved him a few yards away from where Gloss’s body still laid and made him rest so the medicine on his leg could start working. He could tell how exhausted you were so he made you take a nap while he took watch.
“No you need the rest,” you complained as you brought him water.
“I can’t sleep until the pain meds kick in,” he stated. “I’ll wake you up before they make me sleepy or if any danger appears as I’m not in any shape to fight right now.”
You reluctantly agreed and laid down on his lap. Sleep came quickly as you were exhausted from the morning’s events. Eventually Finnick woke you up as the meds were making him sleepy.
“Stay awake for a few more minutes,” you said. “I’m gonna go grab some more moss for your leg.” He hummed in reply and you quietly got up to grab some moss.
~
“Saved you from that room, the powder and gold and the men were all doomed
Against our love, they never stood a chance”
~
A few steps into the jungle your head began to vibrate and you felt a weird energy come over you. Paranoid, you looked around as the trees changed colors. The green leaves were turning blue and the trees seemed to be leaking a yellow sap. Suddenly, you noticed movement to the left of you and you quickly flung a knife towards the movement. A grunt was followed by a swift punch to your jaw. You guess your assailant was closer to you than you initially thought. Dizzy, you fell to the ground as the world started spinning around you. Swirls of color clouded your vision as the man who had punched you moments before was now on top of you, his spear pressed against your neck. Looking up at him, you saw the face of Finnick.
“Finnick it’s me!” you screamed. “Get off!”
He pushed down further on your neck as you began to choke. Grabbing the spear you began trying to push it off of you and away from Finnick. You grabbed at his hands only to realize he only had one. Where his other hand should be was a stump of flesh. Your mind continued to race as you quickly realized whoever you were fighting wasn’t Finnick. For one, Finnick didn’t use a spear, and secondly he had two hands and the stump of flesh did not look like a recent injury.
You continued to scream until the person on top of you was shoved off of you and impaled with a trident. He slowly morphed into Chaff as the real Finnick pulled you up into your feet and dragged out away from the body. The cannon sounded and your vision slowly returned to normal as your head stopped vibrating.
It suddenly made sense- the missing hand, the spear, the trees changing colors.
“It’s ok love it’s ok,” Finnick said as he held you tightly. “You’re safe.”
Finnick brought you back to the tree line by the beach and laid you down. He held you tightly as you took a nap.
You woke in a panic to the sound of another cannon but quickly relaxed when you saw Finnick was ok. You noticed his leg was looking better which made you relax further.
“Your leg looks better,” you said as you smiled up at him.
He gave you a quick kiss and a smile as he replied, “I told you I would be alright.”
“Who do you think is left?” you asked.
“There’s just two besides us,” he stated. “I don’t know who’s cannon that was. It’s a toss up between Johanna, Brutus, and Enobaria.”
“Who do you hope it was?” you asked.
“Brutus or Enobaria,” he replied. “I am hoping Johanna is still in a bad shape from our last fight and Brutus and Enobaria are probably teamed up.”
You agreed with him but quickly realized the finale would be starting soon. There were only four of you left.
~
“Take a life for me, you know I'd do it instantly
In danger of a true romance
We are meant to be, I'd die for love and loyalty
In danger of a true romance”
~
The sound of mutts startled you but you could tell they were coming from the other side of the arena, probably chasing the other victors towards you. Finnick and you both stood up quickly and gave each other a kiss as you readied for battle. A bloody Johanna emerged from ten jungle about 100 yards away from you, and both you and Finnick bolted towards you. Taking her out now would mean you could face the final other victor together.
Finnick was faster than you as you raced towards Johanna. Suddenly, you were struck in the collar bone by a sword and stumbled to the ground. An enraged Enobaria stood over you, ready to pounce. Thinking quickly, you kicked her sword out of her hands but she quickly jumped on top of you, her full weight on your chest as she clawed at your stomach with her hands. You desperately grabbed for your knives but Enobaria put her knees on your arms, pinning them to the sand.
You let out the most blood curdling scream as Enobaria’s teeth ripped into your torso, taking a good chunk of flesh and probably some of your insides with it. You heard a cannon, honestly thinking it was yours, until you saw Enobaria get impaled by a trident. Another cannon sounded as your vision started to fade out.
~
“I don't like the real world
I don't like the real world
It's tough out in the real world
Let's go back to our world”
~
You feel Finnick pick you up as sobs racked his chest.
“Please don’t die on me!” He sobbed. “Please.”
You felt like you were floating until you realized you were. Finnick had laid you in the water as he held onto you for dear life.
“Please don’t leave me,” he cried.
It took all of your remaining strength to reach your hand up, cupping his face.
“I love you Finn. Forever.”
His final promise- “I promise I won’t live without you.”
He cried harder as your vision faded out. The last thing you felt was his lips on yours as you lost consciousness.
The last thing you heard was a cannon going off as Finnick impaled his heart with one of your knives, sinking into the water next to you.
The last thing you remember was how much you loved him.
The final cannon sounded.
They would have no victor.
——
I hope you enjoyed/cried!
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songhunter · 7 months
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trans allegory in mystic fragrance and forbidden rain
aka: the essay no one asked for
Content warnings for: Discussions of homophobia and transphobia, and brief mentions of suicide.
If you guys have any other comments on this topic (especially KnightsPs, I'm an UNDEADP so I'm less familiar with their lore) please comment or rb or drop an ask or anything! I love talking. It's also been a hot minute (3 or 4 years) since I last took an English class so my analysis is a little rusty.
Part 1: UNDEAD's "Monster" and Queerness
Every UNDEAD song (with one exception) has the same premise — the singers are the impure, immoral monsters who are singing to a pure, human audience. There are two genres of UNDEAD song:
“I’m a monster seducing you into the darkness, give into your desires because I know that secretly you want it too” — Immoral World, Savage Love Affair, etc.
“I’m a monster and I’m so badass” — Darkness 4, Nightless World, etc.
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Darkness 4 lyrics, translation by Shirayukin on Fandom wiki.
The “monster” in UNDEAD’s music is shorthand for anyone that exists outside of a pure society. By joining the monsters, you become tainted and can't return to society, but that’s the only way you can possibly live as your authentic self. In this way, the "darkness" is a safe space that these monsters have created for themselves.
This is, of course, a reference to Rei and how he feels ostracized from society -- the whole reason why Koga began UNDEAD was as a message to Rei that if Rei felt like a monster, he shouldn't roll over and die, but live with them as an undead. However, the concept of the queer monster is incredibly applicable imo. Historically, lots of villains in horror media were queer-coded as a way of eliciting disgust or a fear response, as a way of making its villain seem strange and, well, queer. (Oh, no! Look at all these horrible people ruining life for the law-abiding families!) The link between queerness and horror has been analyzed to death.
But queer people also love the misunderstood monster who's shunned by "proper" society. The gothic novels that originated the horror genre in the 1800s, like Dracula or the Picture of Dorian Grey, were written by queer authors and/or contained scores of queer themes. Do I need to go into why werewolves, shapeshifters who had to go deep into the woods to hide their wolf form, can be read as queer? Do I need to go into why Frankenstein, someone abandoned by his own creator and shunned by society by the nature of his existence alone (something out of his control), can be read as queer? Do I really need to go into why the modern-day vampire is queer? Vampires? Of course queer people will love these monsters, because they see themselves in the monsters, more so than the victims. (Also, nothing more in line with the queer experience than seeing a monster and going “ngl they're kinda hot actually.”)
In summary: It's very easy to read UNDEAD songs and UNDEAD's conceptualization of the "monster" through a queer lens. The monster is queer, and the monster welcomes you into the darkness and invites you to also give into your desire to live freely.
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Immoral World lyrics, translation by Mandy on Fandom wiki.
Also, shout out the love you tried to hide, huh? Show me your truth? Show me your pride?
Dude.
Dude.
Sidenote: The one exception to this “monster” theme is of course the elephant in the room, Sustain Memories. I think it plays well into UNDEAD’s image — at least in !-era, Rei, Adonis, and Koga have always been the monsters, while Kaoru is the human that joined them (see: their Halloween costumes in !-era). So Kaoru doesn’t sing of monsters, he sings of a human love. There's also something to be said about Kaoru being the one member of UNDEAD who tried so desperately to appear cishet and experience a "normal" love in !-era. But also, it's a wedding song because the anime boys look cute when they sing about weddings.
Part 2: What about Forbidden Rain?
Here's the thing about UNDEAD's other monster songs -- they're always proud of being monsters. They're not ashamed, and they want the audience to join them in their freedom.
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Forbidden Rain lyrics, translation by @/snaketaper on Twitter.
On the other hand, the singer in Forbidden Rain sees themselves as a "beast" who can never be forgiven, someone who's slowly poisoning their pure lover. They love them so much that they apparently have to let go of them, for their own sake. It's the first song that actually contains references to genuine love (usually UNDEAD is just horny).
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The song remains sort of ambiguous about the nature of the relationship between the singer and the audience. It's clear that the audience does actually care for the singer, since they do reach out a "gentle hand" that the singer can't take. But the singer says, "Let's end this thing that never even began" -- are they even together in the first place? Maybe it never began because they were scared of the "beast." Or maybe it never truly began because the relationship was built on a lie. They sing about a beast inside them that they have to hide, and says that their current self -- the one they show to the audience -- is a fake. And this is something that cannot be forgiven.
It's not hard to read this in the context of queerness. Maybe it's about a gay singer who doesn't want to reveal their feelings and tarnish a platonic relationship. Or maybe it's a trans singer who's wracked with guilt at keeping their identity under wraps and hasn't come out to their heterosexual lover, so they want to break off things before they come out and taint their previous relationship.
In Love & Beast, the "source material" behind Forbidden Rain, Inogari (Adonis' character) is soft-spoken, protective, and kind. He saves the main police character in the very first scene. He's an ambassador and a respected enough member of society that he's part of the Sakurayama (Rei's character) social club. He uses "watashi," which is even more polite than Adonis' "ore." He literally faints at the sight of blood. He's the picture of innocence and goodness and all that society approves of. But in a Jekyll and Hyde-like twist, he ends up secretly being the killer Beast. In the end, the Beast is finally caught when Inogari realizes the truth and chains himself to a wall so he can be caught by the police in an act of sacrifice.
Inogari is the picture of propriety, but he keeps the Beast repressed, and eventually this Beast destroys him. Even if you try your best to act as part of proper society, you'll never really fit in.
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Silent Oath lyrics, translation by royalquintet on Fandom wiki.
Another note: Forbidden Rain has a lot of the same themes of self-sacrifice, repression, and pure, romantic love that Knights songs do. Knights, in game, is a much more traditional idol unit than UNDEAD is. Forbidden Rain thus attempts to align itself more closely with the socially acceptable Knights, but it's still an UNDEAD song at its core. The monster is inescapable.
Part 3: Mystic Fragrance and Trans Allegory
This thread by @/pretty5P on twitter (https://x.com/pretty5p/status/1625958198623539200?s=46&t=lm_x5Uw5f8pKXHUoLzYksw) is a really cool analysis on the perfume symbolism in the song and how it relates to Arashi's gender identity (go read it!!), but if you don’t want to give Elon Musk ad revenue, the gist of it is this: Odette is her "masculine" initial impression, the impression others have of her, and the impression that fades most quickly. Odile is her lasting "feminine" self and the true self that remains when the top notes fade away.
Over the course of the song, the singer (Odette/Odile) grows more and more tainted, going from a pure white dress to a multicolored rainbow dress to a pitch black dress. The final perfume note is desire, the desire to live as themselves, the desire to be with the person they love.
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Mystic Fragrance lyrics, translation by KYM2020 on Fandom wiki.
While the song does focus on a pure romantic love, just like Knight's songs, the symbolism of wanting to be Odile is far more similar to UNDEAD's monster. The idea of a "hidden desire" lying in wait beneath pure feelings is explored in almost every song, as is the symbolism of a dress that gets tainted by desire:
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Savage Love Affair lyrics, translation by Nina on Fandom wiki.
And just like UNDEAD songs, the "tainting" of the pure is never presented as a bad thing. Note the references to the moon in both -- it's only in the dead of night, in a midnight ballroom, that one can "spread their wings" and reveal their true self. The darkness, the space of monsters, is a safe space, and in the light of the truth-seeking moon the singer of Mystic Fragrance says that their audience is beautiful.
In the original Swan Lake ballet, Odette is a beautiful woman who falls in love with Prince Siegfried. She's cursed to transform into a swan in the daytime, a curse that can only be broken if someone who has never sworn their love to anyone swears their love to her (in other words, someone untainted). Unfortunately, the evil sorcerer who cursed her turns his daughter into Odile, the black swan who looks identical to Odette, and Siegfried mistakenly confesses his love to her. Knowing that the curse can never be broken, Odette throws herself into the lake rather than live the rest of her life as a swan, and Siegfried joins her.
Mystic Fragrance isn't tragic, however.
Part 4: Living your truth
The endings of Forbidden Rain and Mystic Fragrance are where they differ. Both of their source endings are tragic — Inogari is unable to control the Beast and shackles himself to a wall, waiting to be arrested. Odette and Siegfried leap into a lake and drown themselves, because the only way they can be together is in death. Forbidden Rain ends with the singer holding their loved one close to them one last time in the rain before they leave.
But Arashi rejects her source material because she chooses to embrace the monster. She becomes Odile. She decides to live her truth, and as the top notes and heart notes fade away, all that lingers is her true self. That's why Mystic Fragrance has a happy ending.
There's a lot of symbolism in the Mystic Fragrance music video with respect to the person who loved Arashi during the war era and who killed themselves. She spreads her arms like the wings of an angel and sings in front of a setpiece that looks like the cenotaph. Her outfit contains anemones, symbols of a lost love and grief (and, coincidentally, the flower that Adonis in greek myth turned into when he died). Her greatest regret was that that person couldn't love themselves the way Arashi now tries to love herself. In this way, Mystic Fragrance is like a message to that person -- live your truth.
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shujistars · 4 months
Text
ghostin' | s. hanma
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⇢ word count: 3,285 words (~18 minute read)
⇢ contents: gn!reader (reader has feminine body parts), major character death, kanto incident spoilers, past kisaki tetta/reader relationship, graphic depictions of violence and gore, grief, pet names (babe, baby, darling, my love, doll), mentions of suicidal ideation, smoking, penetrative sex, slightly canon-divergent (hanma doesn't become a fugitive after the kanto incident), time jumps (switches between the kanto incident, 4 years later, and a handful of years after that), everyone is above the age of 18 when the nsfw part begins
⇢ notes: so fun fact...i actually applied to kiri's collab while super stoned and i woke up and went "oh, shit, gotta look at this song" and i know i looked at the lyrics before applying but i just wanted ot be sure i was good on the topic, LOL. and—i was literally in awe of the lyrics. i feel like it fits a very good kisaki/hanma/reader dynamic, but i'm going to be making this a tad more comforting and hopeful (rip mac :( we'll never forget you, king) because i think hanma would be such an amazing support to reader and i love the concept of moving on to new love and having that someone see you at your worst points and still love you anyway. it's just...beautiful. but please, take the warnings seriously for this fic. if i tagged you here, please don't feel obligated to read this if it'll be too hard. it's okay! i hope you all enjoy~
⇢ part of kamorokiri's thank u, next collab
⇢ tags: @kamorikiri / @juneselfships | sign up for my taglist here!
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You remember him in flashbacks and dreams. Those are the only ways you can visit him again.
It’s a calm summer evening, and you’re both up on the roof of his apartment, savoring the ice cream that he’d so graciously gotten for you both after you’d nagged him about it. “It’s too hot, this will help us cool off,” you had whined, and he’d rolled his eyes, slipping his wallet out of his pocket, because how could he ever say no to you?
You were his, and he was yours.
You’d held hands that night, and had your first kiss under the warm summer stars. It tasted like vanilla and fireworks, like someone had set off a gunpowder keg in your brain. The way he’d cupped your face, so gentle, like he was going to break you if he held you any harder…it hurt, knowing he’d never hold you like that again.
You’re crying now, in the middle of your memory, and he’s looking at you with his adorable, scrunched face, concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong, darling?” he whispers, the pads of his thumbs brushing the tears away. You hiccup at first, and then the words fall from your lips shakily, like you’re afraid to speak the truth lest he disappears.
“You’re gone and I don’t know what to do.”
His face softens. The golden frame on his glasses flashes in the moonlight, turning it a pretty silver as he looks at you. His eyes burn into yours, like he’s trying to imprint your face on his eyelids.
“I know. But I’m here, always.”
A hand touches your chest, right above your heart. It’s warm. Warmer than he felt in the middle of that snow-covered street.
You shake your head. “‘S not enough, I need you here.” It’s so fucking stupid, knowing that he is with you all the time, in every moment you exist longer than he does, but it hurts so bad and doesn’t feel like it’s ever going to stop. A knife twisting in your heart every time you set the table for two, but not with you and him. For a dinner he’ll never make.
“I miss you,” you breathe.
“I miss you too,” he responds immediately, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
You can feel the dream ending, the darkness settling in as you rest your head on his shoulder, the both of you turning back to watch the moon cast her pretty glow over the ocean. You hold on for as long as you can, but the darkness takes over you first.
The last thing you hear is his voice in your ear.
“Please live, for me.”
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“C’mon, eat your dinner, babe.”
The chicken tonkatsu in front of you looks appealing, steam simmering off the meat from having just been cooked, but your stomach feels empty. You shake your head. “Can’t,” you say shakily. He doesn’t know that this was Kisaki’s favorite dinner. You would make this for him after school, when you’d head to his place for studying, giggling over your notes and ending up on the couch watching rom-coms instead of actually learning anything.
“You have to. You haven’t eaten in days.”
“No.”
There’s movement at your side, and a pair of much larger, tattooed hands cups your face, turning you so you can’t look away from him. Big yellow orbs gaze at you with concern, so similar to Kisaki that tears begin to prick at your eyes. It’s been almost four years since he died, and it hasn’t seemed to have gotten any goddamn easier. Your cheeks ache from rubbing your tears off your cheeks.
You’re almost angry that Shuji came back a year ago. Three years on your own, all alone, coasting through the days…you barely remember any of it. It’s a blur in your mind.
“Hey,” he whispers, brushing the tears away, and God, it hurts. It hurts so bad.
“I’m s-sorry—”
“No. Don’t fucking apologize, darling. Don’t. I know how much you loved him. I’m just—just trying to help you get through this. ‘S been awhile now, but it doesn’t get easier. I know.”
This is a new side of Shuji you had never expected to see; caring, calm, gentle, kind. You’d known him only as the reaper, hanging out with you and Kisaki when you’d stop by to study, spending most of his time out on the balcony chain smoking cigarettes while you both had your fun on the couch. He didn’t say much, but there was a gleam in his eyes that was unnatural. Some would call it psychotic. You found it endearing.
Those three years are something neither of you have spoken about. You don’t know where he went, where he ended up, or why he came back. It doesn’t really matter anymore to you, and it seems to not matter very much to him, either. What matters is he’s back, he’s helping you get better; in his own way, as Shuji does, but you’re grateful for it, especially when you know he’s suffering just as much as you are. He just sucks at showing it.
It’s in the little things. The amount of cigarettes he smokes every day has gone up significantly, like he’s on a fast track to killing himself to join Tetta. He stinks of nicotine, but it smells so different from the shorter man’s musky cologne that it almost puts your mind at ease. It feels like only yesterday that he walked through your door and held you for hours after as you cried, too weak to form words but holding onto his snow-coated leather jacket like it was the only thing keeping you from completely cracking apart.
You’re moving on. You’re coping. You’re fine.
You do eventually eat the tonkatsu, mostly with Shuji feeding you himself with chopsticks. He has a bit of fun with it, making airplane noises as he drops the chicken pieces in your mouth, sending you both into giggles. You can tell he’s more at ease, seeing you laugh for the first time in months, even if its just for a moment.
After dinner clean-up, you’re both on the couch, Shuji’s arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder as you gently drift off into dreamland, the television show playing in the background providing some nice white noise as you fall asleep.
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The nightmares feel like they’ll never end.
It’s always the same setting. Yokohama pier, at night, snow falling around you as you make eye contact with Kisaki, who's standing in the middle of the road with tears falling down his face. Watching the plan he’d put in action since he was a child evolve into an incredible failure in front of him. His whole world is falling apart in front of him and all he can do is look at you, helpless.
You hear the truck coming down the road. You’re never fast enough as you run to the intersection. Arms grab you from behind, yanking you off the road and away from death’s door, screams wrenching themselves from your throat as you watch the white truck’s front slam into Tetta, throwing his body several feet down the road. You know Shuji’s the one who grabs you, holding onto you with a vice grip as you struggle in his arms, writhing and screaming for him to let go.
The truck slams on its brakes, careening off of the road and crashing to a halt into one of the barriers. But that’s not your concern; the horrifying image that’s been emblazoned onto your brain takes up more of your memory than anything else. Shuji’s arms go slack, and you sprint forward, skidding onto your knees next to his broken form, your vision shaky as your breathing quickens.
Tetta’s body is twisted beyond repair. Blood pools underneath him, bones sticking out where they shouldn’t. His face is horrifically disfigured, blood dripping off of him as he tries to wail, the noise exiting his damaged vocal chords in the form of a nauseating, bubbling croak.
Tears stream so hard down your face that it’s so difficult to see him properly, but you can see his eyes look up at you. You feel his arm moving to rest on your leg, a massive effort that has his eyes screwing shut in pain, and the way he looks at you makes you want to rip your heart out and offer it to him instead. If it’ll keep him alive.
You almost miss the last words he spoke to you, his voice so incredibly soft that if you hadn’t been straining to listen to his slowly diminishing heartbeat, you would’ve missed it.
“I love you.”
Then, he’s gone.
“What a grand way to die,” you hear Shuji shakily say behind you, and that breaks you.
You’re hugging his body to your chest, wailing up at the sky as you cry, rocking him as gently as you can. You know he’s not in pain anymore, but God, now you are. And it hurts. Like someone is wrenching open your chest, tearing your ribs apart and yanking your heart out, blood dripping across the perfect white snow, leaving your heart with the one boy you loved more than anything else. And he’s—he’s—
“Hey! Hey, babe, c’mon, wake up. It’s okay.”
A voice cuts through the scene and you’re shaken awake, gasping for air. Sweat coats your chest and face, dripping slowly down your cheeks, joining the fresh tears staining your cheeks. Shuji’s hands are gripping your arms like a lifeline, his lanky form hovering on top of you as you look up at him. He pulls you close to his chest as he gently rolls onto his back, resting your ear on his heart. It’s beating slow, warm, consistent: alive.
“I’m here, it’s okay,” he coos into your ear, smoothing your hair back as you calm your breathing, his heartbeat like a metronome for you to align with.
It’s intoxicating all of a sudden. You’re not thinking straight.
The words fall from your lips so quickly, you wish you could take them back.
“Touch me, Shuji.”
Yellow orbs look at you in surprise, his eyebrows rising. “What?” he rasps, and you repeat yourself. You’re getting bold, now. You know he’s good in bed. You’ve heard people joke about it during the Valhalla days. And right now, you need someone to help you forget; the only person that you trust to do so right now is him.
The worst part is that it doesn’t make you feel gross or uncomfortable like you thought you would.
You’re both tortured souls, mourning a boy who will never get to graduate high school, or drive a car, or take his first sip of alcohol. It’s only natural that you help each other get through this together; even if it makes you feel terrible for using him to do so.
But are you really using him? After all, there’s no one else Tetta would trust with his first love.
No one else would be better to take care of you.
Using would imply that you don’t love him, and while you’re not quite ready to claim anything close to that, you do feel something for Shuji. Call it coping, but there's something about him that fills a gap that you’ve been looking for since that snowy February night.
Shuji’s hesitant, his canines tugging at his bottom lip as he thinks. His touches are so gentle and light, like he’s afraid of pushing the line too far, hands ghosting along your sides underneath your night shirt. His lips ghost over your own, the taste of nicotine feeling intoxicating as his tongue gently dips into your mouth, a moan wrenching itself from your throat. One of his hands, Sin, comes to rest softly on your throat, keeping your head facing him. He’s so different in bed than when he fights; he’s all adrenaline, violent, vicious on the battlefield.
Here, he treats you like glass, like you’ll break apart if he grips you a little too hard.
“Just tonight.”
You nod.
It’s charming, the way he takes care of you. He all but worships you, an undeserving man taking up the mantle that his friend left behind. It feels wrong, him loving you in the same way Tetta did, but you ignore that for now. That can be unpacked in the morning. For now, you’re completely focused on Shuji, on his beautiful little phrases that he whispers to you, his touch featherlight against your skin as he maneuvers you on your back. “Just lay back and relax, doll,” he whispers as his fingers dip underneath your pajama shorts.
One long, lithe finger brushes against your clit; it feels like a lightning strike, your back arching in response, a whine falls from your lips. Shuji follows with a groan, his pupils growing wide as he stares at you. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” he breathes, picking up a slow, circular pace that has you panting and whining underneath him.
You can feel his hard-on pressing against your thigh from where he lays on top of you, one forearm resting next to your head. His head leans down to be even with your breasts as he captures a nipple in his mouth, lightly sucking on it as he slowly drifts his fingers up and down your folds. Everything he does is slow. Intoxicating. Sensual. Like he’s wiping away all of your fears, regrets, and sadness with every stroke of his fingers.
Your mind is blank. All you can think of is the pleasure racing through your veins, white-hot, as Shuji pushes his middle finger inside of you.
From there, all you can feel is him. His mouth returns to latch onto your neck, breathing heavily as he works you up again and again to gush all over his dextrous fingers, your filthy, high-pitched whines joining the watery noises coming from your soaking pussy as he fucks you and opens you up for him.
Then, he enters you for real, and your vision goes white.
He’s so slow, agonizingly so, his face scrunched up in concentration, teeth gritted as if he’s holding back from pounding you into the mattress. You can see it in his eyes; he knows this isn’t about fucking, this is about making love to you. This is about getting you through the night, leaving you with such an empty head that you can sleep soundly for the rest of the night.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” he hisses, your walls clenching around him like a vice. It feels insane, like nothing you’ve ever experienced, and with Shuji’s hands holding you so gently, it’s like magic. Your skin is on fire; you feel alive for the first time in years.
Your nightmare is completely gone from your brain, wiped clean to make room for the feeling of his cock dragging along your fluttering walls. His name falls from your lips in gasps and moans as he pistons in and out of you, brushing against your sweet spot over and over until you’re cumming around him again, thighs clenched around him, walls fluttering against his massive cock.
“That little head finally empty, doll?”
You can’t help but nod. You feel like you’re floating.
With a long groan in your ear, he spills inside of you, white ropes of his sticky, warm cum coating your walls.
You both lay there for a long time, basking in the afterglow. His head is on your chest, face angled to look up at you as he brushes his knuckles along your face. “Beautiful,” he whispers, and you smile. 
“Been a long time since someone called me that,” you respond, and Shuji’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “The fuck ya mean by that?” he says playfully, “I call you beautiful every goddamn day. Because ya are.”
One day you’ll believe him.
It’s getting easier, though, you’ll admit that much.
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It’s dark out. A chill is in the air, the smell of snow on its way hanging on the breeze as it gently combs through your hair. You both had decided to take a walk, the both of you bundled up in winter coats, scarves and gloves. The puffiness of your own coat made you feel warm as you nuzzled into your scarf, your hand gripping Tetta’s own.
There’s a sense of finality to this dream. It fills you with dread, but at the same time, it feels good.
It’s been a few years since you’ve had a dream about Tetta. You and Shuji have continued living together, enjoying each other’s presence. Nothing has become official yet, but it’s clear you’re going to be partners for a long time. Domestically, at least. That conversation can happen at a later date.
“How are you doing?”
Tetta’s high-pitched voice cuts through your train of thought and you jerk a little, looking over at him. His eyes are filled with nothing but kindness.
“Good,” you begin. Your voice is lower than his. Aging will do that.
“Better, I should say. Shuji’s been amazing lately. He’s a beautiful soul. I can’t believe I never noticed.”
Tetta scoffs. “Well,” he says, pausing to lift your hand up to his lips to place a kiss on your knuckles, “that’s because he knew you were mine. He’s a good man.”
You’re both quiet for a little longer, but the question is eating at you.
“Have you been visiting me all this time?”
Tetta’s eyes are shiny, glistening in the lamp lights. Bright. Alive.
“Yes. I wanted you to know I was with you through all of it. I’m glad Shuji came back for you. I couldn’t bear to see you suffering like that anymore without me, not being able to do anything.”
You can’t help but smile, thinking of all those moments where you thought you’d seen him in your apartment. They came and went in flashes, but…he was there.
“I knew it was you. I’d sense you in those moments, you know? The little things. Making chicken tonkatsu, doing those stupid word puzzles you always got before me, watching romantic comedies you enjoyed, you were always there with me. I just didn’t know how to accept it. I think I’m okay now, though.”
A giggle falls from his lips. "I know you are. You've been getting better at the puzzles, I saw.”
The night is growing colder. Tetta’s grip is loosening on your hand, his palms slowly losing their warmth against you. You look down and notice you can see the sidewalk through his body. He’s starting to disappear, and it starts to freak you out, your heart rate rising quickly.
“W-Wait, I’m not ready—”
He stops mid-step and turns to face you, cupping your cheeks in his hand. The pressure of his lips on your own has a sense of finality to it; an unspoken goodbye.
“Yes you are, darling. It’s okay. You know where I am if you need me.”
The tears begin to fall down your cheeks in warm rivers. “B-But—”
His grip on your face is firm. “Remember what I told you when I first came to see you?”
“Live, yeah? I can try.”
“Good girl.” The smile he has on his face is one you’re burning into your memory.
And with that, he drops his hands.
“Goodbye, my love. Keep living.”
You sniffle. “I-I’ll try,” you promise him shakily.
I’ll see you again someday,” he says.
He leaves you with the ghost of a kiss on your forehead, and your vision dims.
You wake up with a start, your head clear and Shuji’s head resting on your chest, snores falling from his mouth.
It’s the first good night of sleep you’ve gotten in ages.
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