#//as The Doctor realizes his curtain call is coming

[unboundtravels]

SHORT TRIPS; UNBOUNDNOVEMBER 21/23: TWILIGHT

"What about me?" "If there was something I could do about that, I would. I guess we're both just going to have to be brave."

 It feels like it’s raining. Although the clouds hang in the way of the sun, there is still an afternoon afterglow… and yet despite the months still creeping through the midst of summer, the wind is still very cold today in the city of Freedom. There is an almost unanimous silence save for the howling and the whipping of the wind… the beating of the flags that flow through the breeze. The water of the fountain is still, and the lights are low. The world almost looks distinctly colorless… absent of the cool aftertaste that’d follow a pleasant warmth. The world feels more absent today.

The People of Mondstadt did not care much for Lady Eula Lawrence. Her bloodline was responsible for many, if not most of, the issues that plagued Mondstadt so fiercely into its present. To this very day, The Knights of Favonius were working hard to clean up the mess of those who had come before. Of those Knights was Lady Lawrence, who was fiercely dedicated in her pursuit of redemption… and yet she dealt every day with the harsh whispers of those who could not separate the past from the present… those who did not understand the ever-changing nature of the human soul and its relationship to time. 

They were wrong about her. That is the truth of the matter. Eula was a beautiful soul, a kind and dedicated one. She looked out for those in need and did what she could to help the innocent. Considered by many of her allies to be a responsible friend and an excellent warrior, she was supported unconditionally by those under her command. Eula was the best of parts of Humanity condensed into one singular form… not bound by convention… solving her problems in a unique way and handling the world one day at a time. The people of Mondstadt were simply wrong about Eula Lawrence.

When the chips were down, The city of Mondstadt was threatened… when the whole of creation was threatened… Eula stepped forward, to act as a shield for her people and her home. She could’ve turned away, could’ve stood on the sidelines… but it was her nature and her responsibility to put her home first. There was no love lost between her and Mondstadt, but the fact of the matter was that there were people there who were counting on her, and she had to return. No one could fault her for that. Even if they’d fail, at least they’d fail together… and while they were together, nothing could dismay the Knights and their cause.

It feels like it’s raining.

It’s been a week since the threat of Celestia was quelled, and the people of Teyvat were freed from the confines of an oppressive destiny. The road there was not without sacrifice, however… and of those who stood and fought, not all came out intact. Among those who had fought and been claimed by the battle… was Lady Eula Lawrence. She died as she lived: Protecting those who meant the most to her. Her friends— the family she’d made after cutting ties with the clan that she’d disgraced. In the knights, she’d found new meaning and new purpose… or at least, the start of that new purpose, and she was happy. However, that would not stop her fellow Knights from mourning her loss.

The Funeral service ended an hour ago, and Outrider Amber stood near the entrance of the Favonious Headquarters, the wind biting at her skin. She wonders why it feels like it’s raining despite the absence of thunderclouds or rain. Perhaps Barbatos is allowing them to have the feeling and the sensations without the fuss. Amber is allowed to live in denial for just a bit longer, wiping away tears with her thumb as she shudders out an exhale. Despite the fact that the people of Mondstadt had cared very little about Eula, her last act of life had opened eyes and touched hearts. Everyone had been at her funeral… and she’d just escaped the fond wishes and condolences… but The Outrider’s mind was scattered.

The Captain of The Cavalry Guard and The Grandmaster had noted how distracted she’d looked… chalking it up to grief and attempting to comfort the Outrider over the loss of her friend. Although Amber had tried to explain with sincere genuineness that she was simply looking for someone in the crowd. She didn’t see him in the service, she didn’t see him in the wake, and even as the people exited the church and returned to their homes… she didn’t see him. She eventually, almost dejectedly, sat on the steps leading up to The Favonious Headquarters. A sigh escaped her, and her fingers grazed at a wooden box carefully. He was looking for The Spindrift’s companion, as Lady Lawrence had left one more thing for the one her heart belonged to. Amber was almost ready to give up until her eyes saw the crowd thinning… and there, walking toward the gate out of the city…

She was at first taken aback by the fact that she had failed to notice a man not wearing any black, wearing an outfit he’d wear as if it were any other day of the week. A green cargo jacket over a black T-shirt, fingerless cotton gloves, dark denim blue jeans, and high-top sneakers… with a messenger bag strapped across his chest. He had a sun-kissed complexion dotted with many freckles and hair that was swept into an almost bed-razzled look. The Outrider didn’t even hesitate to sprint toward him… to try and catch him before he vanished. 

“Doctor!! Doctor—!!”

She stopped at his side, expecting him to turn away… but when he turned to face her, Amber was again taken aback by The Doctor’s complexion. The Doctor was a very bright individual, usually. With Eula, he was fiery and charismatic… but also on occasion, he was icy and powerful. He clearly wasn’t of this world, and he made no attempt to hide that. She was just taken aback by how neutral his expression was. Numbness, and with eyes that sagged very low. He looked no older than twenty-three, usually. Right now, however, those eyes looked ever so ancient… as if they’d walked circles around the universe thousands of times over. Perhaps this is just genuinely what the man looked like when he was distraught, though… 

“I… didn’t see you at the service.” She started, trying to get any reaction out of him, any sort of sign that he was feeling some type of emotion. He looked like he was on autopilot, just blankly staring at her while he contemplated thousands of thoughts all in the span of a couple of microseconds. She wasn’t sure if she should really force him to stay, as he clearly was just stopping by out of respect for Eula. They had such an incredibly deep connection. In the few months before the catastrophe that recalled Eula home, The Doctor had appeared in Eula’s life almost like a sort of fairytale prince. He dropped from the sky, whisking her off into planets and skies unknown… showing her all sorts of things that defied the laws of logic and imagination. Amber knew, from the way that Eula looked at him…

It was love. In its purest form.

The Doctor needed Eula to find himself in a brave new universe, and Eula needed The Doctor to give her a home where she could truly detach from what defined her on Teyvat. The Doctor had a light in his eyes that ignited a fire within Eula’s heart. They were like sunshine, an unstoppable duo. Eula was gone though, and The Doctor was all alone, now. She saw the way that realization had cemented itself in his mind. She began to understand why The Doctor looked so numb, right now… simply by thinking it through, she saw a man who wanted to lock himself away from the world and cry because the world had become so much colder without his other half. Amber knew now that she should not keep him for long.

“She… wanted you to have this.” Amber found the words sticking in her throat, coming out through chokes. Completing this final request for Eula seemed to cement the realization in her mind that her friend was truly gone. “She—” Amber struggled to recall the details of what Eula had explained to her, about why she’d left The Doctor to return home. She was very vague, as always… but she seemed to allude to… the idea that… she had had no choice. “She knew this was very hard for you, Doctor.”

She saw his face twinge, and that was confirmation enough for her to know that he was not soulless, or on autopilot… but that he was bottling everything up to unleash in a space that was unrestricted and unjudging. She shouldn’t keep him, but she also knew that once he left… she wouldn’t see him again, and the idea of him having no one simply left her a little heartbroken. Amber choked on more words, but she forced them out simply because she knew he needed to hear it.

“She loved you very much.”

She saw another twinge in the face muscle. He acknowledged that but kept his mouth as tightly shut as he could for fear of breaking under the pressure of his own emotions. Hesitantly, he took the wooden box and wordlessly turned away from Amber. She had so much she wanted to say and yet she knew he probably already knew. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but he probably already knew that. She wanted to ask him if he was going to be okay but was sure he wouldn’t answer her. She looked for any indication that the man was going to be able to walk back from the edge and was scared to let him go because of it. Although her feet remained planted very firmly at the border of the gate… she watched that man walk toward the Police Box at the end of the bridge, entering it wordlessly.

The sounds of its engines echoed outward as The Box’s lantern began to flash… and the wind cleared so that it could fade away from reality. So many tears were slipping out, now. Amber’s hands remained clenched firmly toward her chest as she watched for a long moment as if she was waiting for something. All she could do was give a prayer to the wind that the man would be safe upon his travels, and that the spirit of freedom would follow him wherever he went. There was a light in his eyes that seemed to spread like an infectious warmth across the universe… The Outrider would be very upset if it went out… as would a great many others, as well.

The TARDIS was quiet. Its hum echoed out like the ticking of a clock in an empty room. Its lights were dimmer, the console quieter. The Wooden box was placed against one of the panels of the console as his jacket rested against the seat nearest to the console. The Doctor reached to flick for switches as the rotor in the center of the room sunk up and down. He wasn’t sure where he was going… but he was just going somewhere. His mind was buzzing with a silence that he couldn’t really describe. It was strange to be alone with his thoughts, especially when they weren’t uttering a single word. A heavy exhale left his chest through his nose as his eyes caught the box when it came into his peripheral.

He almost hesitated to reach for it, because he knew that looking beneath the hinges would cement the reality he was looking to ignore. As soon as he admitted to himself that he wanted to ignore it, he knew that he needed to face it. His hands found the box and he very slowly opened it. Neutral expressions immediately faltered beneath the weight of what the box held. Softened gaze began to tear up as brows furrowed together and a shaky hand reached in for one of the first items. His thumb traced over the glass texture of an extinguished vision. Eula carried it with her at all times… how could he not recognize it? His head tilted softly. It wasn’t indifferent to holding someone’s heart in your hands…

He slid the vision into his pocket, reaching back into the box to pull out the crest of her family. The Doctor had learned much about his human companion to learn about the crest of the Lawrence family, and how much weight it had carried. The fact that she left it for him seemed like a solemn admission that she had wished for more from him. His face softened again as he began to feel pain in his hearts over all the what-ifs that he’d missed. He wasn’t an idiot… he knew that what he’d had with Eula was more than intimate… but he began to feel pain in his chest over all the missed opportunities to tell her just how much she’d meant to him. Pressing the crest to his upper lip softly, he repressed more choked winces as he looked back into the box. 

This next item nearly killed him. He almost hesitated to grab it. Inside the box was a Cecilia that had wilted deeply since she’d given it to him. He knew that he’d kept it close by on the TARDIS, but she must’ve found it and taken it away with her into battle. Now she wanted it to return to its rightful owner. The Doctor’s face had sunken into something so low and deep now that his head felt like it had a weight. When he touched the Cecilia flower, he had to immediately put the box down. It was sort of like touching something that had gone from warm to cold… the realization that there was no more life within an object was cemented by that transition.

The Doctor exhaled, shakily. Tears had begun streaming down his face as he looked toward the rotor. There was silence as he kept his eyes away from anything aside from The Cecilia because looking back at it reminded him of their last conversation. Heal yourself. The memories of every moment he’d ever cherished with The Lady Lawrence crept into his mind and seemed to make every passing second more and more painful… and the tears came down in an abundance that left him a bit blind from the blurry vision. He wiped away the tears with the base of his palm and slid the flower into the control panel of the TARDIS. With his hands empty, he just stared up at the TARDIS rotor and let the tears stream down until he could get a handle on himself. Sometimes he’d stop, thinking that his emotions had finally calmed, only for them to start again. So there was a long silence, where The Doctor stood in silence over the controls and felt his eyes darting across the console room before eventually, he felt himself restraining enough to at least sink back into numbness. He heaved another sigh before he moved to look at where the monitor was taking him. His fingers traced against the vision in his pocket for a moment as his thumb flicked through the monitor’s scans. He needed to just… get back on the road, again. His eyes caught Cecilia again and eventually he just… stared off, again…. Toward the wall. The room felt much emptier without her, and when the realization that Eula Lawrence was truly gone sunk in…

The Console room was deafeningly quiet now. Save for the sound of the engines and the distant sound of the hum. He exhaled, looking down at the controls. History was repeating itself. Of course, it was. It always did. For a moment, sorrow melts into a deeper resentment of himself. The Timelord rests one hand in his pocket whilst he flips various switches and twists various dials before the second hand is deposited into his opposite pocket, and he's left just staring.

Imagine having the power to change whole moments of history. To alter the very fabric of reality. Imagine having the power to move heaven and earth for ordinary people... but never being able to use that power to save the people who really matter the most to you. Imagine being left with a gaping hole in your chest every time you re-enter this console room by yourself, knowing the home someone else had made for themselves was within yours... and realizing that life has just gone back to the bitterness of what it had been before.

The last time he was alone, he was wearing someone else's face. He had made connections, gained new titles, and lost just as much. He'd endured pain, suffering, and heartache. He'd seen the top of the mountain, breathed the clean air of victory, and lived out a wild dream of passion and joy.

Only for it to be back to how it was when he was at the bottom of the barrel. He'd done so much to come to peace with what had happened, with where he'd gone and what he'd done. He'd regained his title, come to terms with his fate, and he'd even conquered destiny itself. Or at least, he thought he had. Never had he been so humbled before, and the price of his arrogance was this.

The loneliness.

This is what it feels like to be The Doctor. Not the joy or the happiness of the never-ending thrill, but the crushing lonely bitter sadness that comes afterward. The sound of silence in a place people once called their home ringing through your ears. The pain of knowing that you had the power to save the people you cared about, but choosing to do your duty as the last of your kind instead. To maintain the web of time. Humbled again by the beast you'd thought you'd conquered: time. This is what it means to be The Last of The Timelords. Everlasting loneliness throughout all of time and space.

All he can do is endure. It's all he has left. 

He exhales, heavily.

"Goodbye, Spindrift." He remarks as he leaves another chapter of his life behind. 

There'll never be another like you. 

[k0yaz]

Hi love 💕 May I request comfort/fluff one shot Arlecchino x fem Reader who developed a terminal illness a few years back and is now often bedridden but is getting better however Arlecchino is still super overprotective of her

white light.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, terminally ill reader, angst, but there’s comfort yay I know yall love this, LOTS of mentions of death, like a ridiculous amount, dw reader doesn’t die but grim reaper bullies us every chance he gets like damn, or is the grim reaper a she, that means my friend is immortal since if death is a woman it’ll never come for them, sorry off topic, very soft arle, yes we love our soft king walskskfj, why is the shower so cold help me, not proofread.

A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE AND IT TURNED OUT SO NICE HOLY also, school is starting soon so I might have to go on break in couple months but no worries I can find some time to write and it’ll be a while into the year until i actually need a break yk <3 🕯️

The fluffy layered clouds hovering in the sky slowly parted themselves to reveal illuminating gleams of sunlight pouring into the room through the window curtains situated to the right of your bed. Slow gusts of wind began to join the warmth of the gold light, brushing along your skin and causing an array of goosebumps to bloom along your arm. You were lucky. Not too long back, your immobile body was enveloped into the same bed, a sickly hue painting your face as your pale tinged lips could only part to cough out a few strained noises.

Perhaps the gods had took pity on you? You supposed you’d never figure out the answer as to how your body curved back from a terminal illness in its final stage. It was supposed to be incurable, and your body back then seemed to agree with what should have been. You were dangerously dangling right above the realm of death, only a hair apart from succumbing to your imminent demise. The doctor who noted your worsening state only had a strike of pity in her voice whenever she’d inform Arlecchino of your current condition, shaking her head as the words: “she won’t make it.” muffled through the door seperating your room from the outside.

It hurt to hear. Not for you per say, but more to hear the emptiness in Arlecchino’s voice when she attempted to dismiss the doctor’s words coldly. She didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t want to hear that your condition was only drawing you closer and closer to death, she wanted to hear that you atleast had a small chance of surviving. As much as she tried to choke back the bitter pain in her unwavering voice, she always clung onto that small sliver of hope deep down, internally calling out to a sea of nothingness in hopes that something would come help you.

Sudden news of your recovery, or rather your condition suddenly improving one day was nothing short of a miracle. It shouldn’t have been possible at all. You were around the final month mark, your entire body burning with an agonizing rush of soreness as you wanted to plead for death to take you away from the unbearable discomfort searing every limb of your ghastly and thin form. That night you had gone to bed, hoping to escape the aching pain of your illness eating away at you. That was when you saw it. You dreamt of a faint glow of white light—or was it a slight pale yellow? The dream was vague and confusing, and held no meaning at all. The light simply danced in circles before you as your life trajectory seared across your eyes.

However, the dream must have meant something.

The next morning you had awoken, your body feeling much lighter all of a sudden, as you had the strength to now sit up completely. Hands carefully massaging the thick blanket draped over your lap, you blinked in confusion upon realizing that you were indeed alive and able to sit up. Sure, you were still incapable of moving around or sitting up for long, but originally, you weren’t even able to raise your body a quarter of the way up, as it would simply result in your spine slamming back into the sunken, comfortable mattress.

When the doctor made her way into the room, performing her checkups which she believed to be futile and tragic, her initial expression of sorrow shifted to one of quick shock. This shouldn’t have been even the slightest bit possible. Arlecchino’s reaction was all the more endearing the moment the newly discovered news made its way to her. You’d never forget the rare smile of pure relief and happiness crossing her usually stoic front, seeming as if Arlecchino was glowing in that moment.

She had attempted to clear her throat and position herself upright, concealing the internal delight bubbling in her mind at that moment. The door had softly creaked open, the sway of the old hinges on your bedroom door being the only noise, along with the quiet howls of wind, resounding within the cell of a room that held your life by a mere thread.

You simply sat there, your scrawny form nearly engulfed by the heavy blankets cascaded onto your lap as the light livened the hue of your face. And when that sweet smile made its way onto your lips weakly upon seeing the harbinger hover before your bed, Arlecchino had to suppress every urge of hers to hem you between her arms in a tight hug and never let go. She wanted to embrace you with every drop of love and affection lingering in her heart as her blackened hands tightened into your back, like a promise to never let you go. Since then, your condition had steadily improved. Months passed, and then years. At this very moment, you now had the ability to walk around and perform minor tasks adequately, yet you still remained bedridden for the majority of your time.

A light pain slowly overtook the side of your chest abruptly, drawing out a few heavy coughs from your throat as your palm pushed against your left breast in an attempt to soothe the throb pushing and pulling against your heart. Quiet ticks of the clock seemed to inch in sync with the rugged beats of your heart, both echoing throughout the room in a sort of twisted harmony. Although your condition had gotten better, storms of weakness and coughs would still persist through, as this was quite a serious illness you suffered from.

The silk white blankets enveloped your limp frame, cascading over your body and situated slightly below your chest, while the back of your head burrowed into the pillows to bask in the favorable comfort enshrouded around every outline of your lounged body. Your chest rhythmically rose and fell as you choked out a few labored breaths, still clenching your fingers against the fabric of your loose shirt covering your chest.

Your vision suddenly started a gradual spin, objects within your range slowly drawn out of focus, and not taking long for the spin to pick up the pace as your vision suddenly shifted to a bleary mess of the room. Head tilting back, you rasped out a line of shaky breaths as the frightening episode of dizziness quickly subsided as soon as it began, causing a sense of panic to rush through you briefly while your chest rose and fell in uneven motions from your initial fright. In that very moment, a small screech of wooden hinges caught your attention, your head carefully raising as to not incite any possible negative reaction from your sensitive body.

Swift and heavy clicks of heels prodded across the room, a sound you’d recognize anywhere even if you were miles away. You raised your head barely even level to the headboard, delivering Arlecchino a feeble smile as her eyes softened upon meeting yours. Slowly, you took her hand into yours, palm resting over the top of her defined knuckles as your thumb circled along the cursed gradient of her hands gently. She could only breathe out a grateful sigh, her head dropping in a restful state as she rested herself onto your shoulder affectionately.

“Are you feeling any better?” She almost immediately questioned, her usually composed eyes having a flicker of concern dashed across them. Her eyes wandered along your frail body, the hints of worry still subtly etched onto her face as her grasp on your hand below hers grew increasingly taut and stiff as she awaited your answer. As much as you wanted to chuckle and tell her you were okay, you clearly couldn’t even say that much.

“Hm. Same as usual. Can’t move my legs well today, but I’ll live.” You casually answered, not taking in the impact your words might have placed onto Arlecchino.

Live.

She was so glad you were able to live.

Arlecchino suddenly dragged her teeth along each other, her mouth remaining closed as the grit of her teeth quietly bounced off of her cheek into her eardrums. It took everything she had to swallow back that wretched feeling boiling up to her throat, her heart wrenching and flooding with discomfort upon hearing the way you threw your life around so casually in your words. She had always been extensively protective over you ever since your condition deteriorated, yet it grew exponentially once you began to recover over the years. She’d always tend to you, sometimes never leaving your side for hours on end as she’d just sit there, head lowered and lips pushed against your frail hand.

Her grip on your hand tensed noticeably, making you shift your eyes up to her lowered dark gaze, staring off into an endless abyss as her expression just seemed…soulless and empty at the mere thought of your passing away. She was afraid. Afraid that just when she believes that her beloved would live despite being in poor condition, she’d walk into your room one day to discover your heart dead still, body completely limp and deceased.

The thought of that made her hand noticeably quiver between yours, disturbing images of your possible sudden death plaguing her mind like a broken subliminal record trying to shatter her soul by tearing away the one person she loves most in this cruel world. It was indeed cruel, as this very world had targeted the reaper to loom over the side of your bed at all times, carefully awaiting the moment to take you away from Teyvat. Arlecchino internally cursed herself at the idea that perhaps this punishment was because of her. She wanted you to be spared. You weren’t the one with blood on your hands, she was.

Despite her agonizing thoughts gnawing at the back of her mind, your sudden firm grip on her hand made her head snap back up abruptly, eyes locking onto your thin fingers cupping her shaky hand in place. If she could, Arlecchino would cry at this very moment, allow herself to shed a couple tears. Yet she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t want to worry you any further, especially in your current state.

“Arle, I’m staying. Please, don’t worry about me. I am better now, right?”

“I know. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t around.”

It was evident that Arlecchino had a difficult time a few years ago, when you were announced to die in under a couple months. She had to mentally prepare herself to lose you soon. She was used to it, you were just another person in her life that slipped away too soon, right?

But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t bear losing you. It was too much even for her.

Arlecchino needed you in her life, and she’d wipe out the entirety of the world just to keep you safe.

Your hand reached up to graze along the skin of her cheek, smiling as she instinctively leaned into your touch. Her eyes fluttered shut as she held your hand in place against her cheek, opening her eyelids once more to gaze at you lovingly with red x-marked eyes.

“Hey Arle, I’m still not feeling the best today…so do you think you could-“

You didn’t even get a chance to finish your hesitant sentence as she lowered herself onto the side of your bed, squeezing herself next to you as her arms gently circled your torso and grasped you against her. You only hummed out a content sigh as you felt your slouched back press to her upright chest, the difference in your postures just making the moment oddly romantic and sweet. Arlecchino’s face buried into your shoulder, intaking a soft inhale as if she missed your scent clouding her senses every time she was close to you.

It didn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep in Arlecchino’s arms as you curled up into the warm blankets piled over both of you. Arlecchino, still awake, quietly shifted her weight onto her side to glance down at you, smiling softly upon seeing your peaceful rested expression. Maybe finally, she rinsed the lingering blood splattered on her hands that led you to this awful fate. She’d rinse it a thousand times if it meant that you would remain safe like this for as long as you lived.

However in this very moment? Arlecchino had forgotten every sense of dread clawing at her constantly, instead focusing on your huddled up form engulfed between her protective grasp.

She swore that she would never let you go again, and she would treasure every inch of you. Not even death can do you two part.

A/N: omg I kept switching between being proud of this and being not so proud bc I had to stop midway through and I lost my train of thought AUUUSHSHDBFN anyway yayayayashshdhd I loved writing this so much AND CALM DOWN ON THE ARLE REQUESTS HOLY SH-

ok bye I’m gonna go on character ai cause I can’t sleep to bed

[moonstruckme]

Hii! I love your fics so much and I was wonder if you could do a emt marauders fix where the reader gets a concussion? I just got another one and it’s really taken a toll on me. (Again, I love your work SO MUCH!! It’s so comforting!!)

Hi my sweetheart! I'm so sorry, I swear I highlighted emt marauders when I was writing this request but somehow along the way I seemed to forget that it was supposed to be the au, I hope this is still alright (I'm very down to do another for emt specifically if you would like)! And I really hope you're doing okay!! Concussions are so rough, I hope your recovery is going well <3

cw: concussion

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Sirius wakes to shushing sounds from down the hall. Bright sunlight has snuck in through the cracks in the blinds, laying itself down in slats across the bed. He’s laying nearly sideways with no one else to shove him away, one of his feet dangling off the side of the mattress and his head on the opposite pillow. 

He gets up though his body doesn’t want to, following hushed voices into the living room. The curtains are drawn closed here, too, though it’s light enough for Sirius to make you both out clearly, you sitting on the couch and Remus with your hands in his, speaking to you in a hushed voice while slow tears dribble off your chin. 

“Hey.” Sirius’ voice betrays his lethargy, but you don’t seem to notice. You look up with shiny eyes as he steps into the room. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” 

The answer takes time to come to you. Sirius isn’t sure if you’re searching for the words or if your thoughts are just evading you as they have been since you got hurt, but his heart twinges when your brows bunch in concentration. 

Remus only looks at you steadily. He’s been the most patient with you; Sirius and James both have the urge to guess at the ends to your sentences when you get stuck, but Remus only waits, letting you parse it out in your own time. 

“I’m sad. Frustrated,” you decide, though you look more glum than angry. You sniff. “I want to be better already.” 

Sirius nods in both understanding and sympathy, going to sit behind you on the couch. He knows Remus isn’t the most tactile, but it kills him to see you with your shoulders shaking and no arms wrapped around them. He’s quick to remedy this.

“We were playing cards,” Remus explains in his quiet way (a way Sirius has been trying to mimic to accommodate your sound sensitivity, though it doesn’t come easily to him), “and she just got a bit upset when she didn’t remember whether aces were high or low.” 

Sirius tsks, nosing at your cheek. “That’s common enough, darling. It can go either way.” 

“That’s what I said,” Remus tells him. His thumbs carve twin paths up the sides of your palms. “It hardly matters, I’m happy to play with them high or low.” 

“I just wish I knew like usual,” you say, though you already seem to be calming. Your voice has taken on that distant quality again. It still sounds like you, just a tad dazed, like when you first wake up in the mornings. 

Sirius rubs up and down your shoulder, pressing his lips to the side of your chin. He can’t imagine it’s comfortable, feeling so unlike yourself. Worse to know it’s not changing soon. You hit your head a few days ago, and it’ll probably be some time until you feel completely normal again. 

Sirius has been told he can be dramatic, but when you’d fallen he honestly thought for a second that you were dead, you were so still. In the pandemonium of sirens and doctors and waiting rooms that had followed, James and Remus had each taken a bit of time to process things, get their emotions in order, but Sirius has never been able to cry in public. When they finally got to take you home, he’d gotten in the shower and cried so hard he thought he’d throw up. He’s honestly not sure if he’s ever been so terrified in his life. After you got into bed that night he’d hugged you so hard you’d called him James, and your boyfriends had all laughed before they realized you weren’t joking. 

He and Remus hold you in silence for some time. None of you seem to mind. Sirius is still too sleepy to get bored, you’re presumably too concussed, and Remus is still Remus. He can look at the two of you all day and never need a diversion. 

The room seems to come alive when James gets home, not only because of his sparkling personality but also because he lets in a bunch of sunlight and a cacophony of street noise with him. 

“Hello, my loves,” he says, adjusting his volume halfway through the sentence. He shuts the door behind him with care, dropping his rugby bag onto the floor with far less. “How are we doing?” 

“I’m doing horrible,” Sirius says, though it’s obvious he was really only asking about you. “I haven’t had anything to eat yet today.” 

“You have just woken up,” Remus points out with a droll look, but James indulges him. 

He sets a big hand on Sirius’ head and kisses between his own fingers. He smells like dirt and sweat, gross on anyone else but hot when it’s him. James gives you the same treatment next, palm stroking down the back of your head protectively. 

“You alright, lovie?” he murmurs. 

You hum. “Why?” 

“Nothing.” His eyes slide to Sirius, a question in them. “You look as though you might’ve had a cry, that’s all.” 

“Water under the bridge,” Sirius assures him, giving you a firm squeeze. “We’re all good now, just very hungry and in need of someone to make sandwiches for lunch. Right, baby?” 

You nod amenably, but Remus fixes you with a curious look. 

“Are you hungry, dove?” he asks. 

You take some time to mull this over. Sirius bites the inside of his lip to restrain himself, and he can see James doing the same to his cheek. It’s a good thing that you’re taking such a thorough inventory of yourself, he supposes, but it’s agonizing to watch how much effort it takes you. After a while, you say, “I think so.” 

Remus nods. “Alright. We had a snack a bit ago, but if you’re hungry you should eat. I can make sandwiches,” he shoots Sirius a teasing look as he starts to stand, “since I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of those who’ve just got home from training.” 

“No, sit.” James urges Remus back down with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing fondly. “I’ve got it, I’m on an adrenaline roll right now anyway. Egg and cress all around?” 

“Yes, please,” Remus says. You echo a moment later. 

Sirius can’t seem to detach himself from you, which isn’t unusual but has been worse since your injury. He dots kisses along the edge of your jaw to amuse himself. 

“Are you feeling tired?” Remus asks you. “You haven’t had a nap yet today.” 

Sirius waits for the inevitable joke about your nursing home schedule, but it doesn’t come. You must not be feeling up to it. 

You shrug, mumbling, “I’m okay.” 

“Have a nap with me after lunch,” Sirius says. “I’m knackered, and I could use a cuddle buddy.” 

You make a confused humming sound. “Were you just asleep?” 

“I was,” he admits readily. “And it’ll be even better the second time around, with you there.” 

[chrissv4mp]

౨ৎ WHAT IF?

PART 1 ; YOU DON'T REMEMBER CALLING OUT FOR ME?

SUM: matt can't seem to stop worrying about you. he can't seem to stop replaying the events of that night.

PAIR: matt sturniolo × f!reader

CWS: cursing, crying, yelling, brief mention of car crashes, slight blood, road rage(?), mentions of amnesia (the loss of memories, facts, information, and experiences).

WC: 2.9k

NOTES: highly requested part 2 is FINALLYYYY here! (might be a part 3 cus... why not?)

TAGS: @livialifesblog @jetaimevous @watercolorskyy @blahbel668 @her-favorite @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @fallingforfalll2 @muchloveforhacker @slutforsturnioloss @sturniluvr @httqvi @stasiesturn @phoenix062

NAVIGATION

— MATT. MATT WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND. That's why he saved you. That's why he was the first person to run towards the crash, and that's why he was so touchy with you in the ambulance. That's why you can't stop the faint images that flash through your mind of his blurry flace. But, is that also why you hear yelling in the back of your mind? Is that why your heart hurts and beats rapidly every time you see him?

Is he the reason you're lying in this hospital bed?

Monitors beep beside you every other second, tracking your heart rate and blood pressure and whatever else they need to. The IV in your wrist moves with every subtle squirming motion you make, and your head still aches with the sting of the gash and... something you still can't grasp.

Your heart aches as well. Not only for yourself, but also for Matt. He had to witness the whole thing happen, or else you wouldn't remember the terrified look on his face as he dragged you out of the drivers seat. He watched the love of his life experience a near death situation, and you couldn't imagine how it would feel.

But somehow, you can. You can imagine it.

How? Why can you feel exactly what he must've felt right in that moment? Did you experience that feeling, too, or was it just empathy? It didn't feel like it. It felt too real to be just empathy, but you didn't know how or when you felt like that, so how could you prove it to yourself?

"Hey," a soft voice caught you off guard, and your body jolted in shock before realizing who it was. Matt. There he was, standing just behind the privacy curtain in the room, "Sorry to startle you. Do you mind if I come in?"

You only gave him a weak nod of your head, your lips curving into a small, hopeful smile. Matt's smile seemed to widen as he stepped toward your bed, closing the curtain behind him before he moved to take his place in the chair beside your the bed.

The only sounds were the beeping of monitors and the muffled chatter of other patients and doctors, neither you nor Matt having the right words to say. What were either of you supposed to say right now?

Matt knew what he could say. He was just scared to say it.

He didn't want those horrible memories of the fight to come back to you. He never wanted you to remember the heart-shattering words he spoke to you.

So, instead, he decided on a more normal conversation starter, "How'd you sleep last night? Sorry I couldn't be here, they wouldn't let me stay unless I was immediate family." He was lying. Why was he lying right to your face?

Because he couldn't stand the sight of your hurt, beat up face. He felt guilty every time he even heard your voice. His eyes weren't even on you right now, focused on the floor as he fiddled with his fingers in his lap.

You shrug, hands toying with the thin sheets of the hospital bed, "I couldn't really sleep with all the monitors beeping, but I got some hours in, so it was fine."

Matt just nods gently, almost as if he doesn't know you and doesn't want to know you, only giving the small gesture so you would think he's entertained. It was almost as if he was speaking to a stranger, but he wasn't. He was speaking to his girlfriend.

He should've been comfortable with you by now. You assumed the relationship had been long, or else you wouldn't have had his initial as the pendant dangling from your necklace.

"I'm scared." You say quietly, lower lip trembling subtly as you glance over at the monitors that tracked your heart rate among other things. You were scared dying. You were scared of being stuck in the hospital for longer than a month. You were scared that you would lose Matt, the only person who visited you.

He could cry. He could do so many things, but all he did was sit there and clench his fists. He was scared, too. He was terrified, but he had to be strong. For you. "Don't be. I promise you'll be okay."

Your own tears surfaced, and Matt choked on his spit as he heard your quiet whimpers. He didn't know what to do. No. He did know what to do he was just scared of doing it. How would you react? What if you still thought he was some stranger?

As you wipe your tears, you finally speak, "You said we needed to talk about something," you mutter, tilting your head to the side in an attempt to catch his gaze, but you still get nothing. His eyes dart all over the place, not once sparing you a glance even as you continue to speak, "Is it—What did we need to talk about, Matt?"

His name sounds foreign coming from your mouth, the way it rolled off your tongue so strangely (well, to him, at least) made him suck in a shaky breath. You almost don't notice him shudder, his whole body changing his sitting position, almost as if he was uncomfortable being in the same room as you.

"We don't have to talk right now if you're not ready. I'll be back every day, so we can talk whenever we're both ready." Matt speaks softly, giving you a weak smile as he taps his foot on the tiles of the floor, "Plus, I wouldn't wanna overwhelm you with all of it after your... incident. And you said you didn't sleep well last night, so that's another thing—"

"No, it's okay. I'm ready." You cut him off, nodding your head with an eager look on your face. Maybe if he spoke, you'd remember. Maybe if he had told the whole story, you would remember, and everything would go back to normal. You'd remember.

Right?

Matt shakes his head as a soft chuckle falls from between his lips, "No, no, it's okay, Y/N. We'll talk some other time." He was pushing it back. He didn't want to talk. Did the doctors not tell him the same things they told you, or did he just not want you to remember?

"Matt, I'm saying we can talk now. I'm ready." You say, voice shaking slightly as you watch the way his fists clench and unclench every other second, "Let's just—"

Beep, beep, bee—

"Y/N, I don't want to fucking talk!" His loud voice booms in the much quieter room as he shoots up from his seat beside you. The soft blue eyes that were once full of hope were much darker now, much colder, "Can't you get that through your fucking head?" He breathes out, throwing his hands up in an exasperated motion.

He tilts his head to the side, scoffing as he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. When he finally looks over at you, it feels like his heart breaks.

For the millionth time since last night.

Your eyes are teary, lips parted as short breaths fall out. Your hands grip the hospital gown you're wearing, and you almost look like you've seen a monster. Because you have. Matt just sighs, fists clenching once again. Why was he being like this?

"Just leave it alone, kid," He mutters, shaking his head as he begins to walk away towards the privacy curtain. He doesn't spare you another glance even as he shuts the curtains behind him, leaving you alone to process what had just happened. What had happened?

Kid. You weren't a kid. Sudden anger washed over you as you finally processed his sentence, and something came back to you. Memories of the moments before the crash.

"Don't be so fucking sensitive, Y/N! I was just messing around. You're getting all riled up over nothin', kid."

"Don't call me 'kid', I'm not a fuckin' kid, Matthew. And you could've died from the height of your apartment! You're still drunk."

The room around you seems to spin, and you feel sick to your stomach as your eyes move around the small room you were set in. If he was your boyfriend, why were you fighting that night? And if you were fighting, why did he come to save you?

Beep, beep, bee—

Matt groaned in frustration as yet another car honked at him, his grip on the steering wheel tightening in both anger and anxiety. He was worried he wouldn't make it to the hospital in time. He had left the apartment earlier than usual in an effort to be on time, but it had just resulted in him getting stuck on traffic.

On The Five, too, an unusually busy street at an even more unusual hour of the day, "If these dumb motherfuckers don't stop honking at us, I'm gonna go insane." Nick sighed from the back, running a hand through his freshly-washed hair as he looked out of his window.

Right. He had invited both Nick and Chris to tag along with him to the hospital, and despite Nick's complaining about the early hour, he still came. He hadn't seen you since that night, and he never even asked if you were alright, too scared of what you would say.

"Nick!" Chris yells, turning in his seat to look back at his brother. Nick just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over one another as he huffs.

"No, he's right, Chris. I'm gonna punch someone if they honk at me again." Matt huffs, eyes moving to his phone to check how long it would take to get there.

30 minutes.

His heartbeat picked up as his grip got impossibly tighter on the wheel, accidently turning to the right before he finally focused and got back on track. Nick and Chris gave each other a knowing look before their eyes were on Matt again.

"Dude, fucking move!" Matt yelled, his voice strained as he tried his hardest not to panic. His anxiety was never this high in traffic, why was it this high right now?

Nick's eyes widen at the booming voice of his brother, his hand moving to his heart in surprise as he stares at the back of his brothers head rest, "We're gonna be late, fuck." Matt sighed, his breathing short.

"Kid, it'll be fine. Calm down, we'll get there when we get there. Y/N won't be mad." Chris coos in an attempt to reassure his brother, his hand moving to awkwardly pat his shoulder. Seeing his brother so stressed made him hurt, his face contorting into a look of worry as he stared at the side profile of Matt.

His last words almost make Matt break, his breath hitching as he replays the moments of his last visit. He yelled at you. He snapped at you because he didn't want to talk. Why was he such an asshole? "She's gonna be mad, Chris."

"Fuck," Matt anxiously runs a hand through his messy hair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before they open to look back at the road, "I yelled at her. Chris, I fucking yelled at her!" He breathes, worry clear in his tone as he finally spills.

"She's gonna resent me fore—" Matt starts, taking both of his hands of the wheel as he drags them down his face. He sucks in a deep breath, tears threatening to prick in his eyes as he feels that familiar suffocating feeling. He couldn't do this right now. He was in traffic and he was late and he had to get to you and...

"Matt, shut the fuck up," Nick says, his voice rising in an attempt to get his brothers attention. When he saw Matt's eyes in the rear view mirror, he began to speak, "Nothing could make her hate you after what you did. You saved her life, for Christ's sake."

"Right. Just apologize, kid. She's probably confused with everything going on. Just tell her what you feel." Chris chimes in, nudging Matt with his hand as he smiles at him. Matt nods subtly, hands moving back to the wheel but still maintaining that tight grip.

It was still killing him inside.

Ambulance sirens come closer and closer to Matt's car, and now he's a couple blocks away from his apartment. Now you're lying on the grass, and you're gone. He doesn't pull over even when he sees the ambulances on the shoulder, his eyes looking off into the distance.

"Matt, pull over!" Nick says, tapping the headrest as he notices the ambulances. His brother doesn't even turn the wheel, too lost in the fake scenario in his head. There was a universe where he didn't come and get you.

"No," Matt whispers, finally coming back to it as he looks out of Chris' window, noticing the ambulances. He still doesn't even think to pull over, "No."

His head was spinning, and when the ambulances finally passed, the traffic started to clear. Matt didn't hesitate to stomp on the gas, jolting all three triplets' bodies back as he sped down the highway.

"Matt," you whisper, watching as your boyfriend and... 2 more of him walk through the curtain and into your room?

Chris notices the confused look on your face as he walks in last, his lips tugging into a small smile as he moves to sit in the seat on the left side of the hospital bed. He waves to you, "Hey, Y/N. I'm Chris, Matt's brother, and also one of your friends."

"We're triplets. I forgot to tell you I was gonna bring 'em today, sorry." Matt chuckles lightly, rubbing your shoulder softly as he takes the other seat on the opposite side of the bed. Nick takes the seat on the far end of the room, right by the curtain as he smiles at you.

"I'm Nick, glad to see you're okay, Y/N." Nick says, his voice quiet so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the room. He waves his hand at you in a greeting, placing it back on his thigh as he sees you smile.

They all came to see you.

"Thank—" You suck in a breath as their presence finally sinks in, eyes fluttering shut for a moment to compose yourself before you finish, "Thank you guys for coming to see me. 'Ts means a lot, thank you."

Chris' heart flutters at your words as he relaxes in his chair, comfortable silence filling the room as he takes in the whole thing. He was glad you felt at least somewhat comfortable around them, "Don't thank us, we're just so, so happy that you're alright.

Matt still feels the light tension between you two as his eyes meet yours for only a second. Yours move away, but his... they stay. Finally. He breathes deeply before scooting closer to the edge of his chair, practically leaning over you now, "I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday. It wasn't right of me, and I should've just told you that I wasn't ready to talk."

Your eyes move to his again, breath stuttering as you notice that look in his eyes. The same look he gave you in the ambulance ride here, the same look you... somehow, remember from previous events. Dates. More intimate moments and even some sad ones. You remember them.

"It's okay." You match the volume of his voice, eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips. You want to kiss him. Is he even comfortable with that right now? Matt answers your question for you, leaning closer to your face and pressing his lips to yours softly.

Nick cringes lightly, but he doesn't make a peep, instead moving his eyes to the floor. He didn't want to ruin the moment. He wanted both you and Matt to be happy. Chris smiles, moving his hands up to clap them together slowly.

The sudden noise makes Matt pull away, and Nick's eyes move, all of your heads turned to Chris, who just sits there, continuing his celebration, "Let's fuckin' go, Matt!" He calls, his voice straining as it always does whenever he's excited.

Matt blushes furiously, rolling his eyes as he gives his brother the finger. You and Nick laugh as Chris continues his motions, only further urging Matt. Before Chris can even say anything else, Matt is rounding the hospital bed and punching his brother in the shoulder repeatedly, eliciting a string of 'ows' from Chris.

"Actually, shut your fucking mouth," Matt murmurs, ruffling Chris' hair before he moves over to his seat again. Nick smiles in amusement, raising his eyebrows at Matt, "Yeah, that'll for sure show him."

"I'll give it to you 10 times wor—" Matt catches himself, his words sounding dirty to himself in his mind as he claps a hand over his mouth, his scream muffled.

Nick, Chris, and you all erupt into laughter. You and Chris grab onto each other as you laugh, unable to contain it anymore.

Even if you didn't get all of your memories and experiences back, you were glad you'd have this memory. Permanently.

You hoped.

[stevie-petey]

episode four: the body

For the second time within a week, Steve Harrington almost kills you with his stupid BMW. Granted, the first time wasn’t necessarily his fault due to your crying, but this time just felt personal.  “Hey! Henderson!” “Jesus christ-” You’re biking to the Wheeler’s, lost in thought as the sun begins to set, when stupid Harrington scares the shit out of you.  His unexpected shouting causes you to swerve your bike towards his car and he has to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting you.  “Do you, like, have a fantasy about me hitting you with my car?”

summary: you basically have a "no babe don't cry over ur dead brother ur so sexy" moment with jonathan, hopper plays mr love doctor (cute date idea: coffin shopping), and somehow nancy wheeler makes you realize that you're a horrible babysitter and an even bigger idiot. meanwhile: steve harrington is frustratingly charming.

rating: general but plenty of cursing as usual.

warnings: cursing, fem!reader, and use of y/n.

words: 8k

before you swing in: hello ! happy eve of a spending time with loved ones, however ya choose to celebrate or not celebrate and all that jazz. i hope y'all are well and doing okay :) a LOT happens in this chapter, so buckle up. so many feelings and revelations my god. also this chapter is one i really loved writing purely because i got to explore more of steve and reader so ,,, ya welcome ! (hopefully i was able to clear up jonathans thoughts and how he processes, i really want it to come across as someone hurt and overwhelmed rather than just him being cranky lmao). anyways, enjoy !!

-

It’s a quiet morning.

You roll over, the sunlight streaming through your curtains, and for a moment you forget. It’s a blissful moment, sweet naivety that strokes your cheek and coaxes your eyes open. As you throw your arms over your head and stretch, last night’s events haven’t caught up to you quite yet. 

Then you feel Jonathan’s body next to yours and for a moment you’re confused. He never sleeps in your bed whenever he spends the night, being ever the gentleman. No matter how many times you offer, he always insists on respecting your mother’s wishes and sleeping on the giant beanbag chair within your room, and it always makes your heart warm. 

Your mother had specifically bought the beanbag for Jonathan when you were thirteen. He had been spending more and more nights at your home, sneaking in through your window to avoid his parents fighting. At first he would simply fall asleep on your carpet, despite your many reassurances that he could sleep in your bed, so when your mom unexpectedly barged into your room one morning and saw him lying face down on the ground, she freaked. 

Once you had explained everything to her (with Jonathan’s permission), she had shoved you guys into her car, dropped him off at his house, and then found the beanbag at a garage sale for $10. 

“This way, he’ll have a place to sleep that’s soft and cozy, away from my young daughter,” she had said during the drive home. You had covered your face in embarrassment at her implication, but you were also incredibly proud to call her your mom at that moment. She may be overbearing at times, but she was the kindest woman you’ve ever met. 

You rub your eyes and glance at the bean bag that sits between your bed and wall, its dusty blue color almost glowing in the early morning light. Then you glance at Jonathan, who has woken up before you, and notice the redness in his eyes and the dark circles now darker than ever. 

Then it all comes rushing back to you. 

Will’s body in the quarry. 

Holding your brother as he mourned his friend. 

El, so quiet and shy and sweet, running away after your cruel dismissal. 

Jonathan showing up to your window hours later, broken and devastated. 

Then, late into the night, the two of you falling asleep, side by side in your bed, both needing each other more than ever before. 

The two of you get ready without saying anything. You hand Jonathan some spare clothes of his that you keep in a drawer before giving him some space as you go and take a shower. You spend longer than usual getting ready, but you pay no attention to the clock. There’s no way you’re going to school today. You’re not leaving Jonathan alone for even a second. 

Jonathan finishes getting ready before you do and waits in your room. Neither of you have said anything yet, last night being too fresh in your memories, but words aren’t needed between the two of you. 

You take his hand and lead him into your kitchen and wordlessly hand him a banana. He stares at you, and you stare back, silently challenging him to decline the food. He needs to eat. You’ve noticed how thin he’s gotten with everything happening. 

He sighs, knowing he won’t win this fight, and takes a bite out of the banana in a mocking manner, but you’re just relieved he’s eating. 

You grab your own breakfast before writing a note for your mom, informing her that you’ll be with Jonathan today and promising to make up any missed assignments as soon as you can. Then you quietly go into Dustin’s room to check up on him, but his bed is empty. You glance at his alarm clock and note the early hour, he doesn’t normally leave for school for another thirty minutes, which makes you frown. 

Where the hell did the kid run off to?

An uneasy feeling settles over you, but you don’t have time to question anything. Knowing Dustin, he ran off to school earlier than usual to see his friends and distract himself from last night. While your mom offered you both to stay home for the rest of the week due to Will’s death, neither of you have ever been good at staying put and dealing with your emotions.

Wherever your brother is, you know he needs his space.

Once everything is settled, you join Jonathan in his car and drive to his place. While he never explicitly asked you to this morning, you know that you’re going to his house with him to help him deal with his mother and the funeral preparations. 

He doesn’t have to ask, and you don’t have to tell him that you’ll help. 

You both just know. 

About halfway to his place, Jonathan finally speaks. 

“The cops say that Will crashed his bike and fell into the quarry,”

“Jonathan, we don’t have to talk about it right now-”

“My mom doesn’t believe that he’s dead. She-she insists that he’s in the walls, that he can speak through-through… Christmas lights.”

His voice shakes as he speaks, and you can’t tell if it’s due to grief or anger. 

“Will is dead and my mom chooses to believe that there’s some monster in our walls that took him.”

“A monster?” you think about El and her powers and the fear on the boys’ faces when she pulled out the Demogorgon piece. Then you remember the other night at the Byers’ home when Joyce came running outside as the lights were flickering wildly. Her fear had been genuine. 

“A fucking monster that’s hiding in our walls. She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t listen, Y/N. I tried talking to her, to calm her down, but she just…” His words fade off, and he clenches his jaw as tightens his hands around the steering wheel. 

You’re not sure what to say. It’s a tough situation, a fucking heartbreaking one, and it’s all so unfair. Jonathan needs his mom, but his mom needs Will. 

You rest your hand behind his head and allow your fingers to rub circles against his skin. He leans into your touch, and for now this is all you can do. 

The state of the Byers’ home has only gotten worse since the last time you were there. There’s now letters painted on the wall and string lights placed all throughout the house. There’s also clothes in random corners and trash thrown around. 

Jonathan had been staying in this house alone, watching his mother spiral. Your stomach twists with guilt. 

You should’ve been there more for him, but instead you allowed your petty need to help everyone distract you from what’s important. 

Joyce is passed out on the couch with an ax clutched between her hands, which breaks your heart even more. Jonathan walks over to wake her up and you give the two of them some privacy as you head into the kitchen to make Joyce some breakfast. 

Their fridge is barren, but you aren’t surprised. You make do with the few eggs you find and get to work; it isn’t much, but it’ll have to do. As you prepare breakfast, you notice a stack of Will’s drawings on the kitchen table, which causes you to gag with remorse. 

There’s still so much of Will within these walls, his entire childhood still locked inside, untouched, and yet the house lacks his presence. 

He’s gone. 

– 

You wait with Hopper in the morgue waiting room, nervously tapping your foot and frantically trying to distract yourself with a comic. The words blur together in your head and the images float around. You can’t focus on anything. For once, Spidey’s quips and banter can’t distract you from reality. 

Not only are you incredibly worried for Joyce and Jonathan, but the thought of Will’s body being a wall away from you sends chills down your spine. You can’t imagine what’s happening behind the doors, and you’re secretly relieved that you’ll never know. 

“What’s taking so long?” Hopper’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.

You put your comic down and listen, figuring that it’s best if you’re caught up on everything so that you can store away any useful information for later. 

The front desk lady sighs. “Well, everything’s been a bit chaotic around here without Gary.”

This catches Hopper’s attention. “Without Gary?”

“I thought you knew. Those men from State, they… they sent Gary home last night.”

Now this catches your attention. Why would the State replace the town’s coroner? 

“So who did the autopsy?” 

“Someone from State.” 

Hopper looks at you, almost as if to ask if you’re also hearing this, and you give him a slight nod. It’s odd, really damn odd. 

“Why would they send someone for a little boy?” You ask Hopper, but he only shakes his head in response. 

In the back of your mind, you think about what El had warned you of. The bad men, the people she has to hide from… it didn’t make sense at the time, but now…

Your thoughts are cut off as Jonathan runs out the door, his hand over his mouth, and you immediately get up to help him outside. He throws up against the wall outside, and you wince at the smell. You’ve never been good with people getting sick, but Jonathan needs you right now, so you rub soothing circles on his back as he throws up. Once he’s done, you head back inside and wait for Joyce. 

You offer Jonathan a tissue before coaxing him to rest his head on your shoulder. Having nothing else to do, yet urgently wanting to help, you begin to read him some panels from your comic. He doesn’t say anything, so you take it as a sign to keep going. Your voice is hoarse from all your crying, but you read aloud anyways. 

Hopper watches your interaction with a small interest. You don’t notice his curious eyes and the way they seem to glint with sincerity. In his eyes, the two of you will get together soon enough. 

After a couple minutes, Hopper finally asks Jonathan how Joyce is holding up. The boy straightens up, but grabs your hand to steady himself, and responds as best as he can. He explains the lights, the letters on the wall, everything. 

“She’s had anxiety problems in the past, but this…? I don’t know.” He takes a shaky breath, and you draw reassuring patterns on the back of his hand. “I’m worried it could be… god, I don’t know.”

“She’s grieving,” you remind him, and he nods. 

“Yeah, she’s grieving, but she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay; my mom, she’s tough.”

“Like Spider-Man,” you say, though you don’t really mean to. You’re tired and the words just slip out, but Jonathan begins to laugh. 

“Yeah, like Spider-Man, you’re right. Thanks, bug.” 

“Anytime, bee.” 

Jonathan smiles at you, still softly laughing, and it’s then that you realize. He hasn’t laughed in days, he’s hardly even smiled, and yet here he is, smiling at the stupid nickname you gave him and laughing at the stupid joke you didn’t even mean to say; you realize you’d do anything to get him to laugh again, to give you that smile that he’s only ever reserved for you. He squeezes your hand and his eyes shine for a moment with a familiar warmness that has always made you weak. 

It hits you like a cold, cruel wave on a harsh winter day. 

You’re in love with Jonathan. 

Fuck.

It’s horrible timing, and you feel sick with guilt for realizing that you love your best friend merely hours after his brother has died, but now it’s all you can think about. 

You love him, you love him more than you’ve ever loved anything before, but you can’t tell him. It wouldn’t be fair, and you don’t have the time. 

You’re thankful when Hopper begins to talk again, reiterating that Joyce is tough, so that you have the time to process your newfound feelings. 

Then Joyce comes crashing through the door, screaming about how whatever is in the other room isn’t Will, ignoring everyone who tells her to calm down. Both you and Jonathan stand up to calm her down, your comic dropping to the ground in the process, but she doesn’t listen and instead runs outside. 

“Mom!” Jonathan follows after her. 

You sigh and tuck your hair behind your ears before picking up the comic. You know that Jonathan needs to be alone with Joyce right now, give them some privacy, it’s a personal matter. More personal than anything else, and yet you also selfishly don’t want to be near him for a few moments so you can collect yourself as well. 

As you’re gathering your things, Hopper clears his throat. 

“Do you love him?”

You freeze, having not expected such a personal question. You’ve only just realized your feelings for him, how the hell has Hopper already figured it out? “What does it matter? His brother is dead and his mom is losing it.”

Hopper rubs his hand over his face, giving you a warning look. “But do you love the kid?”

It’s the way he says it, like it means life or death, that has you respond, “I do.”

“Take care of him, then.” He looks you in the eyes as he says it, urging you to understand the weight of his words, and you do. 

You’ve heard about how his daughter had died and his wife divorced him soon after. They’d only ever been rumors to you, but now you know that they’re true. He’s telling you to take care of Jonathan, that your love for him means that you have to take care of him in a way that no one else can. 

In a way, you suppose that you and Hopper aren’t so different after all, and you gain a new sense of respect for the man. 

You swallow deeply and nod at him before excusing yourself to follow after Jonathan and Joyce. 

– 

The mother and son in question are a few blocks down the street, Joyce waving her son away as he follows her with the car. 

You sigh. 

This day definitely sucks. 

Running up to them is a pain in the ass, honestly. You get that you gave them some privacy, but damn. Did Jonathan seriously have to take the car as well? 

When you finally catch up, he’s parking. “Hey, what are you-” 

He doesn’t spare you a glance as he turns the engine off and runs after his mom. 

“Seriously?” You groan, clutching at a stitch in your side from running. Usually you’re a great runner, actually choosing to go for a run whenever you’re particularly stressed out or anxious. However with the shitshow that this week has been, you haven’t gone on your morning run in a while and you’re starting to feel the effects of being out of practice. 

Joyce, being surprisingly fast, is hard to catch up with, but you do your best as Jonathan sprints ahead of you. When he finally reaches her, he grabs at her jacket with a determined look in his eyes. 

You hang back, now regretting the fact that you left the coroner’s office in the first place. 

“Mom, stop!” 

“Just go home, Jonathan.”

“No, this is not an okay time for you to shut down.”

“Shut down… what-” The confusion in Joyce’s eyes is enough to make you feel Jonathan’s frustration as well. You feel for the woman, you really do, but she has another son to worry about. Jonathan is still here, he’s lost his own baby brother, he needs his mom now more than ever.

But Joyce, too lost in her own grief and desperation, can’t see that. 

“We have to deal with this, mom. We have to deal with the funeral!” You’ve never heard Jonathan raise his voice at his mom before, but after days of begging for her attention, you’re proud of him for defending himself.

The word “funeral” seems to snap Joyce out of her daze and once again she goes on her tangent about how Will’s body isn’t really back at the morgue, that he’s still alive, and Jonathan’s anger in his voice makes you ache. 

As he and his mom continue to yell at one another, a few nosy people in the town area stand and watch. They whisper to each other, no doubt about how Will’s death has made Joyce Byers crazy, and you kick a few rocks at them. 

“Fuck off! At least pretend that you aren’t a bunch of nosy assholes like most decent people do.” A woman sneers at you, but you wave your arms above your head, “Oh! Scary! Get fucked!” 

Eventually they do as they’re told and walk away from the screaming mother and son, which pleases you. 

You really hope that random lady wasn’t a patron of Bookstrordinary though. 

“Yeah, well, while you’re talking to the lights, Y/N and I will be planning a funeral for Will!” Jonathan’s voice is laced with bitterness as he screams at his mother, breaking your heart even more. “I’m not letting him sit in that freezer another day!” 

Joyce storms off, but you notice that her shoulders shake with tears as she leaves. 

It’s such a devastating situation, and while you’re also frustrated with the way she’s been treating Jonathan, you also know that maybe her craziness isn’t exactly “crazy”. El is still out there, even if you’re not sure where, and you think about how she was able to control the comic book and the game pieces. The static electricity you felt in the air when she used her powers, the same static you felt at the Byers’ home a few nights ago when Joyce came running outside with the lights flashing and Will’s song playing on the radio.

But then you think about how El promised that Will was alive. 

He isn’t; you see his dead body every time you close your eyes. 

So really, what is there to believe?

Lost in thought, you don’t notice Jonathan walking towards you until he grasps at your arm and flings you along back to the car with him. He’s breathing heavily and you notice that he’s shaking. He’s in no condition to drive. 

As you near the car you quickly reach around and grab his keys from his pocket before running over to the driver’s side and throwing yourself into the seat. Jonathan hates when you drive the car, not because you’re a bad driver, but because some part of him truly believes it’s impolite to make a girl drive. 

As cute as you think his chivalry is, today you couldn’t give more of a damn. 

Jonathan stands outside your door. “Y/N-”

“Nope, no time to argue, Byers. Get in.” 

“But-” 

“In.”

He does as he’s told, albeit with some attitude, but eventually the two of you are off. Without having to ask, you drive to the local funeral home. While you and Jonathan are similar in many ways, the one thing that pulls you together is planning. You both cling onto the stability that planning provides, and right now Jonathan is clinging onto his responsibilities for Will’s funeral.

Like he told his mom earlier, you and him have a funeral to plan. 

The funeral home is closer to the edge of Hawkins, so the drive is a longer one. Along the way Jonathan slowly begins to calm down, untensing his shoulders and releasing his clenched jaw. You let him take all the time he needs, thankful that for now you have some time to yourself to reflect over today’s revelation.

You love Jonathan. 

Those three words are heavy within your chest, and you almost don’t want to think about them, but you know that sooner or later you’ll have to. You glance at Jonathan, the late fall sun casts a warm glow on his face that for a brief moment brings back the boy you knew only a week ago, before everything changed. Then he turns to face you and you see the red in his eyes, his cheeks sunken in, and you know that you don’t have the time to unravel whatever you feel for him. 

He needs his best friend right now.

Jonathan’s voice breaks you from your thoughts, his voice cracking a bit from disuse. “Can we talk about yesterday?” 

You cast him a quick glance. “Yesterday?”

“Our… our fight, I guess.” 

“Oh,” you shift your hands on the steering wheel, now suddenly painfully aware of the silence within the car. “We don’t have to right now, bee. We should be focusing on the funeral arrangements.” 

Your voice catches on the word “funeral”, it still hasn’t sunk in yet that Will is really gone. 

“Bug, for the past eighteen hours all I’ve been thinking about is Will,” he takes a shaky breath and you gently place a hand on his, encouraging him to keep talking, “but when I’m not thinking about him… I’m thinking about you and what-what you said yesterday.” 

“I said a lot yesterday-” 

Jonathan gives you a pleading look. “Please just let me get this out, okay?”

You purse your lips but remain silent. 

“I will never, ever deserve you. This week and my actions have proven that. This isn’t some pathetic attempt to make you pity me, I was an asshole to you and I recognize that. You love people in a way that terrifies me, Y/N. You’re my best friend and I think I would actually die if I ever lost you.”

A snort escapes your lips, “you probably would.”

“I definitely would, but this isn’t about me. I’m so, so sorry for how I’ve been treating you lately and the fact that you’re driving me to a funeral home after watching my mom have a meltdown in the town square without even batting an eye is all the more proof that you’re too good for me.” 

“I wouldn’t say too good, but yeah. Close enough.”

“It’s more than enough, bug. That’s what terrifies me: I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to repay you for all that you’ve done for me, even before Will disappeared; you’ve been taking care of me since we were twelve.”

His words hang in the air as you allow them to wash over you. There’s so much you want to disagree with, namely the fact that he doesn't deserve you, but you know that he wouldn’t want to hear your arguments. 

Again you think about how similar the two of you are, and while you both give your all to the people that you love, your love comes freely while Jonathan has grown up believing that it comes with conditions. It’s never been a problem in your relationship until now, but you guess with how much you’ve been overcompensating for everything, the need to return it all has caught up with him. 

Finally, you speak. “You feel that you can’t accept my help because I’ve already done enough for you. Is that it?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan takes a deep breath. “I know it’s stupid, especially because I’m asking for your help right now with the funeral preparations, but…”

“I understand, but we’ll get through it,” you pull into the funeral home parking lot and turn the car off. “We always do, right?” 

“Right,” Jonathan’s smile is a weak one, but you accept it nonetheless. 

“Now, you ready to go look at children’s coffins like real men and women do?” 

He laughs at your poor attempt at a joke, but even he can admit that objectively the entire situation is morbid. “Only real best friends go coffin shopping together.” 

“My thoughts exactly, good sir.” Then, before you forget, you reach over and whack Jonathan’s head with the back of your hand. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

You shrug your shoulders, “ask Nancy.”

And with that, you unbuckle your seatbelt and head into the funeral home, trusting that Jonathan will follow eventually enough. Things aren’t exactly the same between the two of you, especially with your newfound feelings for him, but it’s a start. 

“I deserved that,” you hear Jonathan grumble, which makes you smile. 

You’ll take whatever you can get.

– 

You spot Nancy before Jonathan does. 

It wasn’t intentional, really, but the funeral home director was droning on and on about the different wood selections for coffins and finishes that you can customize and it all makes you want to throw up; the coffins before you are so small, you weren't really paying attention in the first place. 

She stands in the doorway and motions for you to get Jonathan’s attention, who is deeply focused on everything the old man is saying. A part of you wants to ignore the girl, but the scared look on her face tells you that this is something serious. 

You nudge your shoulder against Jonathan’s and point at Nancy; he excuses the two of you as you walk towards her. 

Jonathan shoves his hands in his pockets, a bit guarded. “Hey,”

“Hey, your mom, um… said you’d be here.” 

“You talked to Mrs. Byers?” You ask, feeling a sudden possessiveness over the woman. Sure, you were kind of okay sharing Jonathan with Nancy so long as she was with Harrington, but Joyce? She’s like a second mother to you.

It made you uneasy that Joyce even talked to her in the first place. 

Nancy tilts her head at you. “Yeah, it was only for a brief moment though. She seemed pretty… distracted.” 

“No shit. Her son died, Nancy.” 

The girl flinches a bit at your tone, which causes Jonathan to yank at your sleeve and shove you behind him. “Ignore her, we’ve had… Well, it’s been a long day.” 

You feel your shoulders drop and unclench your fists. “Sorry, is everything okay? Is it the boys?”

“No, they’re fine, I just,” Nancy’s eyes shoot towards you, uncertain, before directing them towards Jonathan. “Can we talk for a second?”

The photos Nancy shows you makes your blood run cold. They start with Barb sitting alone by the pool, but slowly she pulls out more and more pieces of the torn picture to create a terrifying image with a shadow-like figure looming over her friend. 

Jonathan tries to sum the shadow up to lens distortion, but you know that he’s wrong. Nancy asks more questions, trying to figure out exactly what has happened to Barb, but all you can think about is El. 

You check the time on your watch and curse. It’s late afternoon now, you’ve been gone with Jonathan since early this morning. Dustin hadn’t been in his room when you left and you stupidly assumed that he’d gone off to school. Now, seeing the picture of Barb and that thing… Something is so goddamn wrong. 

“The cops think that she ran away,” Nancy says. 

“Just like they did with Will,” you’re whispering more to yourself than to them, but Jonathan hears you anyway. 

“Maybe she did run away-” 

Nancy shakes her head. “No, she wouldn’t do that. They don’t know Barb. When I went back to Steve’s… I thought I saw something.”

Your head shoots up. “Nancy, what did you see?”

“Some weird man,” the urgence in your voice confuses the girl, but you silently push her to keep talking, “or… I don’t know what it was.”

Both you and Jonathan are quiet afterwards for very different reasons. 

He’s quiet because he probably thinks Nancy is crazy, just like his mom. 

You’re quiet because you’re currently afraid you’ve accidentally left your idiotic brother and his friends and El alone with very real monsters and possible bad men. The figure Nancy saw… El being terrified of bad people finding and hurting her…

Well shit. 

“I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have come here today-”

You stop Nancy from leaving. “No, you should stay… I think,” you look at Jonathan, nervous for how he may react to what you’re about to say. “I think I might have an idea of what you saw last night. A lot has happened since Will disappeared, things that I’m still trying to understand, but I think I know where to start finding an explanation.” 

Jonathan turns to you. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Technically I did try telling you a few nights ago but then you yelled at me and threw a jacket at my face-” 

“You threw a jacket at Y/N?” Nancy asks, which you and Jonathan ignore. 

“But for now I can’t tell you anything else. I made a promise, and I’m not sure I’m right or even sane for considering it an explanation, but we need to leave. Now.”

“A promise? To who?” There’s an edge of hurt in Jonathan’s voice and you desperately wish you could explain more to him, but now isn’t the time. Not with Nancy sitting between you two and her own brother involved. You don’t want to cause any unnecessary worry for her; right now she needs to focus on Barb. You’ll wrangle in the boys, it’s your fault they’re even alone right now with El.

“I can’t exactly say who, but just trust me, okay? Again: I really hope I’m just insane and worried about nothing and that this will all be an embarrassing laugh for us later.”

“Y/N-”

“Jonathan, we need to go.” 

“‘We’?” Nancy now speaks up, seemingly fed up by your vague exchange with Jonathan.

You try to collect yourself and pretend like you have some amazing plan. “Yes, we. Jonathan will take you to the photo developing room at school and see if you can make the pictures clearer. On the way there, he’ll drop me off at home so I can grab my bike and head out.”

“And what will you be doing?” The boy asks.

“Tracking down my brother, unfortunately.” 

He gives you a doubtful look. “C’mon, you can’t expect me to just let you run off on your own without more of an explanation.” 

You know he’s right, but you just… you can’t tell him about El and the bad men yet. You can’t. Not until you know for sure what the hell is happening. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing… but just in case, I really need to find Dustin, okay?” 

I’m a really, really bad babysitter, you think. 

Jonathan opens his mouth again as if to argue, but you hold your hand up to silence him. You really don’t want to waste time fighting with him. He has to trust you on this, whether he likes it or not. 

He sighs with defeat, “Just be safe, please.”

You also really don’t want to put anyone else in danger. It’s bad enough that you allowed the boys to get dragged into this mess, but you refuse to drag your best friend in as well. But really, who knows? Maybe you’re just a regular idiot who believes in fairy tales and monsters, not some idiot who leaves three overly naive boys alone with a girl with superpowers. 

God you hope you’re just a regular idiot. 

However, if Joyce believes that Will is alive, even without the knowledge of El and her powers, then you’re sure that the boys also believe he’s alive and will inevitably go looking for him again. Alone. In the same woods Nancy saw that strange figure. 

You cast those thoughts out of your head and give Jonathan what you hope is a reassuring smile. “When am I not safe?”

You really, truly hope that you’re just an idiot, but if the photos that you just saw scare you. Before he can change his mind, you quickly reach over and snatch Jonathan’s keys from his jacket and give him a peck on the cheek before running out to his car.

“I call shotgun, Nancy!”

– 

Unsurprisingly, the drive with Nancy and Jonathan is an awkward one. Things are still a bit tense between you and him for reasons you’re not sure you can tell him about just yet, and now Nancy is in the backseat trying not to make any sound, so really it was a doomed car ride from the start. 

It’s not that you don’t like the girl, but there’s something about the way she acts around Jonathan that honestly makes you want to collapse. You know she’s with Harrington, but the tenderness Jonathan has shown her the few times they’ve interacted makes you uneasy. 

Yesterday you chalked the uneasiness to simply never sharing Jonathan before, but now you know the truth. 

You’re jealous because you’re in love with him. 

It’s a nauseating feeling. 

“So, how long have the two of you been friends?” Nancy’s question surprises you, mostly because she should already know the answer. You know she’s just trying to make conversation, but the question itself further reminds you of why the two of you had drifted apart in the first place. 

“I moved here when I was twelve, remember? Your family helped us move in.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry,” You see Nancy nervously playing with her fingers in the rearview mirror, which makes you feel bad. She’s trying, you know she is. 

“It’s fine,” you try to catch her eye, and when you do you give her a smile. “I know you probably don’t remember much from that day. It was the middle of the school year and our brothers immediately started being annoying together, so you had gone inside after only a couple minutes.” 

Nancy laughs, now remembering that day. “Didn’t Mike hold an initiation for Dustin that night?” 

“Yeah,” you laugh with her now. “That’s actually how Jonathan and I met. Remember, bee?” 

Jonathan’s smile is a soft one, a smile that makes you feel weak because you know you’re the reason it’s there. “Of course I do. We both showed up at the Wheeler’s house at the same time to pick up our brothers.” 

“And then-” 

“I answered the door.” Nancy finishes for you. 

“Yup. Ever since then, Jonathan hasn’t been able to get rid of me.” 

“It’s been horrible,” he says with a monotone voice, but it’s clear to everyone that he’s joking. 

You punch his shoulder. “You weren’t complaining when I saved you from those bullies later that week.” 

Jonathan gives you a pointed look and tries to subtly motion towards Nancy, clearly embarrassed that you've brought the bullies up in front of her. Like he wants her to think he’s someone cooler than he really is. 

Your smile vanishes. 

He wants to impress her. 

“Right, sorry,” you clear your throat and if Nancy notices your sudden mood change, she doesn’t say anything. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and remind yourself that what matters right now are the boys and El. They should be your priority, not petty boy drama. 

Luckily Jonathan pulls into your driveway not long after the abrupt conversation ending, which you’re thankful for. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face Nancy, and it takes everything in you to force a smile on your face. “Alright, well, this is my stop! Nancy, I’m trusting you to tell me whatever you and Jonathan find. I’d ask him to keep me updated, but I know he’ll inevitably forget.”

The girl nods at you. “You can trust me.” 

Can I?

Although you’re not exactly sure what it is that you don’t think you can trust her with. Then, your eyes drift to Jonathan and the way he’s staring at her from his own mirror, and you realize that maybe she’s not the one you should be worried about. 

“Good,” you turn to Jonathan now. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“And I’ll answer… probably.” 

“You’re so sweet to me.”

“I know, right?” 

You snort at the boy and wave goodbye to him and Nancy before getting out of the car. Your bike is in the shed, so you motion to Jonathan that he’s good to leave. When he’s sure you’re okay, he waves at you one last time and drives away. 

It feels like you’ve made a huge mistake as you watch Jonathan and Nancy leave, but you don’t have time to think about why. Dustin’s bike isn’t in the shed alongside yours, which you expected, and you have to find him. 

Your brother and his idiotic friends need you right now. 

– 

For the second time within a week, Steve Harrington almost kills you with his stupid BMW. Granted, the first time wasn’t necessarily his fault due to your crying, but this time just felt personal. 

“Henderson!”

“Jesus christ-” You’re biking to the Wheeler’s, lost in thought as the sun begins to set, when stupid Harrington scares the shit out of you. 

His unexpected shouting from the other side of the road causes you to swerve your bike towards his car and he has to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting you. 

“Do you, like, have a fantasy about me hitting you with my car?” 

You glare at the boy. “You are a man, I am a woman. It’s getting dark outside. What exactly made you think it’s a good idea to yell out at me?”

“Well, I mean, I called after you.” He says, so matter of factly that it makes you want to strangle him. 

You hate him. You really do.

A strand of hair has fallen in your face, so you blow it away before bothering to answer. “My apologies, you called after me and almost killed me in the process.”

Steve winks at you. “Apology accepted.” 

You stare at him, unamused and still in the middle of the damn road, and after a couple beats of silence you cock your head at the boy. “Are you going to tell me what you need or…?”

“Oh,” Steve coughs, as if startled by your question. “Honestly I didn’t really have a plan when I called after you. I just kinda did, so…” 

“Right, well.” You clench your jaw in annoyance. Why are you even surprised that Harrington has wasted your time? “This was fun, let’s never do it again sometime!”

You ride off on your bike, trying to quickly get up the hill so that you can get to the Wheeler’s before it gets too dark to see. The hill is brutal and it’s almost embarrassing how long it’s taking you to get up it, and as you’re huffing and dripping in sweat, headlights come up from behind you. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan. 

Steve’s car is now right next to you, the fucker having done a complete u-turn to follow after you. His window is still rolled down and he has one hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging out his window. 

“Hello again, Henderson.” 

“I never said hello back to you.” 

“C’mon, at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

You let out another groan as you continue to struggle up the hill. “I physically cannot do that, sorry.” 

Steve, ever the comedian, responds, “It doesn’t seem like you can physically get up this hill either.” 

You don’t give him the satisfaction of laughing, but you’re a bit annoyed that his quip was funny. What a jackass, honestly. 

“Henderson,” your silence doesn’t deter the boy, “just get in the damn car already.”

Once again you almost crash into the BMW, this time because of your complete shock at his request.

“What?”

He gives you a look as if you’re the insane one in this situation. “You’re sweatier than I am after basketball, and at the rate you’re going I’d say you’ll reach your destination in about three to five business days.”

You stare at him, speechless. 

He stares back at you with a smirk on his smug little face, knowing that he’s won the argument. “Get in the car and I’ll throw your bike in the back.” 

You do as he says, your mind completely blank and still taken aback. Sweatier than him after basketball? There’s no way that’s true, and also who says that to someone they barely even know? As if you’re really that sweaty-

You see your reflection in his car mirror and wince. 

Okay, so maybe you’re a little sweaty. 

Fuck Steve Harrington. 

The boy in question tosses your bike in the trunk as you hesitantly get in the car. He watches as you sit yourself down and laughs. “It’s a car, Henderson. It won’t bite.” 

“Yeah, but you might.” You slap a hand over your mouth, embarrassed by the implications of your words. 

Steve raises an eyebrow at you as he turns the car back on. “Careful there, last I checked you’re a taken lady.”

The embarrassment you previously felt is gone, now replaced with your usual annoyance when it comes to Steve. You think about what he did yesterday to Jonathan’s camera, the cruelty in his eyes as he watched the thing shatter onto the ground. He didn’t show any remorse, and while you understand that he had been defending his girlfriend, he had taken it too far. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that Jonathan and I are just friends?” 

“Please,” Steve huffs with amusement, “the two of you have been inseparable for years. Besides, no way a guy like Byers can just be friends with a girl like you. Not scientifically possible.” 

You wrinkle your nose. “What’s ‘a girl like you’ supposed to mean?” Then another thought occurs to you, “Also, you didn’t even know my name until this week, so don’t go acting like you know my relationship with Jonathan.”

“Relax, Henderson. It was a compliment. All I meant is that you’re decently pretty, all things considered, so I wouldn’t blame Byers if he was in love with you. It’s human nature.”

“Okay, that’s just really sexist-”

“As for knowing your name only this week, you’re wrong.”

“I’m sorry?” You ask, confused. 

Steve places a hand over his chest, almost as if he’s reaching for his heart. “Apology accepted, it means a lot to me.”

“Ugh,” you scoff at him. “That wasn’t an apology and you know it. Can you just take me to the Wheeler’s, please?”

“Woah, slow down there. First I need you to tell me why you thought I didn’t know your name, then I’ll take you to my girlfriend’s house. Free of charge.” 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that you see some offense in Steve’s eyes for thinking he only recently learned your name, but why would he care? Besides, you know he’s never paid any attention to you before this week.

“It was literally this week that I had to tell you my name after you almost hit me with your car, Harrington.”

“Okay, hey,” the boy holds a finger up. “Actually, you almost hit me with your bike because you were too busy hysterically sobbing.”

He’s right, but you won’t tell him that. Minor details, honestly. You’re about to tell him as much before you realize what he’s said. “Wait, you knew I had been crying?”

Steve gives you a well, duh look. “Yeah, that’s why I pretended not to know your name. Figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it and the least I could do was make you laugh. And viola, I did.” 

He had willingly tried to make you laugh?

His words make you flush, which seems to only amuse him further as he chuckles at you. You wave your hand at him, now more annoyed than ever. “Okay, fine. Whatever, so you knew my name before this week, big whoop. Can you just drive now?”

“I’ll take that as an ‘I’m sorry Steve for assuming you’re an asshole who hadn’t noticed a girl you’ve known since you were thirteen’, then.” Steve takes the car out of park and begins to drive to the Wheeler’s which you’re relieved by. 

You feel uncomfortably warm after that conversation, regardless of the fact that you’re still overheated from your biking. There’s no way that Steve has seriously known about you since you were twelve and he was thirteen. No, you decide that he must be lying, playing up his usual boyish charm. He’s been this untouchable entity ever since you moved to Hawkins, so why would he have paid any attention to you?

Then your mind floats to his compliment, calling you “decently pretty”, but then again not even five minutes earlier he stated that you sweat more than he does after basketball, so really his words should mean nothing.  

And yet, after the week you’ve had and your fight with Jonathan and Will’s death and El’s mysterious powers… 

Steve’s words make you a bit giddy, embarrassingly enough. You hate that they do, because he’s Steve Harrington and he’s with Nancy who is beautiful and kind and everything you’re not. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you. 

You pick at your nails as he drives, the car silent, and you accidentally graze against the cut on your finger from yesterday. It’s scabbed over by now, but the pain is still fresh. 

“I know that what Jonathan did was wrong, I won’t excuse his actions. Standing up for Nancy was the right thing to do and I admire you for it, really,” Steve spares you a glance as he drives, nodding his head slightly to indicate that he’s listening. “But breaking Jonathan’s camera wasn’t.” 

He groans. “Nancy said the same thing, but what’s the big deal? The creep shouldn’t have access to a camera if he can’t use it properly.”

The slight warmth that Steve had somehow put in your chest dissipates at his words. “Jonathan isn’t a creep, but regardless of the situation, the big deal is this: not everyone can afford a fancy BMW and Raybans. Not everyone in Hawkins lives in a giant mansion with a pool. He worked so hard to afford that camera, it’s not something that he can just buy again on a whim.” 

Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Henderson, you know I didn’t mean it like that-”

“I know, but it was still a shitty thing to do.”

The silence that settles in the car is a heavy one, and you almost feel bad for Steve. You know he hadn’t thought about the repercussions of his actions, but you suppose that the fact that he hadn’t considered the price of a camera was proof enough of his naivety. 

When you get to the Wheeler’s, Steve gets out of the car to help you with your bike. He doesn’t let you do a thing, so you stand there and awkwardly watch. You can tell that he’s trying to make up for his actions from yesterday, which you appreciate. 

“Thank you,” you say once he places the bike down. 

“All in a day’s work.” Steve responds, wiping his hands off on his jeans. 

As he turns to leave, you stop him. “And thank you for earlier this week, ya know, for making me laugh after falling off my bike. I, uh, appreciate it.” 

He seems surprised by your sincerity, but he smiles. “Again: all in a day’s work. And listen, I’m sorry about Byers’ camera,” Then he quickly adds, as if afraid he won’t have the nerve to later, “I’m sorry about Will, too. I figure you were close with him and now he’s…”

His words trail off, not wanting to say the word “dead”, which you can’t blame him for. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a bad person.” Steve turns to face you now, your words catching his undivided attention. “You just have the worst taste in friends, but when you aren’t around them… I guess you’re alright.” 

He laughs a bit, but there’s a certain emotion in his eyes that you can’t quite name; you have to stop yourself from leaning in closer to him. Suddenly the space between you feels too close and you take a step back, but as you move you feel Steve’s hand ruffle your hair. “I guess you’re ‘alright’ too, Henderson.” 

You watch as he leaves, standing in the Wheeler’s driveway for longer than necessary. You place your hand on your head and find yourself smiling, the warmth of his touch still faintly there.

-

⌑ series masterlist

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⌑ taglist - @siriuslysmoking @sheisjoeschateau

[zablife]

A Night Like Tonight

Summary: Tommy is spiraling out of control after Polly's death and dragging his gf with him.

Author's Note: Requested by the lovely @runnning-outof-time with the song "On a Night Like Tonight" as inspo. I apologize this came out much darker and angstier than you prob intended.

Warnings: nightmares, mention of drinking, drug use, codependent relationship, blood, suicidal ideation, suicide

The heavy gray clouds sank further in the sky over the fields like a vice tightening their ghostly grip. His boots mired in thick black mud, Tommy found himself trapped just beyond reach of Polly’s outstretched hands. Close enough to stare into her kohl rimmed eyes, he was closer than ever to crossing over to where she stood. Without sign of tremors, his hand raised the pistol to his temple, eyes closing to greet the waiting darkness. The screams reached his ears before the gunshots, a guttural echo which pulsed through his veins like a second heart beat.

Jerking awake to a blacked out room, Tommy found himself twisted in bed covers. His eyes adjusted slowly, but his brain raced to reconcile his whereabouts as he ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair. On a shaky breath, he attempted to pull himself up, trembling fingertips reaching for the cigarette case on his bedside table.

His uncoordinated efforts resulted in a smashed lamp causing him to flinch involuntarily. "Fuck!" he exclaimed sharply, the disturbance irritating his overtired brain. Taking a deep breath, he replaced the curses on his lips with a cigarette, fumbling with his lighter until it flickered to life.

A warm, orange glow illuminated her profile beside him, the concern etched on her face unmistakable. Sinking back into his pillow, he rubbed a thumb across his forehead, the smoke from his cigarette wafting between them like a curtain. "Why were you shouting?" he muttered. She didn’t have to see his eyes to know the turmoil and confusion they held.

"It was you, Tommy,” she noted in a hushed whisper. "You cried out," she explained, drawing her hand to her lips before she mentioned he was calling for his beloved aunt.

The slow, sizzling burn of the cigarette paper was the only sound in the room as she waited and observed. With each exhalation of smoke, Tommy's chest seemed to still a bit more. The vein at his neck too ceased to thrum wildly, the way she'd seen it so often in recent weeks as he wrestled with the visions that brought unimaginable guilt.

“There was nothing you could have done,” she offered in a soft voice, draping her slender hand across his chest protectively.

The silence persisted in the inky blackness and she realized he hadn’t heard a word of her reassurance, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. Tossing the duvet aside, she swung a leg over his bare torso and leaned in to carefully pluck the cigarette from his lips. She extinguished it on the bedside table before returning to drape herself across his body. Hair falling over him like a blanket, she enveloped him in her warmth, allowing the scent of her perfume to comfort him. Running a hand down his cheek, she confessed “You’re scaring me these days, my love.”

She ducked her head into the safety of his neck, wanting to feel his arm caress her back and tell her everything was going to be fine. It wasn't a surprise when no such promises were made. He hadn't been himself for some time. "Come back," she mumbled against his rough stubble, placing a kiss in hopes he would feel her love reviving him. But his jaw remained clenched, her supple lips meeting bone that felt like cold steel beneath her touch.

——————————

Three weeks later...

It was late in the day when the phone trilled harshly in the parlor, disrupting her reading. When she answered Ada was on the line and she heaved a sigh of relief. "Ada, thank God. Do you have the name of the doctor I asked about for Tommy?"

"How dare you ask after what he's done?" Ada seethed, taking her by surprise.

"What's happened? Is it Arthur again or-"

"How can you be so blind? He's kept you captive in that house too long," she professed. She'd begun to weep, bitter tears seeping through the wires and causing static on the line.

"Ada, I don't know what this is all about, but I'm sure if you knew how bad it's got, you'd help. He's losing days at a time now."

"Make all the excuses you like, but I'll never forgive him," Ada vowed, the chill in her voice unmistakable.

"Please, what is this about?"

A shaky sigh echoed down her ear as Ada revealed, "An innocent boy was killed today," she paused for breath before she composed herself enough to continue, "along with with my fiancé."

The phone fell from her ear as she let out a strangled gasp, barely hearing the rest, "because Tommy couldn't keep to his own business. He had to interfere in something big enough to kill us all."

Retrieving the phone she implored, "Then you see how he needs you. He'll listen to you."

Ada hadn't visited Arrow House in months, but it was clear nothing had changed, in fact her brother sounded worse. "No," she stated firmly. "My brother can rot in Hell."

"Ada, please..." she protested, but the line had gone dead and a loud crash had her running to the office moments later.

An incoherent Tommy was surrounded by broken glass, his hands bleeding from the shards lodged in his palms. "Oh, Tommy," she cried, weaving a path to him amongst the pieces to avoid injuring herself.

She cradled his head to her chest as he lost consciousness, sweeping the fringe from his feverish forehead. She wept as she curled in around him, whispering softly, "What am I going to do now?"

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

The next morning she cleared the breakfast dishes without waiting for Frances and brought the full plates back to the kitchen.

"Is something wrong with the food?" the new chef asked apologetically.

She only shrugged by way of explanation.

"I can make something else," he offered, rushing to gather the delicate china from her arms.

"Don't bother. It's only black coffee and cigarettes for Mr. Shelby in the morning," she explained wearily.

"And for you?" he persisted. "If you don't care for eggs, I'll prepare-"

"M not hungry," she cut him off, before turning to Frances and asking for her to phone the doctor for another vial of morphine.

Frances took a step closer to the young woman, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper as she asked. "Are you sure Mr. Shelby requires this, ma'am? Isaiah brought a bottle yesterday."

"It's not for Mr. Shelby," she replied curtly.

Brow etched with concern, Frances began, "I don't think he would want-"

"You of all people should know that he doesn't notice or care," she shot back, emotion rising in her throat the more she attempted to choke it down. "Let me have a little peace, won't you?" she persisted, searching Frances' face with watery eyes. As silence hung between them she finally swiped at her cheeks angrily as she ordered, "Call the fucking doctor or I'll have you dismissed."

Frances stood mouth agape as she stormed off. Hearing a huff behind her back, she turned to see the kitchen maid, throwing the plates into the sink. "He's killing that girl," the maid spat.

Frances flinched at the sound of china shattering against the porcelain, but she couldn't deny the outrage they all felt. She was right about Tommy's influence over the young woman. A healthy, spirited girl of twenty had arrived two years ago. Now she was barely recognizable.

"We're not paid to pass judgment," Frances reminded the staff as she straightened her uniform.

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

Tommy gulped the last of his whisky harshly and opened the drawer to his right, rummaging through the contents until he found the small packet he'd stashed in the back. With a deep sigh, he opened it and stared at the contents. He wasn't sure why he'd saved it all this time, other than the promise it held. As he rolled it in his palm he thought of the speech he'd given Barney about a way free of pain and misery. Shoulders slouched forward, he closed his eyes to the odd sense of calm that washed over him now.

The large, glowing moon outside filtered through the thin curtains of Tommy's office, illuminating his slumped body. He'd hardly noticed the presence of another person, especially so late in the evening until she placed her small hand on his shoulder.

"You're awake," Tommy noted with surprise.

"I couldn't sleep without you," she replied, settling herself into his lap in an attempt to have a better view of what he held tightly in his palm.

Raking her fingernails against his scalp she asked, "What've you got?" A casual tone to her query in hopes he would confide in her.

However, the opposite happened when Tommy's paranoia took root. Pushing her from his knee with a harsh shove, he muttered, "This has nothing to do with you, alright?"

Tears welled along her lash line as she muttered, "Fuck off, Tommy. I never ask questions, do I?"

Tommy's body stiffened at her acerbic tone, a wounded look crossing his face as he attempted to explain. "I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Safe?" she scoffed. "What does that mean anymore?," she shrugged futilely.

Tommy held her shoulders firmly in his grasp, the intensity of his blue eyes ceasing her impatient movements. "It means I love you and I don't want you involved."

"You mean you don't want to let me in," she cried, beating on his chest with desperation.

At a loss for words, Tommy dropped his chin to his chest and she took the opportunity to grasp his hand. His nimble fingers momentarily betrayed him and the capsules fell into her palm.

"What are these?" she gasped.

Tommy's face flushed with the discovery, afraid to admit the truth. A harsh gulp followed as he ran a hand down his face, feeling the throb of his pulse within the recesses of his eye sockets. Finally the weak reply tumbled from his lips, "They're cyanide capsules." He grasped her wrist as he thought of words to reassure her.

She turned her head away from him as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. "My love isn't working anymore is it?" she whispered, voice breaking in desperation as she rejected his empty reassurance.

Frozen from the drugs, alcohol and indecision Tommy allowed her to capture his face in her hands. Searching his glazed eyes for something to grab hold to, she found herself floundering. The overwhelming need for him and her love crashing against her sternum in the form of a tenacious heart raging against rejection.

Finally he spoke breaking the unbearable silence, saying, "I never meant to hurt you. I'd understand on a night like tonight if you want to go..."

Her hand clenched involuntarily by her side, the capsules pressing into her skin. Gazing up at him she protested, “Tell me anything you like, except for goodbye. That's the only thing I couldn't bear." The dampness of her tears coated his cheek as she pressed a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering for a brief moment to savor the salty sweetness clinging to his lips.

Pulling back to gaze at him, a sad smile crossed her lips as she asked, "What do you reckon it's like high up there in heaven?" She brushed the hair from his forehead as she mused, "We might never know, but it was good way down here, wasn't it? At least for awhile...." Eyes glossy and searching for a morsel of hope, she waited for a response Tommy never offered.

Then in one swift movement she shoved the pills into her mouth, crushing the shell of the capsules with her teeth. Tommy's face registered a moment of horrified shock before he pulled her into him, pressing her to his body in a passionate kiss that took the poison from her to share it between them.

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

In the morning when Frances came to open the drapes, she found their bodies intwined in a lover's embrace. "Peace at last," she noted sorrowfully before withdrawing from the room.

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

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy  

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@notyour-valentine

@theshelbyclan

@red-riding-wood

@polishcrazyone

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@the-fangirl-diaries

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@pietroxreader

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@runnning-outof-time

@dandelionprints

@look-at-the-soul

@garrison-girl-08

@peakyscillian

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@babayaga67

@kmhappybunny240

[libraryofgage]

Meddling Kids

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One | Two | Three 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two Scooby Gang One (you're here!) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One | Two Queen Clarisse Renaldi One | Two | Three Leverage Crew One

From the girl that brought you that silly little Spicy Six Scooby Movie post (I've been thinking of making that post into one of those social media series things on Tumblr but imma let that cook a little longer actually lmao) is a brand new Stranger Things and Scooby Doo crossover

Anyway, we're here for good vibes and fluffy Scooby gang, so definitely don't point out any typos hfjkds

Have fun reading!

---------

People coming.

Steve freezes, looking at the possum that's scurried into the room and sidled up next to him. He takes a deep breath and forces his shoulders to relax. People have come to explore the abandoned lab before; usually, it's just older kids daring each other to stand inside for a few minutes. There's been that lady recently who likes dressing up as a weird rat-thing, but she hasn't bothered Steve or his friends. Actually, she may not even realize Steve is here.

"Is it the lady again?" he asks, his voice low as he places a hand on the possum's head. He feels its nerves flow through his palm, and it pushes its head against him, snout nuzzling against the 004 on his arm.

No. Four big ones and a beast.

Four adults and a dog, probably. Steve frowns slightly and gets up, carefully making his way across the dirty floor toward the window. He lifts the corner of the curtain and stares at the bright blue, green, and orange van parked in front of the building. Four adults are standing around with a big dog, which isn't looking too happy about being near the place. Steve can't blame it.

He slowly pushes the window open a crack, straining his ears to hear one of the adults say, "Okay, gang. Daphne, Velma, and I will look around downstairs. Shag, you and Scooby will take the second floor. We'll meet back in the lobby in an hour."

"Can't we just, like, not explore the creepy abandoned lab for once?"

Steve assumes this is the one called Shag, and he hopes the other man agrees to just leave. That would make his life so much easier. He hears the dog, Scooby, agree with the sentiment and hopes the other people can understand him, too.

Unfortunately, one of the women says, "C'mon, guys, the monster isn't real. Here, I'll give you some Scooby Snacks for the road."

And that seems to be the end of that. The man and dog accept the snacks, the people enter the building, and Steve resigns himself to hiding for however long they stick around.

He bunkers down, leaning against the wall beneath the window, and goes back to coloring the floor with markers. This entire room is covered in drawings that reach only a few feet up the wall. Steve isn't tall enough to go any higher.

Right now, he's drawing all the animals in the building. There are the ones that were there to begin with (mostly rats and rabbits) and the ones that moved in after the bad people left (possums and raccoons and cats and more rats). He doodles them marching across the floor, a relaxed smile tugging at his lips as he colors a cat purple.

He's putting the finishing touches on the final animal in the line (the very same possum that came to warn him about the people) when he hears a scream from down the hall. Steve blinks, looking up just in time to see Shag and Scooby throw open the door, slide into the room, and slam it behind them.

They lean against it, sinking to the ground, and finally notice Steve sitting against the opposite wall. "Like, Scooby, please tell me I'm imagining that kid over there," Shag says, his voice wavering and cracking near the end.

Scooby starts out looking as scared as Shag, but then he tilts his head. He hesitates for a few seconds before dropping low to the floor and slowly moving toward Steve. "Scoob, what are you doing?" Shag asks.

Not a ghost, Shaggy!

"Not a rhost, Raggy!"

Steve blinks, frowning in confusion. Scooby talked. Like, actually talked. He talked out loud and Shaggy (it makes as little sense as Shag in Steve's opinion) understood him. "There, like, can't be a kid here!"

By the time he says this, Scooby has reached Steve, looking up at him from the floor with hopeful eyes and an eagerly wagging tail. Steve holds himself back for all of two seconds before reaching out and scratching behind Scooby's ear.

The dog lights up and tries to squeeze into Steve's lap, licking his cheeks and covering him in slobber. Steve laughs, trying to evade Scooby's tongue and utterly failing. "Stop, stop!" he shouts breathlessly, still giggling even when Scooby finally gives him a break.

"Oh, man," Shaggy says, slowly moving from the door to approach Steve. When he's a few steps away, he stops and crouches. "What are you doing here, little guy?"

Steve blinks, glancing at Shaggy before turning his attention back to Scooby. He reaches up, scratching under Scooby's chin and trying to ignore his nerves about talking to another human after being alone for so long. "This is my home," he says.

Your home?

"Your rome?"

"Like, man, this is not a good home," Shaggy says, looking around at the dust and the cobwebs and the possum in the corner of the room. "Don't you have, like, parents or something?"

"Not really."

Can we keep him, Shaggy?

"Can re keep him, Raggy?" Scooby asks, his tail wagging hopefully as he looks at Shaggy over his shoulder.

"Gee, Scoob, I don't know," Shaggy says, frowning slightly as he finally sits down on the floor and hunches over. "A kid's a lotta responsibility, man. We gotta feed him and clothe him and, like, make sure he doesn't get sick."

Steve looks between the two and can't help a slight smile. Shaggy is nice, and Scooby is a dog, which automatically makes him good to Steve. He doesn't mind helping them out a little. "You're here about that lady, right?" he asks.

Lady?

"Rady?"

"Like, what do you mean lady?" Shaggy asks.

"The one dressing like a rat," Steve says, wondering how they didn't make that connection themselves. Haven't they already realized it's not a real rat-thing?

"Oh, man, I guess Velma was right," Shaggy says, a relieved laugh bubbling out of him as he slumps even more. "We gotta tell the gang, right, Scoob?"

Yeah, yeah!

"Reah, reah!"

"Are you trying to catch her?" Steve asks, looking between the two once more.

"Well, like, the rest of the gang's gonna want to."

"I can help with that," Steve offers, smiling reassuringly at the concerned looks that Shaggy and Scooby give him in return.

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

Hawkins is supposed to be a vacation. Sort of. There's a possible mystery in the town, but even Velma couldn't confirm for sure, and Daphne had encouraged them to just relax.

Steve is inclined to agree with her, especially when she buys them a house with a pool that Scooby immediately launched himself into.

Still, he can tell that Velma won't relax unless she gets a chance to look around, so he finds her to go on a grocery run. "Oh, you're right," she says when he points out the lack of food in the house. "We'd better get something before Shaggy and Scooby start chewing on the walls."

"We'll set up the bedrooms while you get groceries," Fred says, grinning at them from across the living room. He digs in his pocket and pulls out the keys to the Mystery Machine. After making sure Steve is ready, he tosses them over.

"Please just don't put me in that plaid room," Steve tells him, catching the keys and passing them to Velma.

"I think that would count as cruel and unusual punishment, Steve," Daphne calls, her voice coming from down the hall where she's no doubt started setting up her room. She pokes her head into the hall, smiles at him, and adds, "Don't worry. We'll put Shaggy and Scooby in that one."

"Knowing them, they'd like it," Velma says.

As if he was just waiting for his queue, Shaggy leans over the second-floor railing and shouts, "Dibs on the plaid room! It looks groovy!"

Steve snorts as Velma rolls her eyes with an amused smile. "Come on, Steve, let's get going."

The drive to the grocery store is quiet, with Steve paying more attention to the town around him and Velma focusing on driving. He notes anything that looks weird, like the lack of people walking around. They pass other cars, of course, but even when they drive past what could be called Downtown Hawkins, he doesn't see anyone walking around.

He tucks that away for later, seeing nothing else of note until they park near a pile of bikes at the grocery store. "They're not locked," he says, nodding to them.

"It's a small town, Steve," Velma says, unbuckling as she turns the radio down so their ears aren't blasted when they get back. "They probably don't feel the need to."

"I guess," Steve mumbles, hopping out of the van and waiting for Velma to round the front. He walks next to her and holds the door open when they reach it. "Maybe we can get sandwich stuff."

"We'll have to wipe out their entire deli section," Velma says, sighing as she grabs a cart and pushes it towards the produce aisle. "At least we never have to worry about food waste."

Steve hums in agreement, easily falling into their normal routine of Velma calling out items and him grabbing at least five of them if there's enough in stock. "What do you think about that mystery?" he asks, placing a bag of apples in the cart.

"I think that forest out there is prime real estate," she replies, leaning on the cart's push bar. "Get a watermelon, too, Steve. Anyway, demon dogs aren't the weirdest we've run across."

"They were demodogs. Not demon dogs."

"I still think that was just a typo. Either way, I'm sure we can walk around the forest later and, you know, learn what the squirrels have seen."

Steve crinkles his nose, glancing at her as they make their way towards the deli. "You know the squirrels are too flighty. We're better off with the raccoons. Or, like, the sparrows."

He looks over to see her smirking and realizes she was just teasing him. Steve huffs and grabs as many sandwich meats as he can, getting everything but ham since Velma can't eat it and it gives Daphne migraines.

"Well, whichever animals you interrogate, I'm sure they'll clear up this mystery in no time."

Steve hums in agreement, follows Velma into the cereal aisle, and is about to say they should consider focusing on field mice when a voice from the other side of the shelf says, "Dude, spray cheese isn't gonna help us against the demodogs."

He blinks, pauses, and looks at Velma. She tilts her head, holds a finger up to her lips, and waves off the smirk he gives her at being right about demodogs not being a typo. "Yeah, I know," another voice says, followed by the clatter of grabbing a few cans, "but I want Cheez-Whiz."

"That stuff is gross," a girl's voice says, her tone flat in a way that Steve almost recognizes. He frowns slightly, tilting his head as he silently places a few cereal boxes in the cart. "It tastes fake."

"That's the point, El."

"Shouldn't we focus on lighters and hairspray?"

"I mean, this is technically a spray, right?"

Steve glances at Velma, raising an eyebrow before gesturing to the end of the aisle. She nods once and starts pushing the cart in that direction, huffing in amusement when Steve drops in a few more boxes along the way. "You'd think we're feeding an army," she says, tone dry.

"We might as well be," Steve replies, feelings his shoulders relax at the routine exchange.

They round the corner to see three kids down the aisle, two boys and one girl. One of the boys has curly hair and a baseball cap while the other is wearing a basketball jersey, and the girl has short hair that falls to her shoulders. They're all looking at the shelf, but the girl glances over when Velma and Steve enter the aisle.

She meets Steve's eyes, and he wonders if he's met her before. Her eyes narrow slightly, more in confusion than anything else, and her gaze travels down. He feels it on his arm as she lands on the 004, and her eyes widen as she steps away from the shelf.

Steve glances down at her arm in turn, sees the 011, and feels like his breath has been punched out of him. "Eleven," he whispers.

Next to him, Velma shifts closer, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I'm here," she says, her voice low and more reassuring than she'll ever know.

"Four," Eleven says, walking up to him without another glance at her companions. "Are you here to hurt me or my friends?"

Steve blinks. "What?"

"Are you violent? Kali, Eight, was violent. And angry. Are you angry?"

As she talks, the two boys move to flank her, looking between Steve and Velma with something between suspicion and confusion. "Is this one of your siblings, El?" Basketball Jersey asks.

"Yes. Four. He was...transferred a year before the Upside Down. Four, these are my friends Dustin and Lucas"

"I go by Steve now. And, uh, no, not violent. We're grocery shopping," Steve says, awkwardly gesturing to their cart.

"Steve? You can name yourself and you choose Steve?" Dustin asks.

Steve blinks and frowns. "I didn't name myself. I asked the smartest rat I knew to name me."

The two boys blink as El nods in understanding. "The rat chose well," she says.

"Dude, how many people are you feeding?" Lucas asks, seeming to finally notice the shopping cart.

"Well, one of them is a Great Dane," Velma says. "Hello, El. I'm Velma, one of Steve's...guardians, I suppose. How would you like to come by for dinner? El and Steve can catch up, and you can tell us about those demodogs you mentioned."

"Were you spying on us?" Lucas asks.

"You weren't exactly being quiet," Velma tells them.

Before Lucas or Dustin can start arguing, El cuts them off, "We will come by for dinner. I am glad we met again, Steve."

"Yeah. Me, too," Steve replies, smiling at El and wondering if they'll have to explain how Scooby can talk.

----------

Tag List (please let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@romanticdestruction,

[woooyeahbaby]

post war levi with his doctor or nurse pls 👀

ABSOLUTELY coming right up.

warnings : gender neutral reader, 18+, handjob, very brief blowjob, reader is a swallower🗣️, patient/nurse dynamic obviously, slow-ish? and i feel like there’s not much smut sorry, lmk if any other warnings are needed! (oh also maybe me not being too specific with levi’s injuries cuz i kinda forgot them…)

a/n : i will get to my other levi rqs eventually.. admittedly this is my most recent one 😭 i’m not unmotivated, like i said i am out of writers block, i’ve just been tired and trying to focus on my relationships irl :)

oh also this is my first time writing smut in FOREVER😭

it was about time to check on captain levi again, realizing you’d spent quite a bit of time focusing on other patients. you felt bad, seeing as so much had happened all within that short amount of time.. the explosion, and then immediately after, the rumbling? you had to admit, levi is a strong man. seeing him so beat up hurt a little, despite not knowing him well.

you tap on the curtain surrounding his hospital bed a few times, quietly saying his name to ask for permission to enter the.. room. it’s hard to call it a room when it’s made of thin, floral printed fabric sheets hanging from the ceiling.

“come in.” his rough voice answers, and you hear him shifting to sit up straight in the bed.

“hi, captain levi. how’re you doing on pain at the moment? need anything?” you question, fixing the curtain behind you as you came closer to his bed, gently placing a hand on his ankle.

you definitely see him wince at the touch, but he doesn’t seem pained, perhaps just surprised. well, not many people would be brave enough to lay a hand on captain levi ackerman…

“i’m fine. and you don’t really have to call me captain. only the scouts do.” he waves his hand slightly off his lap, shaking his head.

“i do it out of respect, not because i feel obligated.” you smile softly at him, then shift your gaze to his more severely injured leg. “may i touch your leg?”

“..yeah, go ahead.” hearing that you have that level of respect for him made him feel something. not embarrassment, or pride, but something else he couldn’t quite grasp.

you gently feel his other ankle, pressing on it while your eyes stayed on his face as to check for any signs of pain. you carefully roll his ankle around, earning a grunt from the man.

“sorry. is it any better, or has it hurt the same amount since?” your hands now rest on his calf as you question him.

“it’s getting better. it’s fine, continue.” he clears his throat, his eyes — or, well, eye — never leaving your hands.

you nod, now pressing along his calf, still watching his face for signs of pain. this seemed to hurt more, seeing as he scrunched his nose, his eye narrowing.

“same question.” instead of standing at the end of his bed, you move up to the side, one hand still at his calf and the other at his knee.

“getting better. the doctor said it isn’t broken, just the bone is bruised pretty bad. don’t worry about it.” he seems a bit worried. “you.. don’t need to feel further than that. my upper leg is fine.”

“captain levi, you can’t tell me not to worry about it, i’m a nurse. i have to worry about every detail of these injuries.” you laugh softly. “and hey, didn’t the doctor say you pulled something in your thigh? of course i have to feel it. don’t worry, i won’t do anything other than see how much you’ve healed.”

“well—! i don’t think i pulled anything, i.. he did say that. but it’s better. i can say that right now.” it’s a strange sight to see captain levi flustered… but not an unpleasant one.

all you do is roll your eyes at his efforts to get you to leave it alone. as to not make it more difficult for him, you make it slow, but little do you know, that only makes it harder. in more ways than one.

at a particular spot on his upper thigh, he gasps, his muscles tensing under your touch. you rest your hands there, not pressing any further.

“and you said you’re fine?” you raise an eyebrow, seeing that he just contradicted himself.

“i am, i really am. it’s just.. i’m not used to people touching me. especially not.. in such a.. spot.” he cringes at himself, finally looking away as to hide his embarrassment.

“wh— ohh. in a bad way? is it uncomfortable?” you furrow your eyebrows now, genuinely curious as you didn’t want to offend him.

his lips press into a thin line as he shakes his head, his gaze returning to you, and then your hands.

“quite the opposite.” levi sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“then what’s the issue?” tilting your head at him out of pure confusion, you see him almost smile for a split second.

“it’s.. a little too comfortable.” he chuckles at himself, looking away once again.

it takes a moment for you to put 2 and 2 together, but once you realize what he means you can’t help but gasp. however.. your hands don’t move from his thigh.

“do you.. know what nurses are for, captain levi?” your voice is quieter now, your eyes unable to meet his out of pure shyness. “we’re here to help. so.. would you like for me to help you?”

you hear his breath catch in his throat at your offer, as he certainly expected you to he disgusted, or at least ignore what he said. but no.. you offered to help him. he felt ashamed, but.. how could he refuse?

“yes. yes please.” levi nods eagerly, his hands moving to the button of his pants before you stop him.

“let me.” you undo the button for him, unzipping the fly as well.

you assist him in lifting his hips up so you can pull his pants down just enough so they’re down to his thighs. they’re a little bruised, but you look past that and see the sheer muscle in them. you can’t believe you got to touch them. and you only get to touch more of him with what you’re doing…

making eye contact with him for a moment as to ask for permission to remove his boxers, he nods again, a slightly pink tint to his cheeks now. you look back down, slowly running a hand over his hard-on before hooking a finger in the grey material, pulling them until you could see every inch of his cock.

“i can’t do much other than use my hands, that’s okay, right?” you whisper, fearing being caught by another patient nearby or even another nurse or doctor.

levi simply nods, his breathing getting heavier with each movement you make. you spit onto your hand, then return it to his crotch. you run it up and down, causing him to cover his mouth with his own hand. you still hear his gasps, and a few groans trying to escape.

each time you reach the tip, his hips buck slightly, though not so much as he would feel pain due to his leg injuries. he must’ve really needed this, especially since he asked it of someone he barely knew outside of a few conversations here and there as they were only dropping off pain meds, or changing bandages.. it seemed very out of character, even to you.

he was already leaking pre-cum, quite a lot of it, at that. you had to admit, for a man as attractive as him, it was hard to believe he never got any action. of course, you aren’t his first, but he still probably hadn’t had something like this happen. that much was obvious, with how shy he seemed, and how fast he seems to be getting close.

levi removes his hand from his mouth, now clutching the sheets below him with it. “close, so close,” he whispers, clearly struggling to keep quiet.

you look around for something for him to release onto, but there was nothing quite convenient enough. so.. next best thing?

you bend over, placing only the tip in your mouth, continuing the fast movement of your hand as you slowly swirl your tongue around him. he sighs loudly, his hand quickly returning to his mouth as he coats the inside of your mouth with his cum. there was a lot to swallow, but you weren’t one to complain, really, especially not when it’s captain levi ackerman.

you pull away, licking your lips swiftly and wiping your hand on a paper towel in the corner of the room. wait a second, where were those when— ah, what’s done is done… you think, rolling your eyes at yourself for not realizing those only a few seconds earlier…

when you turn back around, levi’s face is beet red, his pants already up and buttoned. his breathing is still unsteady, as to be expected…

“thank you.” he mumbles, and you swear you see a tear run down his cheek.

“um.. anytime.” you laugh softly. “need anything else?”

“i’m.. i’m alright for now.” he replies quietly, shaking his head and placing his hands in his lap. “i might need help again tomorrow, though.”

“well, i’m here every day. i’ll check on you again soon.” and with that, you leave, unsure of whether to feel shameful and embarrassed, or extremely proud that you just made the captain levi cum.

(if you liked this then my requests are very much open!)

[jesncin]

Chimera Constantine breakdown, refs & nods mega-post

Welcome to the master post of behind the scenes for the Chimera Constantine comics. In the style of the Sons of Mars ones I made, this post archives our research and process. So here we go! This will be a mix of showing references and personal anecdotes for how we cobbled this project together.

I'll be repeating some things I've mentioned across blog posts because I like having all this info in one place.

So! There's a lot of ways to go about re-interpretation and re-imagining a story, and one of my techniques is to not get overly attached to research. While it's good to be informed about a character, sometimes knowing every little thing about them can make one hesitant to innovate and try something different with them. So I'm purposely mindful about how much material I research.

But how does something like that work when the character in question has only 2-3 total appearances, one arc, and a quick revisit several years later? We play twin telephone.

For this project, Cin read the Hellblazer Golden Boy arc and vaguely retold it to Jes, who would then write a story based on assumptions and half-remembered memories of the story. Letting personal experience, influences and bias fill the blanks. We're inspired by how Naoki Urusawa wrote Pluto based on his mis-remembered memories of reading Astro Boy. Also when I was a kid I used to look at book covers and summaries and make up a story based on the limited information I was given. It's fun for me. Part of why I love obscure characters so much is that the lack of content about them lets the reader fill in the blanks about their lives and try telling new stories about them that aren't constrained by a saturated canon.

The original Golden Boy arc written by Jamie Delano (#39-40) is about John Constantine coming to the realization that he strangled his twin in the womb. After taking some 'shrooms, John...manifests into another reality, it's very surreal. There, John meets his twin from a universe where John had died, and his brother gets to live. The twin (taking on the name John Constantine, we'll call him Golden Mage to keep it simple) is John's opposite in every better way. They decide to merge their souls to restore...the universe. You kind of had to be there.

John's twin returns many issues later (#249) to wrap up a different arc, there he and the story are written by Andy Diggle.

The first panel of our full comic references the tarot cards John gets from his reading with Zed.

This panel is a direct reference to this scene where John sees his own shadow on a curtain after his reading with Zed. I like the imagery of this arc, even when the dialogue describing twins is really cringe. We changed it to a mirror to reinforce the mirror imagery throughout the comic. Speaking of which...!

Through Jes' reworking of the story, mirrors were streamlined to be the main way alternate universes were portrayed in the story. They'd be the main motif that paralleled the twins too. In issue #249 of Hellblazer, John uses the mirror to confront his twin who resides within himself after their soul-merge years ago.

The line "He's so beautiful, he frightens me." is spoken by a doctor witnessing the Golden Boy's birth in his universe. We repurposed it to be John's dialogue for when he's describing the man he sees in the mirror.

John's twin uses a sacrifice involving these candles to summon his sickly twin. Jes repurposed the use of candles to a magic salt circle that contains spirits like the Golden Boy (he's nicknamed "Goldie" in our take).

The Golden Boy! Even though he died in the womb, he's portrayed as a boy. Probably because a floating fetus wasn't what they were going for. We wanted to give him a distinct look that foreshadows how much he would grow his hair out. I like that his mouth isn't visible! We use the shape of his eyes and posing to get across how he's feeling. It gives him a vacant-toddler-stare I find really endearing.

We made some minor adjustments to the Golden Mage's design. Initially, we followed his canonical pulled back long hair. But since he was a challenging character to emote when we had one less arm to work with, we decided to part his hair so that it could carry how he's feeling. I like when I can get it to cover a part of his face for intense moments! If it was animated, it would 100% be expressive Ghibli hair.

Our main goal for Golden Mage's characterization is to make him feel like his own person. In the original arc, he's less of a sibling and more of an au of John Constantine himself. He doesn't get his own name. Despite gloating about having a better and more fulfilling love life than John, he also shared the exact same love interests John does. Being a twin is less about a family story and more a vehicle to talk about self hatred and potential here. Which isn't fair to the individuality of the characters!

(note, this is not how the panels look in the og comic, I've rearranged them so that they display on this post better)

So we characterized the Golden Mage to still have his canon charisma (albeit with the dialogue toned way down from his original appearance), but to have a thinly veiled temper under all that bravado to foil his con-man trickster brother. The Golden Mage was vaguely described as not being particularly attached to the love he receives. Golden Mage is also dismissive of his womb twin's death, saying it's something he shouldn't grieve since he never really knew him. We reinterpreted these lines as him being in denial over his brother's death, thinking himself as above his own feelings of grief.

Also as a tiny note, we kept the Golden Mage's name ambiguous to keep with the vibe of the original comic, but in my mind I headcanon his full name to be Marigold "Goldie" Constantine. The yellow flower is culturally associated with prosperity, but also grief and jealousy. It's perfect for him! So we made references to the flower in the cover and first panels of the comic. I also headcanon that as a kid he called John Constantine's ghost "Johnny".

My influences for how this whole beginning meeting scene is staged and played out is E.M Carroll's When I Arrived At The Castle. The "animated" panels of Golden Mage looking back at John and breaking through the mirror is a direct call back to the keyhole sequence in that comic! The premise of daydreaming about how your life could have been and not realizing that you're staring at an alternate universe is loosely inspired by Junji Ito's Hellstar Remina. I really like the concept of staring into the unknown and then something sentient staring back from that. "What if our day dreams are just other realities we're dreaming of" kind of deal. I don't see that sort of thing in the saturation of multiverse stories these days.

Next reference is the Dead Boy's Heart! While I like that this story's its own thing, I was surprised it wasn't linked to John's dead brother in any way. It felt thematically relevant, so we brought it over as a device to trap Goldie while the brothers merge souls.

Twins can be positioned in a bunch of ways in the womb. I think canonically, John and Golden Mage were positioned like they are in the cover for Hellblazer #39, ideal for strangling I guess! We changed it to echo the motion of yin and yang. I do think the inclusion of yin and yang is a little cringey in the original comic even though I get what it's going for (balance and all that, it's just kind of simplistic to the philosophy). But I do like it as a way to echo card imagery we established in this comic. We combined the imagery of the tarot cards featured in the Golden Boy arc and King/Queen/Joker playing cards. So it felt right to bring back that whole upside down twins in the womb thing. Special fact, this is how my twin and I were vibing in the womb.

The scene where the twins hit Ctrl + E to merge layers! It's a pretty iconic pose! I like how their heads peaked out of the panels so I brought it back for our comic too. In our version, the twins fail to merge their souls entirely. In the revisit to the Golden Boy character in the comics in issue #249, it's revealed that the merging "failed" in some way, trapping the Golden Mage within John's soul.

For John's ghost counterpart from Golden Mage's universe we took Dave McKean's portrayal of him very literally haha. I know he doesn't literally have one eye, but we thought it gave him a really distinct look for us to stylize. We decided to keep the ghost kids consistent with no mouth and vacant pupil-less stares. We gave ghost kid!John a sort of bedsheet ghost form to contrast against Goldie.

Speaking of one eye! That's another motif we decided to emphasize throughout the comic. It's not in the source material at all, but we liked it as a way to both hint at chimerism and visualize how the two brothers serve as incomplete halves of each other. Special fact! Heterochromia can show up in chimera twins. Of course in the case of identical twins like the Constantines, their chimerism isn't as detectable since they have identical sets of DNA. But! It's still fun to stylize in a supernatural way. For our take we show the glowing golden eye as the soul of the Golden Boy manifesting in his brother. I like to think that John takes advantage of how undetectable his chimerism is to have an upper hand in any soul-related deals he makes.

This stylized heterochromia is inspired by @ratblazer 's Constantine design! I made a subtle nod to it with young punk John's make up echoing the scar in her design too.

For John's dynamic with Goldie the Golden Boy, we built the conflict of the story around making him doubt his attachment to his dead brother. There's a line of dialogue in the revisited Golden Boy arc about John needing to "let go", so we repurposed it into the Golden Mage assuring him that his attachments make him weak.

Even though the Golden Boy doesn't show up nearly as much as I think he should in canon, John has been shown to be really sentimental about him. John wants to be the Golden Boy's friend because he's so beautiful John mistook him for Jesus as a kid. Canonically, the Golden Boy ghost rejects John's friendship, likely still not over the whole strangulation in the womb thing. It still breaks John's heart though, he's a sobbing mess about being owned by a dead kid.

We changed this whole dynamic! The twin murder in the womb felt very X-men Xavier vs Cassandra Nova, and it's hard to get behind babies having that much motivation before they're even born. In our version, Goldie is a vanishing twin absorbed by John, the sickly twin. Infants being accidentally strangled by umbilical cords does occur in reality. However, we changed their origin to being that of Vanishing Twin syndrome because it was more specific for the ideas we were going for.

I feel this crucial change is more in tune with the overall themes of Hellblazer. John always cheats death at a cost. People are constantly sacrificed for John's continued survival. But the Golden Boy's case would be special, because he sacrificed himself out of love before he even knew what it means to love. Unlike the other ghosts that haunt John Constantine, Goldie isn't resentful of John. I think it makes more sense for the Golden Boy to be attached to John because he's all the Golden Boy's ever known. As a chimera twin, John is like a horcrux holding his brother's soul in his body. This reaffirms survivor's guilt to be something John experiences since his birth.

Canonically, although the Golden Mage initially feels sorry for the ghost of John that haunts him, he rejects John as well. John's ghost in canon is like a nuisance that keeps bothering Golden Mage. There's an instance mentioned of Golden Mage trying to recreate his murder in the womb? It's cryptically written. But Golden Mage does keep using the phrase "banished" to describe his brother.

We took this and made it so that he performed an exorcism on himself to remove his supernatural chimera-bond to John's ghost. The Golden Boy arc is pretty unique when compared with how saturated multiverse stories are nowadays since it doesn't share the science fiction sensibilities. Grief comes up a lot in multiverse stuff, in these stories characters use parallel universes to save a loved one as they're bargaining with their loss. For our take, we wanted a character to use the alternate universes to hurt and lash out at the loved one they're grieving. I pulled influence from Everything Everywhere All At Once's concept of a self destructive character on a search for the one familial connection who could understand what they're feeling.

References! The first panel is a nod to issue #36 where John is sleeping with Marj. We changed her to Kit. The second panel is a direct callback to issue #67, an iconic visual for his break up angst era.

Trivia; this page was added at the last minute! I needed something to bridge the birthday cupcake page and the final panel of Golden Mage's breakdown, so I linked them through candles! In this weird case, I reference my own work! This is a callback to Birthdays, a short comic we made for John Constantine's canonical birthday. It sets the premise for his relationship with Goldie based on the habits and experiences of survivor twins. The pages referencing this comic are meant to re-establish that John shares meals with his twin.

I wanted this page to feel like John's lighting an incense for his dead brother, and to contrast it with the snuffed out candles from Golden Mage's flashback. The candle has a yellow and blue intertwined spiral pattern that calls back to the color of John and Golden mage's dialogue boxes and speech bubbles, along with how twisted they look when they merged. Implying that in this universe, they're together in some way. I really wish I did this intentionally but it was by complete coincidence of making the cupcake pink and balancing it out with pastel primaries. But I sure can acknowledge how cool it looks symbolically okay???

The dialogue here is a nod to John's monologue in issue #19 where John is comforting Simon Hughes. It's re-contextualized a bit to be about sharing grief together in our comic.

This is a really goofy one but- since Golden Mage is supposed to be the fully realized potential of John, we thought that he would have a successful career as a musician and singer where John didn't. I don't think Golden Mage would be a punk singer though, he probably does something he'd consider more elevated.

BUT-! In the 30th Anniversary edition of Hellblazer, Sting (the guy John's appearance is based on) wrote an introduction for the edition while roleplaying as the Golden Boy. Which is nuts. The Anniversary edition basically canonized Sting as being a Constantine variant in our universe with the soul of Golden Boy. Sting, as Golden Boy, describes himself as a musician and singer too. Absolutely bonkers for Sting to throw me a bone this late in the game since no one's touched this character in ages.

Another E.M Carroll influenced panel sequence. This is from the digital comic Out of Skin.

So that brings us to the end of the comic! We've had the ideas for this comic cooking for some time, and it's people's continued interest in our takes on these characters that gave us the chance to finally bring the story together.

I'm very fascinated by the Golden Boy story, not because it's particularly strong compared to other stories in Hellblazer's run, but because its intriguing premise is bogged down by its surreal take on typical Evil Twin tropes. og Hellblazer's strength was always in its raw humanity. John Constantine's character countered the sensational spectacle of his superhero contemporaries. He may be able to outwit a vampire but he's can't fight back against being brutalized by the police. In one of his most iconic arcs, he finds out he has cancer- not because of any supernatural shenanigans, but because he literally smokes too much. In another arc, John's long time girlfriend breaks up with him, and he lashes out by saying the cruelest things to her. When he hears that his abusive dad is murdered, John still cries about it.

I think the Golden Boy arc and the retcon that followed his brief return actively undermines what makes Hellblazer special. Suddenly John's having X-Men-level evil twin escapades in the womb. Suddenly, merging with his twin will help save the universe. Suddenly, it's not smoking that caused John to have cancer! It was actually because he merged with his twin and his twin became the cancer from inside him! Suddenly it wasn't a moment of lashing out that caused John to say all those cruel things to his ex upon their break up, that was actually the Golden Boy controlling him from within, so you see it's not really his fault! Also what followed the break up was extra devastating because of the Golden Boy, somehow.

Often I hear in fandom that when you change a character too much from their canon counterpart it's basically "just an oc" at that point, but in the case of characters who get to be re-imagined and passed through many creative teams, I think that kind of mindset is deeply limiting for transformative work. The line I draw between "just an oc" and an interpretation is if the changes involved engage with their source material in any way or if they're just superficial. Big changes and 180 flips can work because they still respond to the history of said character. It's why we see that kind of thing in canon a lot. These characters are inherently built to be passed through many hands in meaningful ways to varying degrees of success. So I hope that by showing all this process that goes behind big changes to a canon character, people better understand what can go into transformative creativity.

Our thesis for this re-imagining is to take what makes Hellblazer special and re-examine the arc that we felt undermined that. Despite the grief John has for many characters in his cast, mourning isn't brought up at all in the Golden Boy arc. It's dismissed by the characters in narration, and the Golden Mage himself isn't even recognized as a sibling by the narrative, no matter how many times John calls him "bro".

Survivor twin grief over dead womb twins especially is a real thing that's often dismissed because in the words of canon Golden Mage himself "I couldn't mourn for those I'd never known". This is not true to the experience of twins. They play with and remember each other from spending 9 months growing in a tight space together. So when one of them doesn't make it out with the other, that survivor feels a grief they can't comprehend. It can manifest in unresolved trauma, commitment issues, and survivor's guilt. All things that feel so relevant to the themes of John Constantine's character. I think that by integrating the real lived experiences of survivor twins, the Golden Boy arc could've been one the most human and personal parts of the original Hellblazer run. It's could've been a story that helped a community of people so rarely validated in their grief feel seen.

[piratesfromspace]

After the rain (141xReader)

Pairing: Reader x Soap (& implied Reader x 141)

Rated: Mature

Word count: 900

Summary: After being kidnapped and rescued, Rain needs to make sure Soap is still alive

Note: In the same universe as my "Rain or Shine" fic, it is the epilogue of the part 4. Some people requested this chapter, and I was happy to write a little something to offer some comfort to our poor Soap. Reader callsign is "Rain", she's bi and autistic (I am autistic myself).

Content: angst, hurt/comfort, aftermath of torture, medical setting, happy ending (kinda)

MASTERLIST // PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4

Rain has a hard time opening her eyes. She’s not quite sure where she is, she’s slow to wake up, her brain still foggy from the sleeping pills. But then she moves in the bed, and everything starts hurting. Her muscles are so sore, bruises are painfully blooming under her scratched skin. Her head is heavy, throbbing. She feels like she’s been run over by a humvee. With the pain, everything comes back to her in a second. She rises with a gasp, a shot of adrenaline wringing her guts to the point she thinks she’s gonna puke. 

The light of day is peaking through the half-opened curtains of her room. She’s back on base, and everything is so vividly painful she’s sure it can’t be a dream. The memory of the past few days invades her - their capture, Johnny’s sacrifice to protect her, her crawling on the floor to rest her cheek against his bloody leg when their captor finally stopped. The sudden thought that Soap might not have survived the torture is suffocating her, she can’t breathe, it’s breaking her mind and her heart. Last she saw him he was laying on the heli floor surrounded by medics. 

A flash of white in the corner of her eyes attracts her attention when she finally gathers enough strength to get out of her bed. There is a crisp white strip of paper on her night-stand. It only says “he’s OK” in black ink, and she instantly recognizes Simon’s angular writing. Soap has made it. Tears wet her cheeks without her realizing she’s crying. 

—-

She tucks her fists inside the pocket of her hoodie. A black one that belongs to one of the boys, she can’t really tell which one. She keeps her head down, doesn’t want to cross the panicked gaze of colleagues at her face. She’s sporting various scratches, a mean bruise on the side of her jaw, her skin has a sickly yellow-ish undertone - she looks like shit and she knows it. 

She crosses the base in a hurried bee-line for the medical bay. She probably should call up her captain for further instruction, report to debrief or go see a doctor. But the only thing on her mind is finding Soap. She had always liked him - it was hard not to, he was funny, kind, quite handsome, always laughing. But she knew that he was growing obsessed with her, and it had frightened her at first. Situations like those could easily delve into unpleasant territories for everyone involved. Except it was Soap, smart-ass Soap, kind-hearted Soap, and he made it work even when it was obvious he was sad Rain had chosen Simon instead of him. After Siberia, things didn't really change, they rather shifted. The group was tighter, Rain was not shy with her attraction to the other guys, with her attraction to him. She let Johnny more into her bubble, into her heart. 

And here she is, the wet tracks of tears drying on her cheeks as she leaps through long corridors in search of Soap, when she should get checked for her own injuries, when she should maybe not stay alone like this. Her brain is still drowning in diluted stress hormones and the end trail of painkillers, the mix giving her a distant headache that will probably force her down in a couple hours. For now, she persists. 

When she finally finds him, she’s simultaneously disappointed and relieved to find him alone. Ghost, Gaz and Price must be somewhere else, maybe they just went out for a quick break. She doesn’t know how much time she has on her own with Soap, before someone, a nurse, or one of the boys, comes back. He looks like he’s sleeping. Bandages are wrapped around all his visible limbs, snaking around fingers, his wrists, part of his right arm. Around his head also, his already short hair clearly shaved for access to wounds. One of his eyes is hidden by a plastic shell. His lips are swollen, split in a few places. Skilled hands have been at work here, in dressing his wounds, wiping out dried blood, setting up electrodes and drips. It’s easy to forget how simple it is to destroy, and how labor-intensive it is to heal. The regular bip of the heart monitor is the thing that prevents her from spiraling further down. Alive. Her sergeant is alive. No need to explore the devastating thought of him being gone. 

She climbs on the bed, finds a place against him. His warmth makes her want to cry again. Her own scratched fingers hover over his cheekbones - the skin there is purple - then over his neck, she needs to feel his pulse under her scorched skin. Alive. She tucks her face next to his shoulder, tries to find the familiar smell under the antiseptic. Rain holds him the best she can without risking hurting him more, and decides that’s all she wants to do for the time being. 

That’s how the boys find them when they arrive some time after that. They had been looking for her after Simon had discovered her empty bed. They weren’t really scared. They knew she would be here. Where else? They swore to take care of each other - and that’s what they will keep doing, no matter what.

MASTERLIST

[discount-shades]

Contract Spouse Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Realizations

A/N: This is a sad one. I've written Chapter 9 and only one chapter left to write!

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning:  Angst, death of civilians, war, PTSD

Length: 3000ish

Summary: Jake does some thinking and we find out why he is like that.

Previous     Masterlist     Next

“What we need are those veterinary gloves that come up to your shoulder.” You have a roll of tape out and combined with elastics and a small garbage bag you are trying to waterproof Jake’s cast. After finally being released from the hospital after 4 days, Jake is in desperate need of a shower. “Then you could use your hand. I’m going to order some from Amazon.”

“Why do vets need gloves that come up to their shoulder?” Jake watches you struggle to carefully tape the edges of the bag to the skin of his arm, fighting with the extra plastic.

“You know the long gloves Ellie wears when she digs in the dino poop looking for West Indian Lilac in Jurassic Park?” Jake blinks at you in confusion, trying to remember. “Vets wear them for a similar reason.”

“Eww.” Jake checks the seal around the tape job you did. “How do you even know that?”

“Remember when I dated a farm boy in university?” Jake nods. He remembers thinking the kid wasn’t good enough for you. “Well in those two months we were together I went and helped them when they preg checked their cows.” You give him a little half grin, “I learned I am not cut out for farm life.” 

You start the shower for him before carefully helping him remove his shirt. You wince when you see the bruises crossing his torso from the seatbelt harness of his jet. The brush of your fingers, featherlight over the bruises, burns before you abruptly leave the bathroom, telling him to call if he needs help. 

Jake sighs and finishes stripping before getting under the spray. Everything hurts and the concussion makes him feel like he is in a fog. His head is a constant dull throb and what he really wants to do is lie down and sleep some more. He holds his left arm hand up at a right angle and does his best to shower mostly one handed. 

Pulling a shirt on seems too difficult so he walks into the bedroom half dressed. You've pulled the curtains, so it is dark and he collapses into the clean sheets. A water bottle and his painkillers lined up neatly on his end table, as well as a few protein bars. 

You’ve thought of everything, you always do, but you seem different since the accident and he can’t figure it out. Every time he tries to think his head begins to ache. You are more clinical, less warm. Maybe it is because he is injured, maybe he is imagining it. 

He thinks back to the morning of the crash. Remembers waking up with you in his arms, how good it felt to hold you and talk to you. The hospital had been so lonely when they wouldn’t let you stay overnight. 

He wanted you to stay in California. He wanted to come home and have you there to talk to, he could always call you before, but living with you was better. He loved watching movies together, cooking together, cleaning, and grocery shopping. Every mundane task was better with you.

He couldn’t ask you to stay. He was too much of a mess. He couldn’t sleep and the guilt of what happened was always there. You didn’t deserve to be pulled into that. He was sure that you would stay if he asked. You and your misguided sense of duty and the belief that you owed him something. But if he asked then he would have to tell you and if he told you you would never look at him the same way.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he notices is your voice calling to him gently. His eyes flitter open and he can see you sitting on the edge of the bed. You are beautiful in the light filtering from the hall, and in that moment you take his breath away. “Doctor says you should be up and moving, so come have dinner.” 

When you go to leave he curls his good hand around your arm and revels in the feel of your soft skin sliding through his fingers. When he thinks you are about to slip your hand through his fingers you catch his palm and give a gentle tug and he feels himself following you automatically. 

“This can’t be what you are used to.” You say with a grin as you grab a shirt and help him into it. “Women are probably more keen to take your shirt off.”

“I’ll do anything if it's with you, pretty girl.” The words leave his lips before he can comprehend what he has said. Your sharp inhale makes him want to kick himself. Why did he say that? He never flirted with you. It was a line he refused to cross. 

He can see the flustered look on your face as you stand to go. “Come on flyboy, you must be hard up if you are flirting with me.” He follows you down the hall to the table. That wasn’t completely fair. Why wouldn't he flirt with you? If you weren't his wife he definitely would have tried to pick you up in a bar. 

That evening as you lie down beside him in bed you turn to him. “We have our first meeting with the couples therapist tomorrow, he wants to meet us separately first.” Jake had forgotten about the marriage counseling. “I think we should just say we want to keep our relationship strong, and I don't know, talk about how adjusting to living together is a challenge or something.” He just mumbles an agreement. 

Jake has no idea how the two of you are going to sell being married to a professional. He thinks of all the ways this might go as you slowly drift off to sleep beside him. Once he can hear your steady breathing his mind starts to slow and as he falls asleep he rolls over so he is curled around you. 

When he wakes the next morning he slides his arm across the bed feeling for your warmth but the sheets are cool. You are already gone.  When he gets up he finds you making omelets in the kitchen. 

“The contractor is going to be finishing up the repairs in the ceiling of my room today,” you tell him as you add the cheese. “You will have your bed back, free of my cold toes tonight.” 

“Oh, ok.” Jake doesn't know what to think and it takes him a moment to realize he is disappointed. Last night was the last time he would sleep with you in his arms. He thinks about all the times he left you in the mornings. He shouldn't have run away. He could have just rolled back to his side of the bed and talked to you on those mornings, now he would never get the option. 

You drive to the counselor’s and he spends his time in the passenger seat fighting his motion sickness. It's your turn first and you give him a worried look as you go, as he sits in the waiting room trying to get his head to stop spinning. If he says something wrong in the counselor's office he will just blame it on the concussion. 

When it is his turn you squeeze his hand as you trade spots. He can't help himself as he pulls you into a hug. Jake presses his lips to your hairline. He should hug you more, he thinks. 

You rarely initiate physical affection more than holding hands, and hug only on special occasions. He likes the feel of you in his arms, the scent of your shampoo, and the warmth of your skin. The way you melt into him is overwhelming before you pull away.

The session went well. A mixture of the truth and agreed upon lies slip easily off his tongue. At the end of the session Jake is given the same homework that you received.  

“I want you to come up with a list of all the reasons you are in love with your wife.”

The homework is a fixture in his mind over the next few days. Jake can’t figure out why he keeps repeating the counselor's words in his head. He lists the reasons he loves you. You are smart, funny, tough as hell, your kindness, you are supportive, you are so easy to talk to and you always know what to say, you call him on his bullshit. You are capable. 

He stares at the words he has written and feels they are not personal enough to sell it. You are beautiful, your smile makes his stomach clench, your laughter, you feel so good in his arms, how you being in his life made everything better. He stares at his list as the words play over in his head, ‘reasons you are in love with your wife.’

Jake drops the pen and buries his face in his hands as the realization hits him. “Fuck.” He is in love with you. When did that happen? Was it before you moved in or is it a recent thing? Sometime during the first or second year of the marriage he noticed he loved you. But it had always felt so platonic, a love of friendship, of convenience, and connection.

You have always been beautiful, and, if he was honest with himself, he had always been attracted to you, but with the nature of your relationship he had always locked those thoughts and feelings away. You were untouchable. But in the last month with you sleeping in his bed everything blurred. It didn’t matter when he fell in love, the only thing that mattered was that he is completely and irrevocably in love with you now. 

It is weird to feel terrible about an emotion considered so positive. Jake stares at the closed door to the office where you are working from home. He can never tell you. You had only stayed married due to his inability to process his trauma. 

He felt tainted, like you being with him would somehow mark you too. He didn't deserve you, he didn’t deserve anything good. And he loved you too much to let you be ruined by him. He wouldn't let you give up your life and the love you deserve. Because you need someone who is in love with you unconditionally, someone good. 

The day he had agreed to marry you had told him that you would always be there for him and he had taken advantage of that over the years. Taken advantage of your kindness and good heart. Someone as good and kind as you would never stay married to him. He could never tell you he loved you. He wouldn’t be that guy, the man who thought he was owed something just because he had feelings for a woman. He would let you go even if it killed him. 

– – –

Sleeping next to you didn’t stop the nightmares. They always came at the same frequency, mild ones a few times a week and the bad ones every week or so. What sleeping next to you did was calm him when he woke. Your breaths and the warmth of your skin would ground his mind and bring him back to the present like nothing else could. 

Before you he would never get back to sleep after a nightmare. He would go for a run or go to the 24h gym. He sometimes would mindlessly watch tv or stare at his phone until it was an acceptable hour to get up. In the weeks after the concussion he couldn’t do that. Strenuous activity and screen time were two of the things the doctor told him to avoid. 

Most nights he would just lay in bed. He had tried audio books but he could not focus on them. So he would lie there in the dark thinking about you, and everything that he loved about you, and torturing himself. 

His post concussion nightmares were more intense than any he had before but he still hadn't had a bad one yet. He could feel it coming. Lack of sleep and anxiety tended to trigger the nightmares. Stress also played a role and the night before the second marriage counseling session it hit him. 

Jake’s heart is pounding as he sits up in bed struggling to breath. The nightmares are rarely the same and his mind alway finds ways for his dreams to be somehow worse than what had happened, combining events and reimagining others. 

You died tonight. The person he had killed was you, and even though he logically knew you were fine he needed to check on you. Stumbling, eyes bleary, he walks to your room and pushes open the door. The smell of new paint and construction is almost gone. Leaning on the door frame Jake can see you sleeping and he takes in the sight. 

If he holds his breath and listens he can faintly hear you breathing from the doorway and he can’t help the muffled sob that slips past his lips. You stir and he bites his lips to keep from waking you but it is too late.

“Jake?” You lean up and look at him. “You ok?” he gives a jerky nod, unable to open his mouth. Afraid he would begin sobbing if he did. “Another nightmare?” He doesn’t know how you can tell. Maybe it is written on his face. 

“Come here,” your voice is soft and you open your arms and beckon to him and he is moving his feet before he can think about it. Jake collapses on top of the covers and into your arms, head pillowed on your chest listening to your heartbeat. His eyes flutter closed as you rake your fingers through his hair and down his back. Your gentle movements calm him and steady his mind but soon it is not enough. There are too many layers between you. 

He sits up and motions to the covers. “Can I?” he asks hesitantly, wanting to be able to hold you without the blanket between you. You nod and he slips beneath the covers and returns to his position with his head on your chest. Your hands resume their motions carding through his hair and stroking his back.

It’s still not enough. He sits abruptly and takes his shirt off before lying back down, slotting his body between your thighs and his head on your stomach this time. He needs to feel your skin pressed against his. He eases your shirt up so he can rest his cheek against your stomach. He can hear your sharp inhale but you don't say anything and for that he is grateful. You just go back to smoothing your hands over his bare skin. He doesn’t know how long he lays there with you beneath him, his hands curl around your rib cage as his thumbs smooth over your soft skin. 

After a while of your hands moving over him he feels you pause. “If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” He shakes his head in denial, not wanting you to know. But when he feels your nails scratch his scalp and drag down his neck he starts talking. 

“You know the military severely under-reports civilian deaths, right?” There is no change in you. Your hands keep moving in the same rhythm and your breathing is steady. “Every time we drop bombs we kill people and there is a chance we kill civilians. Mostly we don’t think about it. It is easier to drink the kool-aid. Accept the Navy’s narrative. But if you watch the news from other countries they will report it; show videos of civilians killed by American bombs.”

Jake stops talking, wanting you to respond, hoping you don’t. Looking for a clue to stop talking. You don’t give him one so he continues. “I shot another plane down, the first air-to-air kill in three decades. The Navy pinned a medal on me.'' Now that he was talking he couldn’t stop. The words he had never spoken to anyone pouring out. “No one mentioned that after I shot the jet it crashed into this community building. There were families inside. Sixteen people were killed, nine of them were children.

“They gave me a fucking medal for killing children. I saw the footage, the crashed jet and the injured people. There was this man carrying his dead son and I can’t get that out of my head.” Jake feels you shift and he raises his head to look at you but all you do is place a gentle kiss on his forehead before lying back down and resuming your motions. 

“Please hate me.” He doesn't know why he says it; why he needs you to condemn him. As if your condemnation will justify everything he feels.

“No,” you say simply.

“Why not?” he can feel a sob building in his chest. “I fucking deserve it. How can you just learn all that about me and not care?” 

“Javy told me years ago,” you confess, “actually I suspected. It was on the news that an American Navy pilot shot down a plane and what happened, I knew you were stationed in the area and you changed whenever we talked after, so I figured it was you and Javy confirmed it when I asked.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jake had been keeping his knowledge and shame bottled up away from you for so long; not wanting to change the way you saw him and to find out you had always known was gutting. 

“I knew you would tell me when you were ready.” 

“You should hate me,” Jake hates the way he sounds. Small, meek, hesitant. “I hate me.”

“I hate that it happened. It breaks my heart for those families, but I can’t hate you for it. You are responsible, but not culpable.” You say simply.

“Then who is to blame if not me?” You don’t have an answer for him, he knows there isn’t one, at least not an answer that will make him feel better. Some things you just have to live with. The tears start to flow down Jake's cheeks in ugly sobs as you pull him closer. He clings to you and finally lets himself grieve. 

[moonstruckme]

i'm obsesseeeed with dr. rem and i have a request for him if you're up for it!! <33 maybe reader gets into an "accident" (nothing serious) while working and remus finds out when he sees her in the hospital? like she didn't have time to call him and let him know so he suddenly just sees her and freaks out for a bit before realizing she's okay? thank you so muchhhh 💗

I'm obsessed with him toooo it's bad ! Thanks for requesting sweetheart <3

cw: minor head injury

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Your eyes water, but you do your best to keep them open as the girl in scrubs points her light in each one. 

“Your pupils look alright,” she decides, clicking the light off and giving you an apologetic smile when you blink in relief. “Have you felt nauseous at any point since it’s happened? Dizzy?” 

You shake your head no to both, wincing a bit as the clear bag of ice you’re holding to the back shifts slightly. 

“That’s good.” She nods encouragingly. She seems young and somewhat green, probably one of those pesky residents Remus is always griping about. Though she’s trying to project the same seasoned calm as the other doctors and nurses moving about the A&E, there’s a quiet anxiety about her that you recognize. It’s the same one you carried during the first month at your job, the possibility of getting in some kind of trouble seeming to loom over you constantly. She’s pretty, you think, and she seems nice. Like she genuinely cares, a massive improvement over the woman at the front desk who’d given you a look so judgemental that it’d made you feel even more embarrassed for being here. “And you’re sure you didn’t lose consciousness at any point? Even for a second?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. “I mean, I would have noticed, right?” 

She squints like she’s not quite sure what to do with that, and then you perk up as a familiar rhythm gets your attention. You wouldn’t have guessed you could do it outside of your shared flat, but you pick out the sound of Remus’ footfalls a second before he comes into view. He’s striding briskly across the room, skimming something on his clipboard, and he gives the swath of curtained rooms little more than a cursory glance as he passes—until his eyes flare, snagging on you.

You raise your hand in a sorry wave. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, doubling his pace to get to you. His attention moves to the bag of ice you’re holding to your head. “You’re hurt?”

“I bumped my head at work,” you explain with a shrug. The resident looks between you like she’s unsure if she should continue, clearly outranked by the other doctor in your little room. “It’s not bad, but my boss said I had to come here.” 

Remus’ lips tug downward, taking the ice from you and tilting your head so he can see it. “You hit your head and you didn’t call me?” 

“It’s nothing,” you promise him. “My boss just made me come in as a formality. For liability reasons, you know?” 

Remus remains uncomforted. He murmurs a quiet direction to the resident so the poor girl steps back from you. You shoot her an apologetic look as your boyfriend takes your head in both hands, prodding at the tender spot on the back. You wince, and he makes a very unprofessional cooing sound, stroking his thumb next to the nonexistent wound. 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Even his dubious tone is gentled for you, the pinch of his mouth more worried than vexed. 

“It hurts,” you admit, “but only like any bruise would. It didn’t even break the skin, Rem, I’m totally fine.” 

He looks at the resident. “Any symptoms of a concussion?” 

“No,” the girl chirps nervously. You wonder that anyone could be nervous around Remus, but you suppose he is sort of like one of her bosses. “Pupils are normal, no dizziness or headaches, no reactions to light or noise, and no signs of confusion.” 

He nods, still frowny. You think he could stand to show her some appreciation, but this may not be the time to bring it up. “Alright, you can go. I’ve got this one.” 

“Thank you,” you say after her, and she flashes you a tiny smile before Remus eclipses your vision, taking your face in his hand. 

“You were fully honest, right?” he asks you sternly. “Didn’t downplay anything?” 

“I didn’t.” You summon your most placating tone, reaching up to wrap your fingers around his wrist. “I’m really fine.” You rub your thumb into his pulse point. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, everything was just moving so quickly. I wouldn’t have tried to keep it a secret or anything.” 

Remus lets out a long exhale, leaning forward so that his nose rests on your forehead. “I know you wouldn’t,” he murmurs. “But do you have any idea how scary it is to see someone you love in A&E, where you work, when you thought they were just going about their day unharmed?” 

Your heart contracts as the severity drains from his tone, replaced by a dull rawness. “I don’t.” You slide your touch up his arm to his bicep, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry. But I am unharmed, see? It’s all good.” 

He grunts fondly, kissing your forehead as he straightens. “Who drove you here?” 

“Marcus.” You’ll have to make your coworker some cookies or something as a thank-you gift, though you’re sure getting a half hour off work to chauffeur you here wasn’t an entirely unwelcome break. 

“And where is he?” 

“Back at work. He dropped me off.” 

Remus brow puckers. “He left you here?” 

“Well, it wasn’t like there was anything he could do,” you say, shrugging. You feel a bit sheepish, though you’re not sure why. 

“Still.” His jaw ticks. “Okay, I get off in less than an hour. Do you think you can sit tight until then? I’ll have someone bring you some fresh ice.” He levels your sloshy bag of ice with a disapproving look you want nothing to do with. “And did you eat lunch before your shift?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you say. “But I don’t need you to drive me home, Rem. There’s a bus stop right outside of here.” 

He scoffs. “I don’t care if you don’t have a concussion, I’m not letting you take the bus after you’ve just hit your head.” He squeezes your shoulder, thumb pressing into your collarbone. “I’ll have someone bring you a snack.” 

“It’s just a bump,” you argue, but Remus ignores you. 

“Try to leave, and I’ll be very cross with you,” he threatens as he walks away. “Cuddles are a privilege that can be revoked.” 

[epinebleue]

maniac (m) | lee taeyong

when you try to summon your older brother, things don’t go as expected.

pairing: evil spirit!lee taeyong x reader (female)

genre: horror!au, mature, angst.

warnings: heavy depiction of death and blood, possessive behavior, explicit sexual content.

author’s note: i suck at writing horror, i’m so sorry. happy halloween!

You’d always remember that night.

How the moonlight sneaked through the white curtains, how the shadow of the naked trees in your garden formed strange shapes that stretched across the floor and walls of your bedroom.

Not a sound could be heard, as if the world itself had gone mute.

You moved in bed to press your back against the wall behind you, wishing you could blend with it. That way, you would be safe from the horrors of the night.

You squeezed your teddy bear to your chest, looking for comfort. You had tried everything, from counting sheep to mentally singing lullabies, and all your efforts had been useless: you just couldn’t sleep.

And suddenly, there were lights.

You snapped your eyes open, glancing at the blue and red lights dancing around your room.

It took you seconds to realize that they weren’t coming from the inside, but from the street. Curiosity had always been a personality trait of yours, so you got out of bed to look through your window.

The lights belonged to a police car that had parked right below it, from which a man and two women came out, the man fixing his hat as he walked.

You watched them turn around the corner, disappearing. Seconds later, the doorbell ricocheted around your house. Once, twice. The third time, you heard your father's voice in the hallway. When you opened the door, he was walking past it.

“Stay in your room.” He said, rushing to the staircase with bed hair and struggling to keep his eyes open, still sensitive to the sudden light. Your mother followed, putting on her thick, blue robe.

“Mom?” You called, the teddy bear still caged in your arms. You didn’t know much, but you knew that police officers coming to your house in the middle of the night couldn’t mean anything good.

“Don’t worry, honey.” She patted your head on her way to the stairs. “Matt, stay with your sister.”

But once your parents were on the ground floor, you exchanged an accomplice look with your older brother. Matt kneeled at the end of the stairs and signed you to join him in the rebellious act of peeking through the bars.

One of the women spoke, addressing your parents by their last name. Each of them showed their credentials.

“I’m Officer Walker. This is Officer Gallagher, and she’s Doctor Edwards. May we come in?”

As your parents allowed them in the house, the doctor looked up, catching you red-handed. A soft smile appeared on her face, but you went stiff, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“Hello.” The doctor waved in your direction. “I’m Doctor Edwards. I’m really, really thirsty. Would you mind giving me a glass of water?”

Your brother frowned at the doctor’s request. He thought about it for a moment before grabbing your hand and walking down the steps, heading to the kitchen. You locked eyes with your mom on the way, encouraged by her quick nod. 

You took your usual seat at the table, the doctor sitting right in front of you. Your brother grabbed a glass and poured water into it, then handed it to her.

“Thank you very much.” Doctor Edwards took the glass to her lips. She drank a little and spoke again. “May I ask for your names?”

Your brother answered so quietly that she had to ask him again. When it was your turn, you spoke louder.

“Those are so pretty.” She left the glass on the table, away from you. “And what’s your other brother’s name?”

“Jackson.” You answered. Matt was distracted, looking towards the kitchen door as if something had caught his attention. “He’s in high school. He’s really smart, he’s top of his class.”

“Well, there’s something I have to tell you about Jackson.”

You could see right through the doctor. She wanted to say something but struggled to find the words. It happened to you weeks ago when you couldn’t tell your parents that you had lost your brand-new pencil case.

A sob reached your ears, followed by the heart-breaking cry that only loss could cause. Your little brain started to connect the dots as you jumped off the chair and ran to the living room and straight into your father’s arms.

The sudden realization that you wouldn’t see your brother ever again punched you in the gut.

You closed your eyes and wept, hoping it was all a nightmare that would end soon.

You would discover that, even though it was indeed a nightmare, you would never escape from it.

There had been a time when you thought you would never place the last box on the floor of your new home.

For two years, you shared a house with other students. However, you were at a point in your life where you desired full independence and privacy. All it took was a little help from your parents and brother to find a cheap but cozy apartment on campus.

“This is pretty nice.” Matt said, poking his head through the kitchen’s pass-through window that connected with the living room.

“I know, right?” You rested your hands on your hips, glancing at the empty space. “I’m so looking forward to decorating it, maybe painting the walls. What about white with an accent? Yellow would fit…”

“I’d prefer green or blue.”

“No, I like yellow.” You shook your head at his recommendations, pressing your lips together. “It reminds me of the sun.”

“Only you would choose the ugliest color ever.” He teased. The kitchen supplies clinked as he shoved them in the drawers.

“You’re wrong. Red would be the worst.”

“Red’s cool.”

“It’s cool if you’re going for the “somebody died here” vibe, that’s for sure.” Your brother kneeled to store a pair of pots inside your oven. “I’m going to need your help for one last thing.”

You grabbed the biggest box and opened it. The vintage gold frame was the first thing to catch your brother’s attention, but you saw his eyes shine the moment he noticed what it surrounded.

It was a photo your dad had taken during Easter at your grandparent’s farm. You were a year old, wearing a green dress with tiny yellow flowers embroidered all over it that your grandmother had knitted. On your left, Matt, who didn’t like having pictures taken, frowned with his arms crossed. He looked tall for a five-year-old, but then again, he had always been taller than the average. At your right, Jackson, ten, smiled brightly as he bent over to hold you by the waist, preventing you from falling headfirst.

According to your mom, you had seen something moving in the grass and you were trying to grab it with your little hand.

The picture had been the family’s Christmas postcard that year.

“We looked adorable.”

“Talk about you, look at me!” Matthew pointed at his younger self in the picture. “I was so grumpy then.”

“Just then?”

“That’s pretty bold, given the fact that I’ve helped you move in.”

You decided to hang it right next to the entrance door. That way, your brothers would be the last thing you saw before leaving the house and the first when you arrived.

The wave of nostalgia caught you off-guard.

Living alone was another milestone you had hit, one Jackson would never witness. You were getting closer to yet another graduation he would miss.

At some point, you had stopped grieving your brother to start grieving those things that would never happen. It made the overcoming of the trauma much more difficult.

Not only were you sad, but also angry. Out of the people in your family, you had been the one to know him the least.

Matt could look back and reminisce on the good times he spent with Jackson. He had been the one who taught him to play sports. You had also shared meaningful moments with him, of course, but the connection hadn’t been strong yet.

Yet.

Three letters that set your insides on fire. His time on Earth had been so brief, his departure had been so unfair. Many times, you found yourself wishing it had happened to somebody else.

Four people in that car, but your brother had been the only one to not make it out alive.

“Are you okay?” Matt muttered. You didn’t answer, simply rounding his waist with your arms. He stroked your back, letting you hug him and hugging you back.

“Thank you for helping me.” You said against his shoulder. “Thank you for always being there for me.”

“I’ll always be.” Matt glanced at Jackson in the picture. He missed his older brother, the person who had been his hero, so damn much, but it wasn’t the right time to tell you so. You needed a rock, and he would be it. “And he’ll always be, too.”

You had absolutely forgotten how big the campus was.

Your brain had told you that assembling your new bed at midnight was a bad, bad idea, but you weren’t known for being rational.

You were running a spicy four hours of sleep when the sound of your alarm hit your head like a hammer, a reminder that you had to be in class in less than half an hour.

By the time you made it to class completely out of breath, the teacher had already explained the final project and grouped students in pairs. So you sat there, waiting for someone to adopt you into their group, aware of the fact that you had made a horrible first impression.

“Professor?” A girl at the back of the class raised her hand. “She can do the project with us, we don’t mind.”

God bless you, you thought as you stood up and walked over to the girl and her partner. You sat beside them in silence, only speaking to thank them.

For the rest of the class, you took notes and paid twice the attention you usually would, trying to make up for your late attendance.

The clock struck noon, signaling the end of the class. As you put your stuff inside your bag, one of the girls called your name.

“Do you want to go to the cafeteria to speak about the project?”

“Yes, please.” You nodded, hanging your bag over your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I’m usually on time!”

You proceeded to explain the pain and suffering you had gone through at 1 AM after losing a screw in your wooly rug. Several hours later, you were able to sleep on a bed instead of on a mattress on the floor.

“It happens to the best of us.” The girl who had invited you to the group laughed, showing her perfect set of teeth. You couldn’t help but notice how stunning she was. “My name’s Heejin, by the way, and she’s Mihyo.”

The girl beside her waved at you, shyly.

“It’s nice to meet you, guys.” You said, opening a blank document on your tablet as soon as you sat on an empty table at the café, ready to commit to the project.

“So, you live alone?” Heejin took the spot in front of you, placing her things on the chair next to her, forcing Mihyo to sit by your side. “God, you’re so lucky. I’m tired of sharing my oxygen and personal space with horrible people.”

“I totally get it.” You replied, tapping the pockets of your jacket to check that your phone was still there. You had a bad habit of leaving your stuff everywhere, and your parents had made clear that they wouldn’t pay for another phone if you lost your current one. You had to be careful. “I grew up with two older brothers, so living alone has been a pretty big step for me.”

Mihyo and Heejin exchanged looks, a mischievous smile on their faces, before looking at you again.

“You have two older brothers?”

“How old are they?” Mihyo spoke for the first time. “Are they cute?”

“I think so?” You laughed, awkwardly. “Matt’s twenty-four.”

“What about the other?”

“Oh, he…” Even after all those years, you struggled to say the word. “He died.”

It slapped the smiles off their faces. As they rushed to cover their mouths in shock, you couldn’t help but be glad. That would teach them not to be so nosy when it came to other people’s business. You would excuse them, though, for the sake of your education.

“I’m so sorry.” Heejin said, attempting to grab your hand as if comfort from a stranger was exactly what you needed. You rushed to place them on your lap, avoiding any kind of physical contact.

“It’s fine, it happened years ago.” You rose to your feet, grabbing your bag. “I’m going to get some coffee and a muffin, do you want anything?”

You walked over to the queue, checking your messages in the meantime. Being away for some minutes allowed you to forget about the conversation and gave them some time to gossip about you. Two birds with one stone. You texted Matt about the weird interaction, promising to tell him everything over the phone that night.

Shoving it down your back pocket, you looked around as you waited.

There were students on their way to class passing by or just chilling with their friends on the grass. A certain someone caught your eye, a boy you hadn’t seen in months, only getting updates about his life through Instagram.

Qian Kun was sitting underneath a tree with an open book in his hands. By his side, you recognized two familiar faces: Lee Haechan, a computer major, and Na Jaemin, a fashion student. Haechan turned around to check out a boy who walked past them and whatever he told Jaemin and Kun about him made the pair laugh.

Kun had the most beautiful smile you had ever seen, and you would’ve spent the rest of the afternoon admiring him if it hadn't been your turn to order.

During the first project-related session, which took place at Heejin’s apartment, you realized that she wasn’t joking when she said her roommates sucked.

One of them, who greeted you with a growl as soon as you came in, had brought their boyfriend to the dorm, and the echo of the headboard hitting the wall was, to say the least, fucking annoying.

The other didn’t seem to understand that people were supposed to talk when working together, and she knocked on the other side of the wall every time you, in her opinion, were too loud.

No wonder Heejin wanted to run away.

“I’m so sorry about that.” The girl apologized to you and Mihyo once you were at the door, in the hallway, ready to leave.

“It’s not your fault,” Mihyo said, her backpack hanging from her shoulder as she struggled to shove the notes she had taken inside, “but we’ll need a different place next time.”

“You can come to mine.”

You were quick in your suggestion, refusing to go through that hell again. Heejin waved you goodbye as she closed the door, and you walked along with Mihyo towards the staircase, the air around you tense and heavy.

“Have you ever tried to speak to your brother?” The question took you by surprise, almost making you stop dead in your tracks. As you went down the steps, you allowed yourself to think about it.

“You mean like praying?”

Mihyo shook her head. “I mean like summoning him. One of my friends did it in high school with his dad, and he sent him a message from the grave.”

The want to laugh was so strong that you couldn’t help but snort as you opened the entrance door of the building. “That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not!” Mihyo snapped. “He told my friend something only he knew.”

“Yeah…” You cleared your throat, making Mihyo roll her eyes at your skepticism. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but they were totally pulling your leg.”

The girl shrugged. “Don’t believe me, then.”

And you waved at each other before parting ways.

The idea of summoning your late brother was ridiculous. It would be a stupid thing to do and totally wouldn’t work. It sounded like the start of every bad horror movie. 

You repeated it to yourself, trying to vanish that what if that constantly showed up in the back of your mind, slipping through the cracks of your most rational thoughts. What if it worked? What if you got to speak to your brother even for a minute, tell him that you loved and missed him so much?

Trying wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Mihyo and Heejin rang your doorbell at exactly 7 PM three days later. Mihyo was carrying a rectangular board under her arm and a plastic bag from where she took out six tall, white candles.

“Are we really going to do this?” Heejin asked, throwing you a look of concern, shocked that you had accepted to participate in the nonsense.

Mihyo scoffed, surprising you. She had been so quiet when you first met her, Heejin having the upper hand every time. Now, she behaved like a different person.

“We haven’t even started and you’re chickening out already?”

“I am not chickening out!”

“Then come here and help me light up the candles.”

Not convinced at all, Heejin walked over to the center of your living room, kneeling beside her friend, who handed her a lighter. You observed the scene from behind, your arms crossed, biting your lips in hesitation. But curiosity had taken over, and there was nothing your rationality could say or do to stop you.

Embarrassing yourself once you realized that invoking spirits wasn’t possible was the worst possible outcome you could think of. More than half of the world’s population had used an Ouija board at least once in their life, you were sure.

The sun began to fall and darkness covered every surface of your apartment with its black cloak. The only light in the room came from the candles. You felt chilly all of a sudden, the tiny hairs on your nape bristling.

“Everything’s ready.” Mihyo announced, placing the Ouija board on the floor, in the middle of the circle she had formed with the candles. “Come sit.”

You sat beside them, careful not to knock any candle over. The last thing you needed was burning the whole building down.

“Just in case you don’t know how this works,” Mihyo grabbed a triangular pointer with a hole in the middle and showed it to you, “we place this on top of the board and ask a question.”

“And then?” Heejin’s voice was incredibly shaky.

“Then, we wait.” Mihyo’s dark irises fell on you. “Ready? Oh, and don’t you dare remove your fingers until we properly close the session. It would be a disaster.”

Trying to swallow the knot in your throat, you placed your index fingers next to Minhyo’s on the pointer and waited for Heejin to do the same. You pitied her a bit. She had been shoved into this mess for no reason other than friendship. Eventually, the girl had no other option than to add her index fingers, too.

“What was your brother’s name?” Mihyo whispered after a few seconds of silence in which you questioned your sanity.

“Jackson.”

“We want to talk to Jackson, her older brother.”

The girl spoke loud and clear, with no trace of hesitation. It made you wonder how many times she had done this, as she seemed so familiar with the procedure. An empty hole was starting to form inside your stomach, growing bigger with every second. You felt dizzy and sick.

“Jackson, are you there?”

Anxiety crawled into your skin. By the look on her face, it was crawling in Heejin’s skin, too. She reminded you of a statue, with her eyes fixed on the board and her fingertips glued to the pointer. You couldn’t even tell if she was breathing.

“Jackson, we would like to talk to you. Are you there?”

You had to blink twice to believe what your eyes were seeing.

The pointer had started to move, slowly, to the side, as if pulled by an invisible string. With wide-open eyes, you looked at Mihyo. The girl had gone speechless. The pointer’s hole reached the letter H, then I, and stopped.

“Hi.” Mihyo said, trying to remain calm. “Are you Jackson?”

This time, the pointer moved even before Mihyo could finish the sentence. It slid to the right, stopping on the word No.

Who are you then?, you thought, following the pointer as it moved again.

“C, A, R…” Mihyo chanted out loud. You stopped bile from reaching your mouth. “E, F, U, L…”

“Careful?” You frowned, glancing at Mihyo. “Wh-”

A screech ripped your throat, only drowned by Heejin’s screams.

The pointer had been lifted and thrown across the room as if someone had launched it. The object hit the wall to your back, then fell to the ground.

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe. Half-lying on the floor, you couldn’t look away from the static item lying on the floor.

You missed when Heejin, who was a crying mess, got up to turn on the lights, the yellow glim flooding your living room.

You definitely missed the figure that hid in the darkness of the hallway, watching the scene with amused eyes.

Two weeks had passed and you still couldn’t find a reasonable explanation for what had happened.

There were too many options on the table: a bad dream; a joke from Heejin and Mihyo, or even just Mihyo. But the dent on your wall proved it hadn’t been a dream, and Heejin’s reaction had seemed too genuine to be staged.

The three of you didn’t address the issue during your next meet-up, but Heejin refused to go to your apartment anymore, forcing you to book one of the rooms the library offered for group study sessions.

Weeks passed by, and you started to forget the event. Everything felt back to normal; everything, except for one thing.

You felt more tired than usual and it had reached a point where, sometimes, you even fell asleep without noticing. It was starting to become a problem. You had things to do and assignments to turn in. You couldn’t afford to lose that much-needed time.

“I’ll send you a photo of some really good vitamins.” Your mother insisted over the phone. “I’ve been taking them for months now and they work wonders.”

“I’m not a fan of pills, mom, you know that.” You closed the front door behind you, leaving your bag in the hanger next to it.

“Yes, but these are like gummies… Are you there, honey? I think the line died.”

“Send me the pic, yes. Mom, I’ve got to work on my homework, so I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Oh! Sure, baby. We love you!”

“Bye, mom. I love you, too.”

You ended the call, eyes glued on the dark, still hallway. Homework had been just an excuse to hang up on your mom. You swore you had heard something in your room, similar to footsteps. Your mind, trying to ease your nerves, told you it probably was the neighbors upstairs.

Even if you wanted to go and check, your feet stayed rooted to the floor.

And then, the sound of glass shattering made you run to the front door, holding onto your phone for dear life. When you opened it, a figure in front of it made you scream.

“Wow!” Qian Kun was holding his hands up, as scared as you. “Are you okay?”

“I think there’s someone in my apartment.” Your heart pumped like crazy inside your chest, close to suffering an attack.

“What do you mean you think?”

“I don’t know! I just got here, I was on the phone with my mom and heard footsteps in my room and then…”

“Calm down, calm down.” Kun gently pushed you to the opposite wall of the hall, away from your door, and leaned in a bit to peek at the inside of your apartment. Then, he turned around and whispered. “Is there anything I can use as a weapon? An umbrella, perhaps?”

“My dad gave me a baseball bat but it’s in the kitchen, under the sink.” You whispered back.

“Where’s the kitchen?”

“On your right.”

You watched Kun disappear behind your door. Anxiety was eating you alive, you could barely breathe and there was a possibility of falling if you stepped away from the wall, but you couldn’t leave him alone. So, walking as softly as possible, you got in on time to watch Kun grab the bat.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

“The door at the end.”

“Stay behind me, just in case.”

“Wait!” You looked around the kitchen, trying to find something you could use as a weapon. A knife would suffice to scare off whoever was in your room. “Alright, let’s go…”

The boy made his way out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Your trembling hands held onto the knife, so hard that your knuckles turned white. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He stopped in front of the door, glancing at you over his shoulder. He grabbed the handle before opening it abruptly, the wood panel hitting the wall. Kun stepped in, swinging the bat, trying to catch the person inside by surprise.

But it was empty, and you stood there holding the knife up, dumbfounded.

Kun lowered the bat. “Are you sure you heard footsteps?”

“I am!”

You brushed his shoulder as you walked past him, having noticed something missing. You rounded the bed to see what you were looking for lying on the floor: a photo your family had taken in Canada while on holiday, a few days before Jackson’s death.

Pieces of broken glass fell as you lifted it by a corner to leave it on your bedside table, where it usually was. 

“That must be what you heard.” Kun supposed, leaving the bat on your bed.

“I guess so.” You muttered, glancing around to check if something else was broken. Weirdly enough, everything seemed in its place.

“I don’t want to come off as nosy, but,” Kun scratched the back of his head, “do you have any idea who would want to break into your place? A toxic ex-boyfriend, maybe?”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend, so I doubt it.” You picked up a piece of glass from the floor and left it beside the picture. You would throw them away later. “I’m so sorry about this. You have places to be and I just… kidnapped you for nothing.”

“Don’t apologize, you seemed on the verge of passing out.” Kun opened his eyes as if remembering something very important. “I’m Kun, by the way.”

“I know.” You tried to fight the smile that was about to appear on your face. “You’re the golden boy of campus.”

“I thought people had stopped calling me that.” You told him your name when he asked. “You should change the lock, by the way, just in case.”

“Yeah, I better do that.”

After a few seconds of silence, Kun spoke again, with genuine worry. 

“Do you want me to stay a bit longer? I don’t mind.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you thanked him. Your heartbeat seemed to have gone back to normal, but you were still shaken. And confused.

Maybe you were lacking sleep, but you weren’t making up stuff. Someone had been in your room, someone had broken the picture.

But who? And why?

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water’s fine.”

A pair of orbs followed you both as you left the room, the pieces of broken glass, the bat, and the knife long forgotten. He clenched his jaw.

He hadn’t expected an obstacle.

Thanks to the cozy lighting of your lamp and the smell of lavender coming out of your diffuser, you truly relaxed for the first time in weeks.

You didn’t even flinch when the footsteps in the hallway approached, slowly. The moment they reached your door, they ceased.

You didn’t have to wait much for the visitor to reveal himself.

In front of you, there was a boy. A pair of black sweatpants was the only garment he wore. It allowed you to admire his pale skin, which contrasted with his charcoal hair. 

He stood by the door, admiring you from afar. Then, he spoke.

“Are you scared?” To your surprise, you shook your head. “Why not?”

“I like the company.” You replied, giving him a sad smile. “I feel lonely.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Again, you shook your head. The boy walked towards the bed, his gaze on you the whole time. “What do you want?”

On all fours, you crawled to the edge of the mattress, hands going up to touch his neck. The skin was cold. It made you shiver, but you didn’t find it uncomfortable; quite the opposite. You craved more contact.

“I want you.”

The boy looked down, getting lost in your eyes. He smirked, realizing that kneeling like that in front of him made it seem as if you were worshiping him. In a way, you were. You just didn’t know it yet.

He caressed your cheek with a stone-cold finger. You closed your eyes at his touch, mouth falling open.

“What’s my name?”

And although you didn’t know, it rolled out of your tongue naturally.

“Taeyong.”

You heard him hiss.

“Open your eyes.”

You obeyed. His skin was no longer pale, but it still felt cold against yours. You swore his eyes had gotten darker. At the sight, you pressed your thighs together.

“Now, lay down.”

You did as you were told, falling on the messy covers of your bed. Taeyong’s hands found your ankles. He caressed the skin with his palms, all the way up to your panties. Your breath hitched as he hooked his fingers in the elastic band, pulling down and letting them fall on the floor.

What followed was your pajama shirt, and soon you found yourself naked in front of Taeyong. No one, except for your mother, had ever seen you naked.

He scanned your body for a few seconds, his eyes finally landing on your breasts.

“You’re a beautiful creature.” Taeyong whispered, placing one knee on the mattress. Your stomach tingled in anticipation as he settled in the space between your legs. “Have you been touched before?”

You avoided looking at Taeyong’s face out of embarrassment. However, his breath hitting your wet core kept you well aware of his position. “No.”

Next thing you knew, he was pressing his open mouth against your entrance, sighing at the taste. You gripped the blue sheets beneath you, getting lost in the foreign but amazing feeling.

His tongue was warm and soft. He licked you eagerly, as if he had been waiting for this moment for years. He dragged his tongue from your folds to your clit, closing his lips around the sensitive bud. 

Something cold pressed against your entrance, and the contrast between it and your burning walls had you squirming away, only for Taeyong to grab your thighs to keep you in place.

Taeyong inserted a long digit inside you, your velvet walls especially welcoming. The tightness of your pussy reminded him that he was the first person to ever stretch you like that. It made his dick twitch in his pants. He was greedy, and the way you swallowed him served as an encouragement to pull out, shoving two fingers instead. He heard you curse as his mouth released your clit.

You were a sight for sore eyes: moans spilling from your mouth, holding onto the sheets to ground yourself. 

“Does it feel good?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.” You sighed, licking your dry lips.

The boy pumped his fingers slowly, enamored by the way they disappeared into you and the noises your arousal made each time. Soon he found himself setting a faster pace that had you arching your back, hands falling on his dark hair.

It didn’t feel like your first time at all.

There was no pressure, no doubts. Taeyong knew how and where you liked being touched. There was a connection between the two of you, something difficult to explain.

Taeyong’s tongue found your clit again, and you grabbed a fist of his hair. The growl he let out made you grind against his face. Taeyong stood still, letting you fuck his tongue, but never ceased the movement of his fingers, pushing them further.

Your orgasm wasn’t far, you knew even though you had never felt anything like that. It was like a wave that hit you hard, bruising your skin.

Taeyong, amazed, watched as you came. Your walls hugged his fingers so tightly, you tasted so fucking good. He couldn’t stop, he just couldn’t.

But the overstimulation was unbearable and, eventually, you moved away.

Under your attentive gaze, Taeyong took off his pants. He was thin enough for his hip bones to stick out. His biceps flexed as he grabbed your thighs once again, sliding your body down the bed. His pale skin glowed under the light in an iridescent effect that got you hypnotized.

It was easy for Taeyong to slip into you, being fresh out of an orgasm.

You had seen a lot of movies about first times, fantasizing about your own. Not in a million years would you have imagined all the sensations it would bring.

It hurt a little, but you bit your lower lip, not wanting to look like a loser who couldn’t take dick. Taeyong caressed your frowned forehead in an attempt to ease your pain, but he kept on pushing, only satisfied once he was balls-deep in.

The sting of pain was an open wound that Taeyong tried to stitch up by leaning down to whisper words of encouragement in your ear.

And it worked.

He had barely been inside you, but you wanted him to move. You wanted to know what sex felt like. You wanted the pleasure, the passion, all of it.

Moving your hips made Taeyong understand. He pulled out slowly, only to thrust back again roughly, making you gasp and whine.

Taeyong leaned down, pressing his bony chest against yours, and took the opportunity to make you round his hips with your legs. You fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle.

“You take me so well.” He confessed, quietly, as if the walls could hear. “You’re made for me.”

And, for the first time, Taeyong grabbed your face with his long digits and kissed you. It was passionate, messy, needy. His lips and tongue, once cold as ice, were like a spring day now.

There was a subtle change in the mood. Taeyong was well aware that something had shifted inside him, a change of priorities. You were top on the list now, and he would treat you as such.

He increased his pace with every thrust. You embraced his shoulders, further pressing him against your chest. Not once did Taeyong stop kissing you. He would swallow your noises like the most expensive wine.

“You’re close.” Taeyong said at your walls trapping his dick. You simply nodded, eyes shut, looking for his lips in the dark. He sat up, grabbing a handful of your breasts and squeezing them.

Your hands flew up to grab his wrists.

“Taeyong…”

“Yes.” That proud tone was such a turn-on. You wondered if you were losing your mind. “Say it again.”

Your voice barely made it out as he pounded mercilessly into you. There was a weird feeling in your tummy.

“Taeyong!”

An electric shock crossed your body from top to bottom. Taeyong exploded into you, letting out a grunt that covered your skin in goosebumps.

You were awake. Strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead, and the sheets beneath you were uncomfortably damp.

You touched your entrance with your middle finger, moving your hand away the moment you felt the wetness.

What the hell had just happened?

Forming a friendship with Kun wasn’t on your bucket list for the year, but you guessed it was bound to happen.

Ramen nights on Fridays became a tradition and meeting up to study in the library was mandatory.

Everything you have heard about his persona before actually knowing him turned out to be true.

He was the kind of person to choose his words carefully, speaking his mind with the utmost respect towards everyone. Always the smartest person in the room, you couldn’t help but stare at him with tender eyes, amazed by the knowledge he carried.

Falling in love with him was bound to happen.

“I’m choosing the movie next time.” Kun grunted at your words, putting his coat on.

“It wasn’t as bad as you’re making it seem!”

“I literally predicted the ending as soon as it started.” You smarted, your only purpose being as annoying as possible. “It was bad.”

“Fine.” He walked over to your door but didn’t open it. “Should I bring candy next time as an apology?”

The fact that he knew you loved sweets made you smile.

“It’ll do.”

None of you moved. Kun glanced at the picture by the door, giving you the feeling that he was trying to stick around a little more.

You wouldn’t complain.

“I want to ask you something, but I don’t want to look stupid.”

You quickly responded.

“You’d never look stupid.”

“Do you have feelings for me?”

You wondered if your sincerity would take a toll on your friendship. But if Kun was asking, there had to be a reason.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Because,” Kun sighed, “I have feelings for you.”

You couldn’t help it. You tiptoed and crashed your lips against his. They were soft, just like him.

The kiss was a dream come true. You held onto the collar of his coat and he grabbed the sides of your face, both pulling each other closer, and giggled when you had to break it off to catch some air.

He left shortly after, having set a day for your first official date. You had wondered if you should have invited him to spend the night, but Kun was a gentleman.

He would never.

That night, Taeyong burst into your room like a hurricane. He threw every single item on your vanity to the floor. He punched the mirror, which broke under his fist, yet not a single drop of blood stained his skin.

There wasn’t an ounce of fear in your system, deep down knowing the reason why Taeyong was so mad.

He locked eyes with his disfigured reflection in the mirror before turning around.

“Do you love him?” He asked, his nostrils flaring up.

You shrugged. “I like him.”

“Do you love him?” Taeyong repeated. Finding no answer, he straightened his back. “What’s my name?”

“Taeyong.”

“Do you love me?”

“I desire you.”

He wasn’t satisfied with your answer, though knew better than trying to change your mind. He told you to turn around, his dark voice sending shivers down your spine. You got on all fours and waited.

Where Taeyong had been kind and gentle the first time, he was rough and violent. He ripped your underwear in half, making you gasp, and he grabbed your hair as he forced his way into you, ignoring the whimper you let out.

His thrusts were erratic. You knew he wasn’t chasing his high or yours, he just wanted to cause pain, inflict dominance. He wanted you to know who was in charge, who you belonged to.

And you allowed him to have you his way, equally drown in pleasure and worry. You weren't yourself when you were with him, he unleashed a side of yourself you couldn't recognize.

Taeyong freed your hair, but his hands soon closed around your neck. Air got stuck in your throat as you desperately tried to inhale.

He wasn’t playing.

“If you bring him here again…” He growled, his demonic tone ringing in your ear. “I’ll kill him.”

You lurched awake, gasping for air.

There was no way that had been just a dream. It had felt too vivid, too real for it to be a figment of your imagination.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, adrenaline still pretty much flowed through your veins.

Something felt off. 

The light coming from the streetlamps was dim, yet it allowed you to scan the room. 

The door was open, but you couldn’t put your finger on whether you had left it that way before crawling into bed. Your eyes moved towards your vanity and mirror; nothing out of place. You caught movement from the corner of your eye in the wall beside your window. Squinting, you tried to make out a figure in the darkness.

And you found it.

He had been observing you way before you saw him, inhaling your fear like the best drug ever made.

With no reason to keep hiding, Taeyong took a step into the light. He looked at you with the intensity of a predator about to kill, but you couldn’t move.

Taeyong opened his mouth.

“Hi.”

You jumped out of the covers, falling to the floor because of your numb legs. You looked back to Taeyong, who had taken a step closer, and crawled towards the switch on the other side of the room.

His footsteps were light, but his presence was strong. You knew where he was even if you couldn’t hear him.

You punched the switch before turning around. Under the lights, everything seemed perfectly fine.

But your uneasy heart and shaking body knew better. They knew that Taeyong was still hiding in the darkest spot he could find, observing.

Waiting.

Your apartment was haunted.

Nothing else could explain all the things that had been happening ever since the Ouija session went wrong.

Getting help was urgent, and you knew exactly where to find it.

That’s how you found yourself knocking on Mihyo’s door eagerly on the morning of the next day. A wave of surprise washed over her face as soon as she saw you.

“Oh…” She muttered. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You hesitated for a moment. “I have to talk to you. Can I?”

Mihyo took a step to the side, letting you in. You sat on her couch, drying your sweaty palms by rubbing them against the rough fabric of your jeans. Mihyo sat on an armchair, in front of you, and waited.

You didn't know how or where to start. Although Mihyo was familiar with the paranormal world, you feared she would think you were losing your mind. Hell, even you did!

“So, what’s wrong?”

“Please, don’t think that I’m crazy.” You began, aware that the phrase would set a difficult start. “Ever since the… incident, weird things have been happening in my apartment.”

“What do you mean by weird?”

You breathed in, trying to calm your nerves. Recalling the events gave you chills.

“Some weeks ago, I heard footsteps in my bedroom, and even though no one was there when I came in, a picture I had on my bedside table was on the floor. But the worst thing is that I’ve been seeing someone, a man, in my dreams. And not only in my dreams. I think he’s haunting me.”

Mihyo bit her lip throughout your confession, finding it hard to make eye contact with you. During the few seconds in which nothing, not even your breath, could be heard in the living room, you thought that perhaps you were a little bit crazy. You definitely sounded like it.

“I’m going to ask you something, but don’t take it the wrong way.” Mihyo spoke. “Have you, like… had sex with this man? In those dreams?”

The fact that she was asking gave you goosebumps, because it meant she knew something that you didn’t, and judging by her tone, it wasn’t good news.

Slowly, you nodded.

“Are you a virgin?”

Awkwardly, you switched your position on the sofa, playing with your fingers. “Yes.”

Mihyo straightened her back, sighing.

“Well, the good news is that you aren’t insane. The bad news is that you’re right.” As you rubbed your face, unable to form any coherent sentence, Mihyo continued. “Apparently, there are some ghosts that prey on virgins, using sex as an energy drainer. Have you felt more tired lately?”

“I have, but I thought I was just burnt out.”

“He’s feeding on your energy to get stronger. That way, he’ll be capable of crossing the threshold and stepping into our world. If he does so, he’ll be able to do whatever he wants.”

You blinked twice, speechless. The situation was simply overwhelming.

“So, basically, I’m fucked.” Mihyo couldn’t even disagree. “But if we were invoking Jackson, why did he appear?”

“An Ouija board isn’t a phone, you see? The person answering might not be the one you were calling.” You cursed under your breath. “I guess he has been waiting for someone to open the door, you know?”

“What do I do, Mihyo?” Your lip trembled, and upon seeing you on the verge of tears, Mihyo sat down next to you, patting your back. “Should I move out?”

“The apartment isn’t the problem. He’s stuck to you. He’ll follow, wherever you go.” A sob ripped your throat. If only you had known better. “But don’t worry, we can fix this. We must open the session again and close it properly this time. The only problem is, those who were there the first time should be there again.”

Obviously, it was Heejin Mihyo was referring to. To be honest, you wouldn’t blame her if she refused.

“How’s she doing?”

“We barely speak now.” Mihyo admitted, rather sadly. “She’s been avoiding me, but her roommates told me she has been acting weird: she can barely sleep, she’s having nightmares, and she’s not doing well in class.”

The burden of guilt felt right on your back.

“God, how could we’ve been so stupid?”

“I’ll convince her.” Mihyo took your hand, trying to give you the illusion of safety. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix this.”

Much to your surprise, you found them both waiting at your door.

Mihyo was right, she looked terrible. She had bags under her eyes and had bitten her nails to the point of gnawing on the skin. Although the wounds had been tried to be covered with bandaids, you could still see them. It looked like she hadn’t washed her hair in weeks. Heejin muttered a low hello to you, and nothing else came from her mouth.

A blast of cold air hit your face the moment you stepped into your place, making you shiver, but not from the cold. It came from a window that you didn’t remember leaving open, but you knew better than to scare Heejin to death. You simply walked towards the window and closed it.

Just like the first time, Mihyo lit up candles and placed them on the floor, forming a circle with the Ouija board in the middle.

You couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of something possibly going wrong, very wrong. But, if you wanted your old life back, you had to suck it up and solve it, so you were the first to sit in front of the board and place your index fingers on the pointer. Mihyo followed and, after a moment of hesitation, Heejin.

“What’s his name?”

“Taeyong.” Mihyo nodded, letting you know that the session was about to start.

“We want to talk to Taeyong.” She said out loud. “Taeyong, are you there?”

He didn’t take long to answer, the pointer moving to the word yes.

“It’s not you that we wanted to contact, Taeyong. It’s time to go back where you belong.” The pointer remained in its place, and you allowed yourself to fantasize about the idea of him being gone. “We’ll close the session now.”

“No.”

That familiar voice ricocheted against the walls of your living room, turning your stomach. You thought you had just heard it in your head, but as you glanced at the girls before you, you understood that it hadn’t been the case. Heejin was white as paper, on the verge of passing out. She made the pretense of separating her fingers from the pointer, only for Mihyo to scream at her to stay where she was.

“Taeyong, you don’t belong here!” Mihyo screamed. “You have to go!”

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Taeyong appeared where the Ouija board was, stomping on Mihyo’s hand. The girl let out a gut-wrenching scream as she held her hand, eyes fixed on her crooked, broken fingers. Taeyong slapped her with the force of a thousand men, and she fell limp on the floor.

Your first instinct was to grab Heejin and drag her up with you, making a run towards the door. You tried to be quick but Taeyong was quicker, grabbing Heejin’s hair and yanking her back, causing you to fall. Pain spread from your shoulder to your wrist.

You looked up in time to watch Taeyong slam Heejin’s head against the wall, the noise of something cracking flooding the room, and watched in horror as he threw her away as if she was nothing, a string of blood sliding from her forehead down to her cheek.

The apartment fell silent.

“You.” His black eyes fell on you. You were paralyzed. “How could you do this to me?”

You opened your mouth, trying to say something, but nothing came out.

“I tried to be understanding. I allowed him in here, thinking that fucking you like a bitch would make you develop the slightest loyalty towards me. And what do you do?”

Taeyong took a step forward, snapping you out of your trance and forcing you to crawl back.

“You try to send me back. As if I meant nothing to you.”

For every step he took, you moved away. Eventually, there was nothing but a wall behind you. You pressed your back against it, thinking that if you pushed enough you would go through it.

“I’m not a monster.” He said. Then, he crouched down and pointed at the girls. You couldn’t bring yourself to look. “This is your fault.”

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you opened your mouth once again. Struggling to find the words that got stuck in your throat, you ended up whispering.

“I’m sorry.”

Taeyong tilted his head to the side. For a second you thought that you would get away alive. He looked at you with nurturing eyes, the way you glance at a child who has said something incredibly innocent and naïve.

“I know you are. I am, too.”

You didn’t have time to process his words as he straddled your lap. Desperation and fear flooded your mind as Taeyong closed his long, bony fingers around your neck, stopping any air from getting to your lungs.

But you wouldn’t go without a fight. You kicked the air, you scratched his face, his eyes, but it was like trying to catch vapor.

You thought of your parents, of Matt. Losing another kid, another sibling, would break them. You thought of Heejin and Mihyo, who had lost their lives because you didn’t know better. You thought of Kun, lamenting not having said something sooner.

As you slowly lost consciousness, you came to terms with the fact that you were going to die. Through your half-closed eyes, you took your time to take in the face of your murderer.

He was insanely beautiful, like the fallen angel.

You breathed in so quickly that you choked, coughing as you got up. You jumped over Heejin’s dead body, repeating to yourself that there was nothing you could do for her or Mihyo other than find help.

You left the door open and ran down the empty hallway. When you turned around the corner, you found yourself inside your apartment again, in your hall. You could see your furniture from your position.

You swore you had left your apartment. You tried again, and again. Yet every time you turned around the corner, you appeared in your hall.

No rational explanation could make you understand what was happening. It felt like a sleep paralysis experience: knowing that you were dreaming but unable to do anything to wake up. Except this was real life, and you were trapped.

Then, you saw it.

It hadn’t been Heejin’s body the one you had jumped over. It had been yours. Your open eyes pointed to the ceiling, devoid of any life.

Your body collapsed and you fell to the floor, on your knees, weeping like a child. You called for your mom, your brother, Kun.

“There’s no need to cry.” Taeyong’s words were sweet like honey, but they made you want to vomit. “It’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” You cried. “Why, why?”

“You told me you were lonely.” His faked innocence didn’t go unnoticed. “I was lonely, too, but now I have you.”

“Please, please, let me go…”

“Now we have each other.” The smile on Taeyong’s face was prominent but never reached his eyes. “For eternity.”

No reposting or translations allowed.

© epinebleue 2023

[zeroseuniverse]

Not A Monster

╚══•●•══╝

Jungkook X Reader Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Segregation (Mutants), Nurse Jungkook X Doctor Reader, Cursing, Injuries.

The most common way people give up their power is by assuming they have none. That is the mindset, the ideals, the lifestyle that is needed to survive this world. The world is encouraging segregation and oppression of those who are different. Nobody knows where exactly the mutant gene came from, but what they did know? It was spreading like wildfire, new inventions coming out to suppress the new abilities presenting themselves left and right.  

“An inhibitor? What type?” she questioned as she moved through the mutant hospital, her feet keeping a fast pace to keep up with Jungkook, the nurse who was leading her to the latest critical case.

“It’s a muzzle of some kind, he was caught hiding in an abandoned warehouse, he’s undocumented, when officers found him, he tried to use what they believe was a supersonic scream to incapacitate them. They were bleeding from the ears,  so I checked with the normies wing, they’re all fine and expected to make a full recovery.” The tattooed man explained lifting his arm to push aside the curtain for the woman, her hands staying nestled in her pockets like they usually were. 

“No offense Jeon, but I don’t give a shit about the officers, they’re not any more important than my patient.” She said plainly, leaving the nurse slightly pouting from the dry response, he wished the doctor would praise his efforts every once in a while. The man huffed before spinning on his heel and heading back to the nurse's station to meet Jimin and Taehyung, the other nurses who seemed to be goofing off rather than working at the moment both men immediately sensed the added presence, the two looked up at the doe-eyed man with teasing grins.

“Did you strike out again, Jeon?” Taehyung teased, promptly throwing his hands up to cover his face as Jungkook threw a pen at him. 

“Watch the face!!!” Jimin yelped, also throwing his hands up to protect Tae, “It’s the only thing he’s got going for him.” 

“Yah!” Taehyung yelled in offense, smacking his hands on both of the giggling offenders.

“Don’t you three have anything better to do than goof around?” Jin wondered as he walked up to the nurse's station, passing a file over to Jimin to put away.

“Yes,” The three let out shamefully, sticking their tongue out at the man's back as soon as he turned around. 

“I saw that!” Y/N called as she strode past the nurses, not even looking up from her case file. Jungkook’s eyes honed onto her gloved hands, pouting when he realized they were still covered, he often wondered if that was the only reason he was so dead set on getting her to warm up to him, he was unbelievably curious about her quirk. 

He saw her lip lift just slightly into a smirk. He had never seen that much emotion on her face in a long time. He excitedly turned to his friends hoping that they both caught the motion too, the two were giggling at his excitement, both shooting him a thumbs up.  His day was made.

—

She wasn’t always that way, she used to be the sweetest person in school, and that’s what drew him in. When she was pulled out of school for a month, he was so worried, until she reappeared a completely different person; However, Jungkook wasn’t going to move on.  If she said jump, he’d ask how high, if she called, he’d come running. Maybe she knew that, maybe she was so aware that he could be the best person to help her in her time of need, maybe he was the only one she felt so strongly about that she stayed as far away as possible to keep him safe. She had watched him from afar for years, having shared so many classes in school, of course, she’d fall for him. The sweet boy who always considers everyone else, a silent protector, that’s what she knew him as. Especially when snacks began to appear in her locker, she caught him in the act a few times, giggling as he struggled with her lock while holding the snacks, his tongue rolling out and resting on his lips as he focused on the task.

Maybe it was these memories that led her to his apartment that night, the faith that he could help her and not repeat a word of it to anyone if she asked. She weakly pounded on the door, suddenly not feeling too confident as she stood vulnerable in front of his door, the creeping feeling of doubt climbed up her being, sending her to spin on her heel the longer she was left to wait. The door swung open, revealing the man pulling a grey shirt down his torso, he looked at her bewildered. He ran his doe eyes down her body, to confirm she was there. “Help,” She muttered in pain.

When his eyes caught on to the wounds and torn clothing that littered her body he gasped, a hand reaching out to pull her into his home, “What happened to you?” He asked, hands and feet immediately moving to grab his first aid kit to help tend to her wounds. 

“Sentinels. The bastards caught me going home from work and scanned me, they started beating me, I had to.” She explained, the last statement coming out so much quieter, almost unsure of it, “I had to.” She repeated, like a mantra hoping that she could begin believing it herself.

“Okay, Okay, you had to do what?” Jungkook questioned again, getting on his knees after sitting her on the couch and beginning to tend to her leg wounds. His hands were moving swiftly but with the gentle touch, you’d see someone use when caring for a porcelain doll.

“I had to, Jeon, I had to, I promise I’m not a monster, I never met to hurt anyone.” She sputtered, her eyes watering, a few tears falling as she began to panic thinking of her actions.

“Hey, I don’t think you’re a monster I could never. But can you give me a rundown? Or do you want to wait until I’m done fixing you up and we get you some food and water.” He offered, coming level with her face, searching her eyes trying to show her that he did in fact care. After she agreed to wait, he continued his work, moving up her body til he tended to the very last wound on her head, he nurtured every wound with the tenderest touch before leveling his eyes with her own once again. 

“You will never be a monster. You’re just trying to survive. We all are, this world isn’t safe for any of us, mutants or humans. Whatever you did, I’m sure you did it to survive.”

“They just kept going, I tried to hold off, but then they brought out the batons and… I was so scared, Jungkook, I thought I was going to die.” She explained, choking some words out here and there as tears once again welled up. “My ability…I’m not proud of it, I hid it as long as I could.”

“You’re undocumented?” Jungkook wondered, his hand moving to cup her cheek, thumb wiping away her tears as they rolled down. She sniffled as she nodded her head almost a small bit. “What’s your….” He trailed awkwardly not knowing if it was an appropriate question, or maybe for better terms a comfortable question.

“I…I absorb energy when I touch people, skin-to-skin contact, it’s why I wear gloves.” She explained, fidgeting slightly with her torn gloves.

“I’ve been touching your skin this whole time…” Jungkook stated, not doubting her but noting that maybe there was something more that she wasn’t seeing. Her brows came together in confusion before drifting her eyes to focus on his hand that was still resting on her cheek, zoning into her senses she did indeed feel energy sinking into her skin but he looked just as healthy, with no sign of discomfort that usually follows skin to skin contact. She was confused.

Jungkook brought his hand down grabbing her hand instead of touching where the exposed skin was, he didn’t feel anything but euphoric by being able to be this close to her, it was odd. 

–

“So you can’t touch anyone at all?” He wondered as he moved around the kitchen to cook up some food, he had been asking questions for about 20 minutes now, and this was about the 3rd time he’d asked this one.

“Well, I don’t know anymore considering you’re still standing.” She answered, “Why are you so focused on this specific question?”

“Because it means a lot of things.” He shrugged, moving the pan off of the burner before turning to face her, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the counter, a position that was all too enticing for her mental state.

“Have you ever held hands with someone? No gloves?” when he saw her shake her head, he maneuvered slightly closer,” Have you ever .... hugged someone?” she shook her head yet again, and he stood to his full height, walking around the counter to stand in front of him. Her heart was beating faster and faster every time he moved closer, his eyes were still locked on her own, never breaking contact. “Have you ever kissed someone.” it wasn’t a question, it was a challenge and as she shook her head, his eyes dropped looking at her lips he leaned in just a little further, his lips nearly brushing her own. “Can I try something?” He wondered, and for the first time in what felt like forever she nodded, and he wasted no time. Both of the two hungry after years of starvation, both feeling overpowered with the energy surging, she was almost high off of the energy he was radiating and he was feeling calm, like he was finally able to relax and rest his demons were at rest, and as her arms looped around his neck, he knew he was home.  For now. 

[runnning-outof-time]

Better Than the Dream | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: After meeting in France, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Tommy Shelby were certain that they'd never see each other again...until one fateful moment has Tommy dreaming of her, or maybe he's not dreaming at all.

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, talk of war, injuries, blood, hospitals

Word Count: 3388

A/N: I….I’m not sure how I feel about this one…as I was finishing it, I realized that it was like my other story ‘Called to Serve’, even though there are some differences to the story. I decided to set it after Tommy’s injury in season 2. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: also I’m sorry this is being posted late…I didn’t have much time to get it edited today.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

"Would you stop fucking wincing? You're gonna get that bloody thing stuck into me hand as well," Tommy grumbled as he continued to hold down pressure on his fellow soldier's hand so that he wouldn't bleed out anymore than he had already.

"I'm trying me best, Sergeant Major...it really fucking stings though," Donny, the unfortunate one who'd gotten barbed wire stuck in his hand while their company was on overhaul, responded, the second half of his words coming out like a hiss as he winced yet again.

The curtain that was separating the bed and chair these two men were occupying moved before Tommy could say anything else. From behind it came a woman, dressed in a nurse's outfit with a clipboard in her hands. "Donald White?" she asked as she looked up from the papers, a polite smile on her face.

"That'd be me," Donny responded, raising his good hand as he spoke, "me Sergeant Major's come with me...he needed to make sure the bleeding was controlled," he added then, explaining the other man's presence.

"Hi," she sent a nod and a smile in his direction, almost immediately noticing the pair of ocean blue eyes he had. She had to look back at the patient so that she didn't get sucked into them. "What's happened here?" she asked then, focusing on the injury.

"We were doing overhaul and I got this section of barbed wire stuck in me hand. Most of it was able to be removed, but there's still some left inside," Donny explained. Tommy let go of the cloth he'd been applying pressure to so that Donny could unwrap it and show the nurse the extent of the injury.

The woman nodded almost immediately after seeing the damage that had been done. It was pretty obvious that there was at least one barb and some wire still stuck in his palm. "I'm going to get the doctor to come over...he'll be able to extract it," she explained the next steps of treatment as she went about writing some things down on the clipboard.

"You've an English accent," Donny pointed out, a bit of a smile forming on his face. Neither he, nor Tommy, were expecting to hear one in a French run hospital.

"I do," the nurse answered, laughing slightly.

"Where're ya from?" Donny asked.

"Solihull," she answered with a polite smile.

"Ahh, ok," Donny nodded.

"I'm going to get the doctor now so that he can have a look at your hand. My name's (Y/N), if you need anything," she addressed both of the soldiers then, sending them one last smile before she turned and exited the closed off area.

Donny turned to Tommy with a grin seconds after (Y/N) had exited the room they were in. "She's fuckin' gorgeous, ain't she?" he asked, nudging Tommy's arm with his good hand. Tommy finally brought his eyes away from the section of curtain (Y/N) had exited through to look at his comrade. He didn't have to say anything, because the second Donny saw his face, he was speaking again, "yeah, she is...got you too stunned to speak," he ragged on his superior like they were part of the same rank again, and all Tommy could do was roll his eyes.

He wasn't going to deny something that was as obvious as the light of day. Their company had been given a week-long reprieve, and even though they were only one day into it, Tommy knew that he wasn't going to see a woman that was more beautiful than her. So he kept his mouth shut and listened to Donny's goading, allowing him some time to soak it up while he was injured.

——

Tommy returned to the same wing that he'd left his fellow soldier in two days ago, keeping his eyes peeled for the woman who he couldn't seem to get out of his mind since she left the room the other day. He, thankfully, found her, standing at one of the nurse's stations at the end of the hall.

"(Y/N), isn't it?" he asked as he approached her, successfully getting her attention.

"It is," she answered as she turned to smile at him, "what is it, Sergeant Major? Are you looking for Donny?" she asked, her voice sounding like sweet music to his ears.

"I'm not...was looking for you actually," he answered her, not caring how straightforward he sounded.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened slightly out of surprise when she heard his statement. "Me?" she checked to make sure, tilting her head slightly to show her interest in the answer.

"Yeah," Tommy nodded, "I was wondering if you'd want to go out and get a drink after your shift's finished?" he boldly asked her. A more pronounced look of surprise formed on (Y/N)'s face. That immediately made Tommy backtrack, "that might have been a bit too forward of me. I haven't even asked if you have someone, or if you're busy."

"No, it's fine," (Y/N) brushed him off, "I quite like the confidence actually," she added then, flashing a smile and letting out a slight laugh.

"So you'd be willing to join me?" he asked her, allowing a smile to form on his face. Her laugh, much like her voice, was music to his ears.

(Y/N) nodded before giving a verbal answer, "yes. My shift finishes at the top of the hour."

"I'll meet you outside," Tommy suggested, making her nod again. He nodded back, showing that he was happy that the plans had been finalized, before he decided he'd let her get back to work. "Which room was Donny in actually?" he asked her after she'd taken a few steps away from him.

She turned around to smile at him. "So you weren't only here for me?" she decided to tease him slightly.

"No. Just figured I'd see him while I'm here," he grinned, loving her attitude and the fact that she was able to banter with him despite everything going on around them.

"He's four doors down," she told him, pointing past him down the hallway.

"Thank you," he said to her, nodding one last time before he turned and went to his comrade's room.

—

"Are you only here because of Donny?" (Y/N) asked once their laughter caused by a story Tommy had told trailed off. She had her head rested on her arm that was propped up on the bar, and she was giving Tommy her full attention.

"No," he shook his head, looking briefly down at his glass as he let out a soft scoff, "we were granted a week's leave and sent into town instead of home...someone thought it'd be less money to keep us close. Cheap bastards," he explained then, muttering the final two words under his breath.

"Donny's having a terrible week off then," she commented, remembering the man that had come into her ward the other day.

"He managed to do it while we were doing overhaul," he shared another detail about the accident with her.

"Tough luck," (Y/N) stated, shaking her head as a look of sympathy formed on her face.

"That's Donny for you," Tommy responded, chuckling slightly at the thought of his friend.

"So where do they have you staying?" she asked him then, moving their conversation to another topic.

"A boarding house in town," he answered before adding, "it's an absolute shit hole."

(Y/N) sent him a sympathetic smile before looking at the bar. "I don't have anyone," she said out of nowhere, her statement shifting the topic of conversation yet again.

"What?" Tommy asked her, his brows furrowed as he looked at her once more. He was confused by her sudden statement, unsure of how to link it to what they'd been talking about.

"You said before that you hadn't asked if I had someone...I don't," she filled him in, calling back to the statement that he'd made at the hospital. Tommy nodded his head in response to her statement and looked at his glass again. Silence fell between them for a moment before she spoke again: "do you have anyone?" she asked him, her question making his eyes snap to hers in seconds.

He looked her over, his brows slightly furrowed in surprise. He didn't expect her to ask such a question. But he wasn't going to waste time answering it. "No," he told her, shaking his head for extra measure.

(Y/N) felt her throat go dry at his answer. Am I really going to do this? she asked herself, taking a moment to think her choices over. "It might be a bit forward of me to ask this, but..." she trailed off, thinking over it again. Ah, why not? "Would you like to come home with me tonight?" she asked her question, rushing to get in: "it'd give you a chance to sleep in a proper bed," so that her intentions weren't that out there in the open.

Who could blame her though? Almost all of the men around her age living here had gone off to fight as well. There wasn't anyone left, and as much as she hated to admit it...she still had desires too. And the fact that Tommy was a good looking man greatly helped the cause.

Tommy looked her over again after hearing her proposition. A grin ghosted over his lips as he nodded his head slightly before answering, "I would like that."

His answer made the fire that (Y/N) had been feeling in her stomach since the moment he'd found her today begin to burn out of control. She couldn't help but exude a giggle, feeling giddy that her attempt had actually worked.

"Would you...want to get out of here now?" Tommy asked her then, trailing off in the middle of his sentence, but completing it before she could interject with anything.

"Yes," her answer was said in a breathless manner, but he heard her loud and clear, and the two left the bar after paying what they owed.

—

The door to the apartment was barely shut before Tommy had trapped (Y/N) in his arms. It was no secret what the two wanted from each other. The hand holding and shoulder brushing on the walk back made it rather clear. But still, his kiss took (Y/N)'s breath away, and the way that her hands were roaming his body made Tommy feel dizzy; something he hadn't felt with the women he'd been with before.

Every night for the rest of the week ended that way for Tommy and (Y/N). He would come to the hospital to check in on Donny and then would wait around for the rest of (Y/N)'s shift until she could leave. They'd go to the tavern for some drinks before winding up at her apartment again; where they'd end the night wrapped up in each others' arms.

It was a nice arrangement, one that lasted right up until Tommy came to the hospital at the end of the week. Donny was being released after his stay (his hand had thankfully healed without infection) and their unit was due to move onto another station. Which meant that it was time for Tommy and (Y/N) to say goodbye.

The two soldiers were walking down the hallway when (Y/N) exited one of the rooms she was cleaning. Her eyes immediately found Tommy, and they widened visibly. Without thinking, she backed up into the room in hopes that he wouldn't have seen her. But the knock on the door told her otherwise. Of course, she let him in.

"I wanted to say goodbye...before we shipped out to our next station," Tommy started, a solemn look on his face. Spending time with her this past week was the closest to normal he'd gotten in a long time.

"I appreciate that," (Y/N) answered, a sad smile forming on her face as her eyes met his for a moment. She didn't have it in her to hold his gaze for it might have made her start to cry.

"This past week was lovely, (Y/N)," he told her, taking her hands into his. "Thank you."

"I enjoyed it too," she answered, her heart squeezing as she admitted this. It was making the situation all the more real.

"C-can I kiss you one last time?" he asked her then, wanting to kick himself for how juvenile he sounded.

"Please," she breathed quicker than she would have liked, but the timing didn't phase Tommy. Upon hearing her answer, he dropped her hands and grabbed her cheeks, pulling her to him for one last head-spinning kiss. They broke away moments after, their foreheads finding each other. "Goodbye, Tommy," (Y/N) was the first to speak, and she hated that her voice cracked when she said these two words.

"Goodbye, (Y/N)," he repeated her farewell, lifting his head so that he could press his lips to her forehead before he dropped his hands from her completely.

They offered each other a sad smile before he exited the room, leaving her alone once again.

"So that's why you were coming to see me every bloody day, eh?" Donny questioned with a wide grin on his face once Tommy was back by his side.

"Fuck off, Donny," Tommy grumbled, not in the mood for the banter.

"Ahh, I get it. It's hard to leave," Donny commented, picking up the signals that Tommy was putting down.

The two walked out of the hospital then without saying another word to each other. Back inside, (Y/N) had to put a smile back onto her face before she re-entered the hallway, even though she was hurting because she knew she’d never see Tommy Shelby again.

——

—1921—

Tommy was slipping in and out of consciousness as he was carried by stretcher into the hospital. He couldn't remember much from the beating he’d gotten; just that Sabini had been standing over him, grinning, as one of his men aimed a revolver at him. The Italians then scattered after another weapon was fired, and Campbell became visible before he blacked out completely.

He knew he was at a hospital now. The blinding, overhead lights of the operating room easily gave it away. There were doctors working on him. He could just barely feel their prodding as they tried to figure out the extent of his injuries. Every inch of his body hurt. It hurt just to think, and he couldn’t bear it much longer. So he closed his eyes and allowed complete blackness to overtake him.

The room was much darker when Tommy woke again. He looked around as best as he could, trying to get familiar with his surroundings. Things were starting to come together when he felt something touch his cheek. He jerked his face away before quickly turning his head to see (Y/N) (Y/L/N) with a rag in her hands. She looked worried, but not put off by his sudden movement.

"You...you found me again?" Tommy stammered, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. It was slowly becoming apparent to him that he was in her apartment in France.

"You were attacked. They brought you here," she explained to him while dipping the rag into a bowl, "I need to get you cleaned up." He nodded and allowed her to continue on with what she was doing.

"Can I hold you again?" he asked after silence had been hanging between them for a few moments.

She looked around the room for a moment, which Tommy found odd. "You can," she then answered, and he wasted no time in opening his arms for her. She smiled before moving into them.

Tommy inhaled her scent as she settled in his arms. He found it odd that he couldn't really feel her, but he didn't think too much into it. He had her again. "Can I stay here with you forever?" he asked after they'd been still for a few minutes.

(Y/N) giggled as she heard his question. "I'm not sure if you'd be allowed to..." she trailed off, her smile a sight for his sore eyes.

"What do you mean?" he furrowed his brows, confused by her response.

"Wake up, Tommy," she said to him, her statement confusing him even more. In what way is that a response to my question? he wondered, but yet he couldn't ask her because she was speaking again, "Tommy..." this time her statement was accompanied with a slight shake.

Things got much brighter in the room then, so bright that it made Tommy squeeze his eyes shut. He couldn't handle the pain that it was causing in his head. When he opened his eyes again, everything was different. He was no longer in (Y/N)'s apartment, instead he was in what looked to be a rather large hospital room. He was laying down instead of sitting, and he didn't have his arms around the woman he couldn't seem to erase from his mind. But she was still in front of him.

"(Y/N)..." he said her name, his voice still groggy. He felt a heaviness in his hand and it made him glance down to find that he was holding hers. "Wha...how are you here?" he asked, his confusion apparent in his words.

"I'm your nurse, Tommy," she answered him, throwing the formalities out the window. She felt that they were past all of that.

"Are we still in France?" he asked her next. This hospital seemed to be in much better condition than the one he remembered meeting her in, but it was the only way he could make this make sense.

"No," she shook her head softly, a gentle smile on her face. This information made Tommy's brow furrowed in confusion. "I think you were having a dream, Tommy," (Y/N) spoke up when she noticed his expression.

"But you're still here..." he trailed off, voicing the part that he was most confused about. He was unsure in saying it though because he didn't want her to disappear when he admitted this observation.

"I moved from Solihull after a position opened up. I work here now," she explained to him, her answer making his confusion dissipate. He simply nodded at this new information, taking a moment to think about what it meant.

Silence fell between them after she finished speaking, and she took that as her go ahead to complete some of the tests that she was required to run.

Tommy was the one to speak after a few minutes had passed, "so you're in Birmingham for good now?" he questioned her, watching intently as she continued checking him.

"I am," she answered, not losing focus on what she was doing. Another period of silence began. (Y/N) waited until she was finished with her tasks before she looked at him again. "So the dream you had..." she started off, unsure of how she'd word the question that had been burning in her mind since he came to, "is me being here better, or worse?"

Tommy chuckled slightly at her question, "oh this is better, love. You being here now is way better than the dream," he told her, a grin tugging the corner of his lips upwards. (Y/N) smiled at his admission. "And this may be a bit straightforward, but I wanted to know if I could take you out for dinner?" he asked her then, not wanting to waste any more time in getting them reacquainted with each other, "if you don't have anyone, that is," he added to the end.

(Y/N) giggled slightly as his final statement made her think back to the first night they shared with each other. "I don't have anyone," she started, a smile forming on her face, "and I'd love to have dinner with you, but..." she trailed off then, biting on her bottom lip. Tommy sat up straighter as he waited intently for what she would say next. (Y/N) noticed this and couldn't help but smile as she delivered the rest of her statement, "we need to make sure you get healthy first."

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @lora21 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable

MASTERLIST

[jaylleoo14]

A little Azul brainrot I got when I was thinking about the lion funnily enough

(If you want to be more fully immersed try listening to “My September” by Nastyona :D it really set the mood for me and vibed nicely along throughout the read<3 It may be a difficult read but keep in mind that there are two separate things going on at the same time and it goes back in fourth.) 

Amnesiac Asphyxia- Azul drabble

TW: slight gore, Amnesia, stalking, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, implied power abuse, drugging. All characters are aged up and this is a work of fiction

Thinking of something where you're on your way to go get groceries but then suddenly you get into a car crash. Waking up in the hospital you find yourself with a nurse and a complete stranger across from you. With a sigh of relief the nurse quickly leaves the room to inform the other doctors and nurses while you're left in a state of confusion as to what's going on. The light from the window looked shallow and a low contrast of clear yellow, the room looking clean with tile pattern walls, a pattern of scorpion grasses decorating the border of the room. A light breeze falls through and makes the blue-to-white curtains swift in the air. You can hear noises of carts and wheels being heard and the sound of cars leaving and coming outside the window. To the corner of the room near the window you spot a man sitting on a cushioned chair. He looked so pale and worn out, few bandages scattered across his face. Suddenly, the man gets up and goes over to you, hugging your hand with the most tear relieved smile ever. You could feel that his warmth seemed to radiate a sense of relief in this mellow room you both were in while your eyes adjusted to the light of the room. 

"What... Happened? What's going on here?" Barely managing to let out a clear voice, raspy and lower than usual from the lack of using it constantly for it to sound like how it did consistently before the accident. 

Your head is throbbing and your body is in so much pain, the feeling of your aches soaring through your bedridden state. "Ah everything's alright my love. I'm so glad that we could get you to the hospital quickly enough. I'm so happy you're alive, my angelfish." His voice was so shaky, so full of emotion yet it was as if he was holding himself back from letting it all out. 

Noticing your hand is being tenderly squeezed as it lays beside you, you give him a look of hard confusion. "Who are you?" Your voice sounds on edge and nervous, unsure of who this man could be. It soars and scratches against your neck as you speak, feeling pain reverberating hoarsely.  So suddenly calling you all these pet names in such a comfortable manner. His expression displays one of shock and distraught, his grip on your hand loosening as if at a loss. Outside, the trees sway from a light breeze, yet so many leaves fall down. The breeze, although light, comes hitting in for a long and continuous time; the curtains moving in motion as it dances along to the music the wind provides and the melody of your interaction plays out.

"Dear? Excuse me? Please be joking right now, you…. You can't be serious, right?" His expression was one of wide eyed horror, getting up closer to you. Flinching back, you withdraw your hands and the nurses and doctors come back into the room. "I don't know who you are sir." Your words of sudden hostility and confusion were like a knife and it looked as if you just physically and visibly stabbed through his chest, and all he can do is just stand there and freeze from the sudden injection. The realization that he was stabbed, not yet registering in his brain. Letting go of the knife, it clattered down on the floor and you looked at him like he was a stranger. Staring back at you, he holds the gaping deep cut of the imprinted knife injury you bestowed upon him while giving you a frozen look.

"Thank goodness you are awake, Mx. (L/N), you were caught in a car accident a couple of hours ago." The doctors are catching you up in the events, but the man standing there is left struck with tears in his eyes. His hands clenched tighter where his heart burns, where blood seeps out of the wound and he looks down to stare at his bloodied hands. Hands that were already stained and tainted.

"Sir? Are you okay? Is everything alright?" One of the nurses comes over and pats his back, but he only comes back up to you and kneels down in front of your bed. He snaps back out of his frozen and dead state, placing his hands firmly on the hand rails making up the bed. The nurses share a look of concern and sympathy, already understanding the situation and feeling of dread he must be feeling at the moment. 

You look at the man continuing to bear those confused eyes, staring at his bandaged face. Those pale lips of his open, as if a pot full of trickery only lied in them. "I'm… Azul.” A moment of silence as he pauses to recollect his voice, a hardened look in his eyes as he stares at you in a heartbroken manner. “Azul Ashengrotto. Your boyfriend."

"If it weren't for your boyfriend then we wouldn't have been able to get you here quick enough."

You stare at this man who calls himself your boyfriend. You don't remember anything. Nothing at all. Nothing leading up to the accident, nothing on what you were going to be doing today, nothing about a boyfriend. "I... I don't remember anything." Azul lets go of his chest, letting his blue blood slowly stain and soak his shirt, almost looking like a soaked wet rag. He falls to his knees and droops his head, staring ahead at your standing figure that looked down on him. 

The doctors all share the same look of deep concern, saying in a firm but gentle voice. "Your name is (y/n) (l/n), it seems that due to the car crash you suffer from amnesia right now. But with the help of your boyfriend I'm sure you will be able to regain your memories."

no

"Oh, I see. So... You're my boyfriend?" You turn to look at the man who seems visibly stricken to his core. But with a desperate nod he comes over to you with his hand over his heart as if he means well and true. Slightly standing up as he used the railing for support despite not needing it. 

“Yes, I've been your boyfriend for two years now.” He says it so surely to calm you down that he’s known you for so long now. Such truthfulness in his heart as he cant help but give out a worried look. Yet the uncertain and warry expression on your face doesn’t ease him one bit. He sits back down on the chair, bringing his hands to his face with a low drooped sigh. He was devastated. Really. 

To think such a tragedy like this could happen to you so suddenly, how was he able to process all this information. “I informed them that you were okay. Your parents that is.” He speaks up once again, his face remaining buried. The medical professionals in the room start to get busy, the wind picks up and instead of leaves falling a bird flies away from the tree.

“They have been worried sick about you since I made the call, but I assured them I would take care of you for the time being.” You notice his shaky and shallow voice, as if he was on the verge of just breaking down. But it gives you a sign on how serious and how real this all was. Even though you didn’t know this man, it felt like all that he was saying was true. He contacted your parents, his claims, and his raw emotions all led you to the conclusion that you in fact do know this man. 

Don't remember.

The tree is starting to become less filled around its branches as more leaves start to fall and sway off due to the gradual wind. Azul gets on his knees, crawling towards you in a pitiful manner as a slow trail of blueberry juice follows behind him. “Azul… Was it?” You say softly as you try to familiarize yourself with his name. It comes out so smoothly, the way you say his name, he wants you to say it all the more just to hear you as if you were calling out to him. He crawls more desperately towards you, his hands shaking as you give him a hardened stare. The blue stained knife gleaming a little as if it were a shell on the seashore of a cold beach day. 

Why? It was you wasn’t it?

As you repeat his name again to try and regain a sense of familiarity, Azul looks up from his hands with his head lifted. A hurt look splays across his face as you look at his reaction, though it makes you feel suddenly guilty as he softly smiles at you. Well despite how you acted towards him, isn’t that to be expected? You don't know this man, but the past you did. The you before the accident. However you can tell how deeply hurt Azul was and yet he still tries to accommodate your loss of memories and feelings. 

The past you did know him. You knew him for two years and he shared a love life with you. He would walk with you hand in hand. You two would watch movies together in your apartment as you snuggled in your blanket together. Taking showers together and sharing loving touches with each other, sharing intimate and passionate nights together. You’ve known him a bit longer than two years, only two years of that lovely dating life that is. 

“I’ll go let your parents know that you’re awake though. I’ll inform them of the situation… Hopefully, you remember us soon y/n…” His voice is gentle, as if he just cried his heart out and just recovered. He gets up from the chair, and makes his way out the room while the nurses and doctor work next to you to go through specific procedures regarding your condition.

All so suddenly Azul quickly grabs the knife laying next to your foot and makes a stand. As he suddenly jumps up, you jerk back to try and dodge his sudden attack. You can't see his face because he still hung it low, a groan escaping his lips. Hands suddenly grab at your shoulders to prevent you from moving back any further, instead pushing you forward. The sharp pointed end of the blade can be felt inside of you as you fall into the knife. He holds it firmly as he ensures to sink it into your stomach and you can only let out a bloodshot cry of pain, the feeling of flesh and skin bouncing and tearing seamlessly. You can barely turn your head back due to the amount of agonization you’re feeling in your stomach, feeling frozen stiff as ever. Your clouded and teary eyes are met with a sharp and tall figure with a toothy grin, a shadow covering his face from which all you can see and make out. Turning back to face your attention on Azul who stood firm in his position, you can see your red cherry blood spilling out of you from where the knife stays plunged into you. 

I love you, you know that?

The nurses make sure to change out your iv bag and adjust anything in particular if needed. As you sit there on the medical bed, dressed in those polka-dotted hospital gown you actually come to focus on one thing in particular in the room. Zoning out from all the questions the nurses were asking you, your eyes stayed glued to the scorpion grasses pattern bordered around the walls. It was like something that just stook out to you in all of this clean melancholy room. Outside the room, Azul walks away a good amount of distance to ensure his call isn't heard and that he is not disturbing anyone. After a few good long rings, the phone can be heard with a click as someone on the other end picks up. “Why didn’t you pick up right away, Floyd?” 

As you sniffle and sob due to the pain, Azul then lets go of the knife. Blue hand prints marked on the handle. In your hot tear-filled eyes you see someone walking up behind Azul, lifting him up to help him stand on his feet. Before you could fall down and hit your head on the floor, the same hands that pushed you into the knife catches you and keeps you still and standing. It hurts. It hurts so bad, blood seeping out of you much more than the amount of blood Azul was spilling when you had stabbed him. You watch. Watch as the person from behind places his hand on Azuls stab wound, and when he removes his hand it was like you had never stabbed him at all. It had disappeared as if it were magic. Or as if it were planned all along. You can see it so clearly yet the quality of your sight was so blurry and fuzzy. Finally, you can see Azuls face.

I hate you.

Azuls voice sounded firm and stern as ever through the phone and Floyd only clicks his tongue, seeming to sound slightly passive. “Why's it even matter? I still picked up.” Floyd sounds uncaring as ever as he holds the phone loosely in his hands, looking like it could slip out of his palms anytime. Though his long fingers ensure that isn't the case as they hold it securely in contrast. “That doesn’t answer my question, I need you to be more quick with it next time. Especially for this case in particular.” His eyebrows furrow a bit as he stands against the wall, your room being a while away down the hall. Sounds can be heard nearby but not close enough for him to worry for anyone to hear. “Yeah yeah I got it already, so hurry up n’ tell me what ya want already Azul. If you don't, I'll just hang up on ya.” Azul can hear him yawn on the other side of the phone and he can only sigh in annoyance, shaking his head slightly. “Did you and Jade take care of everything already? The cameras? The car?” 

“Ya wanna find out? I’m kinda bored right now so why dontcha come by and check for yourself? Leave ya little “lover” for a bit since they’re awake, it's why ya called isn't it?” Floyd definitely was playing around with Azul, but he wasn’t having it. Not now, not in the mood to deal with him at the moment. “No need to worry Azul, Floyd is just messing around as per usual when he’s bored. In fact, he only is because we indeed have already finished everything as you requested of us.” 

As you coughed out a bit of blood, you looked up to see Azul. A tall grinning figure behind him as a shadow looms across its face. So quickly, Azul pulls out the knife from you and another blood curdling scream is ushered out of you. Sobs and hot tears leak down your cheeks as Azul gives the blue and red knife over to the figure behind him. Swiftly, it grabs it and proceeds to wipe the knife clean away and free from ever being soaked in cherry and blueberry juices. The hands holding you up lets you go once again, and you fall into Azuls open arms. He holds you so tenderly and closely as you continue to cry and weep, crying so hard from the pain that it was getting harder to breathe. He was smiling. Even though he was there shushing you as one would to soothe a baby, brushing your hair with his fingers and holding you lovingly, you saw the look on his face. He was smiling. He looked so happy. Happy as you continue to suffer and become languished in his arms. You can't breathe.

Not anymore

The past you did know him. You knew him for two years and he shared a love life had a one sided love with you. He would walk with you behind you, lurking in the shadows as he imagined the both of you hand in hand. You two would watch movies together in your apartment as you snuggled in your blanket while he hid in your closet watching with you together. Taking showers together and sharing loving touches with each other, sharing intimate and passionate nights together . Ḩ̵̛̘̤͙͔̝̫̖̻̦̞͙̺̅̿͘͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ c̵̛̥͊ǎ̴̯̀͠ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆y̶͔͗ i̶̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅm̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈ǎ̴̯̀͠ǧ̷̡̟̲̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕inë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘̔́̃̄̍͋̓c̵̛̥͊h̸̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͝ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅi̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅl̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ ǎ̴̯̀͠c̵̛̥͊t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓ǎ̴̯̀͠l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆y̶͔͗ c̵̛̥͊r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ǎ̴̯̀͠ṽ̵͇̟̺̣͓̰̭̲̼̻̪̩̰͒̓̿̄̾̔̊͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ.

You’ve known him a bit longer than two years, only two years of that lovely dating life that is trying to escape from him. T̷̡̧̬̲̭̦̘̩̊̉͛̓̓̌͌̕ẃ̸̝̝̰͋͒ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ y̶͗ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ, ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅf̵̢̻͈̫̬̻͔̘̞͈̆̇̍̈̌͊ͅ ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅm̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈ l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅṽ̵͇̟̺̣͓̰̭̲̼̻̪̩̰͒̓̿̄̾̔̊͝ͅi̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ǧ̷̡̟̲̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕ y̶͔͗ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅŏ̸̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ ṽ̵͇̟̺̣͓̰̭̲̼̻̪̩̰͒̓̿̄̾̔̊͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠y̶͔͗ m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓c̵̛̥͊ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝... T̷̡̧̬̲̭̦̘̩̊̉͛̓̓̌͌̕ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓c̵̛̥͊ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝.     

… 

You’re discharged on the same day. You are to be given therapy to treat and help your amnesia, but with Azuls wealth he instead hires a personal medical professional to tend to your needs. Azul pushes your wheelchair, your legs not at all stable enough to properly walk yet due to the head damage you received. Along with your actual physical injuries as well of course. “Azul, do you think I'll come to remember you again?” You ask as the sound of the wheels roll against the pavement road, his shoes softly clacking as he makes his way over to the slanted curb. “I hope so… I hope you remember all the memories we shared during those two years we were together, though if not then we can start anew. I’ll do my best to make you fall for me once again my dear angelfish.” His voice is full of gentleness despite the rough situation you were in, it felt like he was just putting up a brave front and broken inside.

You’ll love me now.

As you lay in his arms limply, the pain still lingering though your body starting to become peppermint cold, placing a chaste kiss on your head. You cried so much you practically had a hard time breathing. No. This whole thing was suffocating. Because even after all this time of trying to escape from him, he still continued to persistently stuck close by like some sort of annoying parasite. Yet here you are, finally in his arms with those hazing lost eyes of yours. “I’ll make sure to take good care of you, I promise…” Laying still and motionless, your cold body is hugged tightly and longingly in his tight embrace. In the distance of this blank space, a set of scorpion grasses sway in the wind… “We’ll be together forever… Forget me not, okay darling?”... 

No response.

A black car with tinted windows eventually pulls up to the side where you and Azul were. As the car slows down to a stop besides you two, you are met with a man with sunglasses on and teal slicked back hair as the windows rolled down. “Came to pick ya up little guppie, ya missed me?” The driver tilts his head down a little as he pulls his shades slightly forward down his nose bridge and gives you a lazy smirk, waiting for an answer. Though you are only left confused and speechless. “Now Floyd, have you forgotten? Our dear friend Azul has a lover who suffers from an ailment traced back to an unfortunate incident.” Another voice can be heard coming from within the car yet you showed no new reaction. 

“Guppy?” 

“This is Floyd, he’s a little fickle to handle at times but still all the more reliable.” 

“Hiyaaaa~” Floyd waves in an amble manner, lazily waving his hand to give off a more lax vibe. His voice sounded playful and refreshing to hear considering the given situation as he props his folded arm on the open window seal, his elbow pointed outwards. 

“And you may refer to me as Jade.” A tall, well groomed, and neat looking man approaches you, his appearance was certainly something to take notice of. Something about these three, it bothered you in a quiet and lingering fashion. Despite their propper and civil introductions and interactions, they had this underlying and subtle adroit air around them that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. You give him a nod and Azul gently leads you over towards the car while Jade opens the back door for you. 

“How’s shirmpy doin’ back there, comfy?” Floyds voice is painted into the car as he speaks and tilts his head back to meet your eyes – though a dull response slips from your lips as you sit there blankly. A nod is the only thing you give to answer Floyd and he turns his head back, pressing the gas pedal to move the vehicle forward. 

“Where are we headed too?” Your voice still not entirely well, it sounded a little on the rougher end. Azul hands you a bottle and you drink it gratefully, while Jade and Floyd who don't move as they sit in front of your peripheral vision listen to the jazzy music playing from the aux. “Azul has a nice and comfortable residence to your taste. I hope it can help recall some forgotten memories.” 

“Shouldn’t I go see my parents first?” 

“They are rather a long distance away, my dear. For now you should rest up since our place is also quite the drive. I’ll wake you up once we arrive, alright?”

His hands soothe your hands in a comforting manner and you honestly did feel a little tired. Tired enough to lean against his shoulders and close your eyes. His smooth voice can be heard as a lullaby, humming along with the melody of the jazz playing at the moment. It was a nice and comfortable atmosphere perfectly conditioned to better your sleep. 

“I’m glad to see that the pills really do live up to its reputation. Maybe I should look into the ingredients myself and do a side trade.” 

“Bleh, imagine all the work for that. But it does sound fun, imagine all the sorts of people we’d run into~”

“A capitalist at heart I see Azul, but I agree. If it didn’t work as well as listed then we could have kept the pills for research purposes and have gained more from the sellers.”

The car is down the road, and as the hospital is slowly leaving the line of sight, the tree is seen with no leaves as a single bird is perched comfortably on its branch. 

A/N: I'm going to be honest, this has been in my drafts for a damn near a long time and I’m really impatient. I wish this could have had better quality work but I just rushed it off so I could post it, but I hope you enjoyed the little idea I had! And honestly if you have any ideas to continue or add onto the storyline and plot feel free to do so!