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RippleClan: Moon 67

Oilstripe and Halibutdusk have recovered from birth and greencough, respectively. Meanwhile, Paleseed gets whitecough.

[Image ID: Waspdawn says to Paleseed, ““I know fighting whitecough can be awful, so I wanted to give you this tail weave I made with Rabbitjoy to cheer you up.” Paleseed now has red feathers in her tail. Under her, it says + CONDITION: WHITECOUGH, + ACCESSORY: RED FEATHERS.]

(Waspdawn: 33, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Paleseed: 33, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

Rapidleaf talks with Honeybuzz about what it’s like to be a cleric.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz says to Rapidleaf, “It isn’t worth the pain.”]

---

Honeybuzz adjusted the long hunt pelt covering Tempestshade’s back. The black cat was asleep, one of their few peaceful naps as their leg deteriorated more and more. The thick snowfall outside sent cold air stirring between the wooden walls. Mosspounce and Carnationspeckle tirelessly tended to the fire outside the medicine den, making sure their fellow caretaker would not suffer anymore than they already did. Honeybuzz doubted it would do much, though. Whatever damage the silver jaw caused to Tempestshade’s leg, Honeybuzz and Troutpool only delayed its endgame.

Honeybuzz groomed Tempestshade’s neck as his patient groaned softly. He muttered a soft prayer and turned to his pots and baskets of medicine. As he checked on the Clan’s supply of painkillers, paws trudged through the clumpy snow outside. Rattlepelt made her way inside, snow gathering in balls on her fox pelt. She slipped it off, seemingly unphased by the storm.

“Are you busy, Honeybuzz?” Rattlepelt asked. Honeybuzz glanced at Tempestshade.

“Not really,” Honeybuzz muttered. He peeked under the wraps on Tempestshade’s leg and sighed. “Are you staying warm, Rattlepelt?”

“As warm as I can be,” Rattlepelt sighed. She strolled by the shelves of medicine sitting along the sand and wood. “I’m hoping to find something for my mood. Something calming. Lavender, maybe?”

“Ah yes, lavender in the middle of winter,” Honeybuzz scoffed, mustering a pathetic laugh. His sarcasm soured at Rattlepelt’s sharp expression. Honeybuzz cleared his throat, further tucked Tempestshade under their pelt, and said, “There are a lot of herbs for mood. What exactly are you experiencing?”

“What am I not experiencing lately?” Rattlepelt sighed, undoing a leather lid from a pot and glancing inside. “You’re the cleric, I would think you’d notice.” Honeybuzz refrained from telling her actually I’ve been quite busy trying to save Tempestshade’s life, interpret a prophecy, and deal with the identity of my mother’s killer, but yes Rattlepelt, I’ve absolutely been studying your mood.

“Mood swings?” Honeybuzz guessed. “Anxiety?” Honeybuzz took the leather lid back from Rattlepelt and sealed the pot.

“The first thing, I suppose,” Rattlepelt huffed. “According to my mate and mothers, I’ve been acting… out of character lately. Not quite as lively as I used to be. You must have something that can bring me back to normal.”

“It might not be herbs you need,” Honeybuzz suggested. “Have you talked with Spikecrash or Paleseed?”

“I don’t need a mediator,” Rattlepelt grunted with a thrash of her tail.

“You talked with Paleseed all the time when your mother was held hostage,” Honeybuzz pointed out. “Why the refusal?”

“It’s different!” Rattlepelt snapped. She shoved past Honeybuzz and studied the herbs on the other side of the den. “I don’t want others talking about my business. I’d rather deal with it on my own time. You really can’t spare a pot of something? I just need to chew on something so I don’t chew on someone’s head.” Rattlepelt stuck her face into a basket.

“I don’t want to waste herbs on an issue a mediator could resolve,” Honeybuzz said. “Can you please stop looting through our supplies? We need them for Tempestshade.”

“Oh, so you’ll give medicine to an omen but not to one of your Clan’s only artisans?” The curl in Rattlepelt’s lip was like an angry warrior scaring a trespasser from the border. She flung a paw toward Tempestshade’s weak form. Honeybuzz stood his ground; he was not his mentor. Only StarClan could order him around. Defiant blue pierced through angry copper. Rattlepelt’s eyes widened. She groaned, recoiling back to the shelves. “This is what I’m talking about! Can you please just give me something?”

“Rattlepelt,” Honeybuzz said, stressing every word, “I am not giving you a lick of medicine until you speak with a mediator.” Rattlepelt deflated, veiny ears falling. Her claws unsheathed for a moment, stabbing the packed sand floor. She quickly covered them with her tail. She marched to her discarded fox pelt.

“I’d better leave before I do something else I’ll regret,” Rattlepelt grumbled, sliding the wet pelt onto her back. “Good luck with Tempestshade, Honeybuzz.” Rattlepelt stared at the thick falling snow outside the den. She slunk into the gray light with nary a shiver, the fire outside bouncing off her red leather pelt. Just when Honeybuzz began to process the new problem lumped onto his back, Rapidleaf scurried inside. Really? Now, of all moments?

“StarClan, that’s cold!” Rapidleaf yelped, shivering violently. Snow tumbled off her back as she shook.

“I thought you were assisting Troutpool with a ritual,” Honeybuzz sighed, turning to his shelves and pretending to check the herbs in an empty pot.

“We just got back,” Rapidleaf panted. “I… wanted to talk to you before Troutpool joined you again.” Honeybuzz sighed deeply, gathering his strength. He couldn’t put this conversation off forever. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something to the Clan. Why haven’t you?” Ugggghhhhh why did Rapidleaf have to do this to him?

“You said it was an accident, right?” he huffed, finally facing Scrubmask’s killer. “You didn’t even remember what happened until later. So I’m staying quiet. It isn’t worth the pain.”

“But I killed her,” Rapidleaf said, soft and slow.

“And we moved on!” Honeybuzz groaned, throwing his head back. StarClan, this was like talking to a kit. “Mom took a new mate. My brothers and I graduated. Everyone thinks a Witch Hunter did it. Why would I hurt them all over again with this?”

“Because I killed her,” Rapidleaf said again, emphasizing each word, sinking in Honeybuzz’s strong presence.

“If you want to be punished so badly, confess to a codekeeper!” Honeybuzz snapped. “I am a cleric. I help my Clan. This, what you’ve done? Knowing that now will help no one. Don’t pretend to care about the right thing when you’re just a coward.” Rapidleaf bowed her head low. The bright fire outside turned her fur dark red like dried blood.

“If that’s what you think is right,” Rapidleaf muttered.

“Do your job and we won’t have any problems,” Honeybuzz growled, his golden face burning like the sun in the fire glow. He turned back to his empty pots and said, “Get warmed up. I don’t want to have to treat you for shivers.” He kept his ears perked as Rapidleaf’s paws crunched through the snow. He only looked back when he was certain she was gone.

Honeybuzz groaned loudly, trudging to his nest and flopping into it. If he had to take this secret to StarClan, he was more than happy to do so. It was just easier. Now he only had three problems to deal with.

Well, that wasn’t true, even if he didn’t realize it yet. He had two problems.

Because Tempestshade had stopped breathing.

(Honeybuzz: 15, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Tempestshade: 28, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Rattlepelt: 50, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Rapidleaf: 85, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

Tempestshade dies from their mangled leg. Mosspounce tells fond stories of his littermate while Trumpetspore mourns and Scaleripple tries to push his feelings aside.

[Image ID: Scaleripple watches Trumpetspore and Mosspounce leave. Under him, it says + CONDITION: SENSORY OVERLOAD.]

---

James quietly loaded Tempestshade’s body onto his back as dawn glimmered through the snowfall. Troutpool gave up an old vole pelt from her nest so Tempestshade’s crusted, wounded leg could be covered during the funeral. The leather wrapped around their leg and concealed their deadly injuries. Dried herbs poked out from under the leather, hiding the decaying smell.

Scaleripple could still smell it, though. He smelled every decomposing muscle and faded blood-scent that clung to Tempestshade’s pelt. He could smell Trumpetspore and Mosspounce’s sorrow, still strong after a night at vigil. He could smell the concoctions and ointments the clerics used at first to stop Tempestshade’s deterioration, then to soften the end. He could smell death clinging to the snow that drifted over camp.

“Tempestshade would probably say something silly now about how we should just talk to Oilstripe if we miss them,” Mosspounce scoffed, swallowing hard. Trumpetspore laughed softly, leaning hard into Mosspounce. The laugh was like claws tearing at Scaleripple’s ears.

“Do you three have something to mark their grave?” James asked, shifting awkwardly with the added weight.

“I do, I do,” Mosspounce sighed. He stood, groaning and stretching his back. “One of our bowls broke a few days ago. With how much Tempestshade cooked, I want to use that as their marker. What do you think, Scaleripple?”

“Fine,” Scaleripple said. He stared at the spot where Tempestshade’s body had laid all night. The snow formed a hole in their vague shape.

“Scaleripple?” Trumpetspore peeked around her brother. “I know we don’t talk much, but… thank you for being there for Tempestshade. Mosspounce and I can’t say enough how much that… I’m sorry, I can’t.” It took all Trumpetspore’s effort to get even those few words out. Mosspounce groomed his sister, purring through the pain.

“It’ll be a long walk with this snow,” James sighed. “Let’s get on our way.” Trumpetspore and Mosspounce followed James, but when Scaleripple stayed seated, Mosspounce stopped and glanced back.

“You two bury them,” Scaleripple said. “Be alone with them.” No one had any energy to argue; Mosspounce nodded after a moment and rejoined Trumpetspore on their slow procession to the graveyard. Scaleripple stayed trapped in the scent of death. It clung to his fur like salt. Scaleripple closed his eyes.

“Scale?” Weedfoot shuffled across the thick snow, catching fat snowflakes in her fur. The new scar she sported around her ankle made Scaleripple’s paws burn just from its look. Her whole body sagged like a dying weed as she slipped beside her son. “Do you need me today?”

“I’m alright, Mom,” Scaleripple said. Weedfoot’s pelt was a whisker’s length from Scaleripple’s, but it felt like she was laying on top of him.

Scaleripple needed that.

“I would have thought you’d go with the others to the graveyard,” Weedfoot noted.

“I didn’t want to,” Scaleripple said. His gaze was drawn back to the hole.

“Well, I won’t be sending you on any patrols for the next day or two,” Weedfoot explained softly (StarClan bless her, finally a soft voice for Scaleripple’s strained mind). “I know your sister has whitecough, but if you need someone to talk to, Paleseed can listen.”

“I’d rather go on patrol,” Scaleripple said. His expression remained unchanged, neutral and stuck on the hole.

“I don’t think you’re truly alright, Scaleripple,” Weedfoot mumbled. She got between Scaleripple and the place Tempestshade once laid. Scaleripple blinked wildly, trying to focus on his mother’s form as his vision blurred. He knew what was coming as soon as his ears began to ring.

“Do you want the truth?” Scaleripple asked. The tensions in his shoulders made his muscles burn.

“Isn’t that obvious?” Weedfoot hummed softly.

“No, it isn’t,” Scaleripple said. There was no intended malice, yet his tone still struck at Weedfoot like a rat bite. The ringing in Scaleripple’s ears grew louder. “There’s a lot I don’t understand that others do. I understood Tempestshade, though. They understood me. Now no one understands me.”

Scaleripple’s eyes could not focus, even with Weedfoot standing right in front of him. Color and shadow melted together like beeswax in a pot. His skin burned. Weedfoot said something, but her words were just like the camp; melted, dissolved, burning. No one understands. No one understands. No one understands No one understands No one understands No one understands NO ONE UNDERSTANDS.

Some part of Scaleripple’s mind heard his Clan gather around him, wondering just what he was muttering. He could see worried faces peering into his huge blue eyes, even if he had no way to react to them. Despite all that, all he could do was stare at nothing, pressure building in his chest, sinking deeper and deeper into himself. The caring words of his Clan blurred together, yet each phrase was clear as air, layering over the next in a bloodbath of screeching bird song.

“Scale, come on now, what are you saying?”

“We should get him out of camp.”

“StarClan, does everyone have to stare at him?”

“Scaleripple, it will all be okay.”

“I understand you, Scaleripple!”

“Leave him alone, this doesn’t concern you.”

“How would you feel if we swarmed you after a vigil?”

“We may not understand you, Scaleripple, but we love you.”

If only Scaleripple could thank the soft, careful voices that slipped through the noise. Perhaps later. There was nothing he could say now. Only collapse into the spiral of his own, odd mind.

(James: 143, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Tempestshade: 28, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

(Scaleripple: 20, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Trumpetspore: 28, female, warrior, nervous, excellent potter

(Mosspounce: 28, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Weedfoot: 116, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Weevilkit and Yarrowkit make snow lumps at the entrance to camp.

[Image ID: Weevilkit and Yarrowkit build a snow cat as Wolfkit approaches. Yarrowkit says, “It looks a bit like a cat!” Under her, it says + PERMANENT CONDITION: ONE BAD EYE. Under Wolfkit, it says + CONDITION: BRUISES.]

---

Weevilkit couldn’t feel her nose, but she didn’t care. She rolled snowballs across the camp clearing toward Yarrowkit, who studied the large snow lump she and Weevilkit had cobbled together. The many, many kits of RippleClan had woken up from their sunhigh nap and now ruled the camp, running and screaming through the snow, entertaining one another. Yarrowkit protected the snow lump from her rampaging littermates, leaving light paw prints in its sides. Four snowballs sat along the corners of the lump like fat, lazy paws.

“Is this big enough?” Weevilkit groaned. She shoved her giant snowball at Yarrowkit with one last mighty push. Yarrowkit trotted around the snowball, gauging just how big it truly was.

“Perfect!” Yarrowkit chirped. “Help me lift it on!” Yarrowkit and Weevilkit stood on either side of the snowball. They tucked their heads under their mound, snow crumbling into their eyes. Necks straining and muzzles aching, they lifted the snowball off the ground and threw it onto the mound. The bottom chunk of the snowball plopped off, making Yarrowkit and Weevilkit shriek.

“Pack it in!” Weevilkit cried. She and Yarrowkit scooped up snow and shoved it under their lump’s new head. Eventually, the lump no longer threatened to fall off. When Weevilkit was certain the structure was stable, she made two smaller snowballs and stuck them on the lump’s head. She bounced off the lump and admired it from the back.

“It looks a bit like a cat!” Yarrowkit chirped.

“Snow cat!” Weevilkit cheered, rearing onto her back legs like a horse.

It was at that moment that something strange occurred, something Weevilkit would not fully understand until she was older. In fact, in the moment, it felt more like a daydream than anything else, something that had come to her in the night and performed for her once more under the light of day. Yet the way she would describe it matched no daydream or typical trick of the mind.

On the other side of camp, Wolfkit eyed a snow pile a few tail-lengths behind Weevilkit. Harvest helped Robinkit and Currentkit build a mountain to scale and dig into like moles. As Weevilkit watched her sister, the gray kit’s form flickered. She stayed where she was, staring hungrily at the mountain, but another Wolfkit charged forward, slipping out of her body like a ghost. There was a fogginess to this second Wolfkit, a transparent and shiny nature that seemed like Oilstripe’s tales of StarClan cats. The real, solid Wolfkit did not react to this secondary form running out of her chest, unseeing.

But Weevilkit saw it all.

This ghostly Wolfkit darted past Yarrowkit. A misty version of Yarrowkit overlapped her living form, fur spiking and lips curling. Two cats existed in the same space, one in the other, making Weevilkit’s head hurt. Weevilkit watched as the other Wolfkit left deep pawprints behind her, even though the snow was no more disturbed than it had been. The other Wolfkit threw herself at the snow mountain. Harvest, Currentkit, and Robinkit gained their own foggy forms, stepping away from the ghost of the mountain. The nonexistent Wolfkit slammed into the mountain, but rather than the mountain collapsing into light and fluffy clumps, her head made a hole in the stiff snow. Wolfkit’s ghost collapsed at the base of the mountain. Weevilkit blinked, and the ghosts were gone.

And then it happened again.

Wolfkit darted past Yarrowkit. The brown and white kit jumped, fur spiking and lips curling. Harvest, Currentkit, and Robinkit hurried back as Wolfkit threw herself full-speed at the snow mountain. She face-planted into the unyielding snow and stumbled back with a loud groan. Weevilkit blinked again, this time shaking out her snow-dusted pelt.

A smart kit would have questioned that strange sight. However (and with no disrespect intended), Weevilkit was not smart.

“Are you okay?” Harvest asked, trying to force back her laughter at the face-shaped imprint in the snow.

“My face hurts,” Wolfkit grumbled, pulling herself out of the snow.

“That’s what happens when you run into a mountain,” Robinkit said matter-of-factly.

“It’s okay,” Currentkit promised. He slipped beside Wolfkit as the gray molly whimpered softly and rubbed her sore face.

“Wolfkit!” Yarrowkit snapped. “Don’t run past me like that! That’s my bad side!”

“Your bad side?” Weevilkit scoffed. “What does that mean?”

“You know!” Yarrowkit whined, smoothing out her fur. “Your bad side! Your dead eye! How would you like it if I scared you like that?” Weevilkit cocked her head so far to the side, her neck hurt.

“I don’t have a dead eye,” Weevilkit said. “How can an eye be dead?” While Robinkit and Currentkit teased Wolfkit, Harvest appeared behind Weevilkit.

“Mom, can you tell her about your dead eye?” Yarrowkit huffed. “Which one is it?”

“Yarrowkit, I don’t know what you’re saying,” Harvest said softly, getting to her daughter’s level. “Is something wrong with your eyes?” Weevilkit peered closer at Yarrowkit’s face. There was a droopiness to her right eye. Her pupil was huge compared to her other eye. A green haze covered the eye, depriving it of its usual sharpness. Harvest leaned in as well, staring intently at the right eye.

“Wait,” Yarrowkit gulped, “is your other eye supposed to do something?” Harvest sat up, swallowing hard. She buried her twitching tail under her flank.

“Yarrowkit,” Harvest said, “can you come with me? I want you to talk to Troutpool and Honeybuzz.”

“But I’m playing,” Yarrowkit huffed, placing a paw on the snow cat.

“You can go back to your game afterward, I promise,” Harvest stammered. “Now come along. You need to tell the clerics just what you’ve told me.” Yarrowkit deflated as Harvest looped around her and nudged her toward the medicine den. She glanced at Weevilkit as she passed, turning her head far to see her with her one good eye.

Now, truth be told, while she would have to train around it, Yarrowkit would get along just fine with a bad eye. That was not what Weevilkit should have been concerned about.

(Weevilkit: 2, female, kit, bullying, curious about StarClan)

(Yarrowkit: 2, female, kit, noisy, stares at fire)

(Wolfkit: 2, female, kit, polite, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Harvest: 55, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Robinkit: 2, male, kit, unruly, avid play-fighter)

(Currentkit: 2, male, kit, polite, constantly climbing)

Anchovykit wakes up with a splitting headache and can’t get out of his nest.

[Image ID: Anchovykit says to Tempestshade, now a ghost, “Do you need help?” Under him, it says + CONDITION: SEVERE HEADACHE.]

---

It wasn’t fair. All the other kits were playing in the snow, screaming and cheering at their winter fun, kept warm by the fire crackling between the elder’s den and the warrior’s den. Anchovykit should have been out there. He had to go out there and play! He was missing out on all the joys of the day!

When Anchovykit stood at the edge of the nursery, looking out over camp, his eyes burned. His head smacked him about like an enemy warrior. The snow intensified the pain. He squeezed his eyes as tight as he could, trying to fight off the headache. Honeybuzz had told him to just rest, but how could he rest when everyone else was having fun?

But then again, with a headache like his, Anchovykit couldn’t play. Especially since it made him see things.

The headache added an odd sheen to the camp. A soft sparkle danced around the medicine den like stars in the day. Weevilkit and Wolfkit, laughing over their snowbound antics, shared in this sparkle. Oilstripe, who told her kits stories by the Shiprock, had a glow to her eyes that made Anchovykit’s pelt itch. Even though the shine clawed at his eyes, Anchovykit found it hard not to look at the odd ways his head toyed with him.

Still, the soft awe of the camp was nothing compared to the sheer horror of looking at Rattlepelt. The furless artisan watched the Clan from the corner of camp, using her fox pelt as warm flooring against the snow. Her single white ear twitched casually as she watched Weedfoot return from patrol with Lavendertwist, Waspdawn, and Puddlewhisper. Her claws poked through the snow as Weedfoot laughed at one of Lavendertwist’s jokes. She groaned softly, forcing herself to look away from the family.

It wasn’t her gray skin or odd behavior that made Anchovykit nauseous, however. Slime covered Rattlepelt’s smooth skin, slick yet dull like mud. Her legs grew black the farther down they went. Slushy pools of black gunk collected at her paws. She had become a river of dark mud, her body as its source. And then there were her eyes. Gone was the warm and cheeky copper shine everyone found so familiar in Rattlepelt. Instead, bright yellow eyes burned with unhidden, unquenchable hatred, a hatred that threatened to seep into every wrinkle and fold of Rattlepelt’s bony body.

Anchovykit ran back into the quiet shadows of the nursery. Headaches were terrifying! He crawled into his empty nest with a whine. He shoved his muzzle into the moss and leather. The sooner he took a nap, the sooner this headache would go away, and the camp would look normal again. He breathed in the leftover scent of his mother and littermates. He was always safe with them. They would protect him from the horrors of his headache.

“You’re a funny little kit, aren’t you?”

“Clammask, go away,” Anchovykit whined through the moss.

“I sound like Clammask? Huh. Isn’t that funny!”

Anchovykit wasn’t in his nest anymore. He opened his eyes to blackness below. It was not pure darkness, though; tiny stars glimmered far, far away. The floor matched the ceiling. All around Anchovykit, Silverpelt shone in small white specks. There was no ground for Anchovykit to stand on, but regardless, he stood. He could feel something warm and soft under his paws, but when he lifted them, there was nothing but Silverpelt underneath. His mother had told him that on some nights, Silverpelt glowed with a myriad of colors, but all he saw now was black and white. The sunless land was shockingly warm, warm in the way Anchovykit imagined summer to be, that beautiful season he had yet to see. The clawing, tearing pain in his head was now a small worm, wiggling about behind his eye. Anchovykit stated at his pelt. There was no source of light, but his body was not covered in shadow. There was a dullness to him, something in between light and darkness, the pure essence of his colors untainted by the sun.

“Weird dream,” he muttered.

“I don’t like involving a kitten like this, but they shouldn’t have to suffer for long.” Anchovykit turned around. A blue-gray molly stood behind him. Dark, swirling stripes like water criss-crossed her starry pelt. A moth’s wing hung delicately behind her ear in an impossible fashion, as though the moth had perched itself just on the stranger’s head.

“You look like Weedfoot,” Anchovykit gasped.

“I should,” the stranger laughed. “I’m her daughter! My name is Ripplefern. I’m a member of StarClan, and I need your help.” Anchovykit’s eyes widened. His mother had grown up with second-paw tales of StarClan’s power, while Anchovykit and his littermates got to hear of their glory straight from the mouth of RippleClan. Now Anchovykit was one of those blessed souls that got visited by the ancestors in his sleep, even if he wasn’t a cleric! He kneaded the invisible ground, purring.

“Am I important?” Anchovykit purred, eagerly running up to Ripplefern.

“More than I can explain now,” Ripplefern sighed. “I have a friend who will spend a long time alone if you don’t help them. Do you think you can help my friend?”

“I’ll try,” Anchovykit promised. Ripplefern purred, her blue eyes growing soft as down.

“Follow me.” Ripplefern turned gracefully and wandered deeper into Silverpelt. Anchovykit stayed at her side, eyes scanning the strange land around him. If this was StarClan, it was really empty!

“Where are all the other StarClan warriors?” Anchovykit asked.

“They wouldn’t be here,” Ripplefern explained. “Sometimes, when a warrior dies, they don’t go straight to StarClan. Sometimes they need to wait a while as we sort through some problems. This is where they go to wait.” Ripplefern looked up into the endless speckled black. “My friend was born with a problem. When they died, the problem sent them here, and they can’t leave until we fix it. But it’s not a problem StarClan can fix alone. My friend could be here for moons if we got help the normal way. But we’re lucky. You’re here.”

“What’s the normal way?”

“Rituals, visions, other calls for assistance from the living clerics. Being alive makes you special.” Anchovykit walked a little taller. He was special.

A figure appeared in the distance. It was hard for Anchovykit to see them with their black fur. Anchovykit’s paws grew heavy when he saw black mud clinging to the figure’s legs. He only managed to recognize them when he saw their dark green eyes.

“Tempestshade!” Anchovykit gasped, leaving Ripplefern behind. “Do you need help?” Tempestshade gawked at the kit. They still looked alive; a little hazy, perhaps, but alive. Anchovykit had only known them with their leg bandaged, but now it was strong and free of scars. They could stand and look down on Anchovykit, just as confused as he was.

“Do I know you?” Tempestshade asked.

“He was born while you were fighting your death wounds,” Ripplefern explained. Tempestshade only just noticed Ripplefern. They grew as still as they had been when their body laid in camp for vigil.

“You look better than when I saw you last,” they managed to gulp.

“Anchovykit is here to help you,” Ripplefern said. “Do you see all that black ichor, Anchovykit? I need you to rip it off, like when you tear into a fish.” Anchovykit sneered at the ooze on Tempestshade’s legs. He was supposed to touch that? With his mouth? What could he even hold onto? It was mud!

“Why?” Anchovykit groaned.

“You’re the only one who can,” Ripplefern said. Hmm. Well, if StarClan asked it of him…

Anchovykit peered at the ooze. Maybe if he just bit the whole paw…. He shut his tiny jaws around Tempestshade’s front leg. Tempestshade hissed and smacked Anchovykit.

“Alright, not like that,” Ripplefern laughed. “Just… pretend you’re removing the lid off a pot. Peel the ichor off like you peel off the leather.” Oh, that made much more sense!

Anchovykit spat out the gunk that stuck to his teeth. He took a big breath and dug his fangs into the black ichor. He pulled at the ooze with a violent, suctioning sound. It was like a paw trying to rip itself from the mud. There was no ground to gain a foothold on, but Anchovykit dug himself in regardless. The ichor stuck to Tempestshade like some many-legged monster of the deep. Anchovykit dug deeper into the ooze and pulled harder. As it stretched farther and farther from Tempestshade’s leg, it began to take a new form. Feline ears poked out of the black. A slender form took shape, its scruff in Anchovykit’s grasp.

It was a cat, utterly soaked in the gut-heaving black ichor, no bone or pelt to speak of. It wasn’t much smaller than Anchovykit himself. Anchovykit dropped the mewling creature and gagged.

“What is that?” Anchovykit groaned. The creature squirmed and twitched like a newborn, making the worm in Anchovykit’s skull spasm once more in a headache.

“The power of the Dark Forest made manifest,” Ripplefern said, her tone low and serious in a way Anchovykit had never heard anyone speak in his short life. “This is Tempestshade’s curse in physical form, the evil energy that struck out against those who got too close. Your special sight shows you their influence, and the influence of the stars. You are the one who can pull them from idea and ethereal being to something tangible.”

“Huh?” Anchovykit said.

“Strike it along its neck,” Ripplefern sighed, waving her paw at the creature. “Now that you’ve pulled the curse off Tempestshade, you can fight it.” Ripplefern needed to get better at explaining things. Anchovykit may have been young, but he understood what it meant to fight like a warrior.

Anchovykit jumped onto the creature with a yowl more suited to a play fight than true battle. The pathetic thing was no match for a harsh wind, let alone Anchovykit’s tiny fangs. He shoved the creature onto its back and bit into its neck. The creature stopped squirming at once. As Anchovykit tightened his jaw, the monster’s ichor dripped through the invisible floor. It tumbled through the starry abyss below, everfalling, never landing. Piece by piece the creature melted away until Anchovykit’s teeth smacked together with nothing left to hold.

“I just fought a Dark Forest cat,” he gasped softly. His flank wiggled as he cheered, “I fought the Dark Forest!”

“In a sense,” Ripplefern chuckled.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised I didn’t go to StarClan,” Tempestshade said with an awkward scoff. “Can’t really let in an omen, I suppose.”

“It’s not your fault the Dark Forest latched onto you,” Ripplefern said. She slowly approached the black tabby. Anchovykit stepped back before he even thought to give them room. “You did well with what you had to bear. But now you don’t have to wait here anymore. You can come with me.”

Ripplefern’s nose touched Tempestshade’s forehead. A spark danced where skin met fur. Stardust shimmered over Tempestshade’s head. A glittering wave coursed over their pelt. Brilliant stars danced along the stripes in their fur. The gunk that clogged their paws was now a shimmery, sparkling mist. Tempestshade gawked at their new form, lifting each paw to study the shine.

“Oh,” Tempestshade muttered.

“StarClan is excited to taste some of your food,” Ripplefern purred, bunting Tempestshade’s shoulder. “There’s a lot I want to talk to you about.”

“I just want to know how Moss and Trumpet and Scale are doing without me,” Tempestshade sighed, touching noses with Ripplefern. They paused for a moment, then stepped back. “Actually, no, that isn’t the only thing I want to know. What’s his story?” Tempestshade looked at Anchovykit.

“I’ll tell you in private,” Ripplefern promised. She set her tail on Tempestshade’s back.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” Anchovykit asked, marching up to Ripplefern. “I don’t know my story either!”

“I’ve shown you what you can do,” Ripplefern sighed, shaking her head, “but you’ll have to work some things through yourself. I’m afraid StarClan can’t do everything for you. Just remember what I taught you, Anchovykit. Be good to your mother.” Ripplefern touched her nose to Anchovykit’s head. It was as cold as the winter chill blowing off the ocean.

When Anchovykit woke up, he still had a raging headache, but that was nothing compared to the complete and utter confusion that made his vision spin.

(Anchovykit: 2, male, kit, charming, curious about StarClan)

(Rattlepelt: 50, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Ripplefern: 18, female, historian, charismatic, talented swimmer, good fighter)

(Tempestshade: 28, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Billowkit can’t stop sneezing.

[Image ID: Billowkit asks Troutpool, “So I’ll be sneezing forever?” Under him, it says + PERMANENT CONDITION: ALLERGIES. In the back, Currentkit calls, “Let’s see what makes you sneeze!” Under him, it says + NEW SKILL: HAS LOTS OF IDEAS.]

(Troutpool: 28, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Billowkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, active imagination)

(Currentkit: 2, male, kit, polite, constantly climbing, has lots of ideas)

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dorianwolfforest · 1 year

Text

Goes for a walk at 1:30 in the morning because I am hollow I am nothing I exist somewhere else and there is nothing and no one for me in my apartment, I need to go and I need for no one to see my escape

#I’m losing it but also night walks are very nice. very refreshing. I only got insanely paranoid and terrified twice!#once because I unlocked my door and the sound was loud and I worried it was actually the sound of someone waiting outside my apartment #and once because the birds were being too loud and it felt like they were warning each other of danger #(possibly related to this I then discovered a cat)#I don’t suffer from anxiety why do you ask

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sreidisms · 7 months

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Early seasons Reid and with BAU!reader whom just has a HUGE crush on her and Gideon has to spell it out to Spencer? I just love season 1/2 Reid. Him in glasses just makes me swoon ❤️

THIS IS SO CUTE, like it's so probable too. I didn't understand if you meant that Gideon had to spell out that Spencer likes the reader or that the reader likes Spencer, so I went with the former. If you wanted the latter, tell me and I'll write it!

An Oblivious Genius

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer has feelings for you but is too oblivious to realise - Gideon helps him.

Genre: subtle fluff

Word Count: 862

Warnings: none

A/N: the way I ended this leaves it open to a part two, so please comment if you'd like one!

“I think you have feelings for her.”

“Huh?”

Gideon didn’t lift his gaze from the newspaper in his hands, the wrinkles on his forehead peeking from behind the inked folio. “I said, you may have feelings for her, Reid.”

Spencer never turned to anyone for help, because why would he? He knew more than anyone else when it came to most things - well, except socially. And emotionally. And anything having to do with you.

The only person that wouldn’t bruise his ego was Gideon - his mentor, his guidance. He held more of a God-like presence than a fatherly one for Reid; his advice and experience were almost holy, a dogma which Spencer believed and followed without questioning.

So when his number one source of truth told him he had a crush on you, it was a shock.

“I don’t think that’s the case-”

“Reid.”

Spencer stopped his attempted rambling as Gideon’s eyes made an appearance from behind the lowered paper.

“Just repeat what you were telling me at the start of the conversation,” the older man sighed.

Spencer shifted on his legs, picking at the rolled up sleeve that was settled by his elbow.

“I know she’s my closest friend, the person I feel most comfortable with, although she’s been working here for less time than everyone else. It’s probably because she doesn’t interrupt me and listens when I talk.” He paused for a second, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle smile. “I like that.”

“What else?” urged Gideon, setting his newspaper on the desk in front of him.

“I get really excited to see her. Well, I enjoy seeing Derek and Elle too, but I get this weird feeling at the pit of my stomach when I see her.” He pressed his palm to his sternum, showing the origin of the sensation.

“That’s because she means more to you.”

“Yes, but surely not in the way you’re implying. It could be heart burn; do you know that twenty percent of Americans suffer from a gastroesophageal reflux at least once a week-”

“You’re telling me you happen to experience heart burn each time she enters the room?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, making the younger agent feel dumb for such an improbable conclusion.

“Okay … okay maybe not, the two variables cannot be fully independent of each other if they occur simultaneously every time.”

It was surprising to Gideon that such an intelligent and well-rounded person could be so oblivious to something as romantic feelings. He pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes, rubbing them slowly and dragging his fingers down his cheeks, buying himself some time to think.

“I think an obvious question is, do you think she’s pretty?” he asked and waved his hand to the side.

Spencer bit his lower lip. He thought you were the most gorgeous person he had ever laid eyes on if he had to be entirely honest; but he couldn’t admit that, not out loud at least.

“I do.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say, Gideon? That I think that she’s breath-taking and there’s not a thing about her I don’t like?” He said it with a certain anger, one that was buried somewhere deep inside him, a result of the pent up emotions and anxieties in his chest.

“Is that the truth?” You’d think that with his profiling experience, he would have learnt to mask the way he was suppressing the fluttery feelings and adoration he had for you.

Gideon sighed before speaking again: “What are the signs that one is supressing emotions?”

“Struggling to identify and express feelings or appearing emotionally distant, unexpected mood swings, and avoidance of specific topics, people, or situations.”

“And doesn’t that seem to mirror what you’re going through?”

Spencer thought about it. He was definitely finding it challenging to pin point his emotions, he couldn’t really understand what he felt for you; he didn’t really have mood swings, but had just lashed out at his mentor over a comment; and he certainly avoided the topic of liking you or the teasing of such from his workmates.

“Shit, I like her.”

Gideon chuckled at his out-of-character swearing. “First off, watch your language. Secondly, I’m glad you’ve come round.” He laid back in his chair once more, lifting up the paper to continue his reading.

The young genius didn’t know what to do with this newfound information. He liked you. More than liked you, really. He was fascinated by your mere existence, your kindness, your humour, and most definitely your looks. How hadn’t he realised this sooner?

“What do I do now?” he mumbled, taking off his glasses to wipe them on his button-up shirt.

“You tell her you like her.”

Spencer near snapped his glasses in half with the way the pads of his fingers pressed firmly in shock.

“You want me to do what?”

“Reid, it’s not a secret that she has a soft spot for you.”

The boy sputtered, jaw opening and closing like a door on rusted hinges. “I- I can’t do that!”

The newspaper rustled as Gideon flipped the page. “One of you will eventually.”

God I need him, he's such a cutie

#writingreidisms #reidismrequests #criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #mgg #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #mgg fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #mgg fluff #spencer reid x reader #mgg x reader #fem reader

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wolvietxt · 21 days

Text

💭 thinking about…

𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄!

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader warnings : sick!fic, hurt / comfort, angst, argument, petnames, reader suffers from migraines, happy ending wc : 1.6k

the night logan left was one of those nights that seemed designed to fray every nerve, to stretch the limits of patience until something had to give. the two of you had been arguing more frequently lately, and it wasn’t hard to see why. logan had been under immense pressure, a new mission that demanded more hours than he had to give. the dates were looming, and his normally calm, steady demeanour was cracking under the strain. you noticed the change in him - how his smiles became rare, how he withdrew into himself, more often lost in thought or drowning in anxiety.

you had tried to be supportive, to be there for him in the way you thought he needed. but in doing so, you had unwittingly leaned in too close, offering solutions when he only wanted silence, asking questions when he craved peace. and on that fateful night, all the tension between you boiled over.

"i don’t understand why you’re being like this!" you had said, exasperation creeping into your voice after another tense dinner where logan had barely spoken. "you won’t talk to me, you’re shutting me out - how am i supposed to help if you won’t let me in?"

his eyes flashed with anger, something you rarely saw in him. "maybe i don’t want your help!" he snapped, standing up from the table so quickly that the chair nearly toppled over. "maybe i just need some space, but you can’t even give me that, can you?"

his words stung, but you tried to keep calm. "i’m only trying to be there for you, logan. you’re the one who’s been distant, not me."

"distant?" he repeated, his voice rising in disbelief. "you’re suffocating me! every time i turn around, you’re there, pushing, asking, demanding. i can’t breathe, y/n! you don’t know when to back off, and it’s driving me crazy."

that last word hit like a punch to the gut. crazy. was that what he thought of you? you felt your throat tighten, but you refused to let the tears spill over. "fine," you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. "if that’s how you feel, then i’ll give you all the space you need."

without another word, you turned and walked away, heading to your bedroom and shutting the door behind you. the sound of it closing was quieter than you wanted it to be, not nearly as satisfying as the slam that would have matched the rage and hurt churning inside you. you could hear him pacing in the living room, but you didn’t care. if he needed space, then that’s exactly what you’d give him.

minutes passed, and you heard the front door open and close. a hollow silence settled in the apartment, and you sank onto the edge of the bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to hold the pieces together. you were angry, yes, but beneath that anger was a deep sadness, an ache that was all too familiar. this wasn’t the first time logan had shut you out, but it was the first time he’d been so harsh about it.

hours later, you finally crawled into bed, your mind racing with thoughts of what you could have said, what you should have done differently. but there was no going back. logan had left, and with him, he’d taken a piece of your heart.

the next day, you woke up with a dull headache that pulsed at your temples, but you pushed through it, telling yourself it was just the remnants of a bad night. logan didn’t call, and you didn’t reach out either. stubbornness won out over the desire to fix things. maybe he just needed time. you could give him that, right?

but the day after, the headache was worse, and the day after that, it was unbearable. the migraines came in waves, forcing you to retreat to the darkness of your room, curtains drawn tight against the light. every sound was amplified, every movement a fresh stab of pain. you tried to take care of yourself, but the loneliness only made things worse. you missed logan, missed the sound of his voice, the way he used to hold you close when the world was too much. but your fear of his anger, of pushing him even further away, kept you from reaching out.

by the fourth day, you were barely functioning. the pain in your head had become a constant, throbbing presence, and even the thought of getting out of bed was overwhelming. you knew you couldn’t go on like this, but the idea of calling logan terrified you. what if he was still mad? what if he didn’t care? what if he blamed you for everything?

but as another wave of pain crashed over you, you realised you couldn’t do this alone. with trembling hands, you picked up your phone and dialled his number, each ring echoing in your skull like a drum.

"hello?" his voice on the other end was soft, hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure it was really you.

"logan..." you whispered, barely able to form the words. "i’m sorry. i didn’t want to bother you, but i -"

he cut you off, his voice suddenly accompanied with a hint of panic. "y/n? is there something wrong?"

"i’m not very well," you admitted, tears spilling over as you finally let yourself feel the full weight of your pain and fear. "i’ve been so sick, logan. it’s the migraines, they won’t stop, and i didn’t know who else to call…"

there was a long pause on the other end, and you could hear him struggling to find the right words. "oh god, y/n," he finally said, his voice thick with guilt. "i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have left like that. i was so angry, and i took it out on you. i’ve been mad at myself for days, but i was too stubborn to call. i’m so sorry. i’ll be there in twenty minutes. keep me on the phone, yeah bub?"

you could only nod, even though he couldn’t see you. the relief was overwhelming, but it was mixed with a deep sadness that he had to see you like this, that things had gotten so bad between you.

true to his word, logan was at your door in record time. he didn’t even bother to knock, just used his key to let himself in. the moment he saw you, his expression crumpled into one of sheer regret. you were lying on the couch, a blanket pulled tight around you, your face pale and drawn, tear tracks evident. he knelt beside you, his hand reaching out to gently stroke your hair back from your forehead.

"y/n," he whispered, his voice breaking. "i’m so, so sorry. i’ve been such an idiot, and you’re suffering because of it. i should have never said those things. i didn’t mean them. i was just so frustrated, and i took it all out on you."

"it’s not your fault," you murmured, even though you knew that wasn’t entirely true. you could see the guilt in his eyes, and it tugged at your heart. "i didn’t want to push you, but i didn’t know how else to help."

he shook his head, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your cheek. "i’m so sorry, baby."

tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they weren’t just from the pain. you could feel the sincerity in his words, the weight of his regret, and it eased some of the hurt that had been festering inside you.

"logan," you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. "i missed you. i jus’ wanted to be close to you. "

his face twisted with anguish at your words. "of course, bub. ‘m so sorry."

you nodded, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of your lips despite the pain. "i forgive you," you said softly. "just… don’t leave me like that again."

"i won’t," he promised, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "i’m not going anywhere."

for the next few days, logan barely left your side. he took time off work, insisting to charles that whatever had been bothering him for so long could wait. his only focus now was you - making sure you were comfortable, that you had everything you needed, and that you never felt alone again. he would sit with you for hours, talking to you, holding your hand, or simply sitting in silence when the migraines made it too hard for you to speak.

slowly but surely, the pain began to ease. the migraines, once unbearable, became manageable, and you found yourself able to smile again, to laugh at his silly jokes, and to enjoy the warmth of his presence. the emotional wounds, too, began to heal, as you both worked to rebuild the trust that had been shaken.

one morning, as the sun streamed through the curtains, you woke up to find logan watching you with a soft smile on his face. "you look better today," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"i feel better," you replied, reaching up to intertwine your fingers with his. "thanks to you."

he shook his head. "you’re the strongest person i know, bub. i’m just glad i finally pulled my head out of my ass in time to be here for you."

you laughed softly, squeezing his hand. "we’re both a little stubborn, huh?"

"yeah," he agreed, his smile widening. "but i think we’re going to be okay."

and as you lay there, hand in hand, you knew that he was right. the storm had passed, leaving you both stronger, more connected than ever. it wasn’t perfect - it would never be perfect - but it was real, and it was yours. and that was enough.

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princessbrunette · 4 months

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john b had these big firm hands.

not because you’d been studying them or anything, you just very quickly learnt this about him when you’d joined the group — the way the other pogues would complain about aches and knots in their back only to have it quickly resolved by the brunette. with the little crush you’d developed on him, you’d find yourself complaining more and more about your own pains — perhaps when on your period or after a long day, and he’d be happy to help you. that’s what he did, he was a problem solver.

what you failed to realise is how much john b enjoyed it too.

in a general sense, sure. like mentioned, he liked to help people and fix everyone’s problems for them— and being such an active group, it was often physical pains causing them strife. whether it would be a knuckle in popes calf or an elbow in jj’s shoulder, they were appreciative.

“you should be like, studying to do this for a living bro. you got a gift.” the blonde would comment after john b had cracked his shoulder, to which the brunette would shrug it off with a—

“yeah, like i can afford that.”

you don’t realise, but soon enough the routledge boy starts to pay a little more attention to you specifically, and no one knows or cares why enough to comment on it. he’d started to ask, instead of waiting for you to complain about it. asking ‘does this hurt? does this hurt?’ as he moves you in different positions because he thought you looked ‘a little stiff’ that day.

you liked it. you liked holding his attention. john b was the leader, somehow the main character in everyone’s life— so you revelled in the attention he’d give you whilst playing the group chiropractor. it made you feel special when he singled you out.

he seemed to have this belief, that you were way more tense than anyone else in the group. he’d hooked his fingers into the idea that because you happened to have anxiety, your body would too suffer. this might’ve been true, maybe you were more tense than everyone and it showed— probably naturally less comfortable around the group seeing as you were the newest addition, but the likelihood was that john b had only convinced you and everyone else of this because he just adored getting his hands on you.

he likes the way your skin feels soft compared to the callous palms and nicked fingertips of his own. he likes the way the fat of your flesh moulds and succumbs to his touch. he likes the way he’s developed enough natural strength over the years to manoeuvre you any which way he wanted, his own warm little rag doll for the time being that sent his imagination running rampant when he’d put you in more vulnerable positions. he loved the way your brows would furrow when he’d crack the right spot or dig his hands in the right place at the right pressure. the way your lips would part with a little whimper when there’s an audible crack.

his voice was what made it enjoyable for you a lot of the time. not that it didn’t feel great, but john b had a ‘talk you through it’ kind of voice. warm, kind, comforting, rumbles in your ear when he’s slotted up behind you, performing his magic until you click somewhere you didn’t think you could.

“how we feeling? hm?” he’d ask, and you could hear the casual smile in his tone without looking, a face that you didn’t have to look at with your eyes to know it was there because you’d seen it so many times.

his cock would always twitch when you’d respond. the prettiest, whiny tone when you were especially relaxed and off guard, a tone that even had jj’s ears perking up from across the room occasionally. “feels so good, john b.” now you didn’t have to say his name, too.

he told himself it was normal to feel that way about a friend as long as there was a boundary. you were pretty, and soft— he’d be a fool not to find that attractive. what he did feel guilty about, was the indulgence. it wasn’t gentlemanly of him, something he prided himself on being. he couldn’t let anyone know he’d continue the fantasy later on, replaying your satisfied mewls in his brain like a broken record, the sounds morphing and twisting, moulding like clay in the hands of his imagination as he attempts to twist it into sounds of sex. he can still feel the heat of your skin beneath his hands through his minds eye, but this time he’d be pushing your lower back down to make you arch as you take his dick deeper.

he recalls the squishiness of your thighs that one time he worked the knots out, and this time uses the memory to fuel the thought of pushing your thighs up against you whilst nuzzling his nose against your clit and lapping up the juices you’d leaked from him rubbing on your body prior. he hears it again, “feels so good, john b.” but this time your head is thrown back, your tits are spilling from that little bra that peeks from your shirts, your clits throbbing against his tongue.

he makes a mess on his fist each night he thinks about it, and wonders how often he can get away with touching you up under the guise of a massage.

#john b prompt

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hansensgirl · 6 months

Text

💸 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (2/3)

summary. | The mob boss has an alternate way you can pay off your debt.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Ari Levinson x naive!fem!reader.

chapter warnings. | NON/DUBCON, dark themes, obsession, stalking, mob themes, manipulation, pet names, age gap, innocence kink, abuse of power, corruption kink, power imbalance, smoking (ari), debt, Daddy kink, control kink, rules, verbal contract, loss of employee, anxiety/fear, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. | ~2k

author’s note. | series masterlist. here’s part two (finally)! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. any and all feedback (positive) is welcome. no beta, all mistakes are my own. taglist: @hansensfics. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY!

When you arrive at work the next day—stocking shelves at a grocery store—your boss regards you with far more contempt than before.

Your brows remain knitted as she approaches you, your uniforms matching, except she’s allowed to wear a sweater on top. You must suffer in the cold, with an aching back and sore arms and legs. She says your name to grab your full attention, which doesn’t take much, what with the boredom that drives you to death here.

“Why are you here?” Lydia asks. You’re confused. “…I work here?” you answer with a slight laugh to your tone, though you aren’t amused. You prefer to just do your job without a hitch.

“You don’t. And I don’t accept volunteers,” she nearly sneers, and you halt what you’re doing. She’s never been very nice, but this is another level. The cans of beans can wait. “What are you talking about, Lydia? Is this a joke?” you question, placing your hands on your hips.

“I fuckin’ wish. Your little mob boyfriend came around last night—said you quit,” she explains, and her words are bewildering. Once the absurdity blurs and the meaning hits you, you start to think. You rack your brain as to who would’ve done something like that.

Ari.

“Listen, I’ve already got a girl coming in later today. The job isn’t hard, s’not like I’m dying for you to stay,” Lydia sighs. Her words are harsh, but you expect nothing kind from the woman who is all too eager to fill her pockets.

“Go home. Don’t come back here,” your boss demands. You flinch from how she spits her words, watching as she walks off to harass one of your coworkers. Ex-coworkers.

You’re filled with ire as you pack your things up and say goodbye to people you’ve known for so long. As you walk home, you think about Lydia’s words. Why would Ari do something like that? You never hurt him—so why would he hurt you?

You start to worry about the grander things, too. You have no source of income anymore, just what you’ve saved. Soon, the bills will come in, and your rent will be due.

You near your home and spy a car parked outside. It’s fancy—an emulation of a vintage Impala. But it doesn’t belong in front of your dingy condominium. You know who owns it.

Some neighbours that loiter outside watch you. You’ve never been subject to their nosiness, and the feeling of scrutiny—the knowledge of judgement—is unwelcome. But that’s the least of your worries.

The mob leader is inside your home, and you have to confront him. What if Ari changed his mind about the deal? And he’s here to kill you? Your hands shake as you open the door, unable to prolong the confrontation. There is no upstairs—therefore, nowhere to run.

You swing the door open to find Ari sitting on your couch, watching the news on your television. He wears another one of his fancy suits—similar to the one from yesterday, but in a different colour. He sips something from one of your favourite mugs and sighs in relief afterwards.

You close the door behind you quietly. The locks click in place, and the sounds prompt Ari to look at you.

“Hey, hon,” he greets, giving you a charming smile. “H– Hi, Ari…” you respond, shrugging off your jacket and handing it on the lone hook. “You’ve got a nice home here,” Ari compliments, and you awkwardly press your lips together.

“Thanks,” you murmur, inching towards the kitchen. It isn’t much—the epitome of honest work. You take the compliment, though you’re unsure how you should feel. He lives in mansions bigger than you could possibly imagine. What’s so impressive about your small world?

The fact that he can turn it upside down—put a dent in it, shake it up, and it wouldn’t take much.

The television switches off, and the mob boss sighs. He stands up and saunters into the kitchen. You never realized how tall he is until now. You crane your head up to look at him, but the intensity of Ari’s gaze is too much to bear. You guide your gaze to the tiles.

“I needed to talk to you,” he starts, and you set the mug you had grabbed onto the countertop. Your thirst can wait. “Y– You have my number, right?” you ask, hoping your tone doesn’t come off as rude. Your voice is shaky with fear.

Ari grunts, eyes never once leaving your face. “You’re right. I do,” he agrees. You never gave it to him—he took it.

“But I prefer this. Being with you—talking to you, not texting,” Ari explains. You nod, briefly gazing at him before resuming your staring at the floor. Suddenly, a warm, large hand comes up to your chin and tilts your head up.

You’re forced to meet the older man’s gaze. For the first time, you note that his eyes are a beautiful shade of blue. There’s even a hint of green swirled into the oceans. “There are a few things we need to discuss. Important things,” Ari tells you.

“Like what?” you breathlessly ask. “Rules,” he says.

The thought of having rules isn’t as insulting as you want it to be. They would serve as guidelines—lifelines, little things you can hold onto for the next few months.

“C’mon, honey. Let’s go sit. I’m sure you’re tired after your long walk home,” Ari urges, guiding you to the living room with ease. You let him do whatever he wants—and that more than pleases the mob boss. But he doesn’t let you sit down.

First, Ari sits on the wingback chair you snagged from a yard sale at a decent price. Then, he pulls you onto his lap. You let out an ‘oomph!’ at the rudeness of his actions. He’s brazen and confident, everything you will never be, even in your lonesome times.

Ari lets out an exhale of relaxation, settling you on his thighs until both of you are comfortable. He holds you gently yet firmly, thumbs stroking your skin to get you to calm down.

“Doesn’t this feel nice? Right?” the older man asks, but you’re not sure how to respond. Your honesty is embarrassing, but your deceit will offend him. “I– It does,” you admit, much to your chagrin.

“Exactly—so why fight it? Why fight me?” Ari questions, and you shrug. You’ve never been good at confrontation. “I– I’m not. I’m just… confused. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never even dated anyone!” you exclaim, though your voice is nothing more than a whisper.

Ari shushes you, one of his hands rubbing circles on your back so that you don’t get worked up. “Shh… It’s okay. Don’t worry,” he tells you, his tone gentle and full of patience—kindness, perhaps even love. The idea is baffling.

“All that purity is what makes you so precious,” he whispers in your ear, nose nuzzling the side of your head. He smells of cigarettes and expensive cologne. “And that’s exactly why I want you, sweetie. You’re… innocent. Perfect. All mine…”

You sigh shakily at his words. They have you flustered. No man has ever charmed you the way he has. “Th– Thank you…”

“I’m here for you, princess. Anything you need, you come to me. Got that?” he reassures, and you nod your head. You doubt you’ll ever ask Ari for anything—but you do have a question for him.

“C– Can I ask you something?” you wonder. The mob boss smiles and gives you the go. “Did you go to my job and tell them I quit?”

A few moments of silence pass. “Yes, and I wanted to tell you this before, but I had to take care of some other stuff,” he quickly explains, but his words are slow and calm. They’re not rushed or panicked.

“You always wake up early, so I didn’t have enough time to get here before you went to work,” Ari finishes, lips pressed into a line, showing just how disappointed he is in himself.

“I– I’m not upset about that,” you clarify, looking down at your hands. “Then what is it, sugar? Hm?” he presses.

The pet names make you feel so sweet in the mind, almost hazy. You’ve always dreamed of love like this—but you know what you and Ari have isn’t love. You’ve always been naive, but you’re a realist.

“What am I supposed to do? I need money to live, Ari,” you say almost incredulously. Ari’s smile grows like he’s holding back a secret that he’s been dying to tell you.

“I told you not to worry about these things, honey,” he chides. “I’ll take care of you—as long as you follow the rules,” Ari warns, but he remains kind. So far, in your eyes, the benefits are all too enticing.

Will the rules be the other shoe that’s been waiting to drop? No, impossible—Ari is too kind to be so cruel.

“What are the rules?” you ask him. “They’re pretty simple, nothing you need to worry your little head about,” Ari coos, making you feel much more relaxed.

“Firstly, you always have to look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he begins, spreading his thighs out just a bit as he settles further into the chair. You mindlessly nod before catching yourself and correcting your error.

You reluctantly make eye contact with Ari, which bears to be too much, so you settle for staring at the beauty marks littered across his face.

“Good girl,” he hums. The praise makes you feel warm on the inside—safe, even in the arms of the most dangerous man in the city.

“Secondly,” Ari resumes, eyes remaining locked with yours. You take the time to admire the little details on his face. The freckles and beauty spot, the grey hairs in his beard, and the battle scar on his forehead slightly covered by his long locks. “You don’t call me ‘Ari,’ baby. It’s ‘Daddy’ from now on.”

The question of why—and even a negotiation to have this rule only apply behind closed doors—fizzles on your tongue. Instead, you acquiesce.

“Yes… Daddy.”

Ari lets out a small growl at your words. You actually saying the word is much better than he ever imagined. The mob boss can feel blood rushing to his cock, but he wills himself to stay strong. Not yet—it’s too soon, he thinks to himself.

“Thirdly, honey,” he continues, voice laboured and a bit gruff. “You’re not allowed to tell me ‘no.’ Ever.”

Ari firmly lays down the third law, leaving no room for your freedom. You can feel your independence slipping away, but you reassure yourself. It’ll only be for a few months. Perhaps this is for your own good. Yes, that’s it.

“Okay…” you whisper under your breath. Ari ignores your slight mishap. He knows you’ll return to being his perfect girl in no time. He understands—ever the kind man.

“Lastly—and most importantly—is that you must always listen to me, no matter what,” he gently adds. Ari runs his hands up and down your back, soothing you from how he’s completely changed your world. “Got it all, baby?” the older man asks.

You hesitate before nodding. “Good girl,” Ari coos, and you can’t help but smile. He’s sweeter than you believed. “Now, I could make you sign a contract,” he sighs, his gentle face morphing into one that looks stressed, perhaps even disappointed. There is a pang in your heart.

“But I trust you. Don’t ruin that.”

A threat hangs in the air, but you’re too grateful to see it. Ari knows this all too well, and he can’t help but feel pride over how he managed to get you to fall into his lap. What would a girl like you ever do without a strong man like him by your side? Not much, that’s what.

“I won’t, Daddy. I promise,” you eventually break the silence, and you’re gifted with Ari’s knee-buckling smile.

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson smut #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson fanfiction #chris evans #dark!ari levinson x reader #dark!ari levinson #dark ari levinson #dark ari levinson x reader #the red sea diving resort #fic #series #lemon #smut #mob au #au #dark fic

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justabigassnerd · 2 months

Text

Anxieties

Pairing - Tim Bradford x teen!reader

Word count - 3,918

Warnings - angst, fluff, anxieties, Kojo is the best boy, brief mention of nightmares

Summary - after the ordeal with your uncle, your anxieties begin to take hold of you, worrying the others

A/N - hey y'all it's finally time for another fic! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get a new fic out, this was an anon request and I hope I did it justice. I won't ramble but as per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

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In the few weeks that passed after the ordeal with your uncle, you had found yourself on edge a lot more than normal. You felt like every time you surveyed a room, or walked down a street alone, you could see your uncle. But the moment you looked away and then looked back, he was gone. The logical part of your brain knew that Steve had been locked away and that Tim would never let him get near you but part of you was terrified that he’d somehow escape unnoticed and come after you. After all, Steve knew where you lived.

Despite all your anxieties, you hadn’t told Tim about them. He made it known that you could come to him about anything that was troubling you and you appreciated his willingness to be there for you. But you were scared that Tim would think you were being stupid for being so worried. So you opted to suffer in silence, constantly on edge and suffering from reoccurring nightmares about Steve hurting those you love.

Unbeknownst to you, Tim was suffering in his own fair share of anxieties regarding your safety. He always made sure that someone he trusted was picking you up from school now instead of relying on the school bus. He had asked you to send him regular updates throughout the day just to make sure you were okay and he even got the idea from Nolan to implement a safe word plan to let him know if anything was wrong or if you were completely fine.

“Chen, I’ve got a meeting with Kiara in a few, do you think you could pick y/n up for me?” Tim asks, bumping into Lucy as she is on her way out of the locker room, now in her civvies instead of her uniform. Tim had begun to have regular meetings with Kiara about moving forward with adopting you, she had been talking him through everything and he was soon going to have the official paperwork he was going to surprise you with somehow.

“Yeah, that’s fine I can do that,” Lucy says with a smile, already beginning to dig her car keys out of her pocket as she nods.

“Thank you,” Tim says gratefully, pulling out his phone to text you and let you know that Lucy would be picking you up before bidding Lucy goodbye and making his way to Grey’s office to pick up the paperwork he needed to do. Lucy heads out to her car, gets in, and drives in the direction of your school as she hums along to the song on the radio.

“Looks like Lucy is picking me up today.” You mumble as you read the text on your phone while you and your friends exit the school building.

“What have you done that means that you’re now being picked up every day instead of taking the school bus like you used to?” Juliet asks jokingly, wondering why you had suddenly stopped taking the bus.

“I don’t know. Maybe there was a rough case and Tim just wants to make sure I’m safe.” You shrug. You hadn’t told your friends about what had happened with your uncle but you didn’t think that you being picked up regularly was a product of that as it started a week after the incident. You had just come to the conclusion that Tim had gone through a rough case that caused this. As you glance around you quickly locate Lucy’s car as she pulls up and you say goodbye to your friends with the promise to text them later before heading over to the car, greeting Lucy as you get in.

“Hey y/n/n. How was school?” Lucy asks cheerfully as you get into the car, putting your bag in the footwell in front of you before buckling up your seatbelt.

“It was okay. It was school.” You say with a light shrug, offering Lucy a smile.

“Any fun gossip from today that you can tell me but not Tim?” Lucy then asks as she starts the car beginning the drive to your house. Over the time you had known her, Lucy had become your confidant. Anything you wanted to tell someone about that you weren’t ready to talk to Tim about, you could go to Lucy and she’d support you and give you advice when you needed it.

“No, sorry.” You say with a slight laugh as Lucy groans jokingly. The two of you continue to chat with each other until you make it home and you invite Lucy in as you usually did when she drove you home.

“Did you want to take Kojo on a walk with me?” You ask as you unlock the front door, looking over at Lucy as she nods.

“I’ll never turn down an opportunity to hang out with Kojo,” Lucy says with a smile, entering the house behind you, immediately crouching down to pet Kojo as he comes over to greet you while you put your bag down and grab Kojo’s lead.

“Let’s go then, buddy.” You say to Kojo, clipping his lead on before the two of you leave the house again with Kojo trotting loyally by your side.

“Hey, do you want me to text Jackson and have him meet us at the park?” Lucy asks, pulling her phone out of her pocket as you nod with a smile.

“The more the merrier.” You say as Lucy types a message to Jackson. You felt a little safer knowing there would be not one but two police officers with you so if something did happen, both Lucy and Jackson would look out for you. You and Lucy continue to talk as you make your way to the park, settling down on a bench and playing fetch with Kojo once you arrive while you wait for Jackson to arrive. Before too long has passed, Jackson arrives, greeting you both with a smile before joining you on the bench, watching as Kojo sniffs around the park, investigating.

“How does it feel knowing you guys aren’t rookies for much longer?” You ask curiously, looking over at the two as Kojo comes trotting over, sitting by your feet and dropping the ball in his mouth at Jackson’s looking up at him and quietly begging for Jackson to throw the ball which he does so, sending Kojo darting off after it.

“It’s weird. But exciting. I can’t wait to patrol and not worry about when the next ‘Tim Test’ will happen.” Lucy admits with a laugh as Jackson nods in agreement.

“I mean I didn’t have Tim as my TO but I’m ready to get out on the streets without someone watching my every move,” Jackson says, watching as you nod. The three of you continue to talk about everything that comes to mind until Kojo comes trotting up to you, panting and signalling that he’s done playing.

“Come on, we’ll walk you home. I’m sure Tim will be home soon anyway.” Lucy says as all three of you stand from the bench and as you look up after clipping Kojo’s lead back on his collar you could’ve sworn that you caught sight of Steve disappearing behind a tree and it made you freeze in place, your breath hitching in your throat as you watch carefully to see if the person emerges again or not.

“Hello? Earth to y/n.” Lucy says, waving a hand in front of your face and bringing you back to reality.

“Sorry.” You say sheepishly, not missing Lucy and Jackson’s worried glance between each other.

“Is everything okay?” Lucy then asks, watching you carefully before Jackson speaks up.

“Did you see something?” Jackson asks, immediately on high alert as he surveys the park, looking for any suspicious behaviour.

“No, I just zoned out for a minute. Everything’s fine.” You say quickly with a weak chuckle before turning on your heels and walking off with Kojo by your side with Lucy and Jackson rushing after you. They were both worried about you but with your dismissive attitude, they didn’t want to push too much and drive you back into your cocoon after all the progress you’d made since being fostered, so as they followed you, they decided they’d bring it up with Tim and see if you’d open up to him about anything that was bothering you.

“Hey, is it okay if we come in and wait for Tim with you? I wanted to ask him something.” Lucy asks as you approach the house, turning to face them with a nod and a small smile.

“Yeah, he’s evidently not back yet so I’m fine if you come in to wait.” You say, unlocking the door and allowing them to come in while you crouch down to unhook Kojo from his lead, watching as he trots off in search of his water bowl. You, Jackson, and Lucy then sit in the living room and make small talk until you hear the key in the door and Tim announce his arrival, making you get up to greet him.

“Hey, Tim.” You say as you meet Tim by the door, hugging him quickly and missing the way Tim’s eyebrows furrowed at your greeting. Since the incident with your uncle, you’d started calling Tim ‘Dad’ a bit more often. You weren’t fully confident about calling him that in public or in front of other people just yet and Tim was okay with that, he just found it odd that you were calling him ‘Tim’ at home but when he heard more footsteps and looked up to see Lucy and Jackson he understood your shyness.

“Chen, West, what brings you here?” Tim asks as he releases you from the hug, watching as the two approach.

“We just wanted to talk to you about something,” Lucy says, fiddling with her fingers nervously.

“Okay,” Tim says simply.

“I’ll go to my room to give you some privacy.” You whisper quietly, grabbing your bag off the floor and heading to your room. Kojo follows behind you to keep you company while Tim, Lucy, and Jackson sit in the living room to talk.

“What’s up?” Tim asks, glancing between the two rookies as they each take a deep breath.

“We’re a little worried about y/n,” Lucy says, starting the conversation as Tim’s eyebrows furrow in thought.

“What’s going on? Is she okay?” Tim asks, already bracing his hands on either side of himself, ready to push himself onto his feet to go and check on you.

“We don’t know exactly but we both joined her when she took Kojo for a walk and just as we were getting ready to leave the park it was like she zoned out and she looked a little scared almost,” Jackson explains as best he can, recalling the event from earlier. Tim listens carefully thinking everything over in his head to try and figure out what it is that’s wrong.

“And she didn’t say anything?” Tim presses, wanting to get as much information out of the two as he can.

“She didn’t say anything. She said she was fine but I don’t fully buy it.” Lucy says, watching Tim carefully as he nods, carefully listening to every word she says.

“I’ll keep an eye on her. I don’t want to force her to tell me anything unless she’s ready to. But thank you for letting me know.” Tim says, nodding appreciatively at the two as they offer a small smile each before they decide to head home, both of them bidding Tim a quiet goodbye before they leave the house, leaving Tim alone with his thoughts until you appear in the doorway to the living room.

“Did Lucy and Jackson go home?” You ask, immediately noticing that the two are no longer in the house.

“Yeah, they left not too long ago. Sorry, I should’ve let you know they were leaving.” Tim apologises, watching as you shake your head with a small smile.

“I’ll see them again soon enough, it’s fine.” You say, assuring Tim that it was okay. In response, Tim nods with a tight-lipped smile as he gets to his feet.

“You hungry? I was going to make some dinner.” Tim asks, watching as you nod quietly, following him to the kitchen, sitting at the kitchen island and watching as Tim starts to get out various ingredients.

“Where’s Kojo?” Tim asks, noticing the lack of Kojo’s presence.

“He must’ve worn himself out on our walk because he hopped up on my bed and fell asleep before I’d even started my homework.” You say with a laugh.

“Well, we’ll let him sleep then. How else is he going to get the energy to drag me around on tomorrow morning’s walk?” Tim jokes, making you shake your head, laughing at the image of Tim being dragged around by Kojo.

“We can’t let him miss out on his dinner though.” You say watching Tim shake his head with a smile.

“Oh, he’ll know when it’s time for his dinner. You know that.” Tim says as you recall all the times Kojo used to paw and whine at you and Tim when it got close to his dinner time. You help Tim make dinner and he keeps a close eye on you, seeing if he can pinpoint any unusual behaviours from you. By the time you’ve finished making dinner and sat down to eat, Kojo had emerged from your room and demanded his dinner which you gave to him after you finished eating. As you finish tidying up after yourself, you turn to face Tim.

“I’m going to finish off my homework. I’ll be in my room if you need me.” You say, receiving a quick nod from Tim before you head off to your room, settling down at your desk and opening your laptop. Unbeknownst to Tim, you had actually finished your homework relatively quickly and easily earlier in the day, instead of doing any schoolwork when you opened your laptop, you opened a new tab and quickly searched up the recent news in Los Angeles. Your eyes scanned the various headlines that popped up, searching to see if there was anything to do with your uncle and him potentially escaping from prison somehow. You could feel your heart pounding and feel your mouth drying up as anxiety begins to wind itself around every part of you. When you read through the entire day’s worth of news, you let out a soft sigh of relief at the realisation that your uncle was still in prison. Despite the reassurance, you couldn’t shake the anxiety off that easily. Even after reading the various news headlines, even refreshing the page several times to double-check that nothing new had come through but even multiple checks couldn’t put your anxious mind at rest. You then decided to try and take your mind off it by catching up on some shows you and your friends have been talking about. You managed to watch a few episodes, but the moment a plotline came up in one of the crime shows where it depicted a convict escaping prison, you had to close your laptop and walk away from your desk. Your anxiety was now in high drive and you didn’t know how to stop it.

As if he sensed your troubles, Kojo nosed his way into your room as you sat down on the end of your bed, propping himself up on your legs using his front paws and resting his head on your lap, whining softly as he looked up at you.

“Hey, buddy.” You whisper shakily, beginning to pet Kojo softly, feeling your pounding heart begin to slow at the comforting presence of the dog. Taking your subtle cue, Kojo hauls himself up onto the bed alongside you, laying himself fully across your lap, the weight of your beloved dog helping to ground you even further as you repeatedly stroke his head. You stay put with Kojo for a few minutes before you decide to get ready for bed, having had enough of the day. You settled in bed, reading one of your lighthearted books with Kojo at your feet, and after about twenty minutes, Tim knocked on your door, entering with permission.

“Hey, kid.” Tim greets you softly, crossing to your bedside and smiling down at you.

“Hey.” You greet, putting your bookmark into your book and closing it, looking up at Tim.

“Goodnight, if you need me you can come and get me,” Tim says, leaning down to give you a hug which you reciprocate with a smile.

“I know, goodnight Dad.” You reply quietly, your smile widening slightly when you feel Tim tighten the hug ever so slightly.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Tim says, releasing you from the hug, reaching down to pet Kojo and then making his way out of your room and back to his own room to go to bed. You choose to stay up a few more minutes, reading your book to put your mind at ease enough to fall asleep and when your eyelids begin to grow heavy, you put your book down, turned your light off and drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, you bolted up in bed, panting heavily with tears in your eyes and fumbling to switch your lamp on as Kojo lifted his head, watching you quietly.

“Sorry buddy.” You whisper, reaching over to pet Kojo. He lets out a soft whine, stretching over to rest his head on your lap, and you try to force the memories of the nightmare out of your head. As you sit there petting Kojo, you feel your mouth drying up in your anxiety so you gently move Kojo off your lap and head out to the kitchen to get a drink of water.

While you headed off to the kitchen, Kojo hopped off your bed and made a beeline to Tim’s room, pawing at the door to push it open enough for him to creep in. Kojo made his way into the room, propping his front legs on the bed and pawing at Tim, waking him up instantly.

“Kojo, go to sleep,” Tim says, cracking an eye open and seeing the dog watching him. When he attempted to close his eyes, Kojo pawed at Tim once more, whining and making Tim open his eyes again, this time propping himself up on his elbow as he switched his lamp on.

“What is it?” Tim asks, aware of how silly it is to be asking a dog for an answer but after seeing the almost worried look on Kojo’s face, he starts to grow concerned himself.

“Is something wrong with y/n?” Tim then asks, and at his words, Kojo pushes off the bed and walks over to the door, looking back at Tim over his shoulder as Tim pushes himself off the bed and follows Kojo as he leads him to the kitchen where you were stood cradling a glass of water, eyes full of tears as you stared out the window.

“y/n? What’s up, kid?” Tim calls out to you softly, not missing how you jumped at the sound of his voice before you turned to face him.

“I’m fine.” You try weakly, quickly lifting a free hand to wipe at the unfallen tears.

“Somehow I’m not convinced,” Tim says, a soft joking tone to his voice as he approaches you slowly.

“I just needed a glass of water, I promise I’m okay, Tim.” You try again and this time Tim shakes his head, knowing you weren’t okay.

“You can tell me what’s wrong. I promise I won’t be upset.” Tim says, standing opposite you and watching you carefully.

“Can we talk in my room?” You ask quietly, glancing over your shoulder and watching the window carefully as a sense of unease settles into your body.

“Of course. You head to your room with Kojo and I’ll be right behind you.” Tim says reassuringly, picking up on your nervousness and taking the appropriate action. You nod quietly, heading to your room with Kojo by your side while Tim stays behind, flicking all the lights off as he makes his way to your room before entering your room, finding you sat on your bed with Kojo practically curled up on your lap as you stroked him softly.

“Hey.” You say quietly as Tim pulls out your desk chair, pulling it alongside your bed and sitting on it, regarding you softly.

“What’s up, kid?” Tim asks as your focus drops to Kojo, a small smile appearing on your face as Kojo lets out a small huff of appreciation as you stroke him.

“Promise you won’t think it’s stupid?” You ask quietly, briefly looking up at Tim before focusing back on Kojo.

“I promise I won’t think it’s stupid. Whatever it is, it’s got you shaken up pretty bad.” Tim assures you softly, letting you know there would be no judgement.

“I keep thinking I can see my uncle everywhere I go. I think I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye and then I’m anxious for the rest of the day. I’m constantly checking the news to see if he escaped and I’m terrified that he’ll get out and if he does, he knows where I live. I keep having nightmares about what happened a few weeks ago. And I’m terrified he’s going to do it again.” You explain, tears welling in your eyes as Tim’s expression softens.

“He’s not going to get out. And in the very rare event that he does, he’d have to be prepared to get through almost all of the LAPD before he could hurt a hair on your head. I can promise you that.” Tim says, his voice never wavering as you reach up to wipe more unfallen tears from your eyes. At Tim’s words, you nod lightly, still not completely at ease but you found comfort in Tim’s willingness to protect you.

“You’d really get the LAPD to protect me if he got out?” You ask quietly as Tim nods.

“There isn’t one thing I wouldn’t do to protect you. I’d do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” Tim says, watching you as you smile despite your tears, carefully moving Kojo off your lap so you can embrace Tim who is of course quick to accept the hug, holding you close as he feels you relax.

“Thank you, Dad.” You whisper gratefully, burying your face in his shoulder.

“No need to thank me, y/n/n. I’ve got you.” Tim says softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before releasing you from the hug, watching as you sit back on your bed, giggling as Kojo sits up and takes the opportunity to lick your cheek.

“I’ll let you get some more rest. But if you’re still anxious and need me don’t be afraid to wake me up. Or send Kojo to do it for you.” Tim says, petting Kojo as he stands from your chair, putting it back behind your desk as you get back into your bed. Once you’re under the covers, you say one last goodnight to Tim before lying down as he leaves your room, leaving you to fall into a comforting sleep, knowing that Tim would move heaven and earth to keep you safe and that you’d be protected no matter what.

taglist (comment or ask to be added):

@starlightandsouls @whirlwind2005

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerd writes #unexpected bond universe #the rookie #the rookie abc #the rookie fic #the rookie fanfic #tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fic #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x teen!reader #x teen!reader

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damiansgoodgirll · 23 days

Note

Hey boo I love your stories so much and so while we wait for Don’t break my heart part 6 I was wondering if you could write something similar but with reader picking Finn side at first because she gets easily manipulated and so she believed him that he would have helped her but then she realised how sad and lonely she feels and Rhea and Damian bring her back with them and help her heal as they were both worried about her, and of course they weren’t mad she chose finn at first! Make it a little angst if you can❤️ I absolutely love your angst

love this request!

the judgment day x reader (platonic) / terror twins x reader (platonic)

likes, comments are reblogs are always welcomed!

‼️angst, finn being a manipulator, sadness, mention of anxiety and depression‼️

dolly’s choice

you still remember the day when finn, rhea and damian asked you to join them in the group. you didn’t exactly know why. you had nothing that could bring something to team, at least, that was your opinion.

you were a face, you were kind and sweet, a little bit naive, so why did the judgment day pick you?

they said they needed someone like you to get more fans and you believed them. but as you bonded with the group, they all took a liking in you. rhea said that she liked your personality, she saw you as a little sister. damian and finn both took you under their protective wings, the taught you new moves, showed you how to improve on the ring.

and in years, you felt like you had real friends again.

you were a solitaire. never had many friends, and when you started wrestling, it felt like you didn’t have much time to spend with the two friends you had left.

you told them about your past, about yourself. how you suffered from depression once you joined the company, how alone you felt and how you struggle with panic and anxiety attacks.

never once they judged you, they always helped you when you felt low and always made you feel like you were really part of their family too.

so you couldn’t understand why dom and finn turned on the group at summerslam.

dom said that it was because he couldn’t handle being controlled by rhea anymore and finn had the same reasons, just with damian. so the group you once knew as a big family, broke up.

and you were left in the middle.

you didn’t want to pick a side because you cared both for rhea and damian as much as you cared for finn and dom.

so you took the week right after summerslam off. you needed time to think. you didn’t want to choose between the only friends and family you ever had.

rhea and damian understood what you were feeling and never once they pressure you to join them. they care about you and they knew that the group was really important for you too. on the contrary, finn and dom kept calling you, asking you if you were alright, if you needed anything.

when you returned to raw, finn caught you before rhea and damian had the chance to speak with you.

“hey doll” his nickname for you always made you blush. referring to the doll he won for you at the fair one year ago, that became your nickname amongst the group, but it had more meaning only if finn used it.

“hi…” your voice a little softer. you hadn’t spoken with the team since summerslam happened, so, today it was your first time seeing them all after the events.

“do you have a couple of minutes before getting ready for your match? i would like to have a chat with you…” he smiled softly, knowing you and knowing exactly what tone to use with you.

you were hesitant at first, but you couldn’t say no to him “uhm…sure” so you took him into your changing room as you both sat down on the black leather couch, waiting for him to speak.

“first of all, i want to say how sorry i am for everything that happened a couple of weeks ago. but the group wasn’t working anymore and i know you may have not noticed this because we all care about you and we don’t have anything against you but…it wasn’t working anymore between me and damian and it wasn’t wasn’t working between dom and rhea…” he apologised first, knowing that you loved sincere people “the worst thing is that we didn’t think what this could lead to you… because i know you suffered from this…i saw it in your eyes when you left the stadium after summerslam” he took a deep breath “and i’ll never forgive myself for hurting you doll…that was never my intention”

“i appreciate your honesty” you smiled at him “but you wanted to ask me something if i’m not wrong?”

he took everything in himself to not lie to you, because he really cared about you, but right now all that was on his mind was revenge, and his idea of using you to get revenge on damian and rhea sounded more appealing to him “you’re right doll… there’s something that i wanted to ask you”

“go on”

“this new group is missing an important piece and that piece is you. me, dom, liv, jd and carlito…it feels like the group isn’t compete yet” he took your hands into his bigger ones “i know you’ve always struggled with making friends and i assure you that we would be so happy if you joined us… you already know the rest of the group and you know how much we love you…you and liv would be good friends, she’s such a sweetheart, she’s always kind and caring and she would be such an amazing tag team partner for you…and in all honesty, i miss you…i can’t stand to see you hate on me, i would hate myself too…you’re too important for me doll” and you believed him.

the way his voice sounded, full of emotion and honesty. the way he let a few tears fall. and the way he played the “friends card” so well, hitting you in your weakest spot.

it was enough for him to convince you to join them.

you will never forget the faces of damian and rhea when they first saw you with the group. they weren’t mad. they could never be mad at you. they were worried and a little disappointed. they wondered what finn had might said to you to convince you. what kind of sick mind tricks he had to use on you.

“that was amazing” dom laughed, kissing liv’s head, referring to the show that just aired. they completely destroyed rhea and dom, making you feel uncomfortable and guilty as you didn’t want to cause them any harm.

“yup” finn laughed “and i’ll never forget the faces they had when they saw y/n with us, right doll?” his arm took you closer to him, as if he wanted to hug you.

you faked a laugh, feeling uncomfortable and helpless.

“you’re the last piece we needed for our revenge on them” liv added, making the group agreeing with her.

wait - revenge?

finn never said anything about revenge. what was this coming from?

“next week it’s gonna be and you against rhea” liv said, making the group smirk.

“what?” you were confused knowing that you didn’t have any booking for next week.

“i’m gonna go against rhea next week and you’ll come out to help me” she laughed.

“she’s gonna be so heartbroken when she’ll see you with liv” dominik smirked, kissing liv one more time before moving somewhere else quieter with her.

“finn what are they talking about?” you asked him, not understanding what was going on.

“doll…” he sighed “you are a part of this group now and as a group we act together…”

“yeah, not against rhea and damian…you never said anything about going against them…you never mentioned me going against rhea” you didn’t want to cry in front of him, you were trying your best to keep your feelings inside.

he realised he hurt you, he knew he played with your feelings just because having you on his side was going to benefit him “you know that liv can’t win against rhea all by herself…she needs a little push”

you left them room before he could finish his speech.

tears were rolling down your cheeks. you wanted to leave the arena and find some quiet place to cry.

rhea and damian saw you in the distance. they couldn’t see your face really well but they saw you walking fast, trying to figure where to hide.

you found a good spot to hide. you sat on the emergency stairs and let all of those sobs you tried to keep down, out. you couldn’t believe you were so stupid to believe that finn really cared about you. you should have realised it sooner that the only reason he wanted you in the group was because he wanted to use you to get revenge on the pairs and not because he really wanted you in the group.

your cries broke rhea and damian’s heart.

they followed you, wanting to make sure you were okay and when they saw that you were not, they couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened to make you react like that.

you heard someone sitting next to you on the stairs but your eyes were still closed and your hands were still covering your face.

rhea’s arm moved to circle you, making you lay your head on her shoulder “sweetheart…what’s going on?”

when you heard rhea’s voice your eyes immediately opened up. you were met with the terror twins worried expressions.

“i’m so fucking stupid…” you whispered.

“hey, none of that…” damian’s hard voice said “absolutely not”

“but it’s the truth damian…i was so stupid to believe finn’s words and i’m so sorry for everything that happened tonight, i know you guys hate me now and”

“we don’t hate you y/n” rhea’s voice confessed “we could never hate you…we care about you too much…we were so worried when we saw you crying”

“finn said that i was the missing piece, he said that the team wasn’t complete without me and i believed him…he said how liv and i would be great friends, how he cared for me…only for him to say how happy he was when he saw you being disappointed that i picked him instead of you…”

“finn manipulated you y/n” damian said “he played mind games with you and none of what happened tonight was your fault, believe me…”

“but”

“no buts…damian is right…i was so worried when i saw you with them…i would have preferred you choosing by yourself, i would have preferred you going against us because it was your own choice and not someone else’s decision…doll” that nickname in rhea’s tone sounded kinder and more genuine now “it’s your life and it’s your choice to make…”

“i…i don’t want them…i, i can’t go against you next week rhea…they wanted me to distract you so liv could win against you but i can’t…” you cared too much for the duo to turn your back on them.

“then don’t do it…you don’t have to side with us…you could just be neutral…and we will always care about you, no matter what” damian gently wiped your tears away.

“i want to team with you if you still want me…”

rhea and damian both smiled, saying yes.

“we can’t be twins though…we are three now” you said, a little disappointed, knowing that you might have ruined it for them ad the fans.

“nope, not twins, family” rhea smirked, her eyes meeting damian’s “the terror family”

“la familia del terror” damian whispered in spanish “i like how it sounds” making you chuckle.

that night they took you back to the hotel, both planning how to get their revenge on liv and especially finn for even thinking of messing with you.

in the end, you were happy you got to make your own choice.

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 1 year

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how to write a character who suffers a PTSD from their past toxic relationship, how they can react / what they might say in certain situations

trigger warnings for abuse, domestic violence, ed

how they can react in certain situations

✘ avoid making eye contact, but will look up to meet caretaker’s eyes immediately if caretaker tells them to — for instance, caretaker is concerned about whumpee who keeps their gaze on the floor all the time; so, without thinking, caretaker says, “ look at me”. it doesn’t matter if they say it in a soft, comforting tone, they immediately regret it because whumpee quickly jerks their head up to meet caretaker’s eyes, fully thinking caretaker will hurt them if they don’t obey.

✘ whumpee is used to receiving orders. they don’t understand the concept of saying no and not being punished for it. so anything caretaker asks them to do (keyword; ask, whumpee can absolutely say no), whumpee will comply whether or not they want to (but they will do their best to make sure it looks like they want to).

✘ avoid staying in a crowded room or even an open space. whumpee will most likely seek comfort from some quiet corner where they’re away from anybody and nobody can bother them.

✘ an open space where there’s no one around can also bother whumpee, because it’s not just about being surrounded by a lot of people that’s triggering to whumpee. being alone in an open space can make whumpee feel extremely exposed, like an easy target.

✘ so mostly, whumpee will seek some quiet corner where they are alone and aren’t easily seen.

✘ they don’t like being the center of attention or being talked about. because this can also make them feel vulnerable, uncomfortable and exposed.

✘ physical touch that comes with no heads up, the ones that catch whumpee off guard, can result in a terrible reaction from whumpee, even if it’s an act of affection (a hug, a friendly pat on the shoulder, etc), because whumpee has already associated all kind of physical contact with pain and violence. so if someone touches them, they reflexively expect it to hurt.

✘ being jumpy in general. they may flinch away at any loud noise, any physical touch.

✘ lack of opinions in general. if they have to engage in a conversation where more than two people are talking about something, whumpee will remain quiet. not because they’re shy but because they 1.) think their opinions don’t matter 2.) are afraid they might say something wrong that’ll get them punished 3.) don’t want to risk speaking out of turn.

✘ whumpee expect themself to be punished if they make a mistake, doesn’t matter how small the mistake is — for instance, whumpee accident knocks over a glass of water, causing it to shatter, and immediately starts to panic, because they believe they will get punished for it.

✘ the rules whumper previously set for whumpee may still be effective for whumpee, even if they’re with caretaker now; whumpee still follows whimper’s rules because 1.) it’s an old habit 2.) they just want to stay safe.

✘ they can react poorly to food. whumpee may have no appetite at all, and can develop a wave of anxiety that can lead to nausea if they’re forced to eat. (this doesn’t mean caretaker is supposed to just let them starve though, only that it can be challenging and caretaker has to be very careful about how they approach this, how they handle the situation to help whumpee.)

✘ insomnia. whumpee having trouble sleeping at night, this can cause them to feel tired during daytime.

things they can say in certain situations

✘ “it’s okay.”

✘ “I’m used to it.”

✘ “I can be good. I’ll be good.”

✘ “I don’t deserve this.” (on being shown kindness)

✘ “it’s what I deserve.” (on being hurt)

✘ “why are you kind to me?”

✘ “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” (on making a mistake)

✘ “please, don’t be mad at me.”

✘ “I’ll do better next time.”

✘ “you’re not angry?”

✘ “it’s up to you”

✘ “either is fine with me.” (on being asked to pick something or to give an opinion)

✘ “it’s my fault.”

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querenciasturniolo · 9 months

Text

ghost ⮕ s.t.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: depictions of death (no active murder), mentions of death, mentions of vomit, blood, suspense, anxiety, fear, swearing

summary: murders in los angeles have been happening left and right, and right as you think it couldn’t get any worse, one of your best friends is gone.

a/n: this took much longer than it should have, and for that i’m sorry, but i have a few things to say beforehand. this was inspired by multiple edits, two separate convos i had with @floofparker and @champangekisses , scream being one of my FAVORITE scary movies, and, of course, the iconic “WHO’S MOST LIKELY TO BE THE GHOSTFACE KILLERRRR” from chris. this took FOREVER, but i’m so proud of it and so excited to put it out. this is pretty reminiscent to the movie, but i added my own little spin on it. PLEASE read the bolded disclaimer and take it to heart, i don’t think anything that goes down in this fic would actually happen, hence the name fanfiction. it’s supposed to be unrealistic, that’s the point. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

Twenty year old social media star Christopher (Chris) Sturniolo was found dead outside of his Los Angeles home on September 22, 2023. His brothers, who he made comedy videos with on multiple platforms, Nicolas and Matthew Sturniolo, claim their brother had been out with long-time friend and fellow content creator, Y/f/n Y/l/n, hours before.

Nick and Matt told police moments before they rushed out to find their brother with multiple stab wounds, they heard yelling and a struggle. When they reached Chris, the assailant was gone. Y/n hasn’t spoken about their day together prior to his death, and has refused to answer any questions asked. Her and Matt Sturniolo seem to have ended their year-long relationship shortly after this tragedy, but we all want to know why. Was there an affair? Was the guilt too much to keep the secret after Chris’ death?

On October 13, 2022, Y/n’s brother was murdered brutally, and their mother suffered a very public breakdown. The assailant in her brother’s case has yet to be found.

Chris Sturniolo’s murder was the fifth in a little less than two months. Police have yet to tell the public any of their leads in this string of serial murders, but have disclosed that they are far from closing these cases.

The article had only been out for an hour, and your Instagram and Tiktok were already being swarmed with notifications. So many, that you had to delete both apps off of your phone to keep it from crashing.

You hadn’t left your bed since that day, only to get something to eat and some water when you ran out—you couldn’t even go to the funeral. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer your phone, you couldn’t even answer the countless messages you scrolled through in the days following your best friend’s death.

Today was the day, you decided, that you were going to do something. Three weeks couldn’t have been too late to get your shit back together. You had woken up in the late afternoon and gotten into the shower, standing under the hot spray for what felt like forever and just allowing yourself to relax and release any tension in your body.

You had made a full meal for the first time since…that morning. You were nauseous the entire time you ate, but you had to do this. When your brother died, everyone told you that the best way to get through your grief was to continue your regular routine as much as possible. Filming a video was on your to do list. You weren’t going to post it, it was just for you to get back into the routine of talking to a camera.

Setting up your camera was the hardest part. You knew how to do it blindfolded by now, but the thought of doing anything like this, even if you weren’t going to post it, felt wrong, almost. It felt wrong to look into a camera and talk about that day, talk about your last day with Chris.

You sat down on your couch after pressing record and ran a hand over your face, finally looking into the lens and sighing.

“It’s been awhile.” You started, rolling your eyes at the corniness of your statement. “I don’t even know why I said that, I’m not even posting this.” You grumbled, dropping your head into your hands and carding your fingers through your hair. The burning in your throat started, and you continuously fought through the knot and forming tears.

You looked up again, hoping your eyes didn’t look as red as they felt. “I picked Chris up at ten fifteen, and we spent the entire day together. We went thrifting, as much as he complained the whole time.” You said, a ghost of a smile forming on your face as your eyes focused elsewhere.

“He, oh my God.” You said, chuckling to yourself and shaking your head. “He would throw whatever I had in my hands in the basket and ask if we were done yet, every time I picked something up. I don’t know what his problem was, considering he had gotten a few things too.” You said, sighing softly and glancing over at the camera.

“We went to lunch—that honestly sounds more fancy than it is, we stopped at In-n-Out—and we just came back to my house afterwards. We talked about…a lot of things.” You started, tears pooling in your eyes as you closed them and let yourself remember.

“We talked…we talked about life, and getting older.” You said, dropping your head back and looking up at the ceiling. “Fears, hopes and whatnot. We talked about everything.” You said, sighing softly as the remnants of Chris’ voice in your memory sang through.

“I don’t know what I want right now. I’m grateful that I’m doing so well, but in five years, where will I be?”

“It started getting late, so I took him home. He told me to come in if I wanted, but I…I was tired, I wanted to go home. He…he got out of the car, and I didn’t. I never...” You dropped your head in your hands again, your breathing labored as you fought off the guilt that had been deteriorating you for the last three weeks.

You lifted your head, about to stand and turn off your camera when your phone buzzed next to you. You sighed and flipped it over, frowning at the screen.

No Caller ID flashed before you. Usually you’d ignore the call, but something in you couldn’t resist as you slid the icon over and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked, your voice quiet and shaky.

“It was your fault, you know.”

You’d never ended a call so fast, your phone hitting the couch as you stared down at it with wide eyes. The voice was distorted, completely unrecognizable, but familiar at the same time. This was some sick joke, it had to be. You took a deep breath and shook your head.

You stood and walked over to your camera on weak knees, stopping the recording and taking your camera off of the tripod. As you shut off the camera, your phone buzzed on the couch. A sigh left your lips as you placed the camera on the coffee table and ran your hands through your hair.

What was the worst that could happen, right? You picked up your phone, No Caller ID still flashing across the screen. You slid the icon over again and pressed your phone to your ear.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

Your entire body went on high alert. “Who is this?” You asked, your voice trembling.

“That’s not important, what’s important is I know what really happened that day.”

All of the air left your lungs as you shakily sat down on the couch. “What are you talking about?” You asked. A dark chuckle rang through the receiver, your heart pounding in your ears as you waited for an answer.

“You didn’t wait for him to get inside, did you, Sweetheart?”

A broken sob left your lips as you hung up the phone and dropped it, your whole body shaking with each shattered cry that escaped you. The guilt was too much, it was the only thing about your last day with him that you couldn’t bring yourself to even say.

You blame yourself for Chris’ death, if you had just waited a few moments for him to get in the door, none of this would have happened. It was killing you every single day, not knowing if your being there would have changed anything.

You ignored the next call, and went through your contacts. Your finger hovered over Matt’s name, your chest aching as you swiped out of his contact, clicked the one under it, and held your phone to your ear. Before Nick could even finish his greeting, you were straining to get your words out of your mouth through the knot in your throat.

“Nick, something is wrong. Please, please come over.” You whispered into the phone, trying your best to keep your voice steady as his silence on the other end made your skin crawl.

“I’ll be there soon.”

You put your phone on the couch and took your time pacing around your living room.

Nick would be here soon, there was no reason to panic. The person on the phone was nothing, no one. Your phone’s incessant buzzing pulled you out of your pacing. You were frustrated now, the guilt and pain that you’d been holding in for so long was finally out in the open and slapping you right in the face.

How did they know? You hadn’t told anyone, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say it out loud.

It didn’t matter, the person on the phone had no idea what they were talking about, which sounded about as stupid as you thought it did, but it was the only thing keeping you from pulling your hair out of your head.

You pulled your phone from the couch and answered, the buzzing driving you up the wall.

“Listen, I’ve already called the police, and they’re tracing this call right no—”

The laughter on the other end cut you off, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as that sickening, metallic voice rang through the receiver.

“Oh, Sweetheart. We both know that isn’t true. I do know, however, that your little friend and boyfriend are on their way right now. Care to explain how they’re going to help you?”

Every hair on your body stood on end, your chest aching with the intensity of each beat against your rib cage. You fish-mouthed, unable to get any words out as the voice continued.

“How are they going to stop me, hm? How are they going to keep me from gutting you the same way I did your dear old friend, Chris? Or your brother?”

You froze, your gaze stuck to the floor as each word processed in your mind. “My brother?” You whimpered, a sinister chuckle vibrated against your ear.

“You heard me, Sweetheart. He put up quite the fight, too. More of a fight than your little friend.”

“Shut up!” You screamed into the receiver, hanging up the phone and throwing it across the room. You could distinctly hear the shatter of your screen as you crumpled in on yourself.

Michael’s murder had completely destroyed you. Your entire world was uprooted, and your mom, your mom hasn’t been the same since. She spends her days sitting in a rocking chair in front of the window, rocking slowly back and forth in a daze.

You’d never shaken more in your life, your entire body twitching and fighting each movement you tried to make as you stood from the floor. You needed to get up, you couldn’t let yourself stay on the ground or you’d never move.

Before you reached your kitchen, the sound of a knock at the door had you jumping out of your skin. It took everything in you to walk to the door and peek out the peephole, ripping it open the moment you registered Nick and Matt standing on your porch.

You hadn’t said a word before they rushed in and wrapped you in the tightest hugs you’d ever experienced in your life. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you pushed the door shut and held them tightly.

“I’m so sorry.” You sobbed, both of their arms holding you as you completely crumbled. “I didn’t wait for him to get inside, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, he’d be here right now if it wasn’t for me. I’m so fucking sorry.” You rambled. Neither of them spoke, but their shoulders shaking softly against you answered the silent question of if they were listening.

When you finally pulled away, you were still shaking like a leaf. The guilt of holding it in for so long had been washed away, but the fear of that voice on the phone was still running rampant.

“No one blames you.” Nick said, his eyes rimmed red. “We’ve never blamed you. So you don’t need to worry about that.” You glanced at Matt, who’s eyes were still on the floor before you met Nick’s eyes again. “What happened?”

You sniffed and shook your head as you wiped at your face. “Nothing, it’s fine. It isn’t important.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around your abdomen as your eyes rested on Matt’s hunched frame. Nick sighed from where he stood and ran a hand over his face.

“I’ll leave you two to talk, but then I want to know what happened.” He said before he turned and walked towards the living room.

For what felt like hours, you and Matt stood across from each other in the mudroom of your childhood home, you staring at him, and him staring at the floor. When his eyes finally met yours, it felt as though your heart shattered and mended itself all at once. You hadn’t seen him since before Chris’ death, and the only message you’d sent him since then was telling him that the two of you needed to break up.

He looked as beautiful as he always had, but he looked different. Under his eyes were dusted in a dark purple, the whites of them tinged pink, his cheeks sunken in.

“Matty,” you whispered and took a step forward. He shook his head and looked back down at the floor.

“Why?”

It took everything in you not to wrap him in your arms and never let go. You knew exactly what he was asking you, and you knew the answer. It had taken these three weeks of you doing nothing more than surviving to realize you had no other reason to break up with Matt, other than the fact that looking at him would remind you of Chris, and you couldn’t handle it. It was selfish, and you could only imagine how he felt.

“I…I don’t have a good reason.”

Matt nodded and sniffed before looking up and meeting your eyes. The blue of his iris’ was striking against the red rimming his eyes. Your own eyes were burning as his gaze scanned over your face.

“Is it true?”

You frowned, confusion clouding your mind as he sighed and shook his head.

“What the article said, about you and Chris. Is it true? Was there…did you…”

You gasped as the realization hit you of what he was asking.

“Matt, what? I would never, I could never do that to you. I didn’t look at Chris like that, you know that.” You rambled on.

Matt nodded. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, just…a moment of weakness, I didn’t mean it.” He mumbled, taking a step closer to you. “Why did you end…us? I needed you, and you just…you shut me out.”

You took a deep breath in through your nose and shook your head. “I couldn’t bear looking at you and seeing him. I know, that’s selfish, and I’m sorry.” You whispered.

“I shattered the mirror in my bathroom the other night.”

You looked up, your eyebrows furrowed as Matt held up his hands. A gasp left your lips and you reached forward, delicately taking his cut up and bruised hands in yours. Before you could ask him why, he answered the silent question brokenly.

“Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw him.” You met his eyes again, and didn’t stop yourself as you pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace.

“I’m sorry, Matty. I should have been there.” You mumbled into his shoulder, his arms tightening around your waist as he breathed you in. Neither of you said anything, just held each other for as long as the other needed.

“Um, Y/n? Did you do this on purpose?”

You pulled away from Matt and turned around, seeing Nick holding your shattered phone in his hand. You sighed and nodded, the fear you’d completely forgotten about creeping up.

“I was getting prank phone calls, it’s not that big of a deal.” You mumbled, pulling away completely and walking towards the living room.

“What kind of prank phone calls would make you shatter your phone?” Matt asked quietly, you turned to face him and shrugged your shoulders, trying desperately to hide the shaking of your hands. You didn’t want to talk about it, you couldn't talk about it. If you talked about it, that would make it real.

Before you could even sit on the couch, Nick’s phone was went off in his pocket. Your heart pounded as he pulled it out and looked down at it with a frown.

“No Caller ID?” He mumbled, your jaw dropping as he pulled it to his ear. It was a few moments of silence before he met your eyes and handed it to you. “They asked for you.”

You whimpered as you took the phone and pressed it to your ear, not saying a word as the mechanical voice spoke again.

“You really thought smashing your phone would get rid of me, Sweetheart?”

“What do you want?!” You cried, the other line buzzing in silence for only a moment before Matt stepped forward and almost snatched the phone from your hand.

“I’m upstairs, come find me.”

The line beeped right as Matt grabbed the phone and pressed it to his ear. You froze in your spot, Matt turning to face you and dropping Nick’s phone on the couch. He grabbed your shoulders and shook you once lightly.

“What did they say? Baby, breathe. What did they say?!” Matt asked, his grip on your shoulders tight as you fought off the panic.

“He’s in the house. He’s in the house.” You whispered, your eyes meeting Matt’s. Nick moved from his spot and stopped right next to Matt, his eyes wide as he scanned your face.

“Y/n, who is in the house?” He asked, his voice quiet in shock. You shook your head, nausea overtaking you as you pushed past Matt and sprinted to the kitchen. You couldn’t make it to the trash, turning and vomiting into the sink, your breaths heaving as you felt a warm hand rest on your back.

It took everything in you not to crumple to the floor as you looked up and shook your head.

“H-He told me he’s the one that killed Michael…and C-Chris.” You whispered the last word, your throat burning and your stomach lurching. Matt’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“How long have you been getting these phone calls?” He asked, his voice shaky as Nick handed you a bottle of water.

“It’s only been the last couple of hours, I thought it was some sort of sick prank until—”

A shatter from upstairs had your entire body tensing, your breath catching in your throat. Nick’s head whipped to the stairs as Matt reached for a knife and turned away.

“What are you doing?” You asked, grabbing his arm tightly and making him face you. Nick had his phone dialed and already pressed to his ear, speaking quickly to the 9-1-1 operator.

“I’m fucking going up there.” He said, pulling his arm from your grip and continuing his way towards the stairs.

“Matt, are you stupid?” Nick asked, stepping in front of the staircase as he hung up the phone. “The police are being dispatched, don’t do anything rash.” Matt shoved past Nick and ascended the stairs, his knuckles white on the handle of the knife. Nick groaned and faced you fully. “What are we gonna do?” He asked.

“We can’t just let him go up there by himself.” You whispered, walking past Nick and slowly stepping up the stairs.

“Jesus, you guys are gonna get us killed.” Nick grumbled from behind you. You heard a shuffle in the kitchen and turned, seeing him follow you up with a knife in his hand. “What? One of us had to grab something.” He whispered. You faced forward again, listening for any bump or creak that could indicate where Matt or the man that was in your house were.

It was silent as you walked through the upstairs. Each door you passed was closed, the only sound upstairs being the sound of Nick’s and your footsteps, and the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Matt?” You called out, the back of Nick’s hand hitting your shoulder. You looked at him, bewilderment etched into your face.

“Have you never seen a scary movie? Calling out in a dark house is the number one way to fucking die.” He said through his teeth. You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to fire back.

“Get off of me!”

You jumped, your head whipping down the hallway to see a door slam. “Matt!” You shouted, running without thinking towards the door and shoving it open. The moment you stepped into the center of the room, you knew something was wrong. The door clicked behind you, and you froze in place.

“Look what we have here.”

You turned, your eyes meeting Matt’s. His entire demeanor changed, the heartbroken boy you’d seen before was gone. In his place, stood what you could only describe as a monster. His eyes were dark, his smirk sinister, and his shoulders were square.

“Matty?” You asked, Nick coming from behind him with an almost identical smirk.

The both of them chuckled and looked between each other. Nick stepped forward, causing you to take a quick step back.

“Oh, Honey. Matty’s been gone for a while.” His hooded eyes stared you down as you fully processed what was truly happening. The both of them had tricked you.

You took in a shaky breath past the knot in your throat as you took another step back.

“You?” You exhaled, your eyes switching between them as their smirks grew impossibly wider. Matt rolled his eyes and looked over to Nick.

“Us?” He mocked, meeting your eyes and taking a step closer to you. “Yes, Baby. Us. Is that so surprising?” He teased, your eyes brimming with hot, salty tears. The cool air in the room had them burning, and your throat felt like it was on fire.

“You two were behind the murders all along?” You asked, your voice barely reaching a whisper as they moved closer to you almost strategically, boxing you in with each step they took.

Nick chuckled and nodded his head, his eyes never leaving yours as he cocked his head to the side. “She’s catching up, Matt. Yes, every single one.” He said, his voice thick with venom.

“But why?” You whimpered, your back hitting the wall. You were cornered, you couldn’t get past them no matter how hard you tried. Nick and Matt’s eyes were wicked as they watched you, Matt’s smirk growing as he glanced over at Nick.

“Hear that, Nick? She wants a motive.” He said, his eyes meeting yours again. “It isn’t enough that we just felt like it?”

“You killed Michael in cold blood, just because you felt like it?” You spat. Nick quirked an eyebrow and lightly ran the tip of his finger over the blade of the knife he was holding.

“See, now you’re getting it. Not everyone needs a motive, some people are just sick and twisted.” He pouted at the end of his sentence, anger flushing through you and coating your skin in heat.

“And Chris?” You asked. Matt chuckled and shook his head.

“You really can’t be that dense, Baby.” He said.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” You said through gritted teeth.

“It was only a distraction. We were getting sloppy, and what’s better to get the cops off of our case than getting rid of one of us?” Nick interrupted. You shook your head.

“Murder isn’t a distraction, you sick fucks.” You spat, looking around the room for any escape.

Matt chuckled, and flipped the blade in his hand. “Oh, Baby. You really aren’t understanding, are you?”

Before you could spit in his face, the door behind them was pushed open, your eyes shifting to the shadowed figure walking into the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as realization slowly set in, a broken cry leaving your lips as you shook your head.

“No.” You whispered.

The white mask on his face would have been comical if every hair on your body wasn’t standing on end. You watched each movement closely, your knees buckling as you slid to the floor. The wood was ice cold as the man crouched down in front of you. He pulled the mask from his face, your choked sob being caught in your throat as you shook your head and looked down at the floor.

His warm finger rested on your chin and he lifted it up until your eyes met his, a broken whimper leaving your lips as you met the familiar blue eyes you’d looked into a million times before.

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” Chris said, his voice gravelly and rough as it left his smirking lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

tags: @lvrsparadise , @ssturniolo , @floofparker , @cat-loves-music , @geniejunn , @its-jennarose , @dwntwn-strnlo , @20nugs , @hiraethlimerence , @lavieenvalentina , @strniolo , @toyourloves , @jellybeanbby , @thetriplets3 , @mxriverse , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @tylerscreat0r , @angelcake-222 , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo , @soursturniolo , @bernardenjoyer , @mxqdii , @leah-loves-lilies , @mattsnutsack , @lovelysturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #scream #scream inspired #sturniolo #querenciasturniolo #nick sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo imagine #ghostface

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lambtotheslaughterr · 4 months

Text

Something Wicked This Way Comes

A Rafe Cameron Oneshot

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 13.3k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

OONA'S MASTERLIST

request for @namelesslosers

requests are currently CLOSED

all AI images are created from prompts i wrote. they are not real images.

Summary: Five years after escaping the cluthes of her violent ex, reader is preparing to spend Halloween night alongside her son, but she wakes that morning feeling something amiss...

it's Halloween, after all, & things are bound to give her a fright, even if it is her past catching up for a bite.

READERS, PREPARE YOURSELVES. I GIVE YOU...THE DARKEST FIC I'VE EVER WRITTEN.

It was like any other day. Except it wasn’t. From the moment you woke up, something was off. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was a tense sensation in the air around you. It left you feeling on edge all day, but you had summed it up to be your paranoia & anxiety kicking in because it was Halloween night. After all, it was a night of spooky scares.

What didn’t help relieve your unsettled nerves, was the fact that you had woken up late. It was a little past 7:30 in the morning when you finally rolled over to see the time. The red lights flashing at you on your alarm clock shocked you awake, causing you to stumble out of bed.

“Shit!” You hissed as you raced to your closet to pull out your outfit for the day.

“Louie!” You yelled from your bedroom, listening for any sign of your son being awake. When you didn’t get a response you tripped into the hallway as you struggled to throw your dress on over your head. You were relieved you showered before bed, otherwise you would have dreaded going to work without one.

“Lou?!” You hollered again as you stumbled into his bedroom.

His bed was empty & unmade. You cursed again, knowing exactly where you’d find him next. Leaving his room, you succeeded in getting your dress on & tying the bow in the back before entering the living room. As expected, your son was on his stomach, his bent arms holding his head up as he watched cartoons. You spotted the bag of opened candy on the floor before him.

“Lou…” You sped-walk towards him as he kicked his feet.

He smiled up at you, that sweet innocent smile of his you loved so much.

“You overslept again, Mommy.” He pointed out.

You feigned surprise, “You don’t say. Maybe someone should have woken me up."

Bending at the waist, you picked your son up, cradling him on your hip as you searched for the remote to shut off the TV. Lou rested his on your shoulder, his fingers tangling into your hair as he rubbed the strands between his fingers.

“You were crying in your sleep again last night.” Lou revealed, making your heart stop. “I didn’t want to wake you up since you weren’t crying anymore.”

“Oh, hon.” You paused in the hallway to placed him on the ground, kneeling down to be eye-level with him, “I’m sorry you had to hear that again.”

Ever since you left your hometown, or rather ran away from there, you had the same nightmare. In the beginning they happened every single night, but now, almost six years later, they were few & far between. But it was Louie who suffered the most from them. You didn’t realize you were still having him until he was older & started talking. You remembered when he lied next to you in bed one morning, asking why you cried in your sleep. You never had any memories of the nightmares. But Louie remembered them for you.

“Was the bad man in your dream trying to hurt you again?” Lou bit his lip, a small bout of fear appearing in his eyes.

You tugged him into you, holding him tight against your chest as you hugged him, “All that matters is that it was just a dream.”

Lou wrapped his tiny arms over your shoulders, his hands never leaving your hair. That had been a comfort mechanism of his ever since he was an infant.

“I wish he would visit my dreams.” Lou shared softly, to which you gently pulled him away from you to stare at him bewildered.

“Baby, why would you want that?”

He lowered his eyes, “So you could sleep.”

Releasing a saddened sigh, you ran your fingers through his hair, “Mommy is fine, okay? You keep dreaming your excellent, beautiful dreams. One of us has to, right?”

Lou nodded at that but he wasn’t smiling.

Wanting to lighten the mood, you gathered his hands in yours, “I tell you what, you hurry up & go get dressed while Mommy finishes getting ready & we’ll take the long way to school so you can see the kitties, yeah?”

Louie beamed at that, “Really?!”

“Yes, really.” You kissed his forehead before standing up, “Now, hurry! We’re late as it is.”

Lou took off for his bedroom, cheers of joy left in his wake. You smiled after him before re-entering your bedroom. You closed the door behind you, resting against it momentarily as an old memory flashed before you.

You couldn’t breathe, one of his hands wrapped securely around your throat as he fucked himself into you. His pleased groans filled your ears, forcing more tears from your eyes. A chilled shiver shot up your spin when you felt his lips kiss the tops of your breasts where his teeth marks remained. The weight of his body crushed against yours & you had never felt more trapped.

“Mom!” Lou yelled from down the hallway, making you jump, “Can I wear my costume to school?!”

“Yes, baby!” You hollered back, hearing the unevenness in your voice. Shaking away the awful sensations of that memory, you finished getting ready for work.

Lou skipped ahead of you as you walked down the main street of your small town. You had moved here shortly after Louie was born, wanting him to live in a family town that had a good school system. More importantly, it was a close-knit community. Almost everyone knew everyone. That worked in your favor & made you feel safe. It meant that if anyone new ever moved to town you would know about it. Your neighbors were your last line of defense against the man you escaped from over five years ago.

“Look, Mommy, look!” Lou paused in front of the display window the cat adoption café. He had his face pressed against the glass, his ghoul makeup smearing as he did so. You laughed to yourself, knowing you would just have to re-do his makeup again before going into class with all the other ghosts & witches.

“Wow.” You mused along with your son as he meowed at the cats chasing his finger on the other side of the glass. Lou had been asking for a cat for his birthday ever since he was three years old. Whenever he saw one on the street or in a neighbor’s window, he would race towards it at lay on the ground with it as the feline in question would rub along his face & body, making him as one of their own.

But you always had to say no. A cat, or pet of any kind, would slow you down in the event you had to run again. There had never been a peep or warning from your few trusted friends back home, but you couldn’t risk it. You couldn’t live with yourself if you had to escape from your home with Lou at a moment’s notice, him crying over your shoulder as he begged for you to get his pet.

And that made you furious. That you couldn’t give your son something he truly wanted & loved because you had to be ready for when your past caught up to you.

As Lou continued aweing at the kittens behind the glass, you raised your head to peer inside the café. The elderly woman that was always there waved at you through the glass & you waved back. But as you did, you spotted another in the glass. Only they weren’t on the other side, but in the reflection. And they looked a lot like…

A panicked gasp escaped you as you spun around, staring wide-eyed across the street. But no one was there. Your heart was racing as you looked down the street every which way. But all you saw were other townspeople going about their Friday morning.

It’s in your head, _____. You calmed yourself. He’s not here. It wasn’t him. It’s just your paranoia.

Inhaling sharply, you stole Lou’s attention, grabbing his wrist softly, “C’mon, honey, we gotta go.”

Louie allowed you to drag him away from the kitty café, his arm outstretched in longing.

You saw Lou off to his kindergarten classroom before speed-walking down the hallway to the main office. It was a massive relief to you that you managed to land a job in an administrative position at Lou’s school before he even started. Before that you were waitressing while taking online classes at the local community college, & once you got your degree in business administration, you scored a front office desk job at the only elementary school in town. All you needed was to be close to Lou because you never knew when you’d have to snatch him & run.

“Hey, Miriam.” You greeted breathlessly as you raced into the office, tossing your purse on the floor under your desk.

“Hey, you.” She eyed you mischievously.

Miriam was well beyond her retirement period, but Principle Bentley couldn’t get rid of her if he tried. And tried he had. But it was all in good fun. Miriam was a staple of the school & the town itself. She was known as a hard ass but also a gossip queen. She always had all the tea o what was happening in the sleepy Northeastern town. It made your mostly mundane days more enjoyable.

“Overslept again, I see.”

“Yeah.” You sighed as you turned your computer on, “Don’t know what’s going on lately.”

“Something’s in the air.” She commented, echoing your silent thoughts from earlier that morning. “You should relax, though, hon. You’re always wound so tight.”

You raised your brows in agreement as you pulled up your morning duties, “Easier said than done.”

Miriam chuckled at that. The door behind your respective desks opened & Principle Bentley stepped out.

“Morning, ladies.” He greeted as he approached the coffee maker in the corner of the office.

“Morning, Nicholas.” Miriam didn’t care for referring to him by his career name, after all, she did babysit him when he was only a child.

“Morning, Principle Bentley.” You greeted him, to which he smirked sweetly.

“How many times do I gotta tell you, _____, call me Nick.”

Principle Bentley was young for his job. Thirty one, to be exact, & he was a well-known bachelor in the community. He was easy on the eyes, with dark brown eyes reminiscent of a puppy, & dimples that only added to his boyish charm. But he was your boss. And despite his mild flirtatious advances, you only treated him as such.

If you couldn’t indulge your son by getting him a cat, you sure as shit couldn’t indulge yourself with a romantic partner. It was out of the question. Perhaps one day, when Louie was older & out of the house, but until then, you kept your mind distraction free.

“And how many times do I have to tell you, you’re my boss.” You reminded him back, though your tone was friendly.

Principle Bentley chuckled at that before pouring himself a mug of coffee, “What’s on the agenda for today?”

You glanced back at your computer, knowing Miriam really only showed up to get paid & gabber with the mom’s & dad’s that came in to pick up their children.

“There’s an assembly just before lunch, the usual ‘stay safe out there on Halloween night’ spiel followed by some games the teachers put together. And then during final hour the kids will be going from class to class as a precursor to their trick-or-treating.”

He nodded in response, “Sounds like a normal day.”

You smiled, “Pretty much.”

“Alright, well, I trust you two to hold down the fort out here while I make some calls.” He began walking towards his office before stopping in the doorway, “_____?”

“Yes?” You spun around in your chair to face him.

“Before the assembly, I’d like to speak with you.”

“O-okay.” You fumbled, your fingers clenching together.

“It’s nothing bad. Just something I wanted to run past you.”

“Of course.” You nodded sheepishly. Then he closed his door.

Turning back to your computer, you rolled your shoulders, having felt them stiffen at his proposal to talk one-on-one.

“Why is it they always say, ‘it’s nothing bad’, when it is indeed something bad?” You murmured out loud, not truly expecting an answer.

“Nick?” Miriam chuckled, “Boy couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried. You’re not in trouble dear. If I had to guess…”

You rolled your eyes, recognizing that suggestive tone of your voice very well.

“Nick is finally going to put his big boy pants on & ask you on a date.”

You scoffed at that, facing her wide-eyed, “Miriam! He is not going to ask me on a date. He’s my boss!”

“Oh, pish, posh.” Miriam waved your dismissal away, “I met my husband working for him. It still happens.”

“No.” You chuckled, focusing on your computer as you read emails, “Not that. Besides, I already have a man in my life.”

“Your son, as cute as he is, doesn’t count.” Miriam told you bluntly.

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved her away before sarcastically responding, “Now, shut up. I have very important emails to get back to.”

Miriam left twenty minutes early for the assembly, leaving you to finish off your morning duties alone in the office. There was still five minutes to spare before the assembly started so you put your computer in sleep mode then stood up to head to Principle Bentley’s office.

Knocking gently, you waited until you heard the familiar sound of his voice, telling you to come in.

“_____!” He grinned, rising from his chair, “Please, take a seat.”

Despite what Miriam teased you about earlier, you still felt nervous. Though she was right about Principle Bentley being a good guy, you still felt like you had done something wrong.

“So, is this about my being late?” You questioned, your brows creasing.

“You were late?” He replied, clearly only hearing about it now.

“Oh…yeah.” You sighed, “I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again, I prom—”

“_____, it’s okay. You’re not in trouble. Miriam bails on her duties all the time & have I spoken to her about it?”

“Well, no, but it’s Miriam. No one really wants to cross her.” You joked, trying to lighten the anxiety bubbling in your chest.

“Sure, sure.” He nodded in agreement, “Look, I don’t mind if you’re late. You could be two hours late & it’d be fine. I mean, what are you gonna miss, signing kids in & out? It’s fine, really.”

“Okay.” You felt yourself relax, “If you say so.”

“I do.” He chuckled.

“So, what is that you wanted to discuss?”

Principle Bentley sucked his teeth in awkwardly before finally leaning forward on his desk, his elbows resting there with his hands raised, “I know it’s a long shot, but I was wondering if you’d be interested in getting lunch together today.”

“Oh.” You felt your smile drop. Oh. Miriam had been right.

“No pressure, either!” He rushed out, “I know how weird it’s gotta be having your boss ask you out but I don’t know, figured I’d at least try.”

“Yeah.” You chuckled awkwardly before gathering your thoughts, “The offer is nice, Nick. But—”

“Nick?” He asked incredulously but was smiling nonetheless, “Using my name? I know what that means.”

He was letting you let him down easily & you were grateful towards him for it.

“But I’m going to have to decline.”

“I understand.” He nodded, never losing his boyish smile.

“Ya know, in a perfect world, I—” You stopped yourself, unsure if you really wanted to say what you were about to say, but the look on Nick’s face encouraged you to keep going.

“In a perfect world, I’d say yes.” You admitted. Nick was a good guy. He always took care of you & Miriam. Plus he enjoyed working with the kids & all parents sung his praises. Nick Bentley was a good guy, & he’d be an excellent father. Truly, that was something you wish you could have given Lou, a father, but with your past still terrorizing you in your sleep, it just wasn’t possible.

“And what is a perfect world?” Nick asked, his voice soft.

You sighed, biting your lower lip in thought. “I love being a mother. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

For some odd reason, you were ready to tell someone your life story, or at least the nicer parts about it. Something indeed was in the air.

“But I had Lou when I was young, too young. I was nineteen. I wasn’t ready… & ya know, Lou’s father…” You inhaled sharply as those startling blue eyes of your ex flashed through your mind. “Let’s just say he wasn’t a good guy. I’m just not ready for another relationship. Or dating, even. I just want to focus on being a good mother to Lou.”

Nick eyed you with admiration in his eyes. He nodded in understanding, “Your son is very lucky to have you. I hope you know that.”

The praise made your heart falter with elation. Because you ran away from your hometown, & couldn’t risk your ex finding you, you were forced to cut off all communication with friends & family. No one had even met your son. Not your parents, not your best friend, no one. It was another aspect of your life that you were furious about. That Lou was forced to only call you family when he had so many more people out there who would love him just as much as you did. But to protect him most of all, you had to stay hidden. So, hearing those words from Nick made your heart swell.

“Thank you for saying that.” You replied almost inaudibly.

“Thank you for being transparent.” Nick responded in kind, “I can’t imagine it was easy to share.”

“No.” You chuckled openly, “It wasn’t. At all.”

“Well,” Nick stood from his chair, gesturing towards the door, “walk with me to the assembly?”

You laughed & clapped your hands as kids all over the gymnasium ran amok, your ghoulish son among them. After the usual ‘stay safe’ portion of the assembly, the kids were free to go around to booths the teachers had put together in the spirit of Halloween night. You took to the wall, your eyes following your son as he ran around with his friends, chasing one of the 3rd grade teachers dressed a ghost, playing a game they called ‘ghost hunters’.

Nick was in the midst of it all, getting tangled up with the kids as they either wrapped themselves around his legs or tried climbing his black. You hid your smile behind your hand as you watched on.

On the bleachers to your right was Miriam & a few other female staff members. They all appeared to be reacting in shock to something Miriam was saying. You were curious to what tea she was spilling so you found yourself joining them.

“Why the shocked faces?” You asked. One of the first grade teachers, Isabella, handed you a Styrofoam cup of hot apple cider. You accepted it gratefully.

“You haven’t heard?!” Sophia, one of the student teacher’s, turned to you in shock, “Someone broke into George Acosta’s barn last night & stole that ancient Chevy truck he’s been working on for ages.”

You frowned at that. You knew the truck well, everyone did. But only because it made these awful metal, grinding sound as it ambled down the roads throughout town. You could hear it from two blocks away most times as it backfired, alerting anyone in the vicinity that good old Mr. Acosta was out & about.

“I’m telling ya.” Isabella commented, “Whoever stole it has to be from out of town. No one is idiotic enough to steal from George. Remember when he threatened Sheriff Kaufman with a loaded shot gun just for pulling over a reckless driving teen on his property last year? Even the Sheriff was apologizing profusely to him.”

The women cackled amongst themselves but you weren’t laughing. The strange occurrence & Isabella’s theory about it being an out of towner made your stomach shift into knots.

It not him. It can’t be. Someone would’ve contacted you if he got wind of where you were. It was just a random crime, _____. It’s not him. You’re okay. Lou is okay. Calm down. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Ex—

“_____? My god, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Isabella placed a hand on your upper back in comfort.

You nodded shakily but stood up, “I’m alright. Just feeling sick all of a sudden.”

“You don’t look good, hon.” Miriam added, peering at you with concern.

“I’ll be fine.” You assured them, “I just need to use the restroom really quick.”

Everything was okay. It was just your paranoia, you knew that, but you couldn’t deny how ever since this morning you felt like something awful was coming. But you reminded yourself that it wouldn’t be the first time you felt that way & ended up realizing eventually that it was just your nerves & traumatic responses acting up.

“Nick.” You approached him as he assisted with the gym teacher in replacing a skeleton pinata with a pumpkin one.

“Hey!” He greeted jovially but frowned when he took in your state, “Whoa, you alright?”

“I’m not feeling well, all of a sudden. I don’t know what’s happening but—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He clambered down the ladder he had been on to gently grip your upper arms, “What do you need?”

“I know I was late this morning but would it be alright if I went home for the day? I just, I don’t want to get the kids sick if it’s something contagious.”

You were lying through your teeth, something you had gotten really good at, but it was for the right reason.

“Yeah, of course, of course. Is there anything I can do?”

Your eyes searched out Lou as he gathered around one of the teachers dressed as a warlock, listening intently to a story he was reading from a book.

“Yes, but it’s too much to ask for.”

“Hey.” Nick smiled kindly at you, “There’s no such thing, what is it?”

“Would you mind bringing Lou home after school? Normally I’d take him with me but he’s having too much fun & I don’t want to ruin his day. Plus, I have no car to pick him up & I don’t want him walking home from school alone.”

“Of course, yeah, I can do that, it’ll be no problem.” He nodded.

It took a long time getting comfortable about Lou being alone with anyone who wasn’t you, but after living in the close-knit community as long as you did, you knew that Louie would be in safe hands with whomever you left him with.

“Thank you, seriously, thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He stood up straight but remained watching you with concern, “What about you though? Do you need a ride home?”

“No.” You mustered a grateful smile, waving away his offer, “I’ll be okay. I just need to get home & take a cold shower or something.”

“Okay, yeah. Will you call me when you get there? Let me know you’re alive & what not.”

The two of you shared a laugh but you nodded, “Of course.”

“Alright. I’ll bring him back straight after school. You focus on feeling better.”

“Thank you, Nick.”

He gripped your shoulder in comfort before you parted from him to approach Louie. He was still listening to the warlock’s story when you appeared behind him.

“Hey, baby. Mommy’s not feeling well so I’m going home. Principle Bentley said he’d bring you home after school, okay?”

He spun around towards you, his youthful face frowning as he peered up at you, “Are you okay, Mommy?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, I just feel sick, that’s all.”

“Is it your dreams?”

“No.” You shook your head rapidly, cupping his cheek, “I just need to lie down for a while.”

“Okay.” He gave you that soft smile of his you adored so much.

“Mommy loves you.” You hugged him, kissing him three times on the crown of his head, “I’ll see you later, alright?”

“Bye, Mommy.”

“Bye, baby.”

After seeking out Lou’s teacher & asking her to walk him to the office at the end of the school day so Nick could drive him home, you were finally able to leave work. Fortunately, you only lived five blocks away, so you would be home in no time to get your head together. You hated lying to your coworkers, more so, your son, but you needed to get home to ensure that everything was still ready to go in case you & Lou had to run. Never in the five years that you had lived in your town had you ever had a nasty feeling like you did today. And although you knew it was likely just the eeriness of Halloween mixed with your paranoia, you chose to be safe rather than sorry.

But as you strolled home, your cardigan wrapped snugly around your front, you couldn’t help as your mind strayed to the past.

You were in love, maddeningly so. He was everything you could have dreamed of. And the way he looked at you always had you feeling like a schoolgirl with a silly crush. You could never have imagined that you would have found your prince. And that’s just what he was. He was your prince charming & you were his darling princess.

The two of you were inseparable. The honeymoon phase meant something new with the two of you. Your relationship was filled with laughter, friendship, trust, & most importantly, love. So much love. You never knew you could love anyone as deeply as you loved him, & you knew he felt the same.

And for the first year of your relationship it was pure bliss. Until it wasn’t.

Everything changed after you turned 18. You were ready to take your relationship to the next level. He had been ecstatic that you were ready to become intimate & finally have sex. It was how you knew he was one of the good ones, that he never pressured you or tried anything himself. He was respectful & kind & patient. Everything you dreamt about. But once you two did have sex, something changed in him. A darker energy you never knew he had emerged.

It started out small. He would become touchier. You had reasoned to yourself it was just because now that you two were having sex he was antsy for it all the time. But when the times came that you wouldn’t want, whether it was because you weren’t in the mood or weren’t feeling well, he would make snarky remarks under his breath. And then it shifted again.

He started to not want you going out with him, even if it was just to a friend’s house to watch a movie. He would text you the whole time, blow up your phone, leave you voicemails accusing you of not being where you said you were. Your friends pointed out to you that his behavior was problematic & that you should discuss it with. And so you did. Why wouldn’t you of? After all, you two had never had serious issues before. But you couldn’t have been more wrong.

The night you told him that he was beginning to make you feel suffocated would be a night you never forgot. He has lost his mind. You had never heard him yell before, let alone raise his voice, especially at you, but he had done it all that night. When he got to a point where you felt scared to be alone with him you had tried leaving but he wouldn’t have any that.

It was the first time he raped you. It wouldn’t be the last.

After the first time though, he had apologized profusely, swearing it would never happen again. He confessed to you that he was just scared of losing you & that you were giving him mixed signals lately. You didn’t understand that, knowing that in your own mind you were definitely not doing that, but he looked so scared, so terrified of losing you, that it had convinced you to stay with him.

You would live to regret it. His behavior didn’t change, it only got worse. But it eventually go to a point where you were practically chained to him. You stopped hanging out with your friends, quit coming out of your room to visit with your family, stopped posting about your life on social media. You became a scared little girl, & it was all because of him.

Then when you thought he couldn’t get worse, he proved you wrong.

The two of you had been attending a beach party. It was with his friends so you weren’t anticipating seeing any of your own, but one had been there. You had known Donovon your whole life, longer than any of your friends. Other than your closest girlfriend, Donovon was your next closest friend. So, when you saw him at that party, you were ecstatic to see a face you were forbidden to see.

It was your mistake putting Donovon in the devil’s path. Had you known what your boyfriend was capable of, you would have never taken him back. But that didn’t matter. When Donovon saw you, he snuck up behind you, capturing you by your waist & lifting you into the air. You had squealed in fear at first, genuinely scared due to your ex’s mental, emotional, & physical torment, but when you realized who it was, you only felt relief.

So, you hugged Donovon. Your oldest friend.

And it would be the last time you, that anyone did.

The devil had heard your screams of fear & came rushing forward furiously. You had no time to react or stop him as he tackled Donovon to the ground before beating him to a pulp. Donovon didn’t have a chance to defend himself as the devil knocked his head every which way. Others at the party managed to separate the two but the damage had been done.

Donovon was in the hospital for two weeks before his family took him off life support. Your boyfriend had murdered your oldest friend. And he got away with it, too. Witnesses at the party protected the devil, saying that Donovon had started it. That it was just a fight that got out of hand. No one knew that it would come to that. And most of all, your boyfriend’s father used his influence to ensure his son would never see a sentence. Not even for manslaughter.

Your boyfriend swore to you that he didn’t mean to lose it like he did but you saw that dark fury behind his eyes. He had. He had meant every single fist brought down onto your friend’s skull, & he would do it again.

You weren’t safe with him. That much you knew, but you didn’t know how to get away from him. At the time, you were preparing yourself to be one of the women you had seen in those domestic violence movies who couldn’t find their voice to tell anyone the truth. But that all changed when you took a pregnancy test & it came back positive.

That pink plus sign was all you needed to kick your flight instinct into gear. It took a couple weeks to get everything prepared, but you made it happen. They were the scariest weeks of your life because you were required to sneak behind the devil’s back to get the plan into place. After what he did to Donovon, it took little convincing from old friends & your parents to help you get out.

But you didn’t want them to get hurt in the process. So, once you had the funds, the drive, & a bus ticket out of town, you told all of those who helped you that you wouldn’t be in contact with them, too scared that if they knew where you were that your ex would do to them as he did to Donovon just to find out where you were. You couldn’t allow that, not again.

And so you ran, & you didn’t stop running until you reached the New England states. Throughout your relationship, you had revealed to your boyfriend many times how you dreamed of living in the Pacific Northwest. It would be the first place he looked for you. And he had the funds & means to do just that. So you went to the other end of the country, counting your days until he found you again.

The backfiring of a nearby engine shocked you out of your reverie. You blinked away your memories, realizing you were then only a block away from your house. The backfiring of a nearby engine sounded near the end of the street you were on & you froze, remembering what your coworkers at work had just told you about Georga Acosta.

You felt safe enough standing there on Main Street, surrounded by townsfolk as they went about their business, but you felt a chill roll up your spine. As if eyes were watching you. As if he was watching you.

Your flight instinct from long ago kicked in & you rushed into the nearest storefront. It was a Halloween store. The man behind the counter smiled politely at you as he continued helping a customer. You backed yourself up until you couldn’t be seen from the street but could still see the street yourself. As you did, the engine grew closer. You stood behind a shelf at the end of an aisle as you waited for Acosta’s truck to appear. For him to be behind the wheel.

But when the truck finally appeared, you felt a heavy weight lift from your shoulders. It was Chevy, much like Mr. Acosta’s, but not his. Instead, the truck that ambled down the street was filled to the brim with teenagers hooting & hollering as they wore Halloween masks, playing the iconic Halloween theme song on a boombox from the bed.

You fluttered your eyes closed, your hand on your chest.

“Miss, are you alright?”

Your eyes flew open at the nearby voice. It was the man behind the counter, the customer he had been helping gone.

“Yes, sorry.” You breathed out, a relieved smile on your face.

“Did you need to purchase something?” You could tell he was curious about you but didn’t push.

Your arm brushed against the shelves you had been hiding behind. On the display shelf was a witches hat. You quickly grabbed it.

“Just this.”

After paying, you felt safe enough to leave the store, now knowing your imagination was just that. Then you finished your walk home.

Someone was calling your name. It was like a whisper, close but far away at the same time. Your name was said again, over & over, & every single time it repeated it grew closer, louder. Until nothing. Then it was quiet.

Then a pair of lips touched your cheek.

You shot forward in bed, your face coated in sweat, your chest heaving. Your mouth & throat was dry. Holding your head in your hands, you focused on calming down your breathing. You touched your cheek where you had felt the kiss. It was warm to touch.

It was just a dream. You had fallen asleep, not meaning to, just wanting to lie down for five minutes but it seems your body had other plans. Once you gathered yourself, shaking away the nerves, you stood from your bed, your muscles aching. But as you did you halted immediately.

The door to your bedroom was open. Not all the way, just cracked open. You frowned. You were sure you had shut it. But ever since getting home, your mind had been a mess. All the anxiety & paranoia you were feeling was eating you away. You were losing it!

Brushing the concern for you door away, you exited your room, heading down to your kitchen. The clock on the stove read 2:32. School would have just gotten out, Nick would be here any moment with Louie. You chugged a glass of water & opened the fridge, peering inside to get a snack ready for Lou, though you imagined he would be bringing home plenty of candy from the trick-or-treat at school.

Just as you fingered a package of sliced ham, the doorbell rang. You felt your brows crease, checking the clock once more. 2:33.

They must have left school early. You thought mindlessly, knowing it was Nick with your son at the door.

Tossing the ham onto the counter, you rounded the kitchen to the front door. You unlatched the lock & swung it open.

“That was qui—” Your words died on your tongue.

There was no one. You frowned, stepping out onto your porch. Looking into your front yard & the neighbors, you saw no one in sight. Your street was quiet & bare of any life.

So, who rang the doorbell?

The question only left you reeling. Turning back to go inside, you stopped when something in the corner of your eye stole your attention. On the bottom step of the stairs leading to your porch was a few pumpkins you & Lou hard carved out together earlier that week. They appeared relatively normal except for one.

Warily descending the stairs, you gripped the banister when you finally realized what was wrong with the single pumpkin. The handle of a knife glinted under the autumn sun as it stuck out from the top of the pumpkin. You covered your mouth with your hand, whipping around to check your surroundings once more. There was no one in sight, not even Eugenia May—the town recluse—was peeking out from her window.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. You turned back to the pumpkin, kneeling down to inspect further. From what you could make out thanks to the cut-outs of the pumpkin, the knife was long, nearly piercing the other side.

Why would someone—

“Boo!”

A scream tore from your throat at the booming voice behind you.

Spinning around, you nearly toppled over before Nick managed to catch you by the elbow.

“What the fu—” Your son looked up at you with wide eyes, “—dge?!”

“Sorry.” Nick smiled uncomfortably, “It was your son’s idea.”

Your eyes danced between the two of them as your heart began to settle down. You hadn’t even heard the hum of an engine, let alone their footsteps as they came up the walkway.

“What are you doing outside, Mommy?” Louie asked, watching you curiously.

It was then that you remembered, too, why you were outside. You stepped in front of the pumpkin with the knife sticking out, grateful Lou had yet to see it.

“I was excited to you, baby.” You told him, ruffling his hair. He slapped your hands away playfully.

“Hey, why don’t you go inside & get a fruit snack, I’ll be in in a moment, I just need to talk to Principle Bentley.”

Louie charged forward. You smiled wryly, watching his small legs amble up the stairs & into the house.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Your kid is hard to say no to.” Nick apologized.

“No, that’s okay.” You waved it away, “I’m just relieved it was you & not someone else.”

“Who else would it be?” Nick asked, not realizing the dangerous ground he was treading.

“Maybe the person who stabbed my pumpkin.” You said, stepping out of the way to reveal the petty crime.

“Oh, shit.” Nick eyed the pumpkin on the bottom step, “Who’d you piss off?”

Of course you knew it was a joke but you didn’t laugh. In fact, it did the opposite. You frowned, staring at the deadly weapon.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry, I was only kidding.” Nick reached for you but you stepped away.

“It’s—it’s fine. Forget about it.” Bending over, you snatched the knife by its handle before yanking it out. “Just me being fucking paranoid again.” You mumbled but Nick had heard you.

You were climbing back up to porch when he caught up to you, blocking the way to your door with a concerned look on his face, “_____, I’m sorry, truly I am.”

You stared at him, unsure of his words.

“Are you really thinking someone did this to you on purpose?”

His question unsettled you. You shifted from foot to foot as you avoided his eyes. You could feel your breathing begin to quicken, on the edge of hyperventilating.

“Hey, hey.” Nick closed the distance between the two of you, placing his hands on your shoulders gently, “Talk to me. If you’re really concerned then we should call someone about it.”

“No!” You rushed out, “No. It’s nothing. It’s just me being paranoid, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

You tried to go around him but Nick blocked you once more.

“I’ll get out of your way, I promise, but…I’ve never seen you like this before. This…scared. If something is happening, I want to help.”

“You can’t help.” You sighed defeatedly. You were just so tired, so tired of looking over your shoulder, of worrying about if & when he would find you. You just wanted to live a happy, normal life with your son.

“I can try.” Nick captured your eyes, “If you let me.”

As you stared back at him, seeing the genuine care for you, the same look you had seen once before in the last man you trusted, you felt yourself soften. Nick wasn’t him. Nick was a good person. Unlike your past, he wanted to help you. And so, for the first time in five years, you let someone in.

It was nearly 5’o’clock when Lou took off from the dinner table to go wash his hands. Nick helped you clear the table of dirty dishes. You thanked him for his help before placing the last of the dishes in the dishwasher.

“So, this ex of yours.” Nick began, “You think he’s found you?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head, peering out a window over your kitchen sink, “I’ve been living in fear of him finding us for so long that anything remotely out of the ordinary makes me think it’s him.”

“Well, I can almost assure you that it’s not.” Nick kept his voice low as Lou entered the main room.

“Go ahead & watch some cartoons.” You told him, to which Lou very happily obliged. Once the TV sounded from the living room, you turned to Nick.

“How can you assure me that?”

After Nick made his claim to want to help you, you had told him everything. Everything. Not a detail spared. You weren’t explicit in reciting your history with your dreaded ex, but you detailed enough to get the point across.

“I called down to the station.” Nick revealed.

Your eyes widened, immediately questioning if you were wrong to trust him, but Nick raised his hand in reassurance, already predicting your reaction, “I didn’t give any names, I promise. I just asked if they had gotten any complaints about pumpkins or the like being vandalized. You know Brenden Brennen?”

You did. No one forgot an unfortunate name like that. He was a local teenager, known to be trouble.

“Apparently Brenden & some of his friends have been going around scaring people. Throwing poppers into driveways, jumping out of bushes, prank calling. I guess even Stephanie Romero’s garage got tagged with fake blood.”

You nodded, understanding where he was going with it all.

“It’s Halloween. It’s a spooky night. Kids are just getting up to no good, that’s all. Things are bound to go bump in the night.”

It did little relieve you but you accepted the likelihood that it was Brenden who stabbed your pumpkin.

“But what about Mr. Acosta’s truck? I mean, Isabella’s right. No one in town, not even Brenden Brennen, would be stupid enough to mess with him, let alone that truck he holds near & dear to his heart.”

Nick chuckled at that but shrugged, “Nothing so far as far as I know. But Mr. Acosta is getting up there. Way, waaaay up there. I hear his daughter complain every now & then that she swears he’s got Alzheimer’s, says he’s been losing track of things a lot lately.”

“A truck is quite a big thing to lose track of.” You muttered.

“Yeah, it is.” Nick nodded in agreement, “But think of it this way. From the sounds of it, your ex has money, & lots of it. If he were here, he wouldn’t be breaking into a barn to steal a beat-up old truck. He’d probably be driving through town in one of those nice sports cars that rarely come through here. And I say ‘rarely’ because folk like that stick out like a sore thumb. So, if he were here, someone would’ve noticed him by now.”

Everything he was saying was making sense, & you knew it to be true. You sighed, smiling, feeling like a fool.

“I just want it to end.” You admitted, your voice soft as you stared at Lou on the other end of the room, “I don’t want to live in fear for the rest of my life. I want Louie to have a normal childhood, not one that he looks back on wondering why his mom was always crying in her sleep or looking over her shoulder every day.”

“Hey.” Nick approached you, his hand on your lower back in comfort, “You have done so much for him. He knows how much you love him, he sees that. And he loves you, too. It may not be the childhood you want for him but it’s better than the one he could’ve had if you hadn’t run away, isn’t it?”

“Oh, god.” You marveled horrifically at the thought. You never thought too long, if ever, about what it would have been like raising Lou back home, with him always around.

“See?” Nick consoled you, “You’re giving him the childhood he deserves. As long as that kid there has you, he’ll be alright.”

You nodded, peering up Nick, “Thank you. For everything.”

He grinned sheepishly at that, shrugging, “I’m here for you, _____. For as long as you need me.”

It had been a long time since you felt like you found someone you could trust. You were happy Nick was the first.

Surprising even yourself, you raised onto your tiptoes & placed a kiss on his cheek. You watched as Nick blushed at the affection. When you pulled away, you two stared at one another before laughing lightly.

“Are you going to be my Dad, now?”

Both of you jumped apart as Lou stared at the two of you from the other side of the kitchen.

“What was that, buddy?” Nick played off your sons question as you tucked your smile into your teeth.

“No, baby, Principle Bentley was just helping Mommy.”

Lou made a questionable face but moved on, “When are we going trick-or-treating?”

“Oh, um.” You eyed the clock on the stove. It was nearly 6. “Any moment! Go get a jacket on & we’ll head out.”’

Lou began to run down the hallway before he stopped to stare at Nick, “Are you coming with us, Principle Bentley?”

“Oh, I, uh, we haven’t discussed—”

“Yes.” You answered for him, watching as Lou broke out into a smile in response, “Now go get a jacket, mister!”

Once Lou was out of sight, you turned towards Nick, “It’s probably not the date you had in mind but if you’d like, Lou & I would love to have you join us.”

Nick grinned that dimpled boyish grin of his, “Then I’d love to.”

Kids ran amok throughout the neighborhood as you & Nick walked side by side on the sidewalk, watching as Lou raced from house to house, filling his plastic pumpkin candy bowl to the brim. Every now & then, a candy or two would spill out as your son ran happily between yards.

Lou had wanted you to dress up but you had forgotten to actually get yourself a costume. So, the witches hat you had purchased earlier that day was all you had for a costume. It was enough to satisfy Lou, though the same couldn’t be said for Nick. You ended up having to use some of your own makeup to draw a clown look onto your boss’s face. He looked ridiculous, but you supposed that was fitting.

“He’s pretty great.” Nick commented, watching your son compliment another ghoul’s costume.

“Yeah, he is.” You felt pride.

“Ya know,” Nick began, his hands stuffed into his pockets, “I obviously don’t know anything about your ex except from what you’ve told me—which is all bad, bad stuff—but I hope you know that your son is yours. He’s not his. Even if he’s made up of half of him. Who he grows up to be, that’ll be all you.”

The thought warmed you. That was all you could really ask for.

The two of you watched as Lou ran down the stairs of another house before running up to you, practically slamming into your legs.

“Oof, careful, babe.” You giggled. Lou grinned up at you, holding out a piece of candy.

“Your favorite.” A Smartie was perched between his fingers.

You accepted the candy, smiling down at you son, “Thank you, Louie.”

Then he was off again, more candy spilling out behind him.

“He has his eyes.” You shared. Nick peered at you as you continued. “At first, that terrified me, ya know, when he grew into them. So much of his father there. So much of…”

You still couldn’t say his name.

“But you’re right.” You sniffled, the chilly autumn air beginning to make your nose run, “Louie will be nothing like him, even if he resembles him. He’ll be soft, gentle, kind, so full of life & wonder & happiness. All the things he is now. All the things his father isn’t.”

The three of you crossed the street once Lou finished up at the last house on the corner.

“You’re a really good mom, _____.” Nick commented, “Louie is in good hands, your hands.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, sharing a smile with him, though his smile appeared wider thanks to the red lipstick stretched across his lips & cheeks. You giggled openly, unable to take him seriously.

“What?” Nick widened his eyes in feigned offense, “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to draw a decent clown face.”

As you two laughed amongst yourselves, someone suddenly shouldered you, practically taking you off your feet.

“Hey, watch it!” Nick caught you as you stumbled into a neighbor’s yard.

You followed his line of sight, staring at the back of what you assumed to be a grown man as he stalked down the sidewalk, his hood pulled over his head. Nick grumbled in annoyance as he pulled you upright but you only remained staring after the man. But he never looked back & before you knew it, he had turned a corner & disappeared from sight.

“What is it?” Nick asked.

“N-nothing.” You faked a smile, shaking your head as you turned your attention back to him.

“Prick should watch where he’s going. Had we been one of these kids we’d’ve been flattened.”

Nick continued walking down the sidewalk, following behind as Lou continued his night of trick-or-treating. You looked over your shoulder once more & were startled by what you saw.

At the end of the block, where the man had disappeared off to, there he stood. At least, you assumed it was the same man, standing eerily still just staring at you. But you weren’t sure if it was you he was staring at. He was wearing a mask resembling a hockey mask, his face completely covered. There was no way to tell just exactly where he was looking but you felt it… you felt his eyes staring right back into your own.

“_____!” Nick hollered your name. You spun back around, realizing they had moved a couple houses down, “Coming?”

Looking back to the man, you were disheartened to find him gone, the corner barren of anyone taller than five feet.

Frowning, you caught up to Nick.

“Everything okay?”

You weren’t sure, but you reminded yourself of everything Nick had said earlier. If he was here, you would’ve known by now. And like he also said, it was Halloween, there was bound to be scares in the night.

Lou was slouched against Nick’s chest as he carried him back to your house. He was already half-way asleep, the excitement & running around having finally caught up to him. You carried his pumpkin basket full of candy, leading the way back. Once you reached the steps leading up the pathway to your porch, you peered up at you house, ensuring that nothing looked amiss.

“He’s gonna have one hell of a candy hangover.” Nick joked softly.

You smiled back him, “Thank you again for carrying him all this way.”

“It’s no problem.” He assured you, carrying your nearly asleep son up the stairs to your porch. You unlocked the door to your house, swinging it open so Nick could bring Louie inside.

“Where’s his bedroom?” Nick whispered. You pointed to your hallway, “Last door on the left.”

Locking the door behind you, you placed your keys & Louie’s basket of candy onto a counter in the kitchen before trailing down the hallway to his room. Inside, you found Nick gently tucking your son into bed. He was well asleep at that point. You smiled elatedly at the sight. It was a sight you had never seen before: a grown man putting your Lou to bed. It brought you more comfort than you thought possible.

Nick tiptoed out of the room & you pulled Lou’s door closed until only a crack was left.

Following Nick back into the main room, you grinned up at him, “You’re my hero.”

“Oh?” Nick raised a single brow, “Why’s that?”

“He adores you.” You nodded, “I remember after his first day of school he talked about how the principle came to his class to play games with the kids & get to know them. Of course, he doesn’t understand yet that you’re my boss, so he spoke about you like I had never met you before. You’ve made an impression on him ever since.”

“I could say the same thing about him.” Nick returned.

“Thank you again, for everything.”

Nick approached you, smiling down at you, “This better mean you’ll stop referring to me as Principle Bentley at work.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at that, “We’ll see.”

He narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously but chuckled nonetheless, “Well, I better get outta your hair, let you get some rest.”

You nodded, seeing him to the door. When you unlocked it, Nick stepped out, but before either of you could verbalize a parting, he turned back to you, “And thanks for the date. I enjoyed it.”

“Me, too.” You admitted, unable to hide your smile.

Then Nick crossed back to you, leaning down slightly to kiss your cheek, returning your affection from earlier, “I’ll see you Monday.”

“See you.”

Closing the door as he descended your stairs, you relocked the door before finally kicking your shoes off. It had been a long day. You were looking forward to winding down in bed with your recent Kindle purchase before dozing off. Turning off the lights in the front room, you grabbed a couple pieces of candy from Lou’s basket before retreating to your room, sure to leave the door cracked this time now that Lou was home. Unlike when you closed the door for your nap earlier, you never kept your door closed as Lou slept, always wanting to hear if any sounds came from his room.

Getting undressed & into pj’s, you slipped under the covers of your bed, pulling your Kindle out from your nightstand. Settling against your pillow, you began reading the text but it wasn’t long before you felt your eyelids begin to droop. Then, before you knew it, you slipped into slumber.

A floorboard creaking somewhere in your house woke you with a start. It was dark in your bedroom as you wiped the sleep from your eyes. You moaned at your stiff muscles, having fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position for your neck. Your eyes flashed to your nightstand. The clock flashed 2:24 a.m.

Your mouth was dry again, & you had forgotten to bring a glass of water to bed. Slipping out of bed, you exited your room. You stopped in the hallway to peek into Louie’s room. He slept soundlessly still in his bed. Closing his door most of the way once more, you trailed quietly down your hallway to the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, you approached the cabinets by the sink. You had pulled one open, preparing to reach for a glass, but a sight outside the window above your sink caught your eye. And when you realized what you were looking at, your breath caught in your throat. Nick’s car. It was still parked out front. But more horrifying than that was what lied just beyond it. Across the street, parked in front of your neighbor’s house, was Mr. Acosta’s beloved Chevy.

Before you had time to react, a hand fisting itself in your hair yanked you backwards. A scream about ripped from your throat, but a gloved hand quickly clamped over your mouth before it could.

Panicked tears erupted from your eyes as you felt yourself being dragged backwards, the soles of your slippers failing to catch themselves on the hardwood. You struggled against the strong grasp of the arm that was wrapped around your middle as they yanked you back down the hallway towards your bedroom.

You didn’t need to see them to know who it was. All day, your paranoia had been trying to warn you but you didn’t listen, & then when you did start to listen to it, Nick had reasoned it out of you.

The force threw you onto your bed & you bounced haphazardly atop it before the room flooded with light.

All of the nightmares you had had in the last five years were occurring before your very eyes. And the man that caused them was glaring at you through the slits of a hockey mask. The same eyes your son had.

“Boo.” If the eyes of your ex wasn’t enough of a give away as to who wore the spooky mask, the hollowed out voice behind it was.

He was here.

Rafe had found you.

It took all off your strength & will to not scream in that very instance. Lou was sleeping safe & sound less than twenty feet away from you, totally unaware of the dangers in his home, you wanted it to remain that way. But damn it all to hell if you didn’t fear for your life at that very second.

Fear racked your body & panic ensnared your heart as Rafe Cameron, the ex you had ran out on with his unborn child in your tummy, stood before you.

Tense silence filled the room, save for the sound of your shuddering breaths. Tears blurred your vision as you stared wide-eyed in horror.

Rafe was breathing heavily, his chest moving almost in perfect time with your own. Your eyes fell to his hand, the glint of a familiar looking knife catching in the light.

He had been here all along. From the beginning. The cat store, Mr. Acosta’s truck, Lou’s stabbed pumpkin, & the man in the mask who stared at you on the street. All of it Rafe. All of it your past finally catching up to you.

“Rafe…” You shakily cried.

He cocked his head, the mask only adding more fuel to your nightmare. And though the mask kept his face hidden, you knew well enough that the man behind the mask was carrying a face full of fury. It was a face you never forgot.

He raised a single gloved finger then, wiggling it slowly at you. Then he brought that same finger to the mouth of the mask. Shh, he was telling you.

Tears burst from your eyes as you bit your lip to keep from whimpering out loud.

Don’t make him angry, do as he says. Lou is depending on you.

But images of Lou sleeping in his bed just down the hallway flooded your mind. Rafe was blocking the door. You wouldn’t have a chance to slip by him & race down there, & even if you did, you’d lead him right to your son. If you did that, there was no saying what he would do next, but you knew Rafe Cameron was capable of deadly things, & you were determined to keep your son ignorant to that.

It took every amount of restraint you could muster up not to run for your son, to shield him from the devil that snuck into your home. You kept a baseball bat hidden beneath your pillows. It had always been there, & only on rare occasions in the past did you feel the need to bring it out when something went bump in the night. But those bumps always turned out to be nothing. This wasn’t nothing. It was time to really use it.

Rafe only remained standing before you, his tall & solid frame filling the space of your room like a sleep paralysis dream. Though he wore a thick jacket to keep warm, you could see that he had grown over the years. He had always been tall, towering over you, but he was slender as well. Not anymore, though. It was obvious that he had gotten into the habit of working, adding muscles to his already destructive strength.

Swallowing the scream that desperately wanted to erupt from you, you kept your voice hush as you spoke, needing to distract him with your words as you very slowly, very subtly inched your fingers towards your pillows.

“What are you doing here?” It was a stupid question, you, especially as well as he, both knew why he was there. But you didn’t care. Just keep his mind distracted.

But he said nothing, just shook his head once.

You breathed heavily & sharply, your fingers managing to have slid under your pillow without drawing his attention, desperately seeking out the cool, metal touch of the bat.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Your voice shook as you spoke, “You should’ve let me go.”

But Rafe exhaled heavily at that.

A relieved, quiet gasp parted your lips when your fingers finally found the bat, fiercely gripping the handle of the weapon.

Dropping your eyes to the open door behind him, you frowned, “Lou?”

Rafe turned around at that, expecting to see your son standing in the doorway, but it was only a fake-out.

Gritting your teeth, you yanked the baseball bat & raised it above you, quickly rushing to your feet to stand atop your bed.

You let out a war cry as you swung the bat downwards, aiming straight for Rafe’s skull. But he spun around in time to duck. The full weight of your swing made you stumble & one of your feet slipped off the bed. You clambered harshly to the wooden floor, your grip on the bat still tight, but Rafe snatched you by the back of your neck, ripping you upwards. You blindly swung the bat a second time but you felt a force catch the other end before tearing it from your grasp.

“No!” You cried out as Rafe threw against your dresser, a picture of you & Lou toppling over in the impact.

You threw yourself back, crab-crawling backwards as Rafe marched towards you, now your bat in one hand, his knife in the other.

“Rafe, don’t!” You screeched once you felt the wall against your back. But he only continued moving towards you. As he did, he tucked his knife away & raised the bat.

Fear choked you as you watched your own weapon of defense prepared to be used on you. You raised your arms, readying yourself to protect your face & head from the blow. Your eyes were squeezed shut, waiting for the whisper of air as the bat swung before reaching you…but it never came.

Breathing fearfully, you fluttered your eyes open.

The room was empty. Rafe was nowhere in sight.

“Lou.” Your voice shook with the realization.

You threw yourself forward onto your feet, getting ready to race after Rafe, but just before you reached the doorway, Rafe appeared again filling the space with his large frame. But he wasn’t alone.

To your horror, he had another before him, on their knees.

Duct tape was wrapped securely around Nick’s face, his mouth & most of his nose covered to suppress his grunts. His forehead was swollen & bleeding, evident of him having been attacked by a deadly force. Nick was unable to fight back, as his hands too were securely taped before him.

A shocked gasp left you as you backed up, taking in the nightmarish sight.

Rafe entered the room, pushing Nick forward until he fell face-down onto your floor. Nick groaned on impact before struggling to roll himself over onto his back. It was then that you noticed his legs were taped at the ankle.

Fresh tears breached your eyes as you peered at one of your only friends in the neighborhood. You made to move closer, to shield Nick from Rafe but as you did, you felt the cool touch of your bat catch the underside of your chin. Your eyes trailed the length of it until it led you to Rafe’s hand & arm, thus his face.

He shook his head once.

Shaking, you backed away as Rafe stepped closer.

Nick, the whole time, trying to speak but his words were unable to be made out behind the tape. His flashing between you & your ex with a mixture of fear & anger.

“Don’t hurt him.” You begged, “He has nothing to do with this. Please, just let him go, I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Rafe sighed at that, his head cocking at your plea.

“Please, Rafe.” You whimpered, snot running from your nose, “I’ll do anything.”

His silence only added to your terror. He wanted you to suffer.

“You’ll watch.” Was all he said. And before you could absorb what he had said, Rafe moved to stand over Nick & raised the bat.

“No!” But your scream died in your throat as Rafe brought the bat down on Nick’s skull.

Cries & choked sobs erupted from you as you watched on in horror as Rafe repeatedly bashed Nick’s face & skull in. You were forced to look away when blood spurted across your face & chest as Nick quickly became unrecognizable.

You covered your mouth as hot tears fell from your eyes & over your hands. Your room was filled with the gruesome sounds of the bat repeatedly making impact with what was once Nick. Squelching of brain matter & the crushing of bones filled your years & you felt bile rise in your throat. A pool of blood threatened to cake the soles of your feet as it grew bigger, forcing you to pull your knees to your chest.

The ghastly sounds stopped after another minute & by then you were numb to everything that was happening. Your body still shook, your mouth hung open in a silent scream, but you were no longer crying. Just staring dizzily at your headboard.

A metallic thud sounded & your eyes betrayed you as you sought the sound out. Your bat rolled towards you, all of it covered in a deep, thick red color, chunks of brain, flesh, & bone texturizing it.

A gag forced it’s way from your mouth & you crawled away from the monstrous sight, unable to look at what Rafe had done. But as you did, you felt Rafe eyeing you from the opposite side of your room. Before you could react, Rafe climbed on top of your, ensnaring you by the back of your head as he dragged you back over the bed. You thought he would’ve stopped there, but your horrors were only reignited when you dropped to the floor & were dragged into the hallway. Towards Louie’s room.

“No!” You yelped but Rafe quickly swung you around to his front, covering your mouth. You smelled the scent of blood on his glove as he kept you quiet, knowing good & well that Nick’s blood was now caking your face.

You fought against Rafe as he yanked you closer to your sons room, terrified that he would do to him what he had just done to Nick. At this point, you didn’t care if Louie woke up, if he woke to the sight & sound of you crying & screaming & fighting against the man from your dreams, thus shattering his childhood. You just needed him to run. Run as far as he could as you once did.

Once in the room, Rafe forced you to face your sleeping son, none the wiser to the danger approaching. You whimpered & thrashed against Rafe, trying every which way to elbow him or knock your head back into his but his strength greatly outmatched yours. It always had.

Rafe paused in the center of the room, crushing your back against your front as he secured you around the waist. He removed his hand from your mouth, but before you could scream a blood-curdling cry to alert your son, Rafe had swiftly produced the knife he carried & pressed the briny edge of it to your throat.

The plastic of the mask moved against your ear, “Don’t scream. Or he’ll scream.”

The threat was apparent. Your horrors were coming true. Everything you had fought for for so long were crumbling around you.

“Don’t.” You gasped, desperately reaching to cling to Rafe’s arm.

Your plea only forced the Rafe to press the knife harsher against your throat. Even you could feel your heartbeat pulsing against it. One swipe & Rafe would end your life before surely ending that of your sons. In a last ditch effort to save your sons life, you revealed the truth that Rafe needed to know.

“He’s your son.” Sobs racked your body as the words parted your lips. “Our son.”

Rafe stiffened behind you.

“Are you going to tell him?” Your mother asked you as she helped you pack one of your go-bags for the great escape.

“No.” You responded despondently, “If he knows I’m on the run with his unborn kid, he’ll stop at nothing, he’ll hurt anyone I love just to get to me.” You knew good & well that he would still do that, but he wouldn’t be in as such a rush otherwise.

Your mother nodded in understanding. But her hands shook fearfully as she folded your clothes before handing them to you.

“Are you going to go through with the pregnancy?” It was a question you asked yourself every day. “I love you, baby, I only want you safe. A kid will slow you down.”

“I know.” You muttered in agreement, “I haven’t decided yet. I just need to get away first before I do anything.”

“You’d deliver the baby alone.” She commented. Another thought that kept you awake at night. “We wouldn’t be there to hold your hand.”

You nodded, tears threatening to fall. Though you were still on the fence about whether or not you’d fulfill the pregnancy, you were leaning towards terminating it. Being on the run was no life for a child. And, your mother was right, the kid would only slow you down if Rafe ever caught up to you.

Your mother’s quiet sobs drew your attention. She had a hand over her mouth in an attempt to hide her cries.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” She peered at you through her tears, “We never wanted this life for you.”

You hugged your mother, & she you. Tightly, lovingly. You burrowed your face into her neck, savoring the form of affection. You didn’t know how long it would be until you ever felt it again, if ever.

“There’s always adoption.”

Rafe had tucked the knife away, but kept you quiet by grasping the column of your throat, your air restricted. He continued holding you just like that as he slowly approached your son, his son. He stood just beside Louie’s bed, his knees pressed against the bedframe as he leaned over to peer at the child’s serene, sleeping face.

You felt as Rafe shuddered before you, his arm outstretched with you on the other end as he kept you at distance from your son.

“My son…” Rafe’s voice was filled with wonder.

Tears continued to fall from your eyes, dripping onto Rafe’s wrist where the skin was exposed between the glove & sleeve of his jacket.

“Our son.” He whispered, but as he did, the grip on your throat tightened. Black dots filled your vision. Rafe turned away from Lou then, facing you head on, his eyes blazing behind the mask.

You kept him from me.

His fury was palpable. You tried to breathe, to speak, but Rafe only continued to claw his fingers into your throat.

Then he began to back you out of the room fast. Your were unable to catch your grounding as your feet tangled beneath you. Before you knew it, you were back in the hallway, your back pressed harshly against a wall as Rafe used the wall to lift you off the floor, your toes wiggling.

You latched your hands onto his arm, using every bit of strength you had left to try & fight him off.

Rafe glared at you hard through the slits of his mask, his eyes red, watering, filled with betrayal, contempt, & murderous intent.

“We could have been a family.” Rafe breathed out harshly, his grip tightening more than you thought possible. Your vision swayed.

“You took that from me.” Rafe spit from behind the mask.

“Plea—” You choked, the lining of your vision beginning to darken. Your muscles were loosening. Death awaited you. But Lou needed you.

Then Rafe brought his other hand to your throat & squeezed. You thrashed weakly until you felt your consciousness begin to slip. Rafe’s hands around your neck were the last thing you felt before you stopped fighting, your body going limp.

“He’s my family now.”

A cry tore from your throat as doctors & nurses alike rushed around you. A stinging, hot pain shot up your spine as you felt your insides contort & cramp within you. Your legs were splayed open, blood staining the white sheets that kept you from seeing what happening down below.

“She’s losing blood!” A voice yelled.

“Get the baby out!” Another responded.

“We’re gonna lose both!”

Tears erupted from your eyes, blurring your vision as you clung to the sheets of the hospital bed, your throat raw from screaming.

Another pinch & you screamed again, sweat coating your face.

And then cries filled the room, Lively cries of a baby having been born. You collapsed against the mattress, your body weak.

“Baby’s out, we got him, he’s okay!”

You felt your vision go in & out, but you reached your hand out blindly in search of your child.

“It’s a boy.” A soft voice neared you. Cries continued to fill the room, but they grew closer to you.

“It’s your boy.” A nurse appeared in your vision as it swayed.

In her arms, she held something small as it wriggled about in her arms. A single hand stuck out in search of something.

Then your fingers touched, & the small yet mighty grip of the child clung to your index finger.

A weak smile crossed your lips, “Louie.”

But your hand fell as you felt your heart rate slow.

“We’re losing her!”

“Louie.” You whispered, his name like a dream on your tongue.

A gasp choked you awake & you shot forward. Tears coated your cheeks & you were breathing heavily. You winced at the burning, raw sensation within your throat.

The room, your room, was filled with morning sunlight. Your eyes flashed fearfully around the room. You were still in your home.

Lou!

Launching yourself forward, you halted to peer at the floor near the foot of your bed. It was empty. No body, no blood, no bat.

You frowned. It wasn’t a dream, though. You touched your fingers to your neck, the skin tender as you did.

He had been here, he had!

Racing out of your room, you stumbled down the hallway to your son’s room, “Louie!” You screeched, despite the pain it caused you as you did, your throat burning in response.

But your fears were instilled as you charged into your son’s room to find his bed empty.

“Louie, baby!” You cried, retreating from his room & tumbling down the hallway, “Baby, where are you?!”

At the mouth of the hallway, you halted, eyeing your son at the counter bar. His back was to you as he ate pieces of candy from his pumpkin basket.

“Louie!” You released a relieved cry & approached him. But before you could reach him, another figure appeared in the corner of your eye.

Rafe rested against a counter opposite your son, a mug of coffee in his hands. He was barren of any mask or clothes from the night prior. He grinned wryly at you, challenging you to attempt anything.

You eyed him warily, furiously as you continued moving slowly towards your son.

Lou looked back at you then, a chocolatey smile gracing his youthful features.

“Morning, Mommy!” He greeted in his cheerful tune.

Dropping your gaze from Rafe, you peered at your son. Closing the distance, you hugged him to your chest, crying into his hair as you kissed him repeatedly.

“Don’t be mad. Daddy said I could have candy for breakfast.”

You shook against your son as you raised your eyes to that of your ex’s.

“That’s right.” Rafe smirked, crossing the kitchen to where the two of you were. You pressed Lou closer against you, your hands gripping him tightly, ready to shield him from Rafe.

“And you can have it for lunch & dinner & dessert.” Rafe grinned down at your son, his son.

“What the fuck do you want?” You sneered, uncaring if Lou heard the fear in your voice.

Rafe eyed you then, “What we all should want.”

He peered at your son then, “To be a family.”

The thought unnerved you.

“If you don’t get out of my house, I’ll—”

“Careful.” Rafe cut you off firmly, before casting his eyes to an object on the counter only inches away from his fingers. The knife.

“Sorry, buddy. Mommy had a bad night.”

You felt as Louie stared up at you then, “Was it the bad man from your dreams again?”

Rafe’s eyes stared coldly into your own.

“Yes, baby.” You replied, your voice shaky.

“But you’re okay now.” Louie attempting to soothe you as he fingered your hair, “Daddy is here to protect you.”

His innocence, still intact as grateful as you were, only made you fearful of when Rafe would surely snuff it out.

“That’s right, Louie.” Rafe peered between the two of you, “Daddy’s home, & we have a lot of catching up to do.”

this is 7/10 requests from my 500 followers celebration request opening!

fuck. that's all i have to say.

big thank you to @namelesslosers for making this fucking AWESOME request, i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it, please be sure to share your thoughts w me.

as always! drop a comment, reblog w reviews, or talk to me in my ask box. this is one doozy of a dark fic that has me on edge just waiting for your feedback. so please provide some.

thank you for reading!

oona<3

Read this post on why doing more than liking a tumblr writers work is essential to our content creation.

[my love language is words of affirmation, it would make my day if you could comment your thoughts, reblog with tags, or drop an ask that shows your support. thank you for reading tumblr writers, we appreciate you]

taglist: @jsrafesgirl @bunnycvnts @ditzyzombiesblog

to be added to a taglist read rule 11 here. requests will be dismissed otherwise.

#dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark!fic #dark!fanfiction #non con fic #outer banks fanfiction #dark!outer banks #something wicked this way comes

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mykoreanlove · 3 months

Text

If you’re an over-thinker, you’re an under-feeler

You had been isolated for the last couple of hours - ever since you came back from your doctor‘s appointment you were absentminded, too preoccupied with researching your newfound condition.

Your boyfriend checked in on you every other hour but didn’t dare to interrupt you. You were laying in your bed, scrolling through your phone, trying to find all the missing answers.

„Acid reflux… sour taste… sore voice…medication“, you mumbled under your breath.

Seonghwa watched you for the tenth time this evening - your forehead was creased with concern, not really understanding why your body was suddenly betraying you.

He loved you, he really did. You completed him in ways which he had never dreamed of: you were analytical, prone to detail and observant. But you were also prone to anxiety, in danger of getting lost in your own destructive thoughts.

„How many hours can one google this shit“, he muttered under his breath.

„Suffering…Surgery…Depression“, you coaxed as your voice broke from fear of what was about to come.

„Okay, that’s enough“, he sternly entered the room, sitting at the end of the kingsize bed.

„What is?“

„You doing this to yourself, y/n. We’re going to find a solution baby, but this is not it“, he folded his arms authoritatively.

„Seongie, please. I have to research this, I have to understand. I don’t want to be in pain anymore“, you sobbed quietly.

„I know, baby. But reading blog entries from strangers for hours only stresses you out. How many times are you overthinking the same problem? Like, that doesn’t help. Don’t you think?“

„No“, you snapped back.

Seonghwa knew that it was pointless to argue with you. After all, you were a thinking person whereas he was more of the feeling nature. How was he to distract you from your endless mind chatter?

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

He pushed the blanket away and started kissing your shins.

„What are you doing?“, you asked irritated.

„I am helping you getting out of your head and back into your body, princess. Just relax.“

„Seongie, I don’t want to relax. I want to read and think. I need to overthink, I need to focus on my fucking problem!“, you snapped desperately.

Seonghwa didn’t break eye contact as he was kissing upwards, getting dangerously close to your core.

„See baby, I know this is what you want. But it’s not what you need. What you need…“, he paused to take off your lacy panties, „is to take a break from thinking. Let me help you with that.“

Seeing your precious pussy made him inhale sharply. No matter how often he got to bury himself in between your thighs, he always cherished it like it was the first time.

The colours, the taste, the smell - he was biting his lip in anticipation.

„Ugh, fine“, you gave in and fell back on to the mattress. Seonghwa‘s hand slowly reached for your phone, placing it behind him.

„My poor baby. So stressed out“, he cooed in between your legs.

„Even your beautiful pussy is dry. That’s no way to live, don’t you think?“, he asked seductively.

Slowly, he placed wet kisses all over your core, taking his time to arouse you properly.

Luckily, that didn’t take long.

„So wet, so fast, princess“, he hummed in admiration.

„Like I had a choice“, you snapped back at him.

His cheeky giggles filled the whole room. He knew what effect he had on you and he loved it, thrived off of it.

„Even if you’re acting like a brat right now… I can’t think of anything else but eating you out. Isn’t that crazy, y/n?“

You pushed your hips against his face, ushering him to finally do it. His plan was working without you even realizing. You were no longer thinking about your doomed health, but his tongue circling around your clit.

„Seongie“, you whined.

„Yes, my love?“

He batted his Bambi eyes at you, playing innocent. You grabbed a fistful of his long hair and pushed him into your pussy, making it utterly clear that you were done waiting.

Like a real man he devoured all of you, instantly. His tongue slippery circling around your throbbing clit, his long fingers quickly pushing in and out of your heated entrance, turning you into a trembling mess right in front of him.

Your sticky juices were dripping down his cheek as he finally came back up, grinning from ear to ear.

He didn’t say a word but just watched. Your chest was breathing heavily, eyes shut and mouth wide open.

„Bingo“, he applauded himself. He got up swiftly and laid down next to you, grabbing your delicate hands and squeezing them lightly.

„Baby, what are you thinking about now?“, he asked smoothly.

„Not a single thing“, you answered truthfully.

„Not one thought?“

„No, it‘s like you fucked me brainless“, you mused.

„Shit, I like that“, he said with a big grin. „Can we, like, do that again?“

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chrisevansonly · 11 months

Text

𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: charles leclerc x female reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: life is too heavy to carry, thankfully your boyfriend will carry it with you

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: talks of mental health and suicidal thoughts, mentions of depression, heavy topics so please read at your own discretion

𝐚/𝐧: i’ll be honest this is self indulgent and i know i said i wasn’t writing but idk i feel so low and thought writing about how im feeling might help? ive struggled with mental illness my whole life so i find writing it out in a way i can enjoy helps…i hope it helps others that are in need of it too<3

Life is painful, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, it’s dark and gloomy, heavy and hard to carry, life is painful. Okay well maybe not for everyone but for you it was, and it was draining, exhausting really trying to survive each day instead of living like everyone else. Truth be told you’d struggled with mental illness for as long as you can remember. In high school the suicidal thoughts came into play and you had fallen into a place no one deserved to fall.

You’d hear people tell you to smile, cheer up, get outside and take in the fresh air, but they don’t understand. They don’t get the internal pain one feels when they deal with depression and anxiety, unless you live it: you don’t get it.

So yes, life was painful but there was an ounce of sunshine in your life and it came in the form of Charles, your boyfriend of exactly three years. The man who broke through the storm to bring you blue skies and calm waters, the man who held you tightly as you cried for a break, aching for a moment of peace within yourself. Charles was a gift, you were sure of it: he was too.

“my love…?”

His voice was soft, delicate as it filtered through the dark bedroom, eyes filled with concern as he looked at you huddled under the blankets, almost willing them to swallow you whole

“hmm?”

It might not have been a word but Charles would take it

“can I get you anything? do you need something?”

The room fell silent again except for the sound of covers shifting, your head peaking over the duvet

“y-you please”

Hearing your voice break was enough for Charles to promptly move from his place in the doorway, lifting up the covers on his side of the bed before settling down and pulling you into his side, letting you virtually melt against him

“okay, okay i’m here, it’s okay amour..”

“it-it hurts”

“i know baby, i know it does…but it will only hurt for a little, i promise you.”

You wanted to believe him, you really did, but how many years would you have to suffer before it truly felt like you would never know how to feel okay.

“it’s hard to be here”

Now this caught Charles attention right away, having known your past with depression and even suicidal thoughts, he felt his blood run cold at the thought of you being anywhere than right here with him

“listen to me baby, i know it hurts, i know it’s hard, but i promise you i will help you find your sunshine, i will help you find your happiness”

He paused shifting to rest a hand on your cheek, his thumb swiping at a stray tear on your cheek

“i love you with everything in me, and i will do whatever i can to help you through this, if you need me to carry more of the weight, let me, if you need a shoulder to lean on more than usual, do it. you are my entire world baby, i won’t ever leave you out in the dark to take this on all on your own..”

Letting out a soft sniffle you looked up at him, always appreciating just how much love he held for you in his eyes alone

“why, i-i’m so sad a-all the time”

“because i love you. it doesn’t matter if your angry, happy, sad it’s part of you, i love all of you no matter what, and i am not going anywhere”

Charles leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead letting you have a minute to just digest everything he was saying

“pinky promise?” you asked softly, holding your pinky finger out which brought a soft smile to his face

“pinky promise baby, always.”

Nothing else needed to be said as you curled yourself further into his side, his arms only tightening on you, as if to keep you from slipping away from him. Charles knew words only helped so much, but he was willing to do whatever it took to bring you blue skies back. Even if it took days or weeks, even months, Charles was going to be right beside you, every step of the way.

Life might be painful, but you never had to go through it alone again.

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babystrcandy · 11 months

Text

the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . .

But . . .

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to.

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless).

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him.

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . .

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic.

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS.

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn.

Actually . . .

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket.

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm.

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was.

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest.

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug.

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought. “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar.

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . .

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face.

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice.

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts.

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . .

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief.

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed.

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again.

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar.

Did you like it?

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you.

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“

But he was already gone.

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look.

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be?

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . .

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight.

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone.

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him.

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care.

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then.

It seemed he always was . . .

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki.

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent?

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . .

A beat of silence.

In it more relief.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality.

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him.

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to.

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you.

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words.

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat.

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before.

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . . in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . .

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism.

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped.

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing.

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other.

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . .

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence.

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat.

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.”

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart?

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin.

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason.

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become.

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything.

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done.

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too.

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves.

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it.

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you?

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?”

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face.

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . .

Wait . . .

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near.

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean?

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No.

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . .

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you.

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would.

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just—

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going.

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . .

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory.

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now.

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed.

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . .

But . . .

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing.

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried.

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia.

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . .

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more.

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . .

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too.

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring.

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh.

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear.

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . .

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life.

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help.

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers.

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you.

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose.

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books?

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent.

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now.

Not here.

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now.

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . .

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt.

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page.

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now.

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then?

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway?

. . .

Whatever.

It didn’t mean much, right?

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . .

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air.

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?”

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . .

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward.

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived.

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it.

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true.

Whatever . . . it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . .

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . .

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge.

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?).

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been.

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it.

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future.

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought.

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . .

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . .

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . .

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles. “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words.

OK, he nodded.

OK, he smiled.

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles.

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault.

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant.

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself.

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash.

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . .

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams.

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him.

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . .

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . .

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . .

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you.

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds.

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other.

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . .

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in.

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . .

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once.

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features.

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch.

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . .

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes.

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes.

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

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