#and everyone else will be like no the foot is the wrong color it's a latte | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

petrichor-han · 11 months

Text

the city that never sleeps; choi beomgyu

PAIRING | beomgyu x fem!reader

CAST | choi beomgyu, choi yeonjun, yoo jimin (karina), mentions of choi soobin, yang jeongin (i.n), shin ryujin, lee heeseung, kim minjeong (winter)

WC | 28.2k

GENRE | angst, smut, childhood friends to lovers, friends to lovers, neighbor!au, boy next door!au, right person wrong time (sort of)

WARNINGS | explicit language, explicit smut & sexual content, infidelity, toxic relationship, verbal abuse, mc has a present mom and dad, vaping & smoking cigarettes, marijuana mentions

SYNOPSIS | SEQUEL TO IDLE TOWN! // it’s been ten years since you last saw choi beomgyu in the flesh, but a high school reunion prompts you and your fiancé, yeonjun, to return to your hometown one last time. unfortunately, it seems like old habits die hard, and the harder you try to stay away from beomgyu, the closer he seems to get.

A/N | i was not planning on a sequel but sometimes the heart wants what it wants and i just had to write this. idle town readers, welcome back, and if you haven’t read the prequel then it’s linked in both the synopsis above and next to my masterlist below. it’s not required to read part one, but it’s helpful and provides context.

request to be added to current and future taglists HERE!

listen to the playlist here!

MASTERLIST | IDLE TOWN (PT. 1)

TEN YEARS LATER.

The day that you receive the envelope in the mail was the day that everything started going downhill. Now that you think about it, when was your peak? Was it as soon as you stepped foot in the city you’d always dreamed of living in? Was it when you met Yeonjun? Was it when you started working at that publishing company with amazing pay and benefits?

All in all, you’re not really sure. But if you had to pick a simple “best moment,” it would probably be your college graduation.

It was the perfect summer day. You’d aced your last semester of classes and had numerous colorful cords around your neck, showing off your accomplishments from the past four years. You sat between two people that you were semi-close with now, what with being almost forced to talk to them during rehearsals and all. They were alright, maybe you’d have even been friends with them in school if you met them earlier. Maybe being the key word. So instead, you sit between them, exchanging excited words in hushed whispers, making small talk, asking them what their plans are after the ceremony is over with. One of them invited the two of you to an end-of-school party that one of the frats is throwing; you had no clue about it. But as they explain the theme, saying that it’d be fun to end your last year with a typical college party—something that you’d probably never get the chance to do again—you start thinking, why not? What do you have to lose?

The ceremony itself is great. Nothing goes wrong, even though in these sorts of situations you always expect something to go awry. It doesn’t start raining, no one trips or messes up their words, the speeches aren’t too dull (as far as graduation speeches go), and the cheers for you as you walk across the stage are almost deafening. You can’t help the wide, almost cocky grin that spreads across your face as you turn to the crowd and wave once towards the area you know your loved ones are sitting in, spotting Yeonjun’s pink hair right away. He sticks out like a sore thumb, almost neon in the bright sunlight in comparison to the people around him. You hear his voice rise up above everyone else’s cheers, yelling your name amongst praise and sweet words. It makes you blush, how he’s not afraid to say such sappy shit in front of your parents, in front of your friends—in front of your entire graduating class, really.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a blur. You can’t stop smiling even if you’re a little clammy underneath your cords and robe and cap, and your grin grows even wider once you’re able to toss your cap in the air and then go find your loved ones.

You see Yeonjun first, parting the crowd like the Red Sea. It’s kind of impossible to not see him. That’s something you’ve always equally liked and disliked about him—he attracted attention wherever he went. And not always from those who were sexually attracted to him, though that was, admittedly, a large portion of the attention that he got. No, he emitted this glow when he walked into a room. There was something about him that demanded your attention, even if you were unwilling to give it up. It was partially his looks—god, was he stunning—but also, the charm that basically oozed from his pores. You’d never known anyone that didn’t like Yeonjun. Even if they were apprehensive at first, no one could resist his genuinity, his kind nature that collided with his sharp visuals that sometimes made him come off as the cold or arrogant sort of attractive. But of course, no one ever thought of him as cold or arrogant as soon as he opened his mouth.

You liked this about him because it was easy. Everyone loved him: your friends, your classmates, and most importantly, your family. “He’s such a catch,” your friend Yeji said jealously, eyeing him as he walked away after dropping off lunch for you. “I wish I had a partner that would bring me a homemade meal.”

“And he drove half an hour to get here,” you bragged playfully, shaking your little dosirak full of food, still warm to the touch.

When he met your parents, your mother waited until he left the room before nudging you and smiling. “That’s a keeper,” she said happily, “I couldn’t think of anyone better for you.” The only issue with this was the fact that you noticed her stumble over the second part of that sentence, and it made you think of someone that you hadn’t bothered to think about in years.

But when Yeonjun was there, any semblance of thought towards that someone melted away almost immediately.

You run into his arms, almost crushing the massive bouquet of flowers that he’s holding gently. He holds it above the both of you with one hand and catches you in a tight embrace in the other, laughing and trying to speak through his giggles to congratulate you. “You are the most wonderful person in the world,” he says astutely, caressing your face gently as you part. Before you can get too far, he brings you back in to kiss you softly, his hand dropping to the small of your back to bring your body closer to his. Once he lets you go, he hands you the colorful bouquet that you almost squished. It’s beautiful. The entire thing is so heavy, full of flowers that are almost as big as your head. It hides the bottom half of your face as you hold it in front of your body and he laughs, pinching your cheek and calling you cute before everyone else arrives to congratulate you.

Is it selfish of you to think of that as your peak? Why do you consider it so? Your immediate answer to that is because of how you felt, how happy you were. You were so happy that you had no more room for any other emotion, save for perhaps excitement—but even that bled into happiness, blurring the lines between which was which. But maybe you think of that as your peak because of your achievements—no, that’s not it. You’ve achieved much more since then. Then the last conclusion, and the one that you dreaded to consider, must be correct. You consider it your peak because of everyone else’s reactions. They celebrated you that day, they all paid attention to you and how much shit that you’d done in those four years. And to be fair, it was a well deserved celebration—you worked your ass off in your undergrad years, so much so that sometimes Yeonjun would have to physically stop you from pushing yourself before you collapsed from exhaustion.

Your other option for your peak in life isn’t a singular moment. But it’s happier than considering yourself to peak in college. You consider your life as a whole since you moved out of your parents’ house to be your peak. That time frame between getting on the airplane to New York City and receiving that letter in the mail, that was your peak.

It has been ten years since you left your hometown far behind when you pull that letter out from between a catalog for lacy underwear and your electricity bill, and promptly spit your coffee all over your dinner table.

The address is from your home state, your hometown. It’s the address of your high school, and sure as hell, that’s your full name written across the front of the envelope. The stamp in the corner is of the school mascot—well, the same animal as your school mascot, anyways.

Hands shaking, you wipe your mouth quickly and then use a butter knife to cut a slit in the envelope. A single piece of dense paper slides smoothly into your palm, and you gnaw on your lip until you taste blood as you read through it, eyes following the dark print, chasing it as it registers in your brain. You swear you can feel your tongue dry and your heartbeat slow as the words “HIGH SCHOOL REUNION” echo in your head. You toss the invitation back on top of the opened envelope and busy yourself with wiping up your mess of spewed coffee.

Of course, this is when Yeonjun comes back.

You hadn’t expected him to be gone long; he’d just stopped by the local bagel place to get some fresh breakfast to pair with your coffee (though your cup is now half gone, spat across your dinner table).

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately.

That’s another thing about Yeonjun—he can read you like an open book. It’s a little annoying at times, when you want to keep certain things private or hide surprises from him, but most of the time you appreciate his intuitiveness.

You don’t say anything, but point towards the invitation that’s still on full display, laying on top of the envelope it came in. Yeonjun kicks off his shoes and sets the box of bagels on the kitchen counter before walking over to you. He kisses you on the temple and picks up the invitation, leaning against the table as he scans it. Sucking in a deep breath through his teeth, he taps the thick piece of cardstock against the solid wooden surface of the dinner table and looks at you, concern clear in his eyes. He takes in your ashen face, bloodless and unsure.

“Well,” he says, “are you going to go?”

You groan loudly and slump forward in your chair, your forehead colliding with the table with a resounding clunk. Yeonjun coos, babying you like he knows you want him to, and drapes his slim frame over your back. His weight is a welcome comfort, like your very own weighted blanket.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. Your voice is muffled, but he understands.

“If it’s stressing you out this much already, then…” he trails off, but you already know that he’s going to suggest not going. For some reason, this pisses you off a little and you nudge him off of you and pick up your head, scowling at him.

“What if I want to go?” you ask, frowning.

“Then go, of course,” he says, walking back into the kitchen to retrieve the bagels. His voice echoes through the hallway, preceding his physical return to you. “I just assumed that you didn’t want to because—“

“Because of Beomgyu,” you finish for him.

Yeonjun stops, freezing up at the sound of his name. You do too. It’s like you’ve been literally frozen—you feel so unbearably cold, and you can’t move an inch even though you’re the one that said it in the first place.

“I was going to say because of your reaction to the invitation,” Yeonjun says carefully. He still does not finish his route back to you. Instead, he stands there, halfway between the kitchen and you, very still. In his slim fit dark pants and sweater, he almost blends into the background.

There’s an uncomfortable silence that settles between the two of you, making itself comfortable atop all the surfaces in your home. Outside, it begins to rain. The only sound is the scattered raindrops that are beginning to pit-a-pat against the roof of your apartment building and the tiny fire escape.

After what seems like an eternity of stunned silence—you’re both still so shocked that you even uttered his name—you clear your throat to break the ice and say, “Well, I probably won’t go anyways. I hate that town.”

“Right.”

You both resume your day as usual, but the air is different. You’re both much more reserved and careful with what you say, something that’s rare for Yeonjun, who usually likes to speak his mind even if it comes off as a bit brash sometimes.

The reunion is not discussed any further until the week of, when you slide two plane tickets across the dinner table to Yeonjun, the destination being your hometown.

“Come or don’t,” you say, “but it’ll be uneventful either way.”

“I know this means a lot to you even if you refuse to say it out loud,” Yeonjun says knowingly. “I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, but you’re also unusually good at reading my mind,” you murmur. This prompts Yeonjun to crack a smile.

“Well, since you already bought me a ticket…”

“I can get a refund,” you retort, but he knows that it’s a lighthearted joke.

“Not a chance.” He snatches up the tickets and walks over to you, slinging an arm around your shoulders and holding the papers up to the light. “High school reunion, here we come.”

—-

Maybe you should be more nervous.

Or maybe it just hasn’t kicked in yet.

Because the thing is, it’s not like you haven’t been back to your hometown at all since you left for college. You come home for certain holidays, for special days, for celebrations or times of mourning.

So far, it feels like another one of those times.

In your head, it’s just like you’re going home for Christmas, or for your mother’s birthday. Nothing has been really different just yet, so it has yet to hit you.

It’s only once you’re back in your childhood bedroom, with Yeonjun standing next to you, that you begin to feel uneasy. The only time you’d stayed in your childhood bedroom (after you’d moved out, of course) was for a long weekend during Christmas a few years back. Every other time, Yeonjun had come with you, and the two of you stayed in a nearby hotel. This time, before you could book a room, your mother had called you and demanded that the two of you stay in your childhood home.

“Cancel your hotel room,” your mother said cheerfully, once you’d picked up her call.

“Why?” you asked, stifling a yawn and blinking your dry eyes simultaneously; she’d woken you up from a late afternoon nap. Golden sunshine was pouring into your bedroom like honey, splashing across the length of your shared king-sized bed. It was the first real sunshine to penetrate through the thicket of fog and storm clouds, the last lingering signs of spring before summer took over. The air was warm and heavy, scented heavily with the spices Yeonjun was using to cook dinner in the kitchen. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and of course this is why the smell of food was so strong. You sit up as your mother starts talking again, wrapping a soft throw blanket loosely around your shoulders. It’s only a few steps to the window, but your bare feet are quickly getting chilled from the hardwood floor as you peer out the window at the setting sun.

“You and Yeonjun can just come stay at the house,” your mother prompts, but her tone is a little off.

“You know I love our house, but it’s just too small for me and Jun to stay in my room,” you say, walking back over to sit down on the edge of the bed. “We sort of tried that one year at Chuseok, remember? We tapped out at around eleven after tossing and turning for like half an hour in that tiny bed.”

“I know, but still,” she says, trailing off.

You lean down to inspect a chip in your floor. “But still what, mom?”

“We’re selling the house,” she finally says. You freeze, heart skipping a beat as you lick your dry lips.

“You’re selling it?” you ask hoarsely.

“We can’t take care of it any more,” she explains, and you can hear the pity in her voice, sweet like cough syrup. “We’re going to move to a little complex a few towns over at the end of the month.”

“Oh, Woodbury?” you ask faintly, a flash of a memory of a Woodbury Apartments catalog sitting on your parents’ coffee table the last time you’d visited, around the winter holidays.

“We just thought that you might like to stay here for the last few weeks. We’re mostly cleaned up and starting to pack…”

Your head is swimming in the warmth of your bedroom, suddenly too hot for your taste. The blanket slides off of your shoulders as you mumble an excuse to your mother and hang up before she can even reply. You feel your phone buzzing in your hand and you know that your mother is texting you and asking if you’re alright, but you don’t answer her. You sit there until Yeonjun comes to get you for dinner, and once he sees your frail figure, shaking and clutching your phone to your chest, he scoops you into his arms and you listen to his heartbeat until the words come spilling from your lips.

You grimace, thinking back upon the memory of that phone call, as you yank the zipper on the side of your suitcase, trying to get out the bag that holds your toiletries. You packed it on top of all your clothes for easy access, for this reason exactly. The memory of your mother breaking the news to you wasn’t a good one, and the worst part was how stupid you felt for being upset about it at all. You were nearly thirty years old and you were having a breakdown over your parents selling their house?

“You grew up there, there’s a lot of memories. It makes perfect sense to feel the way you do right now,” Yeonjun had soothed, when you whimpered out your worries about sounding dumb. But you still felt shitty about feeling shitty.

But like you’d said before: nothing really felt different until you actually got back and you were unpacking in your childhood bedroom. You’d specifically asked your parents to leave it untouched so that you could pack things up yourself, and they obliged. Every other room in the house had been scrubbed clean and left simplistic, easy to clear out in just a few hours when the time came to leave for the last time.

Luckily, that wasn’t for a while yet.

First, you had to get through this damn reunion.

It took place the night after you landed, starting around eight thirty. You assumed that people would show up early, so you prepared yourself to arrive at crisp eight forty-five, just so that there was no chance of you being early nor late. You wanted to attract the least amount of attention possible from your old peers.

“If you don’t even want to see anyone, why did you decide to go?” your father asked sharply over dinner that night. A mixture of your annoyance, the tension in the room, and probably some of his pain medication for his back, was all building up. You watch through slightly narrowed eyes as your mother slips another few pills to him, a new wrinkle line appearing on her forehead. She’d tended to your father day and night since he fell off a ladder a few months ago. His tone made your head ache, and you sighed harshly—perhaps a bit too harshly, you realize, as you watch him flinch—before replying.

“I do want to see people,” you say, scowling into your dinner. Even though it’s delicious as always, prepared by your parents, you can’t seem to get much of it down before your stomach starts turning. You put down your utensil and rub your eyes, making your parents exchange an uneasy glance with an awkward Yeonjun. He didn’t really know what to do about the tension between you and your father, so he helplessly draped an arm over your hunched over frame and rubbed your shoulder comfortingly as he made a kind, somewhat pitiful expression towards your father. “It’s just that—I don’t want to see most of them, and I know that most of them haven’t ever left town. What if they ask me questions? What if they want to be friends? What if they expect something from me just because we were in the same class?”

“Woah there,” Yeonjun said, speaking up before either of your parents could offer a singular reassuring word. “Doll, if they didn’t care ten years ago, they probably won’t care now. At most you’ll get a few curious questions but it won’t be from a harmful place.”

“You weren’t there,” you glower at him, “you don’t get it.”

“Did something happen?” he asks, eyes widening. “I didn’t know… You never said anything about… Are you alright?” He stutters, trying to find the right thing to say to soothe you.

You kind of feel bad at this point, with both your parents and Yeonjun staring at you with the same concerned look written across their faces, the food in front of them untouched since the conversation started. You didn’t mean to be bitchy and bitter about it—after all, you were the one that chose to come back and go to the damned thing after all. But this was why you wanted to do it alone. As soon as it was over with, you imagined yourself returning to the playful, slightly more cheerful version of yourself that everyone knew and loved. You exhale loudly, then stand up. Your three loved ones mirror your actions, with Yeonjun straightening up to his full height beside you immediately, as if he could read your mind, and both your parents half-rising, mirroring out of pure empathy.

“I’m sorry,” you state, “I’ve just been stressed about this.” You want to say something more, give them more information about what the hell has been going on inside your head since it really clicked as you were standing there in your childhood bedroom, but your tongue feels glued to the roof of your mouth. Your jaw clenches and unclenches as the three of them stare you down, expecting more, but when they realize that is all you have to say, you watch your parents’ wrinkled faces deflate into a more relaxed expression. One that says, “my child has issues, but they’ll work through it themselves and there’s nothing we can do about it so let’s just stop freaking the fuck out.”

“It’s okay, sweetie.” Your mom says this solemnly.

When your eyes meet, you feel anger bubbling in your chest again. There is nothing but pity behind those old eyes. You know that your mom feels bad for you, her child that’s completely exiled from the hometown that they once lived in. The child that ran away to a big city and never came home again. The child that’s back home for the last time before they finally, really turn into an adult and let go of the last strings of childhood forever.

It settles, though, as she reaches over to place her cool, dry hand over yours. You look down, a little ashamed now that you’re calmer and can think clearer.

“I think I’m going to turn in early, so that I can… pack tomorrow before the reunion,” you explain, and your hand moves to pick up your dirty plate. Before you can lift it an inch off the table, your father swipes it from you and waves you and Yeonjun off.

“We got this. You two go get settled.”

You lock eyes with your father and you give him an appreciative nod. He smiles in return—yes, a sad one that is full of pity for you—and kisses you on the top of your head as he walks by you on his way to the kitchen.

You press your lips into a thin line, a slightly awkward silence emerging between the remaining people at the table. Your mother jumps up before anyone has the chance to attempt to rekindle the conversation, and brings both hers and Yeonjun’s dirty dishes to the kitchen, following your father and disappearing behind the cream wall of your dining area.

“I guess we’ll do what they say,” Yeonjun says, exhaling slowly and standing up. He pushes his chair in and tries to brush off imaginary dust from his place mat, and then looks to you for direction. Though he likes to take the lead, it seems that there is an exception when it comes to your childhood home.

You take the creaky stairs by two and slip around on the slick wooden floor, warped and smoothed down from years of sock hockey and communal use. Your childhood bedroom door is there at the end of the hallway like it always has been, illuminated by the ceiling light that’s clearly just been replaced by the sheer brightness of it. The door, which has faded crayon lines and your name in wooden letters, blue tacked to the wooden frame, is slightly ajar, just how you had left it when you went down to dinner.

The two of you sidle into the room, feeling a little claustrophobic. You spy an old purple bikini string overflowing out of one of your old dresser drawers, and your chest lurches a little as a memory of Beomgyu resurfaces. In the brief flash, Beomgyu is sitting in the middle of your bed, mud-caked high tops kicked off and laying on your shag rug. The browned laces are messy and askew, because of the haphazard way that Beomgyu had untied them messily and kicked them off carelessly. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and baggy, light colored jeans. His white socks have a hole on the left bottom and you can see pale flesh peeking through because of the way he’s laying, slumped onto his back with his feet sticking straight out in your direction. His hair is dark, long, and messy, with those white streaks that you loved so much. His brown eyes are twinkling in the dim yellow light, and just as he opens his mouth to say something to you you snap out of it.

When the image of Beomgyu dissipates completely, you realize that you’ve been staring at Yeonjun this whole time. His stature almost mirrors Beomgyu’s in the memory. But instead, Yeonjun is perched politely on the corner of your mattress, and his pointy-toed, shiny black boots are neatly lined up next to your teenage collection of shoes in your closet. Your own ankle boots had been kicked off and left in the middle of your old rug, just like the illusion of Beomgyu’s Vans had been. Yeonjun’s hair—it’s a mushroom-y shade of brown now, rather than pink—glows warmly in the light alongside his sharp, sparkling eyes, a stark contrast to Beomgyu’s midnight locks and rounded boba pearl eyes.

“Hey you,” Yeonjun teases, “where’d you go off to in Dreamland? I missed you for a few moments there.”

You realize that you’ve been fidgeting with your fingers this whole time, picking at your cuticles and peeling the surrounding skin. It’s a bad habit that tends to resurface when you’re stressed, and your fingertips burn now. You regret it, but it’s too late.

You chuckle. “Sorry, I got lost in my memories for a second.” You swallow hard, feeling choked up for some reason.

Yeonjun picks up on your watery voice and your inflamed fingers, and he smiles that goofy smile that always makes you feel soothed before he kisses your hands and starts rummaging for his own luggage to find a first aid kit. You let him baby you for a bit, jabbering over your wounds and gently rubbing in a medicated ointment to soothe the throbbing. He selects the worst wounds to bandage up, reassuring you that the other ones would be fine as long as you didn’t touch them again, but it was too late already. Your skin wouldn’t heal before tomorrow, and after that you hardly had a damn about anyone and what they thought of you. You mentally insult yourself for a moment before feeling weary, pushing Yeonjun away after he finished fixing your last finger but rewarding him with a long kiss.

He’s desperate for something more, for your attention to be solely on him. You again feel bad; your mind has been elsewhere for days now, and you know that Yeonjun can feel it.

So you relent even though you’re exhausted, and you kiss him with what you hope is passion, dragging your nails down the curve of his back to make him groan and pull you closer to him until your front halves are smushed together. Chest to chest, your bare breasts beneath your thin t-shirt brushing against his hard pecs, his groin grinding against yours. You wrap your legs around his slim waist, pulling him ephemerally closer, closer, closer. You suddenly desire him so much that it burns. It hurts in your chest and your stomach and your head and the burn can only be soothed by his touch. Slowly he pulls away from your lips though he feels intoxicated by them; if he could, he’d kiss them forever. He starts at your head, pressing light kisses to your forehead, nose, and lips. He lingers on your lips again, the feather light drag of flesh against flesh driving you insane when you were craving depraved, rough handling.

Maybe Yeonjun really did feel your desperation as you gasped aloud and clung to his frame. That faked passion in the beginning was so foolproof that you yourself feel victim to your own lying.

Yet, nothing more really happens that night. You both take off your clothes, locked in each other’s embrace, and you feel his hot mouth attaching itself to your neck, your chest, your clavicle. His wet tongue laves over the bruises he’s suckled onto your flesh, narrowed eyes looking up to you for approval. You stroke his hair, and the texture is even different from Beomgyu’s—you remember when he would lay his head in your lap during your sleepovers, and every now and then he’d shift and lock eyes with you, grinning foolishly like he always did. You didn’t realize how much you missed him until now, until you found yourself in a place that reeked of familiarity, that reeked of him. If you closed your eyes and tried hard enough, you think you could smell the cologne that he wore all those years ago. It’s musky, yet sharp, and he wore so much of it sometimes that you couldn’t ever hug him without your eyes watering and your nose wrinkling.

Yeonjun’s mouth parts from a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, a string of saliva from his lip connecting to your neck for just a moment longer before breaking. He places a soft, wet kiss on your lips, lingering there for just a little too long before he pulls away and smiles at you.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he says quietly. You fix your gaze on your fiancé, his face smooth and soft in the warm glow from your bedside lamp. That’s the only source of light in the room apart from the slivers of pale moonlight that are barely creeping in through a crack in your dusty butterfly patterned curtains.

“I know.” You place a kiss on his forehead, which he receives gratefully, happy to have your attention. At least, some of it. More than he’d been receiving recently.

“Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?” he asks, following you to the bathroom.

You clutch at the plastic bag holding your toothbrush and toothpaste, along with other toiletries. “Do you want to come?” you ask, as he closes the bathroom door behind him as he walks in. You turn on the faucet, wetting your toothbrush and squeezing a blob of mint green toothpaste onto the bristles. Yeonjun reaches over to turn off the water.

“Do you want me to come?” he asks. “It’s your high school reunion, and if you’re more comfortable going alone then I understand. But if you want me to come—especially because he might be there—I would love to.”

You accidentally jab yourself in the gums with the hard plastic of your toothbrush at the mention of Beomgyu. Even though he didn’t say the name aloud, you knew that was who he was referring to. You groan, spitting out the mixture of blood and foamy toothpaste into the sink as you turn the water back on and watch the mixture go down the drain. “I know I’ve made it seem like a really big deal,” you said, choosing your words carefully, as to not offend your somewhat hot headed fiancé, “but it’s really not. I think I was just overwhelmed because of all the memories here, and the fact that my parents are selling the house. But really Jun, it’s not that big of a deal. I’ll be there for an hour, max.”

“Then you’ll be back and we can finish packing,” he says promptly.

A warm feeling washes over your body at the way Yeonjun always used words like “we” and “us” constantly. It always made you feel like part of a team, like a relationship should be. Such a simple gesture made you feel so safe and loved.

“Yes,” you said, pinching his cheek playfully, “then we can finish packing, and my parents can sell the house and we can go home.”

Yeonjun grabs your hand and plants a kiss on the back of it, making you blush as you pull it away. “I can’t even brush my teeth in peace,” you tease.

“What can I say? If you’re gone for more than five minutes, I start to miss you too much.” Yeonjun winks before leaving you to finish washing up in peace, and you sigh softly as he closes the door. You look in the mirror, and you look tired even though you’ve yet to start packing at all. Really, it won’t be a big job. What’s more exhausting to think about is the reunion.

You can almost picture a devil and an angel on your shoulders as you stare at your reflection in the mirror as you pat in your skincare.

Listen to everyone else, the devil-you scolds. She scowls up at you. Why are you even going to the reunion? You could just skip it tomorrow and help your parents pack up the rest of the house. Your trip home won’t be a waste, and you’ll suffer less. It’s a win-win situation, she pressed.

Because she has to prove to her old classmates that she’s successful now! the angel on your other shoulder pipes up cheerfully. And isn’t it nice to see old friends anyways?

The devil scoffs. If she has to prove that she’s successful, is she really successful at all? And what old friends are you even talking about? She had Beomgyu, and that was all. There is zero point in going to this stupid reunion.

Maybe if we see Beomgyu again, he’ll fall in love with her again and she can live the life she always wondered if she could have if she’d just forgiven him—

You throw a fistful of water at the mirror, washing away the hallucinations. Your eyes are rounded and panicked, from the angel speaking your greatest fear aloud. You always told yourself that if you never thought about it again, it wasn’t real. You didn’t really think or care about it; it was just an intrusive thought.

Now, it was too real. Your angel spoke the truth.

You may not be in love with Choi Beomgyu, but you sure as hell have laid awake many nights wondering what would have happened if you did love him back.

Even more so, what would have happened if you’d never gone to New York in the first place, and stayed with him like he wanted you to.

—

“That’s the last box of books,” you wheeze.

Collapsing on top of a freshly sealed box filled with your dusty collection of Harry Potter books, you stare up at your ceiling. Yeonjun’s sweaty forehead appears in your line of vision, a playful expression on his pretty face. “Tired already?” he asks, pulling you up. You groan loudly as you get back on your feet, squeezing his hand tightly.

“The books are heavy,” you complain.

“That’s your fault for being such a nerd and having ten million books crammed into one room,” he retorts, wiping his brow with his forearm. “But enough of that. We’re done with it now.”

You sit down on the floor, which is bare now. The first thing you two had done was roll up your old flower-patterned rug and take it down to the main floor so that the movers could easily pick it up with the rest of your parents’ stuff once they arrived early next week. A half empty bottle of water sits next to you, and you reach for it and chug the remaining liquid. A bead of sweat rolls down your temple and collects in the collar of your dusty t-shirt.

“We did a lot for just one day,” you praise, as you look up at your newly empty shelves. “It already looks so much emptier in here.”

“It really does,” Yeonjun says, sitting beside you and squinting at the empty bookshelves.

You pick up your phone, and your eyes widen at the time. You wanted to give yourself enough time to get ready without rushing and stressing yourself out further.

“You better get going,” Yeonjun said, noting your reaction to the time. “Don’t want to be late.”

“I won’t be,” you say confidently. You give him a quick peck on the lips before dashing off to take a shower and wash away all of the dust and sweat before getting dressed.

Besides stressing yourself out about going in the first place, the next big thing you worried about was what you were going to wear. You didn’t want to show up under or overdressed, and you’d done countless hours of research on what was usually proper. You even scoured some of your old peers’ social media to see if they’d posted at all about the reunion, any hints of what they would look like. Well, their outfits, at least.

Luckily, it seemed like a lot of your classmates still liked to over share, and you found out more about what others planned to wear that night. Turns out, you had stressed out over almost nothing, as usual. You picked out an outfit from the few choices you’d stuffed into your suitcase, finding something almost new and just fancy enough to put your old classmates to shame. Yes, you were definitely going to outdo your frenemy Shin Ryujin, and without looking tacky too, as Lee Heeseung tended to do. Lucky for him, he was handsome enough that people looked past his terrible sense of fashion and liked him anyways.

You almost tripped down the worn wooden stairs as you tried to multitask and double-check the location while pulling on your left shoe. It wasn’t like you even needed to look it up on your phone; you knew the way to your old high school like the back of your hand. You’d walked there every day for four years, and driven there countless times with other people. You could close your eyes and find yourself there in a matter of fifteen minutes (or less).

Yeonjun had insisted on driving you there himself, and he promised you that he’d pick you up as soon as you texted him as well. You felt your heart flutter as he insisted on escorting you, liking the feeling of being cared for. He played music from a decade ago and sang along, making you giggle and pushing your anxiety to the back of your mind.

Then before you knew it, with a quick kiss, you gathered up your things and left your parents’ car, and stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of your old high school. It’s littered with cigarette butts and old chewed gum, just like it was back in the day, and a wave of nostalgia fills you as you inhale the familiar scent of marijuana and crayons, a jarring juxtaposition that oddly made your heart ache for those years you spent on the cusp of adulthood and the cliff edge of childhood. The very same years that you spent suffering through high school in the very building you were staring at now.

The front entrance is decked out in colorful balloons and a long white banner that reads “WELCOME CLASS OF ‘08” in crooked black paint. You manage a tight-lipped smile at the staff at the entrance, and duck into the main hallway, where a few people are mingling by the sidelines. The gymnasium is booming with music, and it’s almost too similar to your senior prom (which you of course attended with Beomgyu).

You don’t recognize the few people talking outside in the hallway, so you prepare yourself to enter the gymnasium. You have to take a deep breath and look down at your outfit to make sure you’re not in your seafoam green prom dress. The watch on your wrist almost feels the same weight as your oversized corsage made of baby’s breath and small dyed blue buds. Your ankle boots seem to morph into dirty black Converse with scribbles on the toes. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the shiny reflection of the freshly repainted lockers, and your rippled reflection is ten years younger, with unblended green eyeshadow plastered up to your eyebrows and a brown-red lipstick on your lips. Your hair is very reminiscent of the time, and your nails are bitten but painted with matching green nail polish. Underneath your dress, your toenails are slathered with the same shade even though they wouldn’t show with your choice in shoes.

You feel ten years lighter, ten years dumber, ten years younger.

TEN YEARS BEFORE.

You’ve never had a panic attack before, but you think you’re having one now.

In the girls’ bathroom.

At school.

During your senior prom.

You’re breathing heavily, wheezing as your lungs seem to collapse in on themselves. Your manicured hands are gripping the sides of the porcelain sink so tightly your knuckles ache, and you’re staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes are teary, but you know that if you let those tears fall your face will be streaked with metallic green trails for the rest of the night. You grit your teeth and will the wetness in your eyes to go the hell away.

Beomgyu was waiting for you outside the bathroom.

He’d never even asked you to go to prom with him; he just assumed that the two of you would go together. The week before prom, you complained about not having a date, and he’d turned to you with a surprised look, asking why you couldn’t go with him. For some reason, it hurt your feelings a little when he said that you were his best friend, but it healed the wound a little when he said that there was no one else he’d rather go with.

He was so handsome in his suit. You knew that his mother picked it up at Dillard’s and had made slight adjustments herself so that it would fit him perfectly. Even so, the white shirt underneath was wrinkled and his tie was crooked, veering to the right. It didn’t matter to you though, and you’d smiled nervously, blushing from your nose to your toes as he offered you a corsage and you held out the boutineer.

You felt like he was your boyfriend even though you walked the same way to school you did every day. The only difference was that you were all dressed up—and the simple fact that anyone who saw the two of you would assume you were a couple. Especially with the way he had offered his arm to you, and the way you were currently walking perfectly in time as you clutched his thin but muscular arm.

It was too much when you both got to the school and he kissed you on the cheek right before the two of you walked into the gymnasium. Choppy locks of his messy wolf cut fell into his big brown eyes as he grinned at you, cocking his head to the side innocently as you nearly sweat through your makeup.

Then, you ended up in the bathroom. A messy stuttered excuse to Beomgyu had to suffice, and you rushed away from him, clammy hands lifting up the train of your dress so that you didn’t trip as you ran away.

He’s your best friend, idiot, you murmur under your breath, staring at your ragged reflection in the mirror. Stop acting like such a freak. You have a month before you go to school an hour away, and then you won’t have to worry about these feelings ever again.

You place a hand over your heart, feeling the rapid beating start to finally slow as you take deep breaths and reassure yourself that it’s going to be okay. It’s been harder and harder to tamp down the weird bubbling feelings towards Beomgyu, and you’ve never been happier to be attending your back-up school in the fall. Anything is better than here, you think, grimacing. Anywhere away from Beomgyu will help me work out my shit without him interfering.

“Your shit” refers to these odd feelings. Obviously.

You finally let go of the sink and take a step back, relaxing your shoulders and looking at yourself one last time. You look normal. Your face is no longer scrunched up in a confused, panicked expression, and your chest isn’t heaving with shallow breaths. Your hands are less clammy and you feel more at ease. Right before you turn away, you fix the corner of your lipstick with your pinky finger, then spin on your heel and exit the bathroom.

Beomgyu is waiting there, slumped against the lockers, picking at a cuticle. When you come back, his face lights up, and you can’t help but allow yourself to love him more than a friend, even if it’s just for one night.

TEN YEARS LATER.

You practically relive your senior prom in that same bathroom, clutching the sides of the sink and staring at your reflection with a mixture of nausea and anger bubbling in your stomach. This time, all you have to do is take a long drag from your vape before the tension in your head starts to loosen. You exhale, a cloud of white slipping from between your lips as you stuff the little device back in your purse, between your lipstick and your box of cigarettes.

You feel like your old wallflower self again as you lean against the door before pushing it open to exit the bathroom again. For some reason, being in that bathroom again reminded you of the days where you’d skip class and eat lunch alone. You didn’t want to go back out to the crowd, something that you didn’t have any problems with after you graduated high school and came out of your shell for once and for all. But now, surrounded by your past, your hand hesitates a little before pushing the door open and leaving the confines of a place that’s seen you at your best and your worst for the better part of four years.

Then it starts to feel like things are moving in slow motion.

You’re hyper focused on the fact that the heavy bathroom door had dragged a clump of wet paper towels out of the bathroom and across the freshly waxed floors. You grimace as you step around the sodden mess, making a face and successfully avoiding the paper pile.

You look up, the ghost of a scowl still present on your face, and then you see him.

It’s been ten years since you’ve seen Choi Beomgyu, and it’s such a strange feeling that resonates through your entire body that you actually feel bile rising hot in your throat. You swallow hard, tasting bitter stomach acid, and can’t do anything else but stare.

It’s stupid really; you feel, again, like your stupid teenage self. The one who froze up in uncomfortable situations, the one who cried too easily, the one with seemingly permanently sweaty palms that no boy would ever want to touch, especially not when you were around other more radiant individuals. No, you felt like you hadn’t changed at all as you stared at Choi Beomgyu the same way you did when you were eighteen: with nothing but love and pure adoration in your eyes.

But that’s not to say it wasn’t terribly conflicting.

As soon as you saw him and it actually registered in your mind that it was him in real life and not some ghostly memory, you felt your throat tighten as you thought of the last interaction you had with him. Those old familiar feelings of softness and love faded as you remembered the full extent of what he did, and it was hard to just pretend like that didn’t happen. You would never forget that.

But god, was he gorgeous.

Ten years had nothing on him. Even though twenty-eight wasn’t old in the slightest, you could still see signs of aging in your other classmates. Some had hairlines that had receded much further back than they were when they were eighteen, some had the beginnings of smile lines and crow’s feet, and some even had some wisps of gray hair, though it was only a select few.

Beomgyu on the other hand looked exactly the same, yet so oddly different you almost couldn’t recognize him unless you looked very closely. You wondered for a moment how different he’d look in your eyes if you’d been by his side for the past decade and watched him age right beside you, rather than miles and miles away, both physically and metaphorically. Then, you attribute the weird unfamiliar feeling in the pit of your stomach to the fact that you haven’t seen him in years. Because really, you hardly know him any more. You can’t really call him your best friend if you have had zero contact for a decade.

His hair, which you remembered was always messy, shaggy, and unkempt, was cut shorter. Instead of the dark natural black with white streaks, it was a reddish brown. It was just short enough to be acceptable for a professional job, but long enough that it still looked like Beomgyu. His bangs still fell into his eyes the same way as he leaned forward to laugh, and your heart ached as you heard the tail-end of his goofy chuckle. He stood right outside the gymnasium entrance, talking with a guy whose name you think was Soobin. You distantly remember him at the graduation ceremony. He leans against the lockers nonchalantly, making you remember your senior prom again, but this time the way he does so isn’t in a cocky way. He looks genuinely relaxed as his shoulder rests against the cold painted metal, nodding along as Soobin chatters away to him.

This entire time, you’ve been standing right outside the women’s restroom. You’re kind of surprised that no one’s asked you to move out of the way, given how long you were standing there like an idiot with your mouth hanging open like a fish’s.

Luckily, no one really gave a fuck.

People were flying by, most of them on the phone and saying something like, “I was just there! You told me to meet you by the entrance! No, the front entrance!” Others were just standing around, either focusing way too much on their own conversations or typing aggressively on their phones without paying any attention to those around them, which included you.

You fight the urge to whip out a cigarette right then and there, feeling a headache coming on.

Taking out your own phone, you shoot a quick text to Yeonjun, who’s already asking you when you think you might be ready to leave. Unsurprisingly, you already feel exhausted and plan to just stop by the main room and then get the fuck out.

When you look back to the entrance of the gymnasium, Beomgyu and Soobin have disappeared, and you catch a glimpse of Beomgyu’s pale blue dress shirt and Soobin’s khakis rounding the corner to the men’s room, opposite where you’re standing. You breathe a sigh of relief and enter the main room, chewing on your bottom lip as you look around for anyone you know.

It really is like senior prom, you think grimly, as you sidle over to a table with drinks and snacks. You pick up a can of lemonade and pop it open with the little tab, taking little sips from it as you look around some more.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You swallow a mouthful of lemonade and turn to the source of the voice, eyes widening a little in surprise.

It’s Karina, who looks as beautiful as ever. Like Beomgyu, she doesn’t seem to have aged at all, rather, her beauty seemed even more radiant. You knew immediately that she was the type to simply get better looking with age, and you couldn’t help but feel a little jealous at that thought.

She offers you a small smile and stands next to you, looking you over with a satisfied look. “You look really good,” she said honestly, “how have you been?”

You let out a long sigh, ending it with a bitter chuckle. “I’ve been good, finished school, got engaged. After I finish helping my parents pack up the house I won’t have a reason to come back here ever again, so I thought why not?”

“Right, I heard about them moving out. Where to?”

“Some apartment complex, I forgot the name.”

“Was it Autumn Oaks?”

You shake your head no, pursing your lips. “No, that’s not it…” you mumble. trying to remember. Then it comes to you, and you snap your fingers at no one in particular. “Woodbury!” you say, silently commending yourself on remembering the name.

“Oh! I must have been wrong then,” Karina laughs, and you’re again jealous of her because of how delicate and pretty she sounds. It’s like the tinkling of little silver bells. Her eyes scrunch up when she laughs, and your gaze washes over her pretty face. Her laughter subsides, and it becomes just a little awkward as she clears her throat. “So, engaged, huh? Who’s the lucky guy?”

You feel a blush creeping onto your face; your cheeks feel hot.

“Yeah, his name’s Yeonjun. I met him as soon as I got to New York and we’ve been inseparable ever since.” You feel a little sheepish talking about him for some reason, and you’re unsure why. You’re very proud to have a partner as loving, handsome, talented, and successful as Yeonjun. Yet, it’s still weird to admit your love for him. It’s like he doesn’t fit with this version of you. And then you wonder, for a brief moment, if that really matters—have you really changed that much since high school? So much so that Yeonjun doesn’t even fit into the world you used to live in?

Awkwardly, you show Karina the home screen on your phone for reference. It’s a cute selfie of you and Yeonjun from the past winter holidays. When the photo was taken, you and Yeonjun had been on an evening stroll when it started to snow, and heavily. The snowflakes were more like clumps, so many little particles gathered together all at once. In the photo you can see the snow clumps clinging to your winter clothes, your hair, even some resting on your eyelashes and eyebrows. Your noses are red from the cold, a single puff of breath escaping your mouth as you’re caught mid-laugh, mid-smile, permanently in the picture.

At first you hated that picture. You hated that Yeonjun took it when you were caught off guard, hated the way you looked in it. But the more that you looked, the softer your reaction got, and eventually you came to love the photo as much as Yeonjun did. At least, you loved the way he looked in it. With his eyes almost closed from his whole face being scrunched up with laughter, his exposed teeth in his wide smile, and his strong arm wrapped around your shoulders, he looked like the sweetest boyfriend ever.

Karina seemed to think so too as she audibly cooed at the picture. “You guys are adorable,” she declared. Then she stops talking, swiftly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before she locks eyes with you and continues. “Honestly, and I don’t mean this in a bad way at all, I promise—I always thought that you and Beomgyu would end up together.”

There’s a pregnant pause, and it was like everyone in the room held their breath before you remembered where you were and laughed, a little too loudly to be natural. “That’s crazy!” you say between fake chuckles, feeling your stomach turn. You briefly wonder what Karina would do if you threw up all over her, and then pray to any higher being out there that it wouldn’t actually happen. “What makes you think that?” you ask quickly, before she can respond to your exclamation.

She flushes a dark pink. “Oh you know…” she waves a hand in the air. “You two were always together, like always. Everyone thought you were already dating, even if you never were. We all thought so.”

You get déjá vu, remembering the last time you talked to Karina—when she asked you to hook her up with Beomgyu. You get irrationally angry over this, pushing aside the fact that it’s been ten years since she liked him, and you have a fiancé who obviously isn’t Beomgyu.

You force a tight-lipped smile, squeezing your can of lemonade so hard it crunches in your fist a little. Karina doesn’t seem to notice, taking a long sip of her own lemonade.

“Well, it was really nice catching up,” she says, after it’s clear you’re not going to further the conversation. “Good luck. Not that you’ll need it.” She holds out her free hand to you, and you grip it firmly as you both shake. You both burst out into giggles at the odd formality, and the butterflies you get from laughing with a female friend is like nothing else. You wish that you’d had a friend like her in high school. Maybe you even wish that you’d been her friend back in high school.

“Thanks,” you say, “you too. It was so good to see you again.” You find that you genuinely mean it, and a fire roars in your chest. This was what you wanted. You wanted to come back for closure, and now you have it. You saw Beomgyu and he seemed to be doing just fine without you, mended things with the one person you weren’t on great terms with, and you’re folding it all up in your metaphorical box of childhood memories. You can just feel the satisfaction of tying the ribbon and moving on to the next chapter of your life without anything weighing you down.

How mature, you think, to be able to move on from childhood just like that.

You feel accomplished, and a weight that you didn’t even know about has been lifted on your shoulders. You feel lighter than air; you felt as if you could walk amongst the stars if you tried. There’s nothing more for you to do, so you gather yourself and take a deep breath before exiting the gymnasium, giving it one last look. Still, it felt like only yesterday that you’d walked these halls as a student. Those miserable (yet wonderful) years felt like a lightyear and a day away simultaneously.

You’re fumbling through your purse for your phone, to text Yeonjun when your keychain falls out from your vigorous digging. It lands with a loud clink, metal hitting linoleum, and you groan, moving to pick it up, but another hand snatches it before you do.

Standing up, you readjust your purse as the person holds the keychain out to you. “Thanks,” you sigh, reaching for it.

They tug it away then, and you jerk your hand back in surprise. “Where did you get this charm?” the person asks in an accusatory tone.

You finally get your purse back on your shoulder and look the freak in the eyes, but just as you’re about to give them a piece of your mind it clicks. Your breath is stolen from you; you feel like you’re shriveling up on the spot, no oxygen flowing through your veins.

Choi Beomgyu is standing in front of you, frowning at your old matching keychains.

Why hadn’t you gotten a new one, damn it? It’s not something that you regularly thought about; you always made a mental note to get a new one but it always slipped your mind. It was never important enough for you to write down.

You try to say something—what, you don’t know—but your mouth is so dry that you hardly rasp out a single word. Beomgyu finally looks up, dark eyebrows angry and scowling, but as soon as your eyes meet, he melts. You see the hurt, confusion, and warmth flow through his face like waves onto a shore. He drops the keychain again, eyebrows furrowed and hands shaking.

What are you supposed to even say in this situation? You have no fucking idea.

That’s why you run. You squat down quickly to snatch your keys up, and then sprint for the front entrance. The doors are wide open, and you can see the pink and purple sunset, just out of reach. You don’t look back, and you’re soon you’re half running, half tripping down the staircase and then slipping on the dirt pathway all the way back to your house.

It’s stupid. It’s juvenile. It’s immature. Why did you run from him like a maniac? Why didn’t you just say hello and then goodbye like a normal person? No, now things were definitely going to be weird.

Sweat is running down your back when you finally get back to your house. It’s not a long walk, but even though the sun had now fully gone down, it was still hotter than ever. You forgot how nasty summers in your hometown could be.

Musty, muggy air surrounds you as you wipe your moist forehead with your wrist. You feel suffocated in your semi-fancy outfit, and your dress shoes are killing your feet. All you want is to get home, take a shower, and forget that you ever saw him.

So that’s what you do. You don’t tell anyone that you saw him, even though you know they’re wondering. Especially Yeonjun, who was so eager to pick you up from the school and hear all about the reunion. You can see it written across all their faces as you eat dinner together—while they ate, at least. You still felt so sick that all you did was pick at it with your fork and push things around on your plate.

Afterwards, you kiss Yeonjun on the forehead and slip out the door. It’s too early to go to sleep just yet, and you want some fresh air.

Now that the sun had fully gone away, the air had cooled more, but just a little. It was thick and warm, and the buzzing of mosquitoes and other pests hummed in your ears as you itched an already inflamed bite on your ankle. Fireflies danced close to the grass, the flashing yellow lights illuminating the dark blades. Distantly, you could hear big bullfrogs croaking and crickets chirping, and you knew that it came from the small stream that you and Beomgyu liked to mess around in way back when. You lost a sandal there once, you think.

The road from your house to your school started off as black asphalt, but later turned into a winding dirt path, carved by human feet alone, through a small thicket of trees fondly referred to as “the forest.” There were multiple ways to get there though; you and Beomgyu just liked this one best. You stand where dirt meets concrete, staring into the forest, and puffing on a cigarette, exhaling plumes of smoke floating up towards the massive full moon. It’s still too hot out, but you somehow feel more suffocated inside the house. Something about Yeonjun and your parents staring you down, their eyes practically begging to know what happened. You don’t need their damn sympathy, you just needed to chill the fuck out.

“Big city girl needs her nicotine fix?”

Somehow, you knew this would happen. A part of you knows that’s why you came out here tonight.

“Only when I’m stressed.” You purposely take an exaggerated, long drag.

“Because of me? I’m flattered.”

Beomgyu finally stands beside you, heels on the asphalt and toes brushing against the loose dirt. You refuse to look him in the eye. You refuse to look at him at all. The only light is from the moon and your lit cigarette, flashing reddish orange every time you breathed in.

“What do you want?” There’s no softness in your voice despite your opposing feelings inside. You drop the remains of your cigarette onto the dirt ground and stamp it out with your shoe, which you now realize are an old pair of Converse, worn down and caked with dirt.

And, complete with faded Sharpie scribbles made by you and the cocky bastard standing next to you.

“You ran away from me earlier.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“You ran away from me ten years ago too.”

You groan loudly, wiping your face dramatically until the reds of your eyes showed. “I’m not doing this again,” you say, in a voice that’s much higher pitched than normal. You’re getting mad.

“What, you’re just gonna run away again? Very mature,” he said sarcastically. Your heart panged with hurt; there was venom in his words. Clearly, he was still hurting from you leaving. He hadn’t healed either.

“Say what you want to say, I’m only here until the end of the week anyways,” you snap.

Honestly, even though you’re still mad at him, a part of you still cares deeply for him, and it makes your throat tighten when you see the despair on his face. You know you did the right thing back then; leaving, and never talking to Beomgyu again. You never wanted to let him think that what he did was okay, and you knew that if you ever reached out to him and apologized he would assume that. Even so, there were so many nights where you sobbed into your pillow, restraining yourself from calling his number, not even knowing if he ever got a new one. Maybe that was another reason why you didn’t want to call; if you tried to call and couldn’t reach him, it’d be ten times more humiliating.

“You know I’m sorry, don’t you?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it okay,” you mumble, dejectedly. “Just because you said that you’re sorry, just because you are sorry, it doesn’t mean you didn’t try to purposely ruin my future. For selfish reasons too.”

He doesn’t reply for a minute, cocking his head to the side like he always used to do. Seeing him with his old mannerisms makes you feel sick.

“I know,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I was a stupid kid. I didn’t want you to leave, even if it meant holding you back. It was so damn selfish, and I am so sorry.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Okay. Thanks.” Again, Beomgyu doesn’t reply right away, and instead he turns to face you. The moonlight hits his face perfectly at this angle, and his features are lit up by the beams of silver. You can’t help but look over at him too, staring into his brown eyes that look completely black in the night. They’re so big and dark, but the moonlight reflects sparkles into them. Your scowl softens as you take in the slight signs of aging that you realize he’s beginning to show. His jawline is much more square now; his chin and nose slightly more prominent. There’s faint smile lines traced into his smooth skin, so light that you know you wouldn’t be able to see it in the daylight. The faintest whisper of stubble was only obvious on his chin, if you looked very closely. “Is that all you wanted to say to me?” you say finally, after what seemed like an eternity of you two staring into each other’s eyes.

“No,” he admitted. “There’s so much I want to say, but I’ll forget most of it before I even begin. But I missed you a lot. And I still love you a lot too.”

You wince at the declaration of his feelings, and you hope to any god out there that he means he still loves you as a friend, as someone he’s known for so long. But you know that isn’t what he means. You ask anyways.

“And by love… you mean…”

“I never stopped loving you,” he said fiercely, and his eyes look wet in the pale light. “I never will.”

“You’re crazy,” you say, but your voice cracks, and when you see Beomgyu’s pleading eyes finally spill over at the sound of emotion breaking through your rock solid facade, you shatter.

You’re leaking like a broken faucet; no sobs or cries, just silent tears streaming down your face non-stop. Beomgyu’s crying too, but he’s the opposite. His shoulders are shaking so hard from the force of holding his sobs in, and you can hear his little chokes as he swallows them down. Against your own better judgement, you mentally say fuck it, and walk over to him to take him in your arms.

You regret it and love it at the same time.

He smells just like he did back then; you can tell he uses the same cologne and it makes you smile into the top of his head, where your chin rests softly. And yes, the smell still makes your nostrils sting initially—but you find it doesn’t really bother you like it used to. His body against yours feels different physically but the same in memory. He’s broader, a little taller, a little more squishy now that he’s out of his teen boy phase where he grows faster than he can eat to catch up. But the way his hands clasp around your back, the way he buries his face in your neck, the shake of his left leg (you can tell he’s genuinely nervous because of this), it’s all the same.

You watch your own tears drip down into his red-brown hair, smoothing them away before they can soak in. You sit there on the asphalt in silence, stroking his soft hair and holding him close, as you both cry.

You almost press a quick kiss to the top of his head, but as soon as you look up you see Yeonjun standing there, flowery apron on and an oven mitt on one hand. Right, he’d been in the middle of baking dessert when you’d run out. You push Beomgyu away, a little too roughly, as Yeonjun looks the two of you up and down suspiciously. “Is that Beomgyu?” he asks sharply, and Beomgyu, upon hearing another man’s voice, turns around before you can even open your mouth to reply.

“I am. And who are you?” Beomgyu asks, rather rudely. You shove him again and stand up, walking over to Yeonjun and shaking your head. You bring your wrist up to your eyes and roughly wipe away any of the remaining tears. Yeonjun notices this and his expression softens as he bends down to try to look at your face.

“Hey, is everything okay?” he murmurs softly, rubbing your back gently. “This asshole didn’t try anything, did he?”

“What did you just call me?” Beomgyu asks loudly.

“I called you an asshole because that’s what you are,” Yeonjun snaps. He gently takes you by the arm so he can guide you back to the house, and you let him. “And just so you know, I’m Yeonjun, her fiancé. So fuck off.” He sends one last bone-chilling glare at Beomgyu before he wraps an arm around you and walks you back down the road. Beomgyu can see him leaning down to whisper in your ear, and he grits his teeth angrily, knowing that you’re both talking about him.

“It’s fine, Jun, really,” you say, between stuttered gasps for air. You’re crying again, harder this time. It’s embarrassing; you’re not sad, you’re angry.

“Are you sure? He didn’t try to pull anything? Promise?”

“Promise,” you choke out, and Yeonjun presses a swift kiss to your wet cheek as he closes the front door behind the two of you.

“Then… can I ask what was happening when I found you two?” he asks quietly.

You avert your eyes and stare at the ground. You’ve tracked in some dirt, and you know your mom will be pissy if you don’t clean it up before you go to bed. Yeonjun says your name, reaching over to tilt your chin up so you can look him in the eye.

“He started crying because he felt bad, so then I felt bad and… I just hugged him. He looked so pathetic.” You tell Yeonjun the truth, and he accepts it immediately. There’s no question about it; he trusts you completely.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that alone,” he says, sounding genuinely sorry that he wasn’t there with you. “I would have beat his ass.”

“And that’s why we walked away,” you said, laughing a little and wiping your teary eyes.

“That’s right,” he repeats, pulling you into a tight hug. An immense wave of guilt washes over you as you flinch; your first thought was something terrible.

You like Beomgyu’s hugs better, and you always have.

—

The next morning dawns hot and dry.

Unlike the previous day, in which the air held so much moisture you could feel your clothes clinging to your seemingly permanently damp body, this heat was unbearable in a different way.

You swear you can feel your skin cracking and drying as soon as you step into the direct sunlight, no matter how much sunscreen you apply. Heat waves are practically visible when you look outside; they’re distorting the image of the big tree in your backyard.

This morning, you’re sitting on your front porch with a paper plate and a steaming mug of coffee. On the paper plate is a blueberry streusel muffin; courtesy to your fiancé’s above average baking skills—and also the reason behind the flower-patterned apron he had been wearing when he came across you and Beomgyu having a weird emotional snot-fest. The muffin is a little soggy, as muffins tend to degrade to once they’ve been shut in a tupperware overnight, but the promise of a sweet treat first thing in the morning far outweighed the initial disappointment upon seeing a second morning muffin.

Chewing slowly, you dust off your streusel sticky hands, crumbs rolling off your palms and landing onto the peeling wood of your front porch. You watch one big crumb of streusel roll down the expanse of your thigh and down two, three steps until it lands in a patch of sunlight further down the stairs that lead to the street. It’s early enough in the morning that the sun isn’t directly overhead and therefore burning you as soon as you walk out the front door, and you’re grateful for the temporary shade. Your bare feet brush against the edge of the shadows, toes dipping into light and spreading across the sun warmed wood.

It’s a gloriously individual morning, and you breathe in the smell of trees and warm grass. If only you could freeze this moment in time and revisit it whenever you wanted. If only you had such an escape that you could return to when times got tough.

But really, that morning is the only peaceful part of your day. You’re arguing with your co-worker on the phone as soon as you down your last sip of coffee, which had by then cooled into a lukewarm liquid. You hate the last few gulps of a hot drink, because there is nothing worse than a lukewarm drink that’s meant to be hot. Then, irritable from your row with Jeongin, who fucked up your entire project and needed help restoring a few very simple documents, paired with the misery of living in a house with no AC during the hottest, driest summer months, you end up being snappy with Yeonjun.

Also, your mother made your least favorite dish for dinner, and as much as you appreciated your parents for cooking for you, there was no way in hell you were eating it.

Stomach growling, head aching, and fingers sore from furious emailing (thanks to Jeongin), you curl up on your side in bed. Your hair is still damp from your recent shower, and your face is shiny and a little sore from you taking out your anger on your face when you were washing it.

You’re plucking at a piece of your hair, just toying with it mindlessly, when you feel the edge of your bed dip down as someone sits on it. You freeze, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth to chew on it nervously until you taste blood.

“Long day, huh?” Yeonjun asked softly. You scoot over a little to let him lay next to you, but you don’t turn to look at him. He sidles in carefully, leaving just a little space between your bodies in case you’re not comfortable with too much contact tonight. You shrug in response, the only sound being your t-shirt brushing against your bed sheets as your shoulders move up and down in place of real words.

“I was just annoyed, and everything piled up so quickly after I had to fix Jeongin’s shit.” You spit out Jeongin’s name like it’s poisonous, and Yeonjun can’t help but chuckle at your petty behavior.

“He’s a kid,” he chided, “but he is a pretty dumb one, at that. I thought young people were supposed to be good with technology.”

“Doesn’t apply to clueless idiots,” you mumble, your words muffled from your lips being pressed to your pillowcase.

“It’s been a long few days for you, hasn’t it?” he asked, forgetting about Jeongin and his antics. “Are you sure you don’t wanna fly home early?”

Home. Fly home. Right, this wasn’t home any more, even though you always referred to it as that. I’m going home for Christmas. This girl I knew from back home got married last month. My hometown is a wasteland and I never want to go back. But I don’t want to lose it, either.

“I’m okay,” you start, and you can just picture Yeonjun’s doubtful frown without turning to look at his face. “Fine, I will be okay once this is all wrapped up and over with. It’s a stressful time but it’s something I have to do. I had to come back to my high school reunion for closure. I had to at least see Beomgyu one last time. I had to help my parents clean and sell the house.” You’re laying it out for him, word by word, and he pays attention to your intonation and serious tone, moving a little closer so that he could rest his head right next to yours. His nose poked the back of your scalp as he inhaled the scent of your shampoo, and underneath that, the scent of you.

You swallow hard, feeling all of the anger from your long, stressful day melt away. Yeonjun’s steady breathing and complete attention to your stupid rant had calmed you. Silently, you both stare up at the warm-toned walls, washed with a dim yellow light from the small lamp on your nightstand, the only light in the house left on at the moment. It was late, past midnight, and you two were the only two souls in the house that were awake.

Holding your breath, you slowly move closer to Yeonjun until your bodies are pressed so tightly to each other that you couldn’t wedge a single finger between where you two were connected. He breathes in harshly at the feeling of your hips connecting, flexing his hands into fists to try and control himself. Then, with a shaking hand, you reach over to find him, and once your fingers brush against his, you slip your hand into his hold. His fingers are warm, soft, familiar. Especially from the past few days of moving heavy objects. You bring your intertwined hands up to your chest, and then they part—you press his newly free hand against your breast, letting him feel your hardened, sensitive nipple. He groans softly, deeply, into your hair as he thumbs at the hardened nub over the thin material of your shirt.

You exhale, happy that he seems to have missed you as much as you missed him.

Now you feel his hard length pressed up against your backside, grinding roughly into you and making you slick with anticipation, though you were both still fully clothed. Momentarily, he let go of your tit, and before you could whisper a question he slipped his hand underneath your shirt to grope at them freely, without any barriers. He’s breathing heavier now, soft grunts escaping his lips ever now and then. You’re holding back a whimper as he sucks hickies onto your neck, his hot tongue making you squirm.

All in one quick fumble, you’re facing him now and your lips are pressed to his. Your neck is stinging from his teeth, your nipples burning from his calloused fingers pinching and teasing. Worst of all, your clothed cunt, grinding against Yeonjun’s hard muscular thigh, which he had pressed roughly between your legs as soon as you turned to face him, gasping.

You feel your teeth knock against his as you choke down a moan when your clit nudges against his thigh just right, and he reaches up with one hand to grab your throat gently, just enough to get your attention. He shushes you, and you whimper quietly as his fingers move up from your throat to inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the digits, sucking them deeper into your mouth, eager to please as you stare at his gorgeous face, half hidden in the shadows. His lips are swollen and red in the limited light, his eyes hooded and dark as he stares at you sucking on his fingers, desperate and longing. You haven’t felt this way in a long time. When was the last time you wanted to please a man this badly?

Yeonjun pulls his fingers out of your mouth, staring at the string of saliva that connects them to your bottom lip momentarily before it inevitably breaks, and then he reaches down into your pants, spit soaked fingers expertly finding your clit, as they have done for years and years. He knows everything about your body, and better yet, everything about your mind that makes your body react.

He’s going to give it to you exactly how you like it, exactly like he’s done for years and years. He’s never let you down before, and he isn’t planning on it now, even when it’s in your childhood bedroom.

He winks at you before ducking under the covers, and you feel his hands grabbing at the waistband of your pants. You lift up your ass, letting him remove your shorts and panties at the same time, and finally, you feel his warm breath tickling your inner thighs as he leans in.

He presses sloppy, wet kisses down your thighs as he works his way to the center, and finally you feel his fingers teasing you with light touches, poking and prodding just to get on your nerves a little so that you’ll pull his hair the way he likes it. And that you do, tangling your fingers in his brown locks as he smiles into your cunt, your wetness dripping down his chin.

Yeonjun reappears once he’s done his job, so well that you had to stuff your fist into your mouth when you came so that you didn’t wake up your parents with the loudest, most pornographic moan you’ve ever uttered. Your legs are shaking as he emerges from between your legs, your slick making his lips and chin glisten in the light. You reach up to grab him by the shirt, dragging him down to you so that you can taste yourself on his swollen, pouty lips. It’s salty, a little bitter and musky, and you can smell it all over his face as you messily make out with him, lips sliding over each other as you fumble with the bottom of his shirt to try and tug it up. Feeling your cold hands on his stomach, he reluctantly stops kissing you to rip it off his body, tossing it onto the floor with a flourish. It joins the pile of clothes on the floor, alongside your shorts and panties, which had made their way closer and closer to the edge of the bed before finally just falling in a sad heap, forgotten about in the heat of the moment.

You watch his muscles flex in the dim light as he tosses his shirt onto the floor, your eyes glowing with lust. He dives back in; kissing you like it’s the last time he’ll be able to taste your lips as he fumbles with his pants. You part once more to rid yourself of the remaining clothing items clinging to your bodies; your shirt and his pants.

You’re already reaching over with a spit soaked hand to grab at his dick before he even gets the chance to toss his boxers on the floor, and he sharply inhales at the feeling of you sliding your slick hand over his cock head. You feel it twitch under your touch and giggle. The effect that you have on him has never dimmed; you are the most gorgeous person in the world to him.

Before you and Yeonjun had officially gotten together, you had just been friends. He was two years older than you, an upperclassman already, and he didn’t want to hold you back with a relationship as soon as you got to school. No matter how much he liked you, he kept his distance just a little as he watched you grow and change as a person in those first few months as an adult. In this time, you managed to rack up a few sexual experiences, some better than others, all being below average at best.

It was hooking up, that’s all it was. That’s the only kind of sex that you had, the only kind that you thought existed. Fucking. Hooking up. Having sex. Such plain, brash terms.

Then, you were with Yeonjun.

Fucking had a different meaning with him. There was affection, an underlying softness even when he was being rough, an overflow of love pouring from his heart into yours every time he was inside of you. It made you feel weird at first, and you actually avoided him for a bit after you started crying during one heated night due to feeling so safe in his arms. It was so new that you got scared; you thought it was wrong.

It wasn’t just fucking any more, you later thought, he was making love to you. It was as simple as that. You had previously thought that fucking, having sex, making love, hooking up—it was all pretty much the same thing; they were all synonymous terms. No, the difference with Yeonjun was that he made love to you, and that was the missing puzzle piece in your previously deeply unsatisfying sex life.

You knew that this is what he was doing now, especially tonight when you were both feeling so vulnerable. His lips hardly leave yours, save for when one of you needs to take a gasping breath, and his hands roam your body, embracing and worshiping every single part of you. It’s driving you crazy, as you’re doing nothing but kissing though you can feel his hard cock brushing against your weeping slit every time he leans forward. To remedy this, you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him closer to you. Now he’s grinding against you, his length pulsating against your cunt with every movement either of you make.

“Please Jun, please just do it already,” you whine, over and over, crying in his ear.

He teases you endlessly, stuttering his hips to make your breath catch in your throat, smirking at your visceral reactions to him. In the middle of your begging, he angles his hips differently, and his head slips into you, a breathy moan leaving your lips. He bites down hard on his lower lip, resisting the urge to groan aloud and slap your tit to see it jiggle, and pushes the rest of his cock in, warmth enveloping him as he closes his eyes.

Your hands scrabble for something to hold onto, and his shaking hands find your flailing ones. He grips your hand tightly, pinning it above your head as he rocks his hips into you. The covers slip off of his narrow hips at the slow, constant thrusts, exposing all of you in the light. You look down to see where you’re connected, see the ring of your slick around the base of his shiny cock, and throw your head back with a whine as he pushes into you particularly roughly.

Yes, sex with Yeonjun is always full of passion, full of love. It elevates the experience for you, when you feel so deeply and wholly for the person that you’re having relations with.

You can’t help but pull him in for another kiss when he chokes out a quick warning, words spilling from his trembling lips. You’ve orgasmed twice already, from Yeonjun putting off his own orgasm in order to make sure you achieve yours. His neglected cock, edged multiple times, was red and leaking copious amounts of precum by the time his trembling hand directed it back inside of your swollen pussy after your second high.

You feel warmth erupt from his cock as he cries into the kiss, unable to tamp down the soft groans that escape his lungs. Slick, wet sounds are the only thing you can hear apart from the both of your labored breathing, as he keeps thrusting his softening cock inside. You feel his cum leaking down your ass cheeks, and your cunt clenches around him as he stills inside of you.

Somehow, the two of you fall asleep like that. It’s just so warm and fuzzy and sticky, and you’re so tired that when he lays his sweaty face in your chest, you close your eyes and don’t open them again until the early hours of the morning, when you feel like you’re about to piss yourself.

You leave Yeonjun in the cum-stained bed; it’s still just past two in the morning, but you know you won’t be able to fall back asleep now. At least, not while there’s rivulets of dried semen down your inner thighs and you smell like a mixture of saliva and sweat. After you flush the toilet, you stare at the reflection of your hickey covered neck in the mirror hanging on your wall, pressing against one lightly with your pointer finger and grimacing at the purple color. It’d be a bitch to try and cover. You want to shower again so badly, but first you need a smoke. You find a half empty box of stale cigarettes in your purse and a gas station lighter on your nightstand, and you open your window and step out onto the roof.

It’s a cool night. Your bare feet and legs—you only put on Yeonjun’s shirt and a fresh pair of panties when you woke up—scrape against the rough surface of the roof tiles. You’re clutching the box of cigarettes so hard you think you might have dented a few of them. Balancing one between your lips, you light it and inhale deeply, tossing the lighter down and leaning back before exhaling. You watch the exhaled smoke rise up to the dark sky before eventually dissipating.

“I seriously think you have a problem,” a disapproving voice states, and you curse aloud, almost dropping the lit cigarette off the roof as you sit up.

Again, Beomgyu stands there, looking wounded. “Why the fuck are you here?” you ask. Suddenly, the way that you’re dressed makes you extremely uncomfortable. Beomgyu seems to notice this too, eyes following the length of your bare legs, disappearing beneath the oversized shirt you have on. With disappointment, he realizes this is probably Yeonjun’s shirt covering your body. This is quickly remedied when you sit up in annoyance and he catches a flash of your panties underneath. He feels like a teenage boy when a simple glimpse of white panties makes his cock twitch in his pants.

“I wanted to be an adult and say I’m sorry,” he says indignantly, offended at your violent tone.

“At one in the morning?” You scoff, stubbing out your cigarette on the roof tiles even though it’s only half-gone. You don’t feel like smoking any more, not with Beomgyu’s judgemental eyes on you.

“He get you into that shit?”

“Jesus, Gyu,” you snap.

“Fine, fine! I don’t care. I’m sorry.” His lithe figure, bathed in moonlight, moves closer to you, but with a slight caution. You know he isn’t completely sure how you feel about him.

“Just sit down already.”

He sits.

“You called me Gyu again.”

His voice sounds thick, pained. You habitually reach up and touch your chapped, kiss-swollen lips. You hadn’t even noticed that the old nickname slipped out; it felt so natural to say even though it had been so long since you had. The closest you came to saying any variation of your ex best friend’s name was the silent mouthing of the vowels and consonants that made up one of the most beautiful names you’ve ever heard. The loneliest nights, mostly the ones that you struggled through right after you moved away, were spent with the ghost of his name on your lips. You were too cowardly to go any further, as if the simple singular utterance of his name might summon him from across the country and into your dorm room. The wound was so fresh that even the made-up version of Beomgyu that came with the memories was too much for you to bear.

“Remember all the nights we’d come out here and just look at the stars?” he asks suddenly, and all of a sudden you truly feel eighteen and heartsick again—staring up into the dark void of nothingness above you, rendering you and Beomgyu smaller than the tiniest ant, nothing more than two less than microscopic specks on such a vast planet.

“Yeah,” you manage to get out, though your voice sounds oddly strained.

“The night before you left—the last time I saw you—I was looking at the stars and thinking of us.” He laughs a little, and you can’t help but turn to look at him, your dry eyes burning with the possibility of tears. You’re on your side now, facing him; he’s still laying flat on his back with his hands clasped behind his head. His eyes are locked on the night sky, so focused that he doesn’t even realize that the girl he loves is staring at him with tears in her eyes. “And then, you just appeared. It was like I manifested you. You looked fake in the moonlight too.”

“Fake?”

“Yeah, you almost didn’t look like yourself. You were wearing this dress, a floaty looking one with flowers, and you looked so pretty that I thought I was imagining you standing in front of me. I thought I made it all up, until I grabbed your hand and you were warm and solid and real.” Now he turns to look at you and realizes that you’re facing him, paying full attention to his rambling. Slowly, he mirrors your pose, turning to look at you. Your faces were close enough now that if you both leaned in, you’d kiss. The very thought of that makes your stomach turn—with anticipation or dread, you’re unsure.

“Like now.” He whispers this last part, before looking down and taking your hand in his gently. His hands are different from Yeonjun’s; instead of being smooth and soft, they are dry and calloused. You can see how years of work in his dad’s old shop has taken a toll on his poor hands; the days where his hands were young and clean were long gone. You hold his hand up to your face to study it closer, to memorize each little line and freckle so that when you left for the last time you could remember exactly what Choi Beomgyu’s hand looked like, exactly how it felt to hold. Years from now, you will be sick and dying in bed, and you will wonder if the pale, slight freckles on the back of his hand will disappear amongst dozens of age spots. Will his fingers gnarl and twist like his grandfather’s did, falling victim to arthritis? Will his nails grow thick and yellow, like so many other elders’ do? You take in the cracked fingertips, the dirt and oil under his nails.

“Like now?” you ask thickly.

He nods, head slightly bobbing up and down. It was so subtle that you almost didn’t catch it, instead focusing on his full lips and how they glistened. How was it possible for a man to have such perfect, delicate features? You’d never seen anyone so pretty in your life. There’s something about seeing a beautiful man in the middle of the night; the moonlight will illuminate their face in a completely different way than sunlight does. It will make you see an entirely new side of him, and it will only make you fall deeper in love with this unattainable, gorgeous boy. Once you see a beautiful boy in the moonlight, you will never be able to forget about them, and this is when you know that you will never be able to let Choi Beomgyu go. More time could elapse—ten, fifteen, twenty more years—and you’d still think of him too often for it to be normal. You’d still hope that one day, you get another chance to try things again.

That is how you find yourself kissing Choi Beomgyu, nothing but a single pane of glass separating the two of you and your sleeping fiancé.

His lips are slightly chapped. They’re warm, but his tongue is hot and wet as it glides across your lips, begging you to open your mouth. You do so after only a brief hesitance, sighing a little into his mouth as he cautiously puts a hand on your waist. The feeling of his hands on you seems to snap you out of your daze, and you quickly pull away from him, sitting back up and looking at the window, panicked. It’s still dark. No one is awake but you and Beomgyu.

He reaches for your hand again. “Are you okay?” he asks. It’s a stupid question, you think—you just cheated on your loving, perfect fiancé—and he’s asking if you’re fine? Of course, he’s guilt-free in this—Yeonjun’s feelings mean nothing to him.

“I just can’t do this. Not while he’s sleeping right there.” You look away, guilt already melting away as you stare into Beomgyu’s gorgeous eyes. It’s like you forget all about Yeonjun as long as Beomgyu’s there in his place.

Beomgyu ponders your words for a moment, looking off into the distance and pursing his lips. “Then… let’s go somewhere else.”

You bite your tongue. Somewhere else?

“And that means…?” you ask.

“I know a place,” he says mysteriously. “Do you trust me?”

You know you do before you even say it. Before the incident, there was no one you trusted more than Beomgyu. And even after the incident, you know that you would be safe with him.

You quickly climb back into your room and snatch up a pair of shorts that are laying on the floor, pulling them on so that you’re not walking around in your panties. You also slip on some shoes, the first comfortable pair you see.

After you climb back out the window and shut it as quietly as possible, he motions for you to follow him. He shimmies down the side of your house, whispering directions to you when you try to mimic his moves. You slip a little more than halfway down, your panicked scream catching in your throat, reducing it to little more than an exhale, but you land in strong, firm arms. Beomgyu rolls his eyes at your clumsiness, not the least bit phased, but you have to calm your rapidly beating heart before you even think to thank him.

You feel a new fire burning in your chest, the thrill of doing something so daring, so wrong, waking up your hibernating rebellious side. You’re reminded of other moonlit walks you had with Beomgyu, years and years ago. You snuck out the same way, through your bedroom window—you just didn’t fall halfway down.

It’s only when you’re more than halfway there that you realize where Beomgyu is leading you. He helps you across a shallow stream, telling you which rocks are safe to step on and which are slick with damp moss, and then a memory pops back into your head. You land safely on the dirt ground, clutching Beomgyu’s hand, and you grin. “Are we going to Thomas?”

Thomas—the nickname that you and Beomgyu gave to the abandoned boxcar in a clearing in the woods. At the time, you were regularly babysitting a child in the neighborhood, who was obsessed with the animated show about a talking train named Thomas. For a few months, you and Beomgyu watched a little more of the show than you’d like to ever admit. You also both enjoyed it more than you’d like to admit. But something that you were more than happy to admit, you now had a good code name for the train car in the woods.

“You still remember!” he exclaims. “I was starting to think you seriously forgot about him.”

“I did, until we crossed the stream,” you admitted. “It’s been a while.”

“It really has,” he agrees, “since when, junior year of high school?”

“Something like that.”

You only have to walk a little longer before the trees thin out, and you spot the faded old car on the other end of the small clearing. You take Beomgyu’s hand, and you both run over, laughing openly and bumping into each other playfully. He boosts you up into the car first, and then hoists himself up and sits beside you.

The door had been ripped off the car since you’d found it, and it was now covered in moss and broken down into splinters behind the structure. This meant that there was a section of the car that was lit up by the moonlight, so you weren’t stuck in complete darkness. That was where you and Beomgyu sat, legs hanging over the edge, until he nudged you and got up, walking further inside the car until he sat down at the far end, motioning for you to come inside. You follow him, kneeling beside him, heart hammering in your chest as he slowly takes your hands.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks quietly.

You swallow hard, but nod. You shut your eyes tightly before your lips collide, but as soon as he’s kissing you again you don’t care any more—there’s no more hesitation. You’re bringing his hands to your chest eagerly, sucking his tongue into your mouth.

He pushes you down, so that your back is flat on the floor of the car, and he’s slotted between your legs. He’s groping your tits over your shirt, pressing his knee into your cunt.

You pull out of the kiss, opening your eyes and studying him. His lips are swollen now, and he’s panting. “I want to see you,” you whisper.

“Then look,” he says sassily, cocking his head to the side, shifting his bangs into his eyes.

“No,” you whine softly, “I want to see all of you.”

He holds his breath once he realizes what you mean. You watch intently as he slowly sits back on his heels, taking off every item of clothing carefully. You do the same, making a neat pile so that you don’t lose anything.

You’ve seen him shirtless before, when you’d go to the pool or he’d change his shirt in front of you on the occasion. But now, he looked different. He’s more muscular, more solid. He’s still slim, but it’s clear that he’s worked on his body and grown into it more over the years. You can’t take your eyes off of him as he takes off his pants, gaze fixated on the bulge in his boxers. He flushes a dark pink when he follows your eyes, and gets back between your legs, staring at your naked tits. Your nipples are stiff in the cool night air, and he gently tweaks one of them, smiling when you inhale sharply.

“Is this okay?” he asks, when his mouth is an inch away from your breast. His warm breath ghosts over your skin, and you moan quietly, nodding and pushing your chest against his lips. He sucks your nipple into his mouth, grazing his teeth against it, and you can’t help but place a hand on the back of his head and lean into his mouth.

When he’s done admiring your tits, which he’s dreamed about for years, he places wet kisses down your body, until he reaches the band of your panties. “Okay?” he asks again, just as his fingertips curl underneath the elastic.

“Yes, please,” you gasp, and he pulls them down your thighs, tossing them into the pile of clothes in the corner. He places his hands on your knees, spreading your legs, eager to see you. He leans down, parting your glistening lips in the moonlight, and feeling prideful—you’re wet because of him. He did this, not Yeonjun.

It seems that the differences between Beomgyu and Yeonjun keep growing—the two of them eat pussy differently too.

Beomgyu’s messy with it, spit already dripping down your cunt and down his chin. He’s rough too, pressing his tongue against your clit until your thighs are shaking uncontrollably. His soft hair curls around your fingers as you pull his head closer to your cunt.

You cum, surprisingly harder than you have in a while. You’re whining and bucking your hips into his face, until he finally lifts his face. His lips and chin are wet, and he has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What?” you ask, suddenly embarrassed at the way he’s staring you down.

“You’re so hot,” he sighs, and you feel yourself blushing at his genuine glee.

“Whatever,” you mumble, suppressing a giggle, but he doesn’t stop smiling to himself as he takes off his boxers.

You think it’s completely, wholly unfair how beautiful he looks naked.

Something about his skin makes him look extra luminous in the moonlight that washes over his body in pale stripes, slipping through the slats of the wooden walls and pouring in through the door frame. His auburn-brown hair looks dark cherry red in the limited light, so different from the fine black hairs that litter his arms, legs, and stomach. This is where your gaze dips lower, towards the one part of Beomgyu you’d never seen before.

His cock, hard and leaking, twitches as he feels you staring. You’re impressed—but really, you weren’t expecting to be disappointed. You’ve never seen him naked before, but you weren’t an idiot. After seeing him in his swim trunks that last summer, you couldn’t help but bring that image to mind whenever your fingers traveled beneath the elastic band of your panties. You swallow hard as he drops back down, hovering over you. He’s breathing heavily, nervously, as he tries to decipher the unassuming expression on your face.

“I hope I’m not disappointing you,” he can’t help but blurt out, not thinking straight.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face close to yours again, kissing him long and deep. He melts into your embrace, quickly reciprocating your excitement. You feel the head of his dick nudge against your slit as he moves closer, and you unconsciously buck your hips up, slipping it inside for just a moment. You both shudder at the sudden closeness, the sensation of being closer than you ever have before, and you part—he stares so deeply into your eyes that you swear he’s staring at your soul. You feel more naked than ever; it surpasses your physical body. You’ve exposed your loves, your fears, your darkest secrets and the skeletons in your closet, before baring your tangible nudity—something you’d never done before.

His eyes drop to your neck and chest, and the adoring fuzzy gaze disappears as he takes in the dark marks left by Yeonjun. His hold on your hips tighten, so hard that you’re gasping from the tingling mixture of pain and pleasure, and he attacks the same spot on the side of your neck, the same one that Yeonjun had been nibbling at as he worked you through an orgasm. It’s sore, swollen—the skin is hot to the touch and bruised already, but Beomgyu’s hard teeth reignite the pain ten times over as he roughly rubs your clit. You cry out, thighs squeezing his hand as you come again, feeling over sensitive already.

He positions himself at your entrance, looking up to you for confirmation. Your chest is heaving as you pant, still woozy from your orgasm, but you know you won’t be wholly satisfied until you feel him completely. This time, you need him in a way you have never had him. You nod, and he reaches up to clasp your hand above your head, rough fingers pinning you to the wooden floor.

He enters you in one fluid motion, so smooth you don’t register it until he’s fully sheathed inside and the two of you let out a simultaneous deep groan.

“Does he fuck you as good as I do?” Beomgyu can’t help but spit out between moans, slamming his hips into yours so roughly that the slap of skin on skin echoes around the empty car.

You’re getting annoyed at how you keep comparing Beomgyu to Yeonjun, so when his thrusts differ from your fiancé’s too, you completely block the thought of your loving partner out of your head. You forget that he’s asleep in your childhood bedroom, cuddling with your favorite stuffed animal, surrounded by the smell of you. You forget that it’s too late to ever go back, to ever regain what has been broken. And you forget that you ever hated Beomgyu, because it was hard to hate him when your mind was so clouded by lust you couldn’t think of anyone else.

The last thing you think about before you fall asleep in the early hours of the morning with another man’s cum leaking out of your sore cunt, is how angelic Beomgyu’s face looked when he filled you up. It made you want to wrap your legs around his narrow waist and let him fuck it into you, so that he would never be apart from you again. You never wanted to see another face ever again, after you saw his delicate features scrunched up in pleasure.

You’re so exhausted by your sneaking around, so sore from the splinters and scrapes, that you curl up right next to Yeonjun without showering off your night.

It’s a pity, that when Yeonjun wakes, long before you do, he doesn’t suspect a thing when he sees a twig clinging to the back of your shirt, or fresh mud on an old pair of your shoes. He trusts you, so wholeheartedly, that he pressed kisses on top of your exposed hickies—though not without noticing that they looked a lot darker than they did the last time he saw them.

—

“Excuse us, ma’am!” Two children—no older than ten and twelve—squeeze past you in the crowded aisle, the younger one brushing against a box of uncooked pasta and knocking it to the ground. Without a glance backwards, they speed off towards a tired looking couple with a shopping cart full of sugary cereal and cheap plastic toys. It’s then that you register the name that one of the kids called you, and you’re disgruntled—do you really look that old? You catch a glimpse of yourself on the reflective surface of a colorful advertisement standee, and frown at your appearance, feeling older and more out of place than ever.

You toss a box of uncooked pasta into your cart and go forth, braving the chilly aisles of the grocery store without your jacket, which you stupidly left in the car, thinking that you’d be fine. You make a mental note to never trust the temperature again.

As you’re studying the nearly identical packages of grapes, a pale hand reaches for the same bag you were going for. The both of you spring back, surprised, and you lock eyes with Karina.

“Oh!” you exclaim. You try to make yourself say hello, but there’s already been an awkward silence after your surprised outburst.

She smiles, unaffected, and says, “Hello, (Y/N). How have you been?”

Damn her perfect ability to navigate a conversation.

“Hey, Karina!” you say, crossing your arms to try and mimic a comfortable position. “I’ve been good! Just busy, moving and stuff, you know. What about you?”

She laughs, the same delicate laugh that makes your stomach jump with excitement, before replying. “I’m good too! Trying to soak up the last few weeks of summer, then everything starts up again. This place really revolves around the kids, you know? When school starts again, it feels like the whole town just wakes up after a long sticky summer nap.” She pauses. “Oh, I’m rambling.” A little embarrassed even though you’re clearly not offended, she places a delicate hand over her chest. A pretty silver ring sparkles on her fourth finger.

You shake your head, assuring her that it’s fine, that she’s right anyways, but you’re staring at her ring the whole time. She notices, gaze following yours and quickly flickering down to her hand, and smiles broadly. “Oh! Did I tell you last time? I’m married now!” she exclaims. Her cheeks are pink, flushed with excitement. Clearly, she was very happy in her relationship, eager to talk about it. The very thought of your own relationship now made a rock appear in your stomach—a heavy, dark, massive boulder that weighed you down and made you sick.

“Congratulations!” you say, and you both share a little moment right there in the fruit and vegetable aisle—it makes you miss your girl friends from back home, and you again wonder if it would have been possible to be friends with Karina way back when. If that would have made things different. Better, even.

“Thank you, thank you.” She looks down, trying to hide her wide smile, and brushes a long lock of her dark hair behind her ear. “He’s the best.”

“That’s sweet, I’m really happy for you,” you say, and you find that you actually really mean it. You exchange goodbyes as the conversation naturally trails off, and head off in opposite directions—both of you carrying a bag of grapes, neither one being the initial same choice.

As soon as you get into the car and place your hands on the steering wheel, your phone starts ringing, and you groan and reach over to fumble around in your purse for the vibrating device.

“Hello?” you ask, answering the call, which you now see is from Yeonjun. You feel the rock in your stomach press down harder on the sensitive walls of your stomach lining, and you wince.

“Hey, babe,” he coos, “are you on your way back yet?”

“Yeah, just finished grocery shopping,” you say honestly, propping your purse back up. You work on tossing the mess back into the open mouth of the bag; you ended up spilling an expired container of Tic-Tacs all over the passenger seat when you tried to feel around for your phone.

“Good! I was thinking that maybe we could go on a drive tonight?”

You freeze up, a handful of fruit flavored mints falling from your hand. “Why?” you ask carefully.

“No reason, I just… I guess I just miss spending time with you alone,” he confesses. “As much as I love your parents, and this place, it’s not the same. I’m excited for us to go back home, and for things to go back to normal.”

Your heart aches at the melancholy, tired voice on the other end of the line. “We leave soon, babe,” you assure him, “we’re almost done here.”

“I know, I know—I’m sorry, I’m complaining. This is a lot for you, I shouldn’t be wrapped up in my own feelings.”

“No, no! I understand, I do, and I miss you too. Look, the drive sounds good. I’ll be back soon, and as soon as I finish putting the groceries away we can leave. Does that sound okay?” Your grip on the phone tightens, and you feel guilty. If not for the complete betrayal, then because you’d genuinely been neglecting him since you got home too.

“Yes, it does.” He sounds content, relieved even, and you smile to yourself as you say goodbye and hang up. You place your hands back on the steering wheel, and take a deep breath as you head home, away from Mr. Kim’s grocery store—which is now owned by his son. Another small change, another thing that makes you feel like you never knew this town in the first place.

Outside, the sun is setting. Orange and pink bleed through your cracked windows, painting warm stripes across your body. The air is warm and thick, almost soupy from the humidity, but it feels familiar and comforting.

Yeonjun is baking again when you return, the same flowered apron that’s too short on his lanky frame tied in a messy pink bow at his back. He’s pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven when you push the door open, hands full of groceries.

“Welcome back!” he exclaims, quickly putting down the cookies to rush to your aid. Gratefully, you hand off a few bags. Yeonjun bustles around the vanilla scented kitchen, putting things away quickly as you dust off your hands and sneak a cookie from the tray. Sweetness floods across your tongue as you bite into one. It’s still a little too warm, the center burning your tongue a tad and the rest of the treat falling apart in your hands. “They’re not cooled yet!” he scolds, finally noticing your struggle.

“Couldn’t help it, they looked too good,” you say around a mouthful of cookie, and he rolls his eyes before walking over and planting a peck on your messy lips.

“I’ll finish up here, you do what you need to do,” he says, kneeling down to sift through the remaining few bags. He shoos you away as you cram the rest of the cookie into your mouth, giggling.

Really, you don’t need to go off and do anything. You already had everything in your purse. So all you did was check your reflection quickly before walking back into the kitchen, where Yeonjun has finished putting the groceries away and is hanging up the beloved frilly apron.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Sure am.”

He grins, wraps an arm around your shoulders like he always does, and presses a kiss to your temple. The two of you don’t bother to close the windows or lock the door, because it’s a small town where everyone knows everyone. It’s still a bit unnerving for Yeonjun, who has always lived in the city. He was brought up sternly, always told by his parents that if he ever left a door unlocked or a window open, someone evil would surely get in. And in the city, that’s not too far of an assumption. That was probably Yeonjun’s least favorite part about you—if he had to choose. Though you were much better about it now, for the longest time he saw you as a little country mouse lost in a big city. You would leave the door of your dorm room open all day after leaving for class. You would often leave the windows unlocked overnight. One warm autumn evening while going out for dinner with some friends, you left your window completely open and Yeonjun was the one that found the intruder under your bed. To be fair, the intruder was a rather chunky squirrel who didn’t have the gymnastic ability to hurl himself back up onto the window ledge, but still. You remember all of this fondly, as you watch Yeonjun double check that the front door is closed in the rear view mirrors before pulling away from your house.

The sun seemed to be taking its sweet time, wanting to give a magnificent show to anyone who spared the time to watch. You stare down at the small clouds of reddish dirt being spit up by the wheels of your car, then refocus your attention on the splendid landscape before you. The warmth of the setting sunlight bled golden everywhere, turning the green grass a springy hazy shade and shining rays of sparkles onto any moving creature. A pair of songbirds flew by quickly, twittering and warbling a good night song as golden light danced across their waxy feathers. You squint at the tree that the birds have landed in, and you gasp as you recognize it. “Jun,” you plead, “can we stop by the blackberry bushes? It’s just the right time to pick them.”

“Blackberry bushes?” Yeonjun exclaims, “you don't have to tell me twice.”

“You sound like my dad when you say stuff like that,” you groan as he pulls off to the side of the road.

“I am honored. He is a fine gentleman,” Yeonjun insists goofily, watching you with adoring eyes as you leap out of the car and into the meadow.

“It’s just past this tree,” you claim, pointing to the very same tree that the two birds landed in earlier. “I used to come here with—I used to come here all the time,” you said, stumbling over your words. Your mouth feels dirty, almost saying Beomgyu’s name aloud, and in front of Yeonjun too.

If Yeonjun notices, he doesn’t say anything about it. He lets you lead him past the tree with the gnarled bark and further into a thicket of younger trees. Your grasp on his hand tightens as you spot the patch of bushes, their branches heavy with fruit. You bound ahead, letting go of his hand and plucking a few large berries, the dark juices staining your fingertips. Yeonjun walks up beside you, pulling a large handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it out to you. You pile on blackberries immediately, knowing that was why he was offering it.

“Your lips are purple,” Yeonjun says accusingly, using his free hand to point at your face. You feel your cheeks heat up slightly; you’re embarrassed for acting so juvenile and stuffing your face with blackberries.

“And yours aren’t,” you say in the same tone. His eyes flicker from your lips then back to your eyes. You feel your heartbeat speed up as he gently sets the handkerchief of berries down on the soft grass before scooping you into his arms and pressing his lips to yours.

“So sweet,” he murmurs against your purple lips jokingly.

“I told you it was blackberry season,” you retort, giggling as you feel him squeeze your hips.

You keep the handkerchief of blackberries in your lap for the rest of the ride, crying out when Yeonjun would reach over and slap your fingers away as you tried to sneak another berry into your mouth. “I want to use those in some scones!” he insisted playfully.

The lightheartedness of the banter and the gorgeous golden light painting your hometown in nostalgia was an escape. It was almost like you were back home with Yeonjun in your apartment, looking back on fond memories you shared together. The setting outside your window looked fake because of the dreamy haze, and you wished you could freeze in this perfect moment with the perfect man. Everything in the snapshot would be perfect; it wouldn’t capture the thoughts that plagued your mind as soon as you stepped out of the car and looked up at your childhood home. Guilt, pain, and hurt bloomed in your chest as Yeonjun parked the car and took you by the waist, so that the two of you could walk back inside together. You masked the guilt of another man’s touch behind a smile, but it didn’t last long. As soon as you looked up, your blood ran cold. An ambulance was parked right in front of your house, and the front door had been thrown wide open.

Yeonjun grabs your hand as you both run up the front stairs and into the house. You see your father sitting on the floor of the kitchen, an oxygen mask covering his lower face. Your mother sits a small distance away from him, her face gray and her lips pressed into a thin line. An EMT pats your father on the shoulder before mumbling something to your mother and nodding at you and Yeonjun on his way out. The ambulance pulls away, luckily without a patient inside.

“What was that?” you blurt out, running up to your father, who is having trouble standing up on his own. His face looks gray too.

Your parents exchange worried looks before they look back at you. “Sweetheart,” your mother coaxes, “remember when your father fell off that ladder a few months ago?”

“Yes, but you told me everything was okay. Isn’t it?” you ask in a small voice that sounds childish, naive, and stupid—even to you. You feel Yeonjun stiffen beside you, and you turn to look at him. He’s always been bad at hiding things, so you immediately know. “You knew this whole time,” you say to Yeonjun, pulling away from him.

“Doll,” he says pleadingly, his eyebrows furrowed with pity and regret.

“We didn’t want to upset you,” your mother clarified, “it happened right before you and Yeonjun got engaged, and we didn’t want to spoil anything.”

“That wouldn’t have spoiled it!” you say shrilly. “I would have come to help you and Dad if I knew!”

“We knew you would, that’s why we didn’t tell you. It took so much planning and time and effort for Yeonjun to plan things out for the proposal and we didn’t want to ruin the mood before or after, and by then months had already passed…” your mother trailed off.

“I’m your daughter, I’m supposed to help you when things like that go wrong,” you say, feeling your eyes starting to well up with tears, though you’re not completely sure why. “And why does Yeonjun know, and I don’t? It would have been his planning that got ruined, not mine.”

“It was an accident,” your father says abruptly, and you see that he’s been able to stand up on his own. He leans against the kitchen table heavily. “Your mother accidentally ordered my medication to your address and Yeonjun was the one that found it.”

“Autumn Oaks will be good for them,” Yeonjun pipes up, trying to help. “They’ll get all the help they need there.”

Your eyes almost bulge out of your skull. “Autumn Oaks? The assisted living facility in town?” you ask. You pick your brain for the moment you first heard the name, and then you get it—Karina. “Even Karina knew before I did?” you fret.

“Karina? Nurse Yoo?” your dad asks.

“You know her?”

“She works there. She’s actually the one that showed us around. Do you know her?” your mother asks. She seems very nervous now, clearly due to your building emotions.

“I went to school with her,” you mumbled. Your head absolutely aches, and you stare out the front door, still hanging wide open, into the dark night that had crept up on the four of you since you got home. “I need to go for a walk,” you say. Your parents again exchange looks. “I’m not mad,” you snap, “I just need a minute to process everything.”

You feel Yeonjun start to follow you timidly, but you look back at him with narrowed eyes. “Alone,” you emphasize, and he shrinks back and lets you go.

Luckily, you had the sense to hang onto your purse the entire time, and you fumble through it for your cigarettes and a lighter. You shove one into your mouth and light it, tossing the box and the lighter back inside the mess of your bag. You don’t know where you’re walking, but the night is warm and muggy and you can feel insects swarming. You want to go back home and take a long hot shower, especially as you feel a bead of sweat slip down your back, but you don’t want to face everyone again. You feel like an idiot for acting like an emotional child, and you don’t know why you have been ever since you got back to your hometown. It was like you were reverting back to the person you were the last time you stayed that long. As if simply breathing the air and drinking the water were enough to take away ten years.

You stop walking naturally in front of a house. A large, old tree stands strong in the front yard, casting a large black shadow over the whole space. Though it’s been repainted a new color—a light beige, instead of the misty blue it once was—it still feels like your second home. You’re very sure that Beomgyu doesn’t live here any more, mostly because he said he hated bland paint colors and you simply couldn’t picture the Choi Beomgyu living in a beige house of all places. But also because your parents had told you that his parents moved out years ago and retired somewhere sunny and warm, leaving the family business to Beomgyu, who was more than willing to take over it by then. They had no news about where Beomgyu had moved to.

You feel like a freak, just standing outside someone’s house like a stalker, so you turn on your heel and start to walk away, when someone says, “hey,” in a low voice.

The front door of the blue-turned-beige house opens, and Beomgyu stands there in pajama pants and a thin white t-shirt. “Why the fuck are you here?” he says, mimicking the voice you used when he appeared on your roof.

“Shut up.”

“I’m joking. Come inside already. Aren’t the mosquitos pissing you off?” He steps aside and opens the door wider, motioning for you to come inside.

So you do.

You’re not sure what you’re expecting when you step inside. Maybe, you expected it to look exactly how it did the last time you saw it, with his parents’ furniture and decorations and family pictures on the walls. There’s a few hints of the old decor as you look around and focus on a few minor details, but for the most part it looks completely different. New furniture, more modern and young, paintings on the wall that definitely weren’t there before. There’s even an entire wall missing, the one that separated the kitchen and the front room entirely. Something about an open concept, you think solemnly, recalling an episode of HGTV you watched when you were too drunk to get up and get the remote to change the channel.

“It looks different in here,” you say bluntly.

“Well, my parents don’t live here any more, do they?” he asks cockily. “Come on, let’s go up to the bedroom. The old house still doesn’t have AC, but my bedroom has a really good fan.”

The stairs creak the same way they did when you ran down them sobbing the last time you were there. It’s bittersweet, and you hold yourself back from rolling your eyes at your old dramatic self.

Beomgyu’s right about the fan, at least. The bedroom is much cooler than the rest of the house, and it’s cast in a cold bright light from the flatscreen TV mounted on his wall, facing the foot of his bed. “Nice place,” you say, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Did you get an interior designer or something to help you with all this?”

“Or something,” he says, shrugging. He gets in bed too, patting the spot beside him once he got comfortable. You inch forward, a bit awkwardly. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel like a middle school girl sitting next to her crush at the movies or something equally as corny and butterfly-inducing.

Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you and pull you in closer, so that your legs are draped over his and his hand rests on your waist. His big hand starts to slip under your shirt, toying with the hem and teasing you. He already knows why you came to him; he can see that you’re upset. He rightfully assumes that Yeonjun is a part of the reason, and he knows that you want him to take his place, even if it’s just for a night.

Boldly, you take his hand that’s teasing you and place it firmly over your breast. Beomgyu stops pretending to watch whatever is playing on his TV and looks at you, a crooked smirk on his face. “That’s why you’re here,” he says, wanting a verbal confirmation.

“‘Course it is. No one knows how to comfort me better than you do.”

“Not even Yeonjun?” Beomgyu can’t help but ask, venom lacing his words. He can’t hide his jealousy, even when he thinks he can. It always comes spilling forth from his lips like sick word vomit.

“Not even Yeonjun,” you whisper as he closes the distance between your lips, unsure if you’re lying or not.

It’s not as frantic this time, because you know you have time. No one is expecting you home anytime soon, and Beomgyu doesn’t seem to have anything going on either. It’s a sudden but welcome change; the soft sheets instead of the splintering wood of the train car, the cool controlled breeze instead of the sweltering mugginess, the silence of closed walls instead of the risk of open air.

You let Beomgyu take off your shirt and shorts, and you settle between his legs as he whips off his own top. You pull down his pajama pants and boxers in one fluid move, taking his cock in your hand and suckling on the head. The saltiness of his precum coats your tongue as you swallow it down, your nose pressing against his crotch as his hand gently presses on your head, wordlessly begging you to take it all. It’s better than you imagined, and you’d imagined it many times.

His breathing grows ragged as you start jerking him off, his dick slippery with your saliva, and you take one of his balls into your mouth. His eyes roll back in his head as you do so, and he groans loudly. “I knew you’d be good at this,” he pants as you take his length back into your mouth.

You make a noise of confusion, the vibrations making him whimper.

“I just wanted you so bad,” he babbles, “I knew—I knew no matter what, I’d never forget—” His eyes squeeze shut as he cums, and you hollow your cheeks and swallow, eliciting a high-pitched squeak from him due to the slight overstimulation. Shaking, he opens his eyes to look down at you, and you sit back up obediently, using a finger to push a small pearly rivulet of cum into your mouth; it had been dripping down your chin.

“You’d never forget?” you asked, crawling up to him on all fours. Beomgyu feels his cock jump again as he stares at you taking off your underclothes, and he grips your hips tightly, squeezing the flesh there and exhaling deeply.

“I won’t,” he says breathily, as if he’s making a promise to you, “I won't ever forget.”

You press your forehead to his, feeling his sweaty bangs stick to your skin. The two of you stay like that for just a moment as his heavy breathing slows, and then he slowly reaches up to caress your cheek and pull you in for a kiss. He shifts beneath you, his muscles flexing as he lifts you up and tosses you down onto the soft mattress so that he’s the one on top now.

“I was having fun up there,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist. You can feel his dick, half-hard, nudge against your clit.

“I think you’ll have fun down here too,” he says with a wink, as he presses sloppy kisses down your neck. Your toes curl as his warm breath ghosts over your nipple; he’s making his way down your body, making sure to worship every inch of your skin with his slick lips. He can’t help but flick your nub with his tongue, watching your reaction as you flinch at the unexpected contact. He envelopes your nipple and the surrounding area into his mouth, suckling hard and making your toes curl with pleasure as he grinds against you simultaneously. His teeth graze against your skin, eliciting a low moan that erupts from deep inside, so animalistic you hardly recognize yourself. You realize that with Beomgyu, unfamiliar parts of you emerge and take charge—both parts that remind you of your youth, as well as parts that you’d never met before, or even knew existed at all.

A string of saliva, glistening in the faint bluish light, connects his lips and your breast for just a second before it breaks. He looks up at you with big doll eyes and smirks, a juxtaposition of innocence and naughtiness, before mouthing the valley between your breasts and kissing his way down to your navel, then between your legs. Beomgyu’s words echo in your mind as you flush with slight embarrassment, realizing he’s staring straight at your sopping cunt with great interest. The fact that you’d both been taking your time this time around made you much more aware that he was perceiving you just as much as you were perceiving him, and that thought was making you just a bit anxious.

After all these years, he can still read you like a book. He feels your thighs tense up as he gently slides a calloused finger through your slick, and though he thinks your pussy might be the prettiest one he’s ever seen, he stops, and makes eye contact with you. Your brow is slightly furrowed, your lips pressed together—a sure sign that you’re worried about something. “Everything okay?” he asks, wiping his finger on his sheets. “You look like you’re thinking long and hard about something.”

“More like I’m thinking about something that’s long and hard.” You catch his eye for a split second before you start to grin and he bursts out laughing.

“You had me there,” he admits, settling back between your legs. “I thought you were having your reservations.”

“What, you thought I wouldn’t want to double dip or something?”

Beomgyu shakes his head, trying to suppress a smile. “I’m trying to go down on you and be all sexy, and you’re making jokes that align with the humor of an immature thirteen year old boy.”

“Sorry, I do that when I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be. It’s just me.” You lock eyes with him, but this time it sends a real chill down your spine. Different from the chills that you got when you saw him at the reunion and he handed you your keys. It was so much more than just those five words that he spoke aloud—in that phrase, he cemented the fact that you two have history, and that there is so much meaning in the actions that you’re committing together. It’s just Beomgyu—but how can he be “just” Beomgyu when your feelings about him have been the exact opposite forever? It’s never been simple. He’s never been “just” Beomgyu.

Your clouded mind is suddenly cleared when you feel his lips connect to your clit and he starts suckling roughly, similarly to how he was attached to your nipple earlier. You can feel his teeth biting at your cunt, teasing it with little flashes of pain that make your back arch and your thighs start to close in on his face. He holds your legs apart, devouring you like he’ll never have the pleasure of tasting you again, and knowing that that could be the reality. You feel a mixture of his spit and your juices running down your inner thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you, but you hardly care. You want to leave a mark in his bed, in his house—in that moment, you want it to be known that you were there.

You finish as he plunges his thick fingers into you and curls them upwards just right, and your moan catches in your throat. You almost choke on it, a few stuttering gasps being the only thing that escape your lips as you come down from your high.

Before you can fully reorient yourself, Beomgyu’s sliding his cock against your slippery pussy, whining like a bitch. He’s too embarrassed to ask if he can fuck you, but you know he wants to. You want it too, but unlike him you’re not afraid to say it. “Please,” you whisper, just like you did in the woods, “please.”

Without another word, he’s pushing into you, which is quite easy given how much lubricant there is. He grips the headboard of his bed, his knuckles turning pale from the effort, as he waits for you to tell him to go on. You reach for him and he listens immediately, almost giddy as you pull him close. You want to feel his sweat on your skin, have his spit in your mouth, feel his stuttered breaths as he gets close.

He slips a pillow under your hips before readjusting himself, wanting to make sure you’re comfortable, before he starts drilling his hips into you.

The way he fucks reminds you a bit of your hookups in college, before you got with Yeonjun. The desperation, a bit of inexperience, and the quick but deep thrusts are all too reminiscent—but in a good way. It’s different, than the way that you’d been fucked by Yeonjun all these years, and you realize that you’ve missed it. The carnal urge to just fuck like animals, without caring about staining the sheets or worrying about someone hearing you.

You don’t realize just how far you’ve shifted until your head is hanging over the side of his bed, and your eyes are level with his nightstand. You can feel him getting close already—which you’re not surprised by, given how long he’s been waiting for it—and you’re getting close yourself until you lock eyes with a framed picture sitting beside his lamp. He groans loudly as he slams his hips into yours one more time, and you can’t help but gasp as you feel him filling you up, but your eyes are focused on the picture. It’s upside down, because of the angle you’re at, but it’s pretty obvious what it is. You don’t need to be right-side-up to know that it’s a wedding photo. And not just any wedding photo either—it’s a picture of Beomgyu and Karina.

It hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re the other woman, just as he’s the other man. You try to sit up, forgetting that he’s still hovering above you and trying to recover from having two orgasms quite close together, and smack your forehead into his.

“Ow!” he exclaims, pulling out of you and sitting back.

“You’re married!” you blurt out, scrambling away from him. His gaze drops to the photograph on his nightstand, and he wrinkles his nose guiltily.

“Well—yeah… But you’re engaged.” This time, it’s your gaze that drops—and you look down at the diamond ring on your finger. There’s a deep, gnawing pain that’s arising in your stomach, and you know what it is immediately. Guilt, so thick and dark you swear anyone who looks at you could see it seeping from your very pores, is tearing you apart. You feel yourself tearing up, which is somewhat ridiculous because you’d known this whole time that you were cheating. You weren’t an idiot and you weren’t manipulated either—you were a completely conscious and self-aware asshole that chose to cheat on her fiancé with her first love. And so was he.

You furiously wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand and stand up, crossing your arms over your chest as you scan the room for your clothes. You go around and pick up your garments one by one and put them on, and Beomgyu watches you solemnly. Neither of you say anything until you’re fully dressed and he’s at least pulled on his boxers and pants. You stand there at the foot of his—no, his and Karina’s king-sized bed, and glare at him. It’s hypocritical to be mad at him for cheating when you’ve been doing the exact same thing, but for some reason that’s how your brain is functioning.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” you asked, staring at the floor. You don’t know if you’ll cry or fall for him harder if you look into his eyes again. You fear that it might be both.

“I don’t know. It just never came up,” he says lamely. You narrow your eyes at his half-assed reply.

“I helped you cheat on her.”

“So what? I’ve been helping you cheat on Yeonjun. How’s this any worse than that? In the end we’re both just assholes.”

“Because I know Karina! She was the closest thing I had to a girl friend here in town!” you exclaim, “It's not like you know Yeonjun—you don’t care about hurting him. I care about hurting Karina!”

“But you don’t care about hurting your own fiancé?” Beomgyu rubs the back of his neck, confused, and stares at the floor. “I don’t get you.”

“That’s not the point,” you mutter, “but it doesn’t matter. Whatever. It’s already done, and like you said, we’re both the assholes in the end.” You can feel his cum leaking out of your cunt and pooling in your underwear. You want to go home and shower, without anyone seeing you or talking to you. You briskly walk over to his bathroom while rummaging in your purse for something to touch up your disheveled appearance.

You’re wiping at the makeup that’s started to slide off your eyes with a dry makeup wipe you found at the bottom of your purse when Beomgyu appears behind you in the mirror. He’s still shirtless, and somehow still beautiful in the shitty bathroom lighting. You stop your futile attempts to fix your appearance and stare at his reflection with weary eyes. He wraps his arms around you and presses a long kiss to the top of your head as he inhales your scent and takes it all in, knowing that you won’t return. You let him.

“I just got you back,” he mumbles, “and now you’re leaving again.”

“I wasn’t ever planning on staying. I wasn’t even planning on seeing you again,” you say firmly, though it’s obvious when your voice shakes that you hardly believe your own words.

“But you did,” he whispers. “Doesn’t that mean something? Doesn’t—doesn’t the fact that you’re standing here in my house, in my shirt, with my cum leaking out of you, mean something?”

You look down. You are, in fact, wearing his shirt. Somehow you must have pulled it on instead of your own. Even worse, you recognize it as an old band t-shirt that he used to wear in high school. You shake your head and pull it off, throwing it aside as you walk back to his bedroom and find your own shirt crumpled in a mess on his floor.

Looking wounded, Beomgyu appears in the doorway, clutching his abandoned shirt. “Are you really leaving?”

“Well, I don’t know when Karina will be back but I don’t want her to see me sleeping on her side of the bed,” you say coldly, “and I have a fiancé I need to get back to.”

“A fiancé who doesn’t know his future wife is a dirty cheater,” Beomgyu says, glaring at you. You see tears in his eyes, the hurt evident on his face.

“Don’t start that shit with me,” you snap. “And don’t contact me ever again.”

“I did a pretty good job avoiding you for ten years. What’s another ten, twenty, thirty more?” Beomgyu spits back, but his tears start to spill out and he turns away, not knowing you already saw them.

But you don’t care. You don’t want to care. So you gather your things and you go, slamming his front door so hard that the stained glass wind chimes hanging on his front porch fall and shatter on the wooden floor. You don’t even give the mess a second glance as you stomp down the stairs and down the path home.

The lights are all off, except for one. Your bedroom light is on, and you know that Yeonjun must have left it on. Whether he’s awake or not, he was waiting for you, and that makes the guilt sink into your stomach even further. You didn’t know it was possible to feel even worse than you did while you were laying in Beomgyu’s bed.

As quiet as possible, you unlock the front door and close it behind you, re-locking it and wincing as the heavy iron lock clicks into place. You creep up the stairs and peek around the corner, sighing with relief when you realize that your bedroom door is closed. You’re allowed to slip into the bathroom and wash yourself of all the evidence of Beomgyu before being confronted by anyone. Usually, you’re plagued with thoughts in the shower—whether that’s stress about work or dinner plans for the night, your mind is always running as you shampoo your hair. Tonight, it’s the opposite. You feel blank and numb as you rinse yourself and step out of the tub, toweling yourself dry before tiptoeing down the hallway and letting yourself into your bedroom.

Yeonjun is wedged against the wall in your childhood bedroom, leaving space for you in your little twin bed. You’re realizing just now how bare the room looks—everything is gone except for the bed and the little nightstand, where Yeonjun’s glasses and your cup of water live every night. He’s scrolling on his phone but he looks up immediately when he hears the door, and his face lights up when he realizes it’s you. “Welcome back,” he says carefully, not wanting to breach the subject unless you propose it.

You leap into his arms, feeling the guilt twisting your stomach into knots as he presses warm kisses to your clean skin. “I went to a friend’s house,” you clarify, “and we just smoked and sat there for a while. I just needed to get away for a minute.”

“Okay,” Yeonjun says, rubbing your arms comfortingly, “thank you for telling me.”

“It was an acquaintance from high school. Her name is Minjeong.”

Though he didn’t ask who the friend was, you can see relief flood across his face as he realizes it wasn’t Beomgyu—or even another guy. “I’m glad that you feel better now,” he says, pressing a kiss to your naked collarbone. You slide off his lap and get dressed, tossing the towel onto the floor.

“Come to bed,” he coaxes, “it’s nice and cozy.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you reply, sidling in next to him. As soon as you lay down, he wraps an arm around you and kisses your cheek. “I love you,” you say, desperate for him to say it back, even though you know he will—from his knowledge, he has no reason to doubt you at all.

“I love you too doll,” he mumbles sleepily, and then he’s gone. Asleep, dead to the world, no nasty thoughts plaguing his mind.

Unlike Yeonjun, you lay there awake for hours, unable to fall asleep for a multitude of reasons. Even worse, you know that most of these reasons are your own fault, and that guilt is eating you alive. Every single thought that you had managed to avoid in the shower was haunting you now, forcing your eyelids to stay open and keeping your heartbeat racing.

—

On the last morning that you will ever spend in your childhood home, you are awakened in the early hours of the morning by a massive moving truck trying to parallel park right beside your driveway. Yeonjun is already stirring, both from the noise outside as well as your movements, and he blinks hard as his eyes adjust to the bleary light. It’s so early that the sun hasn’t fully risen yet, and you can see from your window that the late summer has given birth to a smattering of dewdrops stricken across the greenery, giving it a haunting, blurred look. The palest of sunlight spreads across the land, a subtle “good morning” before the dry heat that’s sure to come once the quiet early morning hours wither away. Your parents are shuffling about downstairs, pushing all of the boxes and furniture into the front room so that the movers can have easy access and you can all hopefully be out by the designated time. The faint smell of dark roast coffee reaches your nose, and it reminds you of the youthful years you spent here, and how you got so used to that smell of coffee in the morning. When did you forget about it? When did you adopt a new norm?

Yeonjun presses a sleepy kiss to your cheek before climbing over you and claiming the bathroom first, and you hear the shower turn on. He’s always been a morning person, whereas you prefer to bathe during the night. It works out well in your apartment, where you only have one bathroom. You glance down at your phone, which has coincidentally given you an update on a few places the two of you had been looking to move. The crowded apartment, though now nostalgic and homey, is simply too small now. You’ve outgrown it.

You busy yourself with cleaning up a few stray clothing items scattered across the hardwood floor, your bare feet making small pattering sounds as you walk about. It’s hard to sort between your clothes and Yeonjun’s clothes—you tend to share a lot of garments, and you have a similar taste.

As soon as you zip up your own suitcase and sit down with a huff, Yeonjun strolls back into the room, a towel clinging to his waist and another slung around his neck. He uses one end to rub at his dripping locks, and you jump up to escape to the bathroom, suddenly very aware of where you were last night, as well as the fact that you’re unsure how to further explain yourself if anyone asks. “I’ll be down in a few,” you say to him, “I’ll help bring down our suitcases and everything.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it,” he says, shaking his head. “Take your time. Your parents have coffee on the table too if you need some.”

“When did you have time to go and say good morning to them?” you exclaim, your voice echoing down the empty hallway.

“I didn’t! I just know!” he yells back, and that makes your skin prickle. The ease of Yeonjun becoming a part of your family—it makes you feel that guilt even more. How could you take him away from your parents now? How could you take your parents from him?

Once you’re done washing the sleep away from yourself, you get dressed and frown at the room that’s now completely empty. You’d heard people coming up and down the steps, but you didn’t think they’d touch your room. Now, even the bed that you’d just slept in was gone. For a moment, you stand there in your bedroom alone. Though, you suppose you can’t even really call it that any more—you don’t possess it. How long has it been since it was really yours anyways? A decade? More? Less? You try to hold your emotions back, because it’s just a house, but it’s to no avail. You have to return to the bathroom and wipe your tears carefully with your sleeve while staring in the mirror and realizing just how much your reflection has changed.

“Are you sure? We can stay and help, it’s no problem,” Yeonjun’s voice echoes up the stairs. You sidle into the kitchen and stand in the doorway, looking at your parents and your fiancé. They’re standing across from each other in the kitchen, all holding steaming mugs of coffee.

“Oh, don’t worry about us. We don’t want you to miss your flight,” your mother insists, “the movers said they could help us just fine. They’ve been moving a lot of folks into Autumn Oaks lately.”

Your chest clenches a bit at the thought of your parents in assisted living—were they really that old already? They seem perfectly capable, aside from the incident with your father. You suppose that’s reason enough to consider assisted living.

“Okay, but call immediately if you need anything,” Yeonjun says warily, placing his empty mug down on the kitchen counter. “I’m going to call a car.”

He ruffles your hair when he notices you standing in the doorway, and then walks out. This leaves you with your parents, the both of them standing there and smiling at you. You know it’s because of Yeonjun. You know they wholeheartedly think you’re safe with him, and that he’s your forever. Who are you to say he isn’t?

“We really can stay and help you guys,” you offer again, but your father shakes his head.

“And we told you we can handle it,” he says softly, “you have a flight to catch.”

Your shoulders sag as you sigh. Perhaps, you weren’t only wanting to stay for your parents. You don’t want to let go of the house, of your aging parents, of Beomgyu. You don’t want to let go of your hometown, even though you hate it so much. And even though Autumn Oaks was just a drive away, hardly even separate from your hometown, it still felt like the end of an era, a disconnect, a severing of the last attachment you had to your childhood and everything that came with it. You got your closure, and that was what you wanted—so why did it feel wrong? For the first time in so many years, you feel like you’ve made bad decisions that you cannot come back from.

“Okay,” you say. “It was really nice seeing you. And I guess—to see the house one last time.” You will your emotions to stay under control. “I’m going to miss you.”

“We always miss you too,” your mother says, pulling you into a hug. “But we’ll see you come Christmas, won’t we? Maybe we can come and visit you and Yeonjun in the city this year.”

“That would be really nice, Mom,” you whisper as she lets go. She stands back, still holding onto your arms, and looks at you.

“You’ve grown so much. We’re so proud of you,” your dad says, and it’s like he’s reading your mother’s mind as a tear trickles down her face. The three of you briefly embrace, a final wordless reminder of every memory that you had together in that house, and then you blink and it’s all gone.

Yeonjun comes for you when the car pulls up outside, and before you know it you’re staring out the airplane window, looking at all the miniature houses down below. You’re finally going back home, but you know you left a piece of yourself in your hometown, and you’ll never see her again.

Maybe that’s for the better.

EPILOGUE.

Yoo Jimin, known most commonly by her nickname Karina, is fucking exhausted.

It’s the first snow of the year, she’s worked two double night shifts in one week, and she’s trying her damn best to get the household ready for the holiday season. She’s a woman who knows what she wants, and though this means she takes charge and gets shit done, it also means she burns out. Fast. And frequently.

Her vision is slightly blurry on her drive home from Autumn Oaks, where she’d been busy tending to two new residents. They had made sure to try and shoo her away, claiming that they were just fine on their own and getting settled in, but it was her job to check in on them every now and then. She groans aloud in her car, thinking about how much she wanted to sink into a hot bath and just be alone for a while.

The windshield wipers obediently push the fat snowflakes gathering on the glass away and out of sight as she pulls into her driveway. At least it looks cozy from the outside, as she’d made sure to tell her husband to put up the Christmas lights outside. He did, and they were twinkling warmly at her as she stepped out of the car.

She knows that Beomgyu is sleeping. He sleeps a lot, and not just because she tends to work nights and he always works days, but because he’s been avoiding her.

It was a natural conclusion that she came to, and that would be just fine with her because she knows that marriage isn’t some perfect fairytale, but there’s something that’s been nagging at her for months now. Beomgyu had been acting normal until the end of summer, after the reunion. It was quite popular amongst the gossipy folks, mostly because of a certain quiet individual who had become vastly successful in her market after leaving town about ten years ago. She was by no means a celebrity, but her success and emerging personality was a pleasant surprise to a lot of people—Beomgyu included.

This was worrying for two reasons.

One, because everything lined up pretty perfectly with the last time she was in town.

And two, because she knew damn well, more than anyone else, of that individual’s history with Beomgyu.

Maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. Everyone who knew Beomgyu knew about her too. Everyone thought they’d get married and stay in town forever, so it was quite a shocker when they ended up fizzling out and she left for New York so abruptly. It’s a little odd that everyone’s still so obsessed with their failed love story, but small towns tend to hold onto any bit of drama they can get. When tornadoes bring in people from the past, it’s inevitable that a rainstorm of gossip will come along with it.

The house is quiet when she walks in. She sees Beomgyu asleep on the couch in front of the fireplace, which is only dying embers now. They glow a faint red, barely sparking, but are still exuding a fair bit of warmth. The entire house smells like firewood and sugar, the latter scent being courtesy to Beomgyu’s newfound hobby. Baking, of all things! Karina simply didn’t understand where it was coming from. This too began at the end of summer, when he declared that he was sick and tired of store bought treats (he’d never had a problem with them before) and that he was taking on the task of providing the two of them with fresh baked goods whenever they wanted.

He was horrible at it, for a while. He’d never baked anything edible in his life, and he went through a fair bit of money buying ingredients because of how often he would mess up and want to try again. If anything, his determination was what linked banking to his other interests. He had always been a stubborn asshole, especially when it came to working at the auto shop, previously owned by his father, and before that his grandfather.

But eventually, he got better. He liked to make muffins, and he would leave them out for Karina when she returned from her night shift, still warm to the touch—he’d often be awake well into the early hours of the morning to try and get a new recipe right. It was enough overlap that Karina, who got home around four in the morning, was able to get to them while they were still fresh. Eventually, this was the only was she ever felt warmth from her husband.

She walks over to the couch quietly. She had slipped off her shoes as soon as she walked through the door, wanting to keep the floors clean.

Beomgyu looked peaceful when he slept—a facial expression that never occurred naturally around her any more. She smoothed a lock of reddish brown hair out of his eyes, and he winced at the contact. She removed her touch from his face, but the damage was already done. Her husband opened his eyes, one before the other, and frowned in the firelight. “What time is it?” he asked. “Did you just get back?”

“Four fifteen,” she confirms, “what did you make tonight?”

“Blueberry streusel,” he replied, sitting up and yawning. He did not, however, move to go to sleep in their bed, with her.

“Muffins,” she said quietly, staring at the muffins, still steaming from the oven.

A silence settles upon the couple, in which nothing is heard but the howling winds outside and the faint crackling of the dying embers in the fireplace.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed—“

“I can’t live like this any more—“

The two of them stare at each other, both cut off by the other. “What do you mean you can’t live like this any more?” Karina asks sharply, any semblance of sleepiness immediately gone from her body. “What does that mean?”

Beomgyu rubs the sleep from his face and groans into his own grasp. “I just—I don’t think I’m happy like this.”

“With me,” Karina says, though it’s more of a question than anything. She already knows the answer.

“Just with everything. I feel like I’ve done nothing with my life,” he explains, ruffling his own hair. Her fingers twitch, wanting so desperately to run through those soft locks.

“What does that mean for us?” she asks in a small voice. She hates how meek she sounds.

Beomgyu shrugs, as if she’s simply asking him what he wanted for dinner. “I don’t know.”

She’s suddenly angry more than sad, but she feels tears coming to her eyes either way. “It’s because of her,” she spits, to which Beomgyu’s eyes widen. He already knows who she’s talking about.

“Who?” he asks, eyes darting around wildly.

“You know damn well who.”

Beomgyu doesn’t respond to his wife, and instead they stare at each other as a frigid cold settled over them. She couldn’t undo what she said, and he couldn’t undo what he did—that was that.

Silence ensued for the rest of the night, and in the morning when Beomgyu awoke again his wife was gone. He had a voicemail left by one of her friends, stating that she’d be around every now and then in the coming week to pick up Karina’s things little by little. Karina, it seemed, did not ever want to see Beomgyu again.

He understood that decision—honestly, he did. He felt guilty after he realized just how much warmth and love she had provided him, even if he never picked up on it before and surely took it for granted. There was a cold void left behind, and it was slowly overtaking the entire house.

Beomgyu didn’t know what else to do—what else could he do? With his wife gone, his auto shop mediocre at best, and no one important left in his life? Other than his parents, who had already retired and moved away years ago, he had absolutely no one left. All he had was shattered remnants of past relationships—and in grasping onto those shards desperately, not caring whether or not they cut into his flesh, he sold the house and used his funds to move to the city that never sleeps, in the hopes that someone somewhere would be able to wake him out of the waking nightmare he’d been living for the past decade.

DIVIDER CREDIT | @firefly-graphics

#kflixnet #k-labels #k-vanity #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu smut #txt x reader #txt smut #txt imagines #tomorrow x together imagines #beomgyu imagines #txt hard hours #beomgyu hard hours

675 notes · View notes

somanyratsinthewalls · 11 months

Note

I know you already said you'd do it... BUT maybe could I request a standalone fic (not a kinktober one) of a Franky x Reader x Robin fic with daddy/mommy kink, sub!virgin!AFAB!reader

idk if you ship frobin though but if you want to feel free to add that in!

YEAH BABY THIS HAS BEEN FLOATING IN MY MIND EVER SINCE I SAW THAT POST!!! I need more Franky Fuckers in my life. I have zero ships in One Piece EXCEPT FROBIN! They are clearly so in love I can't stand it. Here's the fic, I love it.

Sex Education

Pairing: Robin x afab!reader x Franky

TW: threesome, cyborg banging, misuse of devil fruit powers, girl on girl, two girls one guy, fingering, riding, face sitting. porn!

——

“That color is ugly.” Nami comments at the shade of light green you had chosen to paint you toenails.

“Is it really that bad?” You lean back and admire your half painted foot. It shimmered in the sunlight on the deck of the ship.

“Looks like barf.” Nami didn’t look up from her work, carefully painting her own nails a dark shade of pink.

“Well now that you’ve said that, I can’t unthink it. Do you have the polish remover?” You ask.

“I think Robin has it in her room, you can go grab it, puke-toes.” Nami laughed.

You roll your eyes and stand up. You begin to head towards the inside of the ship in search of the nail polish remover. You reach Robin’s bedroom door and grab the handle and open the door. You three girls were best friends at this point, knocking was a moot point.

“Hey, Nami said my toes were ugly so can I just grab the-“

Your eyes immediately meet Robin’s as she gasps. Fully nude, she is seated on Franky’s lap who was also shed of his swim briefs. His huge hands cradled her pale, plump ass. A slight sheen of sweat covered her forehead as her arms wrapped around his massive neck.

“Y/n!” Robin yelps out at you.

“OH my god?! I’m so sorry!” You stutter out and slam the door shut behind you and run back up through the ship. Your mind was racing. Franky and Robin? A thing? I mean… it makes sense the more you think about it… but seeing it first hand was still a bit jarring. Were other people here having sex? Were you the only one who had never done it before? Is this something you were missing out on?

You burst through the door to the deck where Nami was fanning her drying nails.

“Woah where’s the fire, y/n?” Nami asked you, noticing your panicked expression.

“Nami I- I went to get the nail polish remover- and I? I don’t know! The door wasn’t locked! I just went in! And she- and they- they were…!” You were out of breath and couldn’t get out a coherent thought.

“Oh, walked in on Franky and Robin? Yeah they’re like rabbits lately. Good for them, honestly.” Nami went back to fanning her nails.

“Wait… you knew?” You couldn’t believe it.

“Duh? Are you that oblivious? Why do you think they’re always mysteriously absent after dinner? Jeez you need to get laid.” Nami rolled her eyes.

“Wait… are YOU fucking someone!? Is everyone here having sex but me?!” Your eyes bugged out of your head. Were you the only (human) virgin left on this ship? Sure you had urges, but you always just took care of it yourself in the quiet of your own room late at night.

“Not since that last island, no. Nobody on the crew, obviously, pickings are way too slim. I made out with Sanji once when I was wasted but he was such a bad kisser I told him to get fucked. It was all wet and gross.”

“Really he was that bad—? Wait come on, you’re getting laid too? Is everyone else?!” You returned to the point of your questioning.

“I mean yeah, y/n, we all have needs. Except for Zoro… I think there’s something seriously wrong with his brain. Sex is great, especially with someone who knows what they’re doing.” Nami gave you the truth. Maybe it was time for you to finally explore your sexuality…

You both turned your heads as a door swung open. A red-faced Robin smiled meekly at the two of you as she walked towards you and sat down at your side.

“You need to start using those hands to lock doors, girlfriend.” Nami chuckled and rose to her feet. She winked at the both of you and headed into the kitchen.

“Hi y/n… So… I’m sorry about that. I should have been more careful. It was a private moment and I apologize for you having to see it.” She genuinely searches your eyes for forgiveness.

“it.. it’s okay. I just didn’t know you guys were together like that…” You blush and look down at your feet. Robin smiled.

“He’s sweet. I know we might not look like we’d work out, but I find him quite charming actually!” Robin’s eyes sparkled. “And the sex is phenomenal.”

“Oh.. I… um… I wouldn’t know…” You felt your cheeks continue to heat up.

“Are you a virgin, y/n?”

“Yes.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, talking mostly to yourself. You continue. “It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose… I’m plenty old enough and I’ve thought about it loads… I just… haven’t had the right opportunity…”

“Well… If you really wanted to change that… I’m sure we could help you.” Robin takes your hand in hers. You look up into her eyes, they were kind and warm.

“What?” You were confused as to what kind of help she was offering you.

“If you wanted to experience sex with people you trust for your first time, I have no doubt Franky would jump at the opportunity. I would be there too, of course, to guide you. We’re very… open… to new experiences… if you’re understanding what I’m saying.”

“Oh…” Your eyes widen. It might be a good idea to finally get that awkward first time out the way, especially with someone you trust and know well. “I mean… yes? Sure. I guess I’m saying yes.”

“Perfect.” Robin squeezes your hand. “How about tonight? After dinner? My room?”

You nod. You can’t believe you’re casually agreeing to lose your virginity to two of your closest friends.

— —

That night, after dinner, you excused yourself from the table a little early so you could freshen yourself up. You took a quick shower, shaving your legs and trimming your bush, washing your hair with the most expensive shampoo you could find in the Sunny’s shared bathroom. After the shower you dried your hair and slathered your body in lotion. You felt like you were getting dolled up for a date, not a dick appointment.

You perused your closet for something to wear. You wanted to look comfy and casual, but still sexy… wait why were you overthinking this? You had known Robin and Franky for years, who were you trying to impress? You shook yourself out of your racing thoughts and settled on a black pair of knee length spandex bike shorts and a black cropped tee. You finished your hair and applied a bit of makeup before spritzing yourself with perfume. You looked at yourself in the mirror.

“Ok y/n. You can do this. It’s your totally normal friends who are a robot and someone with devil fruit powers who are going to take your virginity. This is fine and normal. Your life is normal.” After a few minutes of hyping yourself up, you make your way to Robin’s room. You take a deep breath and knock on the door a few times, remembering to knock this time after your intrusion earlier.

Robin quickly opens the door with a bright smile.

“Y/n! Come in! Are you thirsty? I have some wine.” She grabs your hand and pulls you into her room. Franky was relaxing in a large armchair against the wall facing the bed.

“Hey pretty thing! So good to see ya!” He beamed at you with a cola in his hand.

“Hi Frank, sorry about earlier…” You meekly apologize and stared at the floor.

“Hey no problem! Sorry ya had to walk in on me and the lady like that without warning.” Franky pushed his sunglasses up on his head and took a sip of his beverage.

“Here, y/n.” Robin shoved a large glass of white wine into your hand. She clinked her own glass with yours and winked. “Come sit.”

Robin retreated to her bed and patted a spot next to her for you to sit down. You took a big gulp of your drink and sat next to her on the fluffy purple comforter.

“So I was just telling Franky that you’re a virgin.” Robin states casually as she sips her wine. You choke on yours.

*cough* “Oh um.. yeah…” *cough* “I’ve never done anything really…” You sheepishly say as you catch your breath.

“Wow, someone as gorgeous as you? I’d had never guessed. Well don’t you worry sweet thing, we’ll take care of you real nice, right mama?” The cyborg smirks and leans back in his chair.

“Of course daddy, we’re going to make sure she feels so good.” Robin uses her free hand to start stroking your upper arm.

“Oh, so we’re like- doing this? Now? Okay uh-“ You stutter out.

“Well, whenever you’re ready, sweet girl. You’re just so pretty I can’t help myself.” Robin scoots herself closer to you on the bed and starts playing with the hem of your crop top. “Can I take your clothes off? I can take mine off too, if that’ll help you feel more comfortable.” Robin purrs into your ear.

“O-okay…”

Robin pulls your shirt over your head, breasts falling and bouncing against your chest. She then slips off your shorts, making you fully nude in front of them.

“Wow sweet cheeks, no bra or panties? And pierced nipples? Such a little minx.” Franky remarks at your lack of undergarments. You blush at the comment about your piercings.

Robin stood up and pulled her dress over her head.

“Isn’t she cute?” Robin smiles at you and back at Franky as she slips her panties down her legs and unhooks her bra. Her incredible rack was staring you straight in the face and you unconsciously rubbed your legs together in excitement. Her body was so gorgeous and toned, you wanted to feel it on top of you.

With both of you completely naked, Robin sits next to you again on the bed. “May I kiss you, y/n?” Robin asks, bringing her hand to your chin.

“Yes…” You whisper, meeting her gaze. You close your eyes as she leans into you. Her kiss is soft, her lips are buttery and smooth. After a brief moment of pressing her lips to yours, she begins rolling her tongue along your lower lip, silently asking for you to open your mouth. You oblige and she slips her tongue into your mouth to explore it eagerly. You bring your hand up to cup the side of her neck.

“Mmph!” You huff out in surprise as she slid one of her hands up to your breast and experimentally toyed with your nipple. You continue to make out as her hands play and squeeze at your breasts. Robin pulls back from your lips, continuing her ministrations on your tits, rolling the silver barbells in her fingers.

“You’re so sensitive, little one, can’t wait to see what else turns you on.” Robin giggles.

“Spread her legs, mama, wanna see that cute little pussy.” Franky prompts her from his chair.

Quickly, Robin is behind you, your back pressed against her ample chest. She gentlly takes your calves and hooks them over her spread legs so you were fully exposed for your robot lover. She begins open mouth kissing on your neck from behind and you sigh at the feeling.

“Can I touch you, y/n? Is this okay so far?” Robin whispers into your ear.

“Yes… I want you to touch me…” You whimper out, body aching for more contact.

“But no one has ever touched you here… right? Maybe just yourself?” She slid one of her hands down to cup your mound. Her voice became more sinister. Your face and ears were bright red, feeling embarrassed but your sexual desires were too strong so you pushed the feeling aside.

“Just me, Robin… no one else…”

“hmm… So you know what you like? How about this? Do you play with your little clit like this?” Robin coos at you as she begins to apply pressure to your throbbing bud and rub it in circles, your pussy was leaking at this point.

“Hnnnnn, yes! Yes I like this!” You whine out.

Robin continues slowly rubbing your clit and kissing your neck. She uses her free hand to pinch your nipples. Wait, was that a third hand? You looked down and you had one hand touching your sex and two on your breasts. You had never thought about it before but her devil fruit powers were certainly useful in this situation.

“You two look so super like this…” Franky lowly slurs out as he takes another sip of his drink from across the room. “You know she won’t be able to take me if you don’t stretch her first mama…” He adds.

“I’m getting to it… let me enjoy her first. You’re so impatient my love. Don’t forget who’s in charge here. I want to make it special.” Robin teasingly scolds her boyfriend as she doesn’t falter in her movements against your clit.

“Mmmm- more please! Wan’ more!” You wanted to feel something inside of you, having been worked up by Robin’s hands.

“Aww what a sweet baby. I can give you more.” Another hand appeared and one slender digit slid into your aching hole.

“Robin!” You gasp out and lean your head back on her shoulder. She slowly dipped her finger in and out of your cunt as you moaned in pleasure. She added another finger and you yelped.

“Have you made yourself cum like this, y/n?”

“Yes- nnghh! But you’re! You’re so much better! Ah!” You breath out as she pulls and taps on your sweet spot with her soft fingers.

“You’re too kind, baby.” Robin smiles down at you on her shoulder. “Daddy is pretty big, sweet girl, so I’m going to have to add another finger, okay?” She has another hand stroking your hair.

“O-okay… Fuck!” Robin adds a third finger into your weeping cunt and bullies them all into your spot. You felt a familiar yet stronger feeling build up in your lower half. You were sighing and moaning as you look towards Franky in the armchair. He had shed his minimal clothing and there was a hand sprouting from the chair and stroking his large cock. You had no idea how that was going to fit inside you, although your mouth watered at the sight of it. It was cut, thick, and gorgeous. Your orgasm was so close.

“I think- I think I’m gonna cum, Robin! I wanna cum!”

“Go ahead and cum, sweetheart, want you to feel so good….” She continues her work on your pussy as you slam your eyes shut in pleasure. You feel your orgasm rip through your body and spill out onto Robin’s hands. You moan out loudly. She slowly pulls out her hand and rubs your cunt comfortingly.

“That was so good, little one! You’re so wet and open, I think you’re ready to take daddy now.” There was a glint of mischief in her voice as she stroked the sides of your arms and kissed your cheek.

“You… you think?” You were hazing coming down from the powerful orgasm that Robin had just given you.

“Mhmm.” Robin kissed you on the forehead. “Come here daddy, lay down.” She nodded towards her cyborg lover.

“Showtime, ladies!” Franky laid down on the bed, as you were sure he had done hundreds of times. “Hop on up, little one!” He beckons you with a large hand. You collect yourself and straddle his huge hips.

“I.. I don’t… I don’t really know what to do, should I-?” You sputter out, your eyes darting from Robin’s and Franky’s.

“Let me help, sweetheart… You ready?” Robin leans forward and grabs Franky’s thick cock and lines it up with your soaking hole. You nod.

Another hand grabs your hip and begins to lower you down onto Franky’s dick.

“Ahh! It’s too much!” You felt the sting of his fat member stretching you out as it entered your virgin cunt.

“It’s okay! It’s okay just take it slow, okay?” Robin was kissing your upper arm as she guided you down further onto the man below you. “I’m right here…”

You mewled and whined as you slowly took Franky inch by inch. Eventually you felt your muscles relax as your body was flush to his. He was fully seated inside you.

“You did it! You did it, y/n! Mommy and daddy are so proud of you! Look how pretty you are with a cock inside you!” Robin gleefully released your hip to tilt your head down to look at where Franky’s dick was balls deep in your little hole.

“Ohhhh pretty girl, you’re so TIGHT!” Franky exclaimed as he grabbed your hips with both hands. “Never felt anything like this!” He praised you as he rubbed loving circles into your pelvis.

“I.. I did it…” You were breathless, never having felt so full in your life.

“Can I fuck her now, mama? Please?” Franky looked up at Robin, pleading to be able to wreck you.

“Yes, daddy, but don’t scare her off now. Be gentle.” Robin captured your lips in a soft kiss to distract you from her boyfriend planting his feet and beginning to thrust upwards into your tight hole.

“OH- Robin! Ah!” You moaned against her lips as your lover began to rut into you from below. It was so big and rubbing against your sweet spot so deliciously.

“I know sweetie, I know. You’re doing so good, taking daddy’s cock so well!” Robin cooed as she pulled back from your lips.

“Come on mama, take your seat. I want both!” Franky panted out as he thrust into your pussy.

Robin giggled as she moved to hover over Franky’s face and sat down on his waiting tongue. Robin sighed as she felt his tongue move against her wet folds. She leaned forward into you and wrapped her arms around your neck as you continued getting speared by Franky’s cock.

“Isn’t this mmhmmm- nice, y/n?” She mewled out as Franky sucked on her clit.

“AH YES!” You shrieked out, feeling your belly begin to tighten again. You felt a hand rubbing your sensitive, engorged clit. You felt two more hands pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipples. You felt two more hands squeezing your ass cheeks in addition to the large metal ones clutching your hips desperately. There was so much stimulation from every direction you could barely take it. Robin captured your lips in a messy kiss.

“Come on girls, I can’t take much more of this!” Franky shouted from underneath you both, he was clearly affected by your tight wetness.

“I want to kiss her for a little, be patient, daddy.” Robin pulled away briefly to scold him playfully. She dives back in to your swollen, wet lips. You grab the back of her head with both hands, the pleasure driving your boldness. The lewd wet slurping of Franky on Robin’s pussy was causing you to clench on the dick inside of you. Robin was keening and moaning into your mouth and you had never seen anything so hot.

“Fuck daddy, I’m going to cum. Want to cum with me, little one?” Robin looks you in the eye and continues her work on your sensitive bits.

“YES! Fuck I’m right there, please daddy!” You shriek out.

“Soak me, cum on me, ‘wanna feel it!” Franky pushes into you as far as he can go and your body spasms and creams all on his robot cock. You scream out in pleasure. Robin moans his name as she, too, finishes all over him. His blue hair was soaked in Robin’s gushy release. Robin kisses you deeply as you both finish your orgasms.

“Let me fill her, please mama, wanna stuff her so bad!” Franky begged his partner from underneath you.

“Of course daddy, anything you want.” Robin moved off his face and pinched his nipples to encourage his finish.

“FUUUUCK-“ Franky groaned loudly as he spilled himself deep inside your no-longer-virgin pussy. You fell forward, burying Franky’s face in your sweaty breasts. You were so dick drunk you couldn’t move.

“Come on little one, let’s get you tucked into bed.” Robin lifted you off Franky’s cock with her strong arms and laid you down under the covers.

“Th-thank you guys…” You whisper out.

“Hey, after that? I’ll let you join me and the lady ANY time!” Franky proceed to tuck both you and Robin into her comforter and head out to finish his repairs for the evening.

“Robin that was… so incredible…” You stroked her jaw as you laid in bed facing each other.

“Well sweetie, if you want to part of our little arrangement, I think we could make it happen…” Robin giggled at you as she raked her fingers through your hair.

“Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow…” And you drifted off to sleep.

#one piece anime #one piece #one piece smut #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #zoro x reader #law x reader #nico robin #robin x reader #franky x robin #franky x reader #one piece x reader

433 notes · View notes

jujutsukgojo · 5 months

Text

My gifts to you

feitan portor x reader

Summary: You knew him for years for only moments at a time. Yet, you take it upon yourself to love and mourn him anyway, even when the world won't. tw: light smut, slight yandere feitan, spoilers, mentions of murder, light angst, fluff(?), injuries, cheating, time skips an: didn't mean for it to be this long. Feitan is a bit tricky for me but oh well :) kind of inspired by criminal minds 'no way out'. 10.8k

“If you tie it like this, it should stay, okay?” You tap the boy’s foot. Although he is smaller than you in height, his feet are bigger. It’s quite comical but you don’t dare laugh. In this blasted city, you’d be bound to die for such a thing. Especially if you laugh at someone with crazy hair and carries a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

He says something in a foreign language that you can’t understand. If you are correct, it may be inverted Japanese. In the books that one kid collects, there is a country, Japan, where the common language originates. Since the common language isn’t his mother tongue, it makes you wonder where he’s from and why he’s here.

The boy stands up to his full, but short, height. You sit on random rubble and look up at him, waiting for what he’ll do next. Will he call over Phinks or even bring Uvogin? He hangs out with Phinks mainly but who knows these days.

Instead of swinging the bat at you or calling over his friends, he pats your head awkwardly. You don’t make any sudden movements or noises. The boy leaves right after. A sigh escapes your lips after he leaves you behind.

What's his name again? Feitain?

__________

In your hut, you slightly stir the food that sizzles in the pan you found. It’s rare to come across tomatoes and eggs but you managed this time. The smell is mouth watering. You hope no one else can smell it.

As much as you want to live elsewhere, this is what you settle for at the moment. In another world, you’d be out of this city and somewhere clean and safe. Like the church or something. No, even better than the church. You’ve heard of the outside where there are bright flashing lights and diamonds and pearls on people’s necks. There are flowers of all colors out there. Different shapes, smells, and meanings, they’re all beautiful. You hear that food isn’t scavenged but bought or given to people without a price.

People said they’ve seen the safety of children your age that play without a care. There are parents for the lost kids and doctors for the injured. Clean clothes and showers on the regular. You can even see the sun clearly and the big, round moon that doesn't bring out the wolves in men.

There are pastors and priests that don’t turn people away, either. Hell, you have even wondered if there were schools there that allow everyone to get in. You're sure that you are reading and doing math wrong. How embarrassing.

Finally done, you place the food on a plastic plate you found. You made sure to wipe the grime off the plate and rinsed it with clean water before using it. Even though you can just eat out of the pan, you want to seem sophisticated like the outside. They don't eat out of pans or use dirty plates.

The food steams and is welcoming. Without a lot of utensils, you pick at it with your hands. It burns at first but you’re too hungry. The flavor bursts in your mouth. Even without the proper seasonings, it’s still heaven. You haven’t eaten in a while so you’ll take what you can get.

Suddenly, the boy, Feitan, enters your hut. You gasp and protectively cover your food. He brings his foot out. His shoe, which he stole, is untied again. You swallow the substance and point out, “I taught you how to tie them.”

“Tie.”

“I taught you.” You set your plate down.

“Tie.” You roll your eyes and pat your thighs. He walks over to you and places his dirt caked shoe on your lap. Slowly, you tie them.

“There, see? Come on now, you need to learn. A little boy can’t grow without tying his shoes.”

“I’m not little boy.” You give a breathy chuckle. “Of course you are, honey.”

He leans in close to your face. “I’m older than you.”

...He does hang out with Phinks, who is a couple years older than you. In fact, it is rare to see them apart. Is it possible that it’s true? Is Phinks the type to be friends with someone who is younger?

Curious, you ask, “Then why are you so short?” His eyes widened in shock. Then, strangely, he laughs while patting your head harshly. Studying his face revealed what looks like the beginning of a sinister smile.

He looks at your plate and sits down in front of you. You’re both on the dirt floor.

“Give me.” You scoff and snap at him. “No! Find your own!”

The little beast decided that the two of you should ‘share’. He smacks on his food, making you want to punch him repeatedly. He’s gaunt and bony, but not really bad like last time. His face has a tiny bit of roundness to it.

“Stop staring.” He inhales a tomato. “You look better than last time.”

“Better?” He cocks his head to the side. The remnants of the tomato smeared a little on his cheek.

“Yeah, healthier.” He stares at you for a second. “Thanks.” His accent is thick, and you still can’t place it. Nevertheless, you understand. Afterwards, much to your surprise, he sleeps in your hut now that his belly is full. Satisfied and strangely not afraid, you follow suit. It’s nice to have a friend, however strange.

You are barely awake, sleep still heavy in your eyes, when you see him pop up. Drool is crusted on his cheek, and he rubs his eyes. He yawns and then spots you next to him. Feitan eyes the entry of the hut then back at you. He puts the only cover you have on you then pets your head.

Before he leaves, he places his bat in your hand. Feitan secures the entry as he exits the hut.

_____________

It’s been years since you and Feitan have talked. You've gotten familiar with him but when Sarasa had died in such a disrespectful and gruesome way, he withdrew. In the meantime, you waited for him and studied a power you discovered. No matter the eyes that were always on you, you didn’t care about the mysterious and hidden audience.

You don’t know what it’s called but it started when you witnessed some kid about to get her ass handed to her by some thugs. The man had moved a pair of scissors without using his hands. They aimed right towards her and in a moment of instinct, you rushed to push her out of the way. Unfortunately, the scissors stabbed you in the shoulder.

It was then did you feel the rush of a force so strong, that it knocked everyone away from you. A faint white light that glowed from your skin that only your eyes could see. As you looked around in shock, you saw that same glow coming from that man and his friends.

You were gasping when you fell to your knees. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t be here!” The girl your age ran for her life and left you behind. In a moment of fear, you call out to her to help you. You were so afraid; you couldn't tell if the screams were hers or yours. Given the situation, you were too rattled, terrified and hurt, to focus.

The men shook for a second then got up to face you. The blood from your shoulder wasn’t stopping its flow. Crimson red stained your clothes and the ground. It was all so strange, such an unusual feeling of adrenaline that you couldn’t help but memorize. Almost as if the world had finally made sense. Every single thing became so much clearer to your dismay.

The men came towards you with malicious intent. While putting pressure on your injury, you managed to kick one of their legs, causing them to buckle and hurt his knee. He screamed in agony.

“G-get away!” You try to stand. The press of your hand on the wound isn’t helping. Is it supposed to bleed this much? It hit your shoulder, but did it nick something?

You need to stop it, to heal and get away from them. In this city, people like you are in danger from men like them. If you don’t get away, you’ll end up like Sarasa. She was never really close to you. She was a nice girl who always looked for video tapes, so you'd help her from time to time. Yet, her death scarred everyone since it was so close to home. And now, you no doubt are facing the exact same situation. Wrong place, wrong time.

Same fate.

You fell back on the ground and looked at the sky. It has always been so dirty, just like the city due to pollution. Still so young, you know you won’t see what it really looks like. In the corner of your eye, you spot something green. A small clover with four leaves.

One time, an old man told a story of how four-leaf clovers are a sign of good luck. By the intense feeling and pressure of your eyes, you know it’s not true. Pain in all ways makes tears fall from your eyes. Lips wobbling at how unfair everything is and that you will never see the sun. The outside must really be heaven, and for someone so young who hasn’t committed a sin, you are wondering if you can go.

Suddenly, flowers that you never knew blossomed around you. The soft petals touched your filthy skin and got rid of the aches. The blood on your shoulder faded from view as well as the pain. A soft and beautiful hum whispered in your ear. You truly believed it to be in your head, an imagination of paradise as you leave. Heaven, they call it. You must be close to the outside world then.

This must be it, you thought. There was no pain from a strike or fear. Just closed eyes and peace. Something you know you couldn’t get in the atrocious city.

It ends. You were shocked as the beautiful flowers disappeared. Heaven, would you reject someone?

The men didn’t hurt you. The one whose knee was broken was able to move his leg. His red hair kind of glowed in the sun, and brown eyes were wide. He muttered a soft ‘thank you’ and walked away without a limp. His friends followed.

After that, you had realized that your ability wasn’t anything like scissors or something scary. It was to heal and be healed.

Although after immediately learning this, you didn't go out of your way to find the source of the screams in the direction the people went. First was the girl, then the group of men. After what you went through, it didn't seem like a good idea.

Feitan, somehow, got wind of it. Now in his later teen years you both estimate, he sits still and points to his arm. There’s a gnarly gash oozing blood. You wonder how he’s not feeling this and if he is, how he isn’t even fazed.

You gently pick up his arm and inspect it. He's thin but has clear definition in his arms. You haven’t seen him in so long that you are surprised by his growth. Hell, he’s taller now. Still short, but at least he grew.

In a jar, you take a premade petal. This is a way for you to save energy and reach people when you physically can’t tend to. Acting as a pill, you make sure that people can get infections out. For some reason, illnesses and infections are particularly tricky and tiring for you.

“Eat this, Feitan.” He frowns. “No.” You sigh. “It’s infected. You need to eat this so I can heal it right.”

“It’s not.”

Rolling your eyes you bring his wound to his face. “This, this is infected. It's literally oozing pus.” How long did this go on? Was he really that hesitant to just come and see you?

He growls and takes the delicate petal and places it in his mouth. “Stop pouting.”

“Not pouting. It’s nasty.” He’s not wrong. It has a bitter taste and when chewed, a slimy texture. The color of the disintegrating petal leaves a stain in the mouth as well. If not for the benefits, no one would even bother. They'd be just as offended as Feitan.

The pus stops and clears up. “Alright, this’ll leave a scar.”

You blow on your hand so that flowing blossoms surround him. Beautiful shades of pink and white go through his hair. With a gentle caress, you see the flurries touch his wound. It starts to encourage his own healing.

As much as you want to do the full thing, you’re tired. All day you’ve been working and collecting payments. Not to mention facing the disappointment of them being useless. You want to kick yourself for not getting paid first. But the sight of those grateful people and healed kids softens your heart.

Soon, it stops once the injury becomes manageable. You’re about to wrap it when a hand stops you. “What’s this?”

“Feitan, I'm tired. You caught me at a bad time.” You try to move your hand but he stops you. He's a lot stronger than you remember. “Heal.”

His fluency isn’t the greatest still.

“I’m tired! Just let it heal the rest of the way.” No matter how much you try to yank your hand away, his grip is too strong. “Please, Feitan...”

Surprisingly, he lets go and from what you can see, the subtle white glow appears and heals him the rest of the way, leaving small flames. “Feitan...what was that?”

He rolls his eyes and plops down on a chair. He says nothing and just relaxes, or at least that’s what he’s trying to make it seem like. It has been a while since you’ve seen him, but that doesn’t make you blind to his behaviors…sometimes.

“As a transmuter, I can heal a little by using enhancer,” He looks at you suspiciously. “You know nothing about nen?”

“Nen?” You put the gauze and other items in a black bag. It was found in the safe zone by the church. Apparently, it belonged to a doctor from the outside. The bag had all kinds of necessities. Gauze, medicine, some syringes, disinfectant, a thermometer, all kinds of stuff that you’ve had to use sparingly. What you save in the bag, you make up for with your ability.

He smacks his lips and calls you a ‘dumb brat’. “You use nen but don’t know it?”

Sighing, you ask, “What is nen, Feitan?”

“What you do. Use your aura and stuff.” His arms are crossed, and he looks at you expectantly. You gather that he likes knowing things you don’t. It’s like a weak power trip.

But it is nice to finally have a name and explanation for it. And that’s what he did this time. Visiting you for a moment just to pick with you while teaching you something you should have known.

“Wait, if you could do that, why’d you come here?” He just shrugs.

------

When you see him again, he brings his friends along. You immediately recognize some of them. Phinks, who ran with Feitan, the boy who always collected books, and Uvogin, the giant who was always claiming territory and beating people up.

Feitan should be twenty now. It’s hard to tell since he looks youthful. He points to his friend, the boy with the books, and orders, “Heal.”

“You can do it, Feitan, remember?” You were in the middle of cleaning when he and the rest of his posse pop up. They look flustered and a little worse for wear.

“Heal.” He always does crap like this. You roll your eyes at first. The body they carry tugs on your strings a bit.

“Fine. Put him on the table.” Thankfully, it’s cleaned, and a new wrapping has been placed on it. Gently, the man is put on it. You spot the cross tattoo on his forehead. Ah, that’s where Feitan has been. Lately, there’s been whispers of the Phantom Troupe. Merciless killers and thieves from Meteor City that have been gaining respect over the years. Your opinion of them isn’t the greatest but it also isn’t the worst. You appreciate them for standing up for Meteor City, but their methods are questionable.

You sigh and begin to undress the boy with the cross. “Is that necessary?”

You continue to pull off his clothes, not bothering to answer the question the girl asked. If she can’t understand why you need to remove his clothes, then that’s on her. She scoffs after another female voice answers her question.

You finally see his wound. Feitan can heal himself to a degree, but you don’t think this guy can. The gash is deep and sewed with makeshift stitches. There’s no nen involved, surprisingly. Given that Feitan is an avid user, you thought his friends would be keen on it too.

“He’s a specialist. Enhancer techniques are harder for him.” Phinks spoke. He must've understood your confusion.

“And the stitches?” You gently investigate the area. It’s an angry red around it and, like you suspected, infected. It wasn’t properly taken care of. You begin to remove the stitches. You wonder what the thread is made of and how long this has been going on.

“He,” Phinks points to Uvogin. “And him,” He then points to another large man with long ears. “Thought they could do it. Normally, Machi heals us but they were away from her. Her stitches would have helped him but not any infections.”

“Ah, well this requires more than I thought.” You touch the ground and out comes a beautiful swirl of flowers. Underneath the moving petals is a blooming sunflower. It picks the guy up so he rests on it. The bed of the flower glows softly and becomes warm. His once wincing face is now peaceful. His injury is slowly closing and the red is beginning to turn pink.

“The downside of this is that it takes a while. It’ll be all healed up in about an hour or so.”

“ An hour?” Uvogin, who has abandoned his afro and traded it for long standing hair. “Feitan, I thought you said she was good? We could’ve gone to that one guy and got it done right then and there.”

“She’s the best. Wait.” His hands are in his pockets and he moves. Feitan looks around and touches whatever he pleases. You try not to focus on his compliment. You wonder if the reason he moved from your line of sight is because he got embarrassed. If so, you won’t tease him. The Troupe are killers, afterall.

You start to feel the weight of your nen. This technique requires more effort than the others. Feitan explained it to you but you never did get the hang of it. You just know what to do instinctively. You were proud that you could do any of this without a teacher.

What you’re sure of is that this man, whatever his name is, is giving you a crap ton of money after this or there’ll be hell to pay.

You feel something tickling the side of your face. The wrapper is red and unopened. You take the energy bard gratefully. “Thank you, Feitan.”

A couple of the Troupe members complain about the time. Machi or Mochi or whatever, the pink haired one, especially complains and criticizes for some reason. You have never seen this person before in your life yet here she is pouting.

“You okay?” You see the blond boy with big blue eyes study you closely. He moves closer to your face. A smile never leaves his face. Before you can answer, Feitan, who hasn’t left your side since you ate the bar, answers for you.

“She’s fine. I’m watching her.”

You hear a couple of snickers. Feitan glares daggers at the offenders. You take a deep breath and ignore the friends who decided to crowd inside your hut. The boy with the forehead tattoo lies peacefully. Although you are running out of steam, his wound is healing nicely. One of the women, you believe it’s Pakunoda, comes to you and bends down.

“Can I get you anything?” You discover that your throat is absolutely parched. “Some water, please.”

If you remember correctly, the last you saw of her was when her head was shaved and some outsider kid did it. She had always kept it short. And now, it’s on her shoulders and very sleek. Over the years she’s drastically changed.

You drink the water, which to your surprise, is clean. “Hey, how did this happen anyway?”

“Don’t ask questions.” Feitan quickly shuts you down. Before you can ask anything more, you notice the entire group of friends are quiet.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?” You nod at the blonde boy with blue eyes and a permanent smile. Completing the hour, the tattoo guy is up. He’s immediately impressed. “My name’s Chrollo Lucilfer. Yours?” He puts out his hand for you to shake.

“Yeah, the book collector-theater nerd-kid, right? My name’s-” Before you can even answer, Feitan does it for you.

He gives your name and how your Nen works. He’s quick with it, too. You side eye Feitan for a second. “Thanks, Feitan. I, uh, really needed a spokesperson.”

“Ah, I guess it can’t be helped then, Feitan?” There’s tension in the air. It’s thick and heavy. By the looks of it, neither one is backing down. “Um, it’s not a big deal that he answered for me, you do know that, right?”

Seconds pass through this. You look around for anyone to intervene with this. Whatever the hell is going on, it’s deep. “Since Fei explained it, why not have her join?”

“Positions are filled.” Chrollo still stares directly into Feitan’s eyes. Phinks nervously chuckles, once again trying to defuse the situation. “Fei, come on. No fighting. Right boss?”

Suddenly, it’s lifted. Chrollo has what looks like a practiced smile on his face. “That’s true. That’s a rule.”

Chrollo takes a glance at you. “She obviously means a lot to you. Clearly, she’s an asset, too.”

“I’m right here, jackass.” Feitan smacks you on the head. “I’ll handle her.”

The others sigh in relief. Momentarily, you’re a little offended. “It was nice meeting you.”

They exit your hut right after, leaving Feitan behind. “So. those were your friends, huh?”

“Watch tongue.” You smack your lips and roll your eyes. There is blood on the floor and on the table. The furniture is in disarray due to all of his friends having no home training. “I haven’t seen you in forever and this is how you greet me?”

He frowns. “I say hello all the time.” You turn to him. “When? I didn’t see you.”

Feitan huffs and kicks the ground lightly. You get up to move the furniture back to place. Your movements are slow and everything seems so much heavier. Everything is swirling right before your eyes. Your head hurts and yet feels so light. Before you meet the ground, Feitan takes you to the couch and lays you down.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, little boy…” Those were the last words you say before you drift to sleep.

Hours later, you wake up at the sound of birds. There is a beautiful blue blanket on you with golden yellow designs. It’s thick and so warm you could stay forever. You’ve never owned anything like this.

Slowly you get up and search for Feitan. He’s nowhere to be found much to your dismay. Last night’s conversation still stays with you. He insisted that he says hello all the time. That he sees you regularly, yet, you haven’t seen him at all.

The blanket, the wind chime, the medical supplies, the various decorations with stones, paint and if you weren’t smart, you’d say gold. Could Feitan have been the one to give you gifts? Silently watching over you and in his own way, saying hello? You have felt like you were being watched for years.

____________

“Do you understand why I didn’t welcome you?”

“No, and I never will. Now please, leave me alone.” You feel convicted by turning a man of God away, but can he truly be one when he left a child to suffer? You were in the cold, wind, and rain, alone in one of the worst parts of the city. All you had was Feitan, and he was there once in a blue moon. After the rejection from the church, you took it upon yourself to care for others as no one had ever cared for you. Although hurt and afraid, you chose not to spread that toxicity. You decided that no matter the size of change, it still works.

However, you will not fall prey to the same people. For instance, that girl you saved and this priest. How can he expect your services with no repentance or atonement? You forgive, but like hell will you forget.

Damn…you were so sure you were over the pain of your past. That the change you made within yourself and how you treat people so no one else suffers like you, would stick. Alas, all it takes is one person to bring it down. You want to kick yourself because of the regression. Then again, the hostility isn’t your fault.

You walk into the hallway with small statues, stone walls, and large windows. The sun shines brightly through them, making the church seem prettier than it is.

“Please-”

“She said no.” Feitan stands with his hands in his pockets, the sun shining on his pale skin. It has been a few months since the incident with Chrollo. You haven’t seen any of them but have felt eyes on you, which you have deduced was Feitan. However, you learned the truth of the blanket. The name stitched on it belonged to an old clan, the Kurta, that was mutilated, tortured, and murdered by the Phantom Troupe. It disgusts you. The blanket is comfortable but still.

Feitan, the boy who you taught to tie his shoes, gave you a trophy of his crime. You wanted to burn it, or bury it in the memory of the Kurta, yet you couldn’t. It’s a gift from the one consistent person in your life. Your protector and giver. So, you folded it and put it in a box.

Now, here he is like he’s done nothing wrong. Defending you and putting the man that’s been with the city for ages in his place. You’re shocked at his behavior.

“Feitan, surely you must understand!”

“Shut up.” Father Rizole took a step back in surprise. Feitan was one of his regulars, if you remember correctly. This must be a surprise for the aging priest.

You hum at the scene. Even though the rumors of what the Troupe has done bothers you, it doesn’t mean you aren’t opposed to the benefits. The priest backs up and sighs.

“If you ever reconsider, please, let me know. We could use your help.”

“I could’ve used it too.” You end the conversation there and leave. Feitan soon follows you. He’s silent on his feet and very fast. Feitan was behind you but his quick feet caught up in less than a second. Now, he walks right at your side.

“So, you just decide when you want to see me?”

Feitan shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Sighing, you turn to him and ask, “What do you need this time?” The lower half of his face is hiding under a plain cowl now. His eyes show all of the emotion needed. “I just hang out.”

The sun is too hot for this nonsense. Sweat trickles down your face and back, becoming sticky. “So that’s why you’re here, right? I’m shocked.”

Before he can say your name, you continue. “Oh! And let's not forget the little massacre that took place, huh? Yeah, being used to heal your friend from that was really fun.”

“I didn’t.”

You roll your eyes. “No, just that one guy. That’s who to you, again?”

“Boss.” You scoff at his short answer. Then, you think about the possibility. “Your boss? Then…doing that to the Kurta, wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“No, not mine.” His hands remain in his pockets. His hair blows in the wind slightly. You realize he hasn’t gotten a haircut in a while.

“If you could, you know, go back in time…would you still do it?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no thought put into the answer. Just a plain as day answer and a tone that leaves no room for an explanation.

“So whatever he wants he just gets? As long as it aligns with your twisted mind, right?”

His eyes grow darker. “I save you.”

You point to the church. “No, no you didn’t. That guy wasn’t going to do anything to me. I had it handled.”

Shaking your head, you go to leave until a hand wraps around your wrist. “Boss takes nen. I didn’t let him.”

Was that what that was? That tension that day that was suffocating? Remembering that day, you start to form pieces. “Would he hurt you if you didn’t go along with his schemes?”

“No.”

Well there goes that idea. “Nevermind.”

You try to yank your wrist from his grip, but it’s iron tight. “Let me go!”

“I protect you, always. Bad people here, everywhere. I get dirty for you.” His face is indifferent but his words give it away. The plea for you to understand and realize, dare you say, his devotion to his friends. Does this include you?

Is that what it is? What friendship, this connection is? You are aware of the deeds the Troupe do. You understand why they thought it would be a good idea (somewhat anyway).

“Thank you, then.” He lets go of your wrist which was grabbed painfully tight. He trades that in for holding your hand instead. You are shocked at first, but if you make it a big deal, he’ll stop. You don’t want him to right now.

Not when you feel safe. You still want to kick yourself… and maybe throw in a punch.

_____

Apparently, the Troupe have gone their separate ways for now. They don’t cling onto each other for a long period of time after a job. It’s better that way since it has a lesser chance of them getting caught. They still hang out from time to time, though.

For you, you managed to get out of Meteor City after the argument with the priest. Feitan had gone to do another heist with Phinks, if you remember right. You took that moment to skip town. You never wanted to stay in the trash, anyway.

And you were right to! Everything you thought of as a child about the world outside was true! Sure, people can be rude and things can be corrupt, but you’re fed and resting. There are bright lights and kind people. It can be clean and the soap smells so good. Just the other day you got to experience a nail salon. Rather than stealing from you, the lady next to you, Jade, talked about her family. Her daughter is Ruby and her wife is Scarlet. Jade and Scarlet want another child. You offered the name Emerald.

In Meteor City, you would’ve had to fight. Now, you are making friends and offering beautiful names. It’s a stark contrast that is fully welcomed.

The sun is bright and the moon is sometimes round. It doesn’t always attract evil and can sometimes sing such a beautiful melody. There are pearls and diamonds. There are seasonings that make the food taste unbelievably good. It’s all expensive, but infinitely better than Meteor.

And Nen is a secret here. In the city, many knew about it and used it without discretion. Here it’s different. Like a secret identity for a hero. Your nen in particular isn’t used as much as it was before. Your ability was so tiring. Pretty and incredibly useful, but exhausting nonetheless.

It has been a few years since you saw him, but he’s seen you. He found you quickly, too. When you came home from your office job (which you are still ecstatic about, by the way) you noticed a new painting in your house. It was dull and in black and white. The painting is of a few plants that take the center stage. Actually, they’re your nen plants. In the background is what looks like your old city. Piles of rubbish and polluted air in black swirls. There are clouds above and a dark sun barely poking out.

It’s sad. Beautiful, but sad. You have wondered what he meant by it. You open the door to your apartment. It’s not much and one day you want to get a house.

The keys make a jingle when you set them on the countertop. The apartment is still dark, so you scramble to flip the switch. “Why you leave?”

You scream at the top of your lungs. Standing there nonchalantly is Feitan, who you haven’t had contact with in a hot minute. His hair is even longer than before. He wears a new cowl that has a skull on it over his face. His trench coat looks a little too big for him but he wears it well anyway.

“Uh, because I live here? What are you doing here?” You set your bag down and take off your short heels. Although he’s a murderer, you still feel safe with him.

He takes slow strides towards you. “ Why? I looked for you and you weren’t there.”

“You knew where I was. I got your presents,” You point to the painting. He hides his face a little in the fabric. “I like it by the way. Did you do it?”

“Shut up.” You sigh and walk into your kitchen. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

You begin to wash the rice. Your eyes switch from looking down to taking obvious glances at him. Right about now, he should be in his mid twenties. It’s amazing how long you’ve known each other. You remember him as that kid who didn’t know how to tie his shoes and him teaching you about Nen. Time flies so fast when you least expect it.

You crack the eggs and whisk them. The sound of the utensil against the bowl and the sizzle of the tomatoes in the pan is all that is heard. Feitan doesn’t make one sound. He opts to stare at you working and even has a glint in his eye which you think could be satisfaction.

“Do you still like this, by the way? I remember you snatching it.” You try not to smile at the memory.

“I do.” He hovers in your kitchen, just waiting, watching you do all of the work. Stingy bastard. After adding the seasonings, you could have never gotten in Meteor City, you fix him a plate. He happily accepts it and sits down on the floor.

“I have a tab-” Oh, the memory. Allowing yourself to smile, you sit with him and eat off of his plate. “We’re sharing. ”

He gives a slight growl but doesn’t do anything. “So, what brings you by?”

“I say hello.” You hum with a mouth full of food. “Well, hello to you too, little boy.”

He gives you a light kick. The two of you finish the plate. Both full, you just lay back and talk.

“How long are you staying?”

“Not long.” You’ll miss him. “Running from the cops again?”

“Need to hide out for a bit.” You nod, accepting his answer and that your connection will probably always be sweet moments. “It’s nice to have you here, even only for a moment.”

Feitan taps you again with his foot. “I’m always here. I say hello all the time.” You know and are fully aware of what he means. His odd little gifts decorate your house. To bones, to rugs, even a china set he stole. It’s routine for him to give you something, even when you don’t see him.

“Even though you run.” He kicks you again. The more you watch him, the more your chest tightens. He’s the only consistent thing in your life. Everything is fleeting. Your job is new as well as your relationship with your coworkers. But there is a line with them. Feitan is different.

“How long are we going to do this dance?”

“I don’t dance.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “I mean you coming by once in a blue moon.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.” You nod. “Figures.”

He frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, that this whole thing is tiring. You come and go like some kind of feral cat.”

“So?”

You sputter, “ So I don’t appreciate it.” He takes off his long coat and reveals his chest, next goes his shoes. “I sleep here.”

“You can’t use me!” He gets up and goes in the direction of your room. “Feitan!” You pick up his clothes and set them aside. “Do you hear me? I wasn’t done talking!”

On your bed is a sprawled out Feitan. He looks at you with squinted eyes. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”

Like always, he makes himself at home. You sigh, giving up on trying to talk to him. “Move over.”

He scoffs and reluctantly moves out of your way. You feel him tense up as you lay down. “This is my bed. I can sleep here.”

You face each other as you lay down. Neither of you say anything about how close you are. This is probably the closest you’ve ever been since you helped him tie his shoes the second time. You feel his eyes on you, making you nervous. “Stop staring at me.”

“Never sleep with someone in a while.” You know. The last time was with you, no doubt. At the time, you didn't think about it, if you remember correctly. It's hard to tell since it's been so long.

“The couch is that way.” He smacks his lips. “No, you go.” You open your eyes.

“Like I said, this is my bed.” Feitan doesn’t say anything about your ownership. Instead, he’s honest with you. “I’m tired.”

Instantly, you start to feel a little bad. In the city, no child was ever able to fully sleep. It was too dangerous, especially in the more dangerous districts. Him being honest about his state, you take it as a step.

“If you want to, I’ll be on the lookout.” His hands are next to yours. You grab them, just like he did those few years ago. “You can sleep now, Feitan.”

You don’t know when, don’t know how either, but you two do end up sleeping. His eyes are closed and his breath even. Your eyes flutter open and see that he’s got slight dark under eyes and his mouth leaking drool. Feitan looks peaceful, sleepy, like he hasn’t done this in a while.

The next morning, he’s gone with no evidence he was even there.

_________________

You watch on the tv screen above the bank about the attack on York New, a city not too far from you. The attack happened a few days ago but it’s still in the headlines. You don’t blame them, to be honest. It was an insane event that over two thousand people died!

You cling onto your boyfriend’s arm. He touches your hand reassuringly. His watch gleams in the moonlight and his suit is perfectly pressed. He's the entire package, he’s perfect. A good job, good manners, an honest man, and treats you well, too. He always holds the chair out for you and gets up when you leave the room. Just like a true gentleman.

When you first met, it was a classic coffee shop romance. Then it blossomed into a romantic and expensive dinner, the movies, a nighttime walk in the park, all of the classic dates. In every single one of them he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect man. You like him and how he treats you. How consistent he is. He's the type of man you can rely on.

Nevertheless, there is a bothersome voice in the back of your head that reminds you of someone he just isn’t. He’s not Feitan Portor. You don’t feel the contentment Feitan gives when the two of you sleep. You don’t study your boyfriend’s features like you did Feitan.

Dammit, why are you thinking of him? He’s not around and you haven’t seen him in what? Two or three years? So why think of him now. Plus, you haven’t received a gift or a ‘hello’ from him. For all you know, he could be dead.

“Are you alright?” You wake from your thoughts and look at your boyfriend. His hair is dark, blending in with the night. Eyes kind and green, a Grecian nose, and average sized lips revealing a dazzling smile. Not only is the very essence of him suave, but his looks are also perfect. Tall and handsome, well dressed and a smooth voice.

It's just that one five foot one pest that won’t get out of your head.

“Y-yeah just…it’s all so shocking. York New is literally over there.” You point past the river where more tall buildings reside in the distance.

“I know, I know.” He brings you in close to him. He places a kiss on your head. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you.”

Suddenly, the newscaster stops mid sentence and gasps. Before you know it, the Phantom Troupe have been named the offenders that caused all of this. Two thousand people. Feitan, did you really kill that many people?

“I would like to go home. I don’t feel the greatest.” He rubs your arm, you still being tucked into his side. Your excuse was a lie to cover the gnawing feeling towards Feitan and his deeds. Although the Phantom Troupe’s original intentions were from a decent stand point, it seems they’ve lost their way. Feitan has lost his way.

The gifts have stopped coming, him no longer saying hello. After the last time, when you made him familiar food and sat in a comfortable silence, he disappeared. This time, there was something about it that hurt. Like he didn’t want to come around. He didn’t want to say hello anymore. Or perhaps, he died which if confirmed, you would ache beyond help.

“The Phantom Troupe is dead.” The newscaster said. The crowd gasped, shocked that the most feared criminals in the world are gone. Did you jinx it? Curse the little boy who needed you to tie his shoes. The boy who liked your cooking and made sure you rested. Had strong faith in you, never doubting. Protected you from the shadows and held your hand.

Is he really gone?

You hide your face in your boyfriend’s jacket. Tears stream from your eyes at the thought of his grave. With the Troupe, his friends dead, you’d be the only one to truly mourn him. To remember his name beyond his violence.

You clutch your chest. “Are you okay? Does your chest hurt?” He grabs you by your shoulders, making you face him. He’s such a kind, decent man. But he’s not Feitan Portor.

“I just need to rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” You give him a chaste kiss goodbye. Once he leaves, your chest hurts even more. You slide down as you look around at all the menace’s little gifts. The painting, the skull, the windchimes, everything he’s given you. Why, oh why, couldn’t you stay here long enough for your gift, Feitan?

Wait, what could you have given him anyway? He’s a thief that takes what he pleases and has nothing to wish for.

You lay on your couch and put your arm over your face. The tears refuse to stop for even just a second. You don’t know what you’re crying harder for. Feitan or the confusing feelings for him. Now that he’s gone, you can’t properly tell him. How can you explain it?

It’s heavy on your chest and tightens it. You want to feel his body heat no matter how hot the day is. There are no small flutters in your stomach at the thought of him. No, it's something in your heart. You want to stare at him, to memorize every feature he has. To hear his soft voice that is just a centimeter away from a whisper. Just melt in his touch, his presence. Wait, why is this happening? You barely knew him! Does that fact even matter though?

You slip your hand in your underwear, still staring at the ceiling, sniffling at the news of his death. You imagine the future. Seeing him walk into your house and setting his belongings on the table. Wrapping his arms around you and kissing your back. No matter how long you’ve known him, his stature never fails to amuse you. He’d paw at your body, tearing off your clothes. Feitan wouldn’t hesitate to use his hands for your pleasure.

You trace your fingers in the direction you think he’d go. Curling your fingers inside, thrusting them in harshly, knowing that he can only be gentle in his own way. Your back arches from the couch. You swear you can smell him and the faint metallic scent that he holds. The feeling of his ragged breath on your cheek you could swear is real.

You moan as you take that jump you’ve searched for. Thinking of how good Feitan would make you feel. You're relentless on yourself, still going as strong as he’d be. Adding another finger, going faster and faster on your clit. Your moaning gets louder as the indiscernible amount of time goes on.

‘ The Phantom Troupe is dead.’

You crash on the couch with one last gasp. The dream of the two of you ends in flames. The house, the passion, the years that go by in that home. Maybe even a child or two. Seeing him in the morning with a groggy voice is gone. Rubbing his eyes and saying he wants more eggs and tomatoes is no longer there.

What would your gift be to Feitan? Memories? Sex? Food? Nothing fits. He can have those with anyone.

You slip yourself out from your underwear. It didn’t distract you. Perhaps if you thought of your boyfriend, it would have. But the feelings you have towards Feitan went beyond physical. What is this? What do you call this?

Love? Time stops at the realization. It has to be that. That would have been your gift to him. Love. You cover your mouth as you admit it to yourself.

'I love you Feitan Portor. I won’t forget you. I love your messed up hair and soft voice. For how you didn’t reject me when the world did. I will do the same for you. I’ll look past your torturous ways and miss you anyway. Maybe the world will curse you, but I’ll mourn you. Bury you so no one can spit on you anymore. I love you Feitan.

I’m in love with you Feitan Portor. This is my gift to you. For you to know that you will not be forgotten even though I never got to tell you, to thank you for everything. For leaving the baseball bat with me to protect myself. For painting that picture for me. All of the little gifts you thought I’d like, too. Thank you for protecting me from the priest and the wolves that hunted me every day when we were young.'

You stare at the ceiling till the earliest of mornings. It’s still dark, still heavy with the night sky. There’s some rumbling in the distance, a flash of light in the sky. You don’t bother to confirm anything.

Just as you close your eyes, the window opens with a creak. You move your eyes to see the figure before you. The darkness covers it, only leaving the silhouette. “Why cry?”

You squint, trying to make out the features. “Are you real?”

“Very.” It must be a lie. A cruel humor the world has. “Stop crying.”

“I can’t. Not when you sound like him.” The figure cocks his head, that much you can see with the flash of lightning behind him. “Him?”

“Someone who can’t tie his shoes.” Your lip wobbles again. “I can tie them now.” The moon glows enough to show his face now as he steps up to you. Feitan’s delicate features peek out from his cowl.

You shake your head in denial. “It’s not real. It can’t be. You’re dead, Fei.” Your voice is hoarse from your sobs.

He looks shocked at your words. The man who looks like Feitan smacks your feet off the end of the couch so he can sit.

“I’ll miss you Feitan Portor.” The longer you stare at the imaginary man, the more you hurt. “Well, stop.”

He roughly wipes away the tears. “Ugly when you cry.” His face is close to yours. Since he’ll be gone by the time you come to your senses, you grab his face and kiss him. He sharply inhales, not expecting your sudden decision.

He growls against your lips, “Stupid brat.”

He feels real. He smells real, familiar too. You tell him such and with furrowed brows and a strong grip of his hand, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. “I’m real, you idiot.”

“They said you died…” You comb his hair through your fingers. It’s real, he's real . So, what’s going on? Before you can ask him, he cradles you. “Stop crying or I’ll go.”

Your lips wobble at his threat. Rather than listening to it, you hug him. He nestles on top of you, hips placed between yours. He’s light, lighter than you thought so it isn’t a bother.

“You’re so ugly when you cry. Don’t cry.” He holds you closer and kisses your head. Against your ear, you feel his lips move. You can’t tell what he’s mouthing. When the two of you comfortably slept those years ago, that was the closest you’ve been. Now, this beats that record. Face to face, body to body, and sharing breaths.

After a few moments of thunder and lightning, he kisses you gently. Not at all like the desperate one like before. Realistically, you know these feelings you have for him seem fake. You’ve only had a few moments with him. So, why are they so significant? Are they with him too? Is it possible that love can blossom quickly?

Gentle kisses turn passionate, never wanting to separate. Little nibbles on the right places and sucks on all of the best ones. Clothes leave, not wanting to get between the two friends, those who dance around each other. For the first time, they meet.

His hands reach your throat as he kisses you, making sure to give it a light squeeze. His weight is still on you, not hurting in the slightest. Feitan makes sure his hand reaches below and swirls his thumb on your bud. You gasp, surprised you were right about how he’d do it. Every ministration he does is exactly how it was pictured. Your hands don’t compare to it. Not by a long shot.

Despite his size, his hands are still bigger than yours. They reach deeper than you and are thicker too. In no time, you come, the bliss lasting a good minute before he sheathes himself inside. His thickness is more than you thought. It’s a bit of a stretch, but in a good way.

His gasps quicken with every thrust. You can tell that you're being loud, way louder than when you touched yourself. Feeling the rush and strength of his movements has you claw his back in ecstasy. He groans at the sensation. Finally, after this time of passion and intimacy, you both hold each other as you fall off of that cliff.

Feitan looks into your eyes. With a softness that no one in the world could’ve predicted the torturer of the Phantom Troupe to have, kisses you. “Don’t cry anymore. Don’t cry.”

“It’s hard not to when I know you’ll leave.” Silently, Feitan removes himself from inside you. It’s become routine, so you expect him to walk out. He lays back down, his head on your stomach. You run your fingers through his hair. He needs a haircut.

You wake up, not realizing that you went asleep in the first place. Before you can get up, you feel pressure on your stomach. Feitan rests on you still, eyes completely closed and his face peaceful. The two of you are naked and the only source of heat is each other. As much as you want to wrap your arms around him, you know he’ll react negatively or at least flinch.

Soon after, he stretches and rubs his face against your stomach. Like before, he drooled in his sleep. “Good morning.”

He grunts in response and sits up on his heels. It takes him a moment to remember the night before. His eyes widen as he looks you up and down, making you highly aware of your current state. You cover yourself with a blanket draped over the couch.

“I have to go.” Ah, right. He’s a cat.

He gets dressed. Once he has his boots on, you see him tie them the way you taught him. “Proud of you. You finally learned huh?”

“Brat.” You laugh a little at him. Once he’s done you ask, “Will I ever see you again?"

He cradles your face. “I come back.” You nod, holding back tears. He studies your face and settles on your eyes. He must have realized that you were trying not to cry. His hands still remain on your face as he kisses you. He lingers there for a minute. A parting kiss, a meaningful one.

Something tells you that this feral cat isn’t going away anytime soon. That he’ll always be constant and you won’t be totally alone. A companion you won’t see everyday and only for a night.

This is the gift you’ll give him. You’ll be home for him.

___________________

Months later, news about the Chimera Ants came out. You had already broken up with your boyfriend and heard he had left town to avoid them. Of course, you followed suit and got the hell out of there.

Without any plan, you moved back to Meteor City, where you thought that they wouldn’t be. Alas, that was stupid. You made a home base in the residential area. Not knowing that Meteor City was plagued by the wretched beasts.

By God’s grace, you managed to avoid them due to you being in the residential district. News that the Phantom Troupe were home to fight them ran rampant. The thought of Feitan made you nervous and you don’t know why.

Suddenly, right as you put away your dishes, the door opened. You grabbed a knife and faced the intruder. Standing there was the Phantom Troupe, who once again, barged into your home like they owned the place.

“What the hell?” You shout. The first one is Phinks with a wide smile. “There she is! Fei, I found her!”

You put your hand on your hip. “Seriously, what are you doing her-you’re dragging in mud, take off your shoes!”

“It’s only a little.” Phinks pouts. “I don’t care! You don’t live here.”

Phinks and his friends grumble as they do as they’re told. The last one to enter the house is Feitan, who is notably holding his left arm. Without being told, he removes his shoes.

“Feitan…” He hasn’t faced you yet. “What happened to your arm?”

“I’m injured too, (Y/n)!” The smiling boy with round eyes whines. You have no idea what his name is. Only that he and the rest are in Feitan’s gang.

“Alright, let me see.” He lays down on your clean table and says, “It’s all over. I need the full treatment!”

“Ugh, fine.” You grumble under your breath about the disrespect and your poor table. Finally, Feitan sits on one of the pushed aside chairs. He says, “I need it too.”

“Big babies.”

You heal the biggest cry baby completely. The blond, whose name you now know as Shalnark, stretches. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve been hurting all day!”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Feitan who has been silent. He holds out his arm for you. You take the limb and inspect it.

“Completely shattered.” He grunts in agreement. He stares into your eyes and gives you a familiar slight smile. You notice that his friends are quiet, not a sound or word among them.

“You guys alright?” You ask. The girl shakes her head yes and ‘whispers’ to the rest. “Should we leave them alone?”

“Probably.” A mummy with boxing gloves answers. You’ve never seen him before in your life.

“Uh, we’ll check the place out. Y’know, make sure it’s safe.” Shalnark shoos the little kid out and into a separate room, your bedroom. “We’ll clear this out in case you guys need it!”

You huff and roll your eyes. Feitan’s cheeks are red and he’s glaring daggers at his friends. The girl goes outside with the remaining three to check the area. You and your feral cat are alone.

“What are they checking for? I’m in a residential area.”

“Ants.”

“They’re here? In the safe zone?” You begin to panic until he grabs your hand. “You’re safe now. They’re not in the city anymore.”

“Wha-how? What’s going on?”

He pinches you lightly, encouraging you to heal his wounds. “Oh, right, right.” Flowers of all colors circle around. They begin to smooth over Feitan’s wounds. You take a second to wipe the blood off of his lip, letting there be some room for the petals to go.

“How’s the other guy look?”

“She's toasted.” You smile. “Atta boy.”

He’s healed, the petals and flowers disappear. You lick your lips at the sight of his bare chest. You didn’t notice before due to the audacity of these heathens barging in.

His heart rate quickens. “You leave again.”

You nod. “Yeah, yeah I did. I had to, Fei. the Chimera Ants invaded. I had to run.”

“With your boyfriend?”

You let out a small gasp. “ No. How do you know that?” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair. “You lie.”

“I didn’t lie to you. I just never said anything.”

“Words of a liar.” You scoff at him. “I did not lie to you. I lied to him. You don’t have any business with our relationship.”

At first, he was looking at his lap. Those grey eyes of his immediately found a new target to glare at. “You’re not with him anymore. ”

“No. Why does that matter?” He begins to tap his foot lightly. “Why did you break up?”

“You hungry?” You start to get up until you’re tugged down. “Why?”

When you don’t answer, he whispers in your ear. “Because I fucked you?” Your face is so warm.

“If we run, we can still make it out.”

“Why are we running?” A small voice asks.

“Because I think they need the room.”

“Will you two shut up?!” You are two seconds away from running out of your own damn house. You stand and his hands hold you by your hips. “Tell me why you leave him?”

“Because of you.” It’s embarrassing to tell him your feelings. Hopefully, he can read your mind or something and shut up. He sighs and stands, walking over to you without a hitch. He kisses you.

“That’s what you get for lying.” He’s not remorseful or even boastful. Feitan takes your answer in stride. “No more leaving. Stay so I can find you.”

“You’ll always find me, remember?”

______________

Time after that, you were stuck in charge of Chrollo’s lover or something. She’s not too bad but clearly traumatized. Anytime you’d tell her to go with you, she’d look shocked. Like she was surprised she could leave. You were suspicious of her relationship with Chrollo. Something didn’t sit right with you whenever he or Feitan came up. She’d tense up. She never talked about it either. From what you understand with the little information you have, is that she was a former member that raised an orphan and that Chrollo loved her immensely. Perhaps too much.

From what you know, there was a big showdown on the Dark Continent and the boat that was taking a voyage to the fake one. The Phantom Troupe were on that one at first, fighting Hisoka Marrow. He was a sore loser that got humbled and decided to attack again.

Amazingly, only a few died. You didn’t want to know the details or anything. You can’t go through that again. So, after that news, you and Chrollo’s lover parted ways. She went on to find a kid she raised. You, on the other hand, decided to settle out of Meteor City. This was almost a year ago.

You have an apartment now in the town where you and your boyfriend lived, right next to York New. It’s basic, not fitting any aesthetic or anything. The good thing about it is that it’s bigger than your first one. It’s two bedroom and has a good price.

Feitan hasn’t reappeared. It tore you to shreds. You’ve managed to piece yourself together bit by bit, but you are a hollow version of yourself. Surviving and not enjoying the little things you used to. You even saw Jade, Scarlet, Ruby, and the new child, Emerald. Even that heartwarming moment didn’t fulfill you. However, it was the first time you smiled in a while.

You stir the food in the pot. Since it’s a little chilly, you made soup. You put the lid over the pot, letting it cook. There’s a knock on the door. You open it and see the man you’ve waited for.

Feitan is in dark clothing and has a large scar on his face. There’s no cowl over him, or a large trench coat. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks at you expectantly. You realize that you’ve just been standing there, you move to let him in. Once again, he makes himself at home.

“How’ve you been?”

“You leave again.” He states bluntly. His eyebrows are furrowed and has a frown on his face.

“Bold of you, very bold.” You move around him. “Why did you go?”

“Because I’d never stay in that city forever. The Ants were gone, the world settled. So why couldn’t I? That place is gross anyway.”

He sits on the barstool and cracks his neck. You ask a question right after he sits. “How long you here for?”

You don’t know why you asked that. He’ll only be here for a moment. A while ago, you had made the decision to accept it as your gift to him. To love and mourn him when the world won’t. When news about the Phantom Troupe hit, you couldn’t bear to hear it. Their trip to the fake Dark Continent, then their corrected course to the right one, ended in a battle with them facing Hisoka and Illumi and everything else over there.

It was too hard for you to think about. That doesn’t mean you didn’t mourn and that you’ve snapped out of it.

“For good.”

You look up into his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he’s smiling with soft eyes. You see that he has a dimple on his left cheek. “W-what about-”

“Done for a while. Maybe forever. I know I’m staying.”

“But your friends, where are they?” He shrugs even though you see the tension. “Separate. We split for a bit.”

He rubs his shoulders nervously. “Can I stay with you?”

“Wow, you’re asking? Shocked.” You tap on the counter. The weight you’ve been carrying is lightened. “Feitan?”

“Yes?” He gets off of the stool and makes his way around the counter. “You know how you give me all those gifts?”

He nods his head. “Well, this is my gift to you, Feitan Portor. You can stay as long as you like.”

He wraps his arms around you. He’s hugging you. This time, you aren’t afraid to hold him back and squeeze. Maybe, just maybe, this is what home is?

If the Phantom Troupe resurrects, at least you know he’ll always come home. That you two will be a constant force for each other. No matter if it does or doesn't, you two aren't dancing but admitting things you couldn't. This is home, a gift for each other.

#feitan portor #feitan x reader #feitan porter x reader #hxh #hxh fanfic #slight yandere #q #phantom troupe #hunter x hunter #hxh feitan #idk what to put here rn

252 notes · View notes

darkbluekies · 1 year

Text

The witty and uncanny pt 2

Doctor!yandere OC x reader x mafia!yandere OC

Summary: you knew that they'd be back for you, you just didn't know you'd stumble upon them so quickly.

Warnings: stalking, guns, knives, yandere

word count: 2.3k

Part 1 part 3

You pull the dark hood over your face and sit down by the coffee shop's counter, eyes cautiously wandering around the room. You're not sure who's a friend and who's an enemy. Silas has eyes everywhere and you wouldn't be surprised if he'd ordered more people to look for you. After your escape from the hospital, you've done your best to keep a low profile. You've couch surfed and slept outside. It hasn't been comfortable, but it worked. In the inside pocket of your black hoodie is the gun you stole from Silas and then from doctor Kry. You always keep it close … just in case they decide to show up unannounced.

"Hi, Y/N", your manager smiles. "Ready for your shift?"

"Yes", you answer.

When you've collected enough money, you're getting out of here. You like this place, maybe even more than you'd admit. The atmosphere is slow and soft, no one's in a hurry, everyone's just enjoying the moment. Just like you should.

Dr Kry sighs and puts down the dumbbells. His heart is pounding in his ears. Is it even worth it anymore? Despite working so hard that his muscles are pulsating, he can't feel anything. He had you and then he lost you … and then he had you again … and you got away. Dr Kry doesn't blame you for hurting him. You were scared, hurt and unwell. You acted irrationally. That's why he has to get you back. You're not well and the world will only hurt you. Or worse …

His foot is back to normal by now. A scar is left from where you shot him. He can't get himself to feel mad over it. It's a constant reminder of you, so why should he be angry?

Dr Kry leaves the gym to go take a shower. He does so in your room, somehow wishing that you'll be lying in the bed once he comes out again. He hates to see the empty bed, but he still comes into the room everyday. He uses the shower as an excuse to walk in, but sometimes he just sits by your bed, watching over nothing.

After showering, he makes himself ready to go out. He puts on a sand colored Jean jacket over a white turtleneck and a pair of blue jeans.

The only reason he leaves the hospital is to look for you. He has been to your parents house, your friends houses, motels and other hospitals. He saw some traces of you on a couch in a friend's house. He knows that you're somewhere around him, and it's just a matter of time before he finds you.

You pour up a hot cup of coffee for a customer and give them a gentle smile. Your head is pounding. It's been months since you last slept in a real bed. Ironically enough it was the hospital bed. Couch surfing might keep you social, but your organs are suffering. One wrong move and your spine will split in two.

"Good morning, could I have a plain, black coffee, please?" a voice asks gently. "No coffee, nothing extra … just a plain, black coffee?"

Your eyes dart to the man in front of your colleague as your heart sinks to your stomach. Without his doctor's clothes, he's almost unrecognizable. He looks just like anyone else.

You're quick to look away and continue with the last customer's order. Your colleague will take care of the doctor. If you're lucky you won't have to interact with him at all and he won't notice you. You pull the hoodie closer and feel for the gun in your pocket.

Your colleagues glance at Dr Kry, unforgivingly checking him out. You give him a discreet look. He has bags under his eyes. He's always had them, but these ones are darker. Otherwise he looks normal.

"Y/N, can you take this order?" your colleague asks you as she swings her bag over her shoulder. "I have to go to the post office before twelve or my letter won't reach my parents before their anniversary."

You want to yell at her but instead you press your lips together and nod. She disappears, leaving you alone by the counter. Quietly, you start to pour a white cup with steaming hot coffee

"Quite a nice morning, don't you think?" Dr Kry says.

You nod, still keeping your head down. The hood covers most of your features and you hope that he's too tall to notice the hair that sticks out. If you start tucking it back, he'll grow suspicious.

You give him the cup and you shudder as your fingers brush against his. Electricity shoots through your veins — and not the good kind.

"Thank you so much", Dr Kry smiles. "Have a good day."

"You too", you whisper.

He walks away. Quickly, you run to the changing room to catch your breath. Holy fuck, he was right in front of you. You literally touched him. You talked to him. This was too much. Without a second to waste, you throw the apron off your body and sprint out the back door. This was too risky, you can't come back here in case he ever comes back. Your heart is beating in your ears. You run the quickest you can down the street before he can realize.

Doctor Kry walks out to his white car with his coffee in his hands. He sighs heavily and takes a sip. It burns nicely in his throat, it reminds him that he's still alive. He feels like a walking shell. He looks for you every day … but you're nowhere.

Wait. That voice. That … touch.

Dr Kry quickly turns around and looks at the sweet coffee shop. He hurries back in. The counter is empty. With a quick glance around, he walks behind the corner and into the back room. He looks around, seeing an apron on the floor. Squatting down, he picks it up. The nameplate says a name he first doesn't recognize, but then he smiles. Your middle name.

"Oh, sweetheart", he sighs with a smile on his face. "It really was you."

Hope is blooming in his chest. Holy fuck, he was right in front of you. You literally touched him. You talked to him. He needs more. He notices that the back door is swung open and runs out tk his car. He'll catch you soon enough. He's not unarmed this time.

He's utterly embarrassed. Fainting on the floor in a hospital like that? Because someone managed to prick a needle into him? That's not something he brings up often and frankly something he wishes to forget. The second he regained consciousness he called for his right hand man to pick him up. There was blood in the elevator when he was getting up to the ground floor and he feared it came from you. Silas had to leave the hospital that day. He still believes that the doctor has kept you away in the hospital room. One day he'll be back for you and he won't let that uncanny doctor win. He has put out his men all over the city to keep their eyes open for you. You can't hide forever, it's just a matter of time. But for the time being, he's keeping himself occupied with work until he comes up with a plan to get you away from that pesky doctor.

"Boss, we found them!"

Silas looks up. "Where?"

"They were caught on one of the city's surveillance cameras, running down the street. We've seen them before, it's the one with the black hoodie. The hood flew off when they were running."

"I had a feeling that it was them!"

He should have trusted his gut. He could already have had you, but he told himself that it couldn't be you. You were at the hospital, weren't you? Apparently not.

"Let's go get them", Silas says and stands up. "I'll get my coat. Get a blanket, they must be cold and make someone prepare the basement. I've had enough of this running around."

Silas grabs his black coat and storms out to his car. His men follow and one gives the boss a green blanket he can wrap around your body once they get you.

Silas jumps into his car, ready to go. He won't let you get far.

He speeds through the city to reach you before you disappear.

"Where are they?" he asks his second in command. "Hurry up!"

"I-I don't know, boss!" He almost shouts back. "They're not on any of the cameras anymore."

"What?!"

"The last I can see of them was ten minutes ago. They ran out into the forest!"

"I fucking hate them."

He sighs heavily. He'll have to search for you in the woods? He might as well burn it down when he’s at it. He speeds up, determined to get to you before the forest swallows you whole.

Not long after starting your forced workout, you can hear a car speed up beside you. Looking to the side, you see the face of a familiar blonde man behind the wheel. You gasp and run into the forest before he has time to park.

"Y/N!" Dr Kry shouts behind you. "Wait!"

Like hell you will. You speed up, flying over the dirty ground beneath you. Behind you, you can hear the man run quickly as a tiger. You feel for the gun in your pocket, happy that it’s still there. Soon, you feel how the doctor grabs a hold of you and suddenly, the ground disappears from under your feet. For a second, you fall, only to be hit by the harsh ground.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Y/N”, Dr Kry says and helps you up on your feet. “But I didn’t know how else to stop you.”

He brushes off your clothes with his hands before cupping your cheeks that have started bleeding. You’re too tired, too scared to move. Teary eyes glare at him as he caresses your cheeks with his hands.

“My sweetheart”, he whispers and hugs you tightly. “My poor, little Y/N, I’m so sorry it took me so long to find you again. I’ve been feeling so awful about how our last encounter ended. I don’t blame you, you don’t have to be worried that I’m angry. I’m not, I promise! I know Silas scared you and that you wanted to get as far away from him as possible … and that meant getting away from me too. I understand.”

“No!” you shout and push yourself out of his chest. “You don’t understand a single, fucking thing!”

He hisses and brings you back, suffocating you into his sand colored jacket.

“Let me go!” you shout and try reaching for the gun.

Something sharp hits you in your waist and you freeze.

“Y/N”, Dr Kry whispers in your ear. “Don’t make me hurt you, okay? I really don’t want to.”

“If you care about me so much, why would you hurt me? You sick freak.”

“If you don’t understand what’s best for you, then I have to take drastic measures to take you back where you’re safe. You have to understand that, sweetpea.”

“Drop the knife.”

You freeze at the new voice. It can’t be. Before you have time to register the voice, Dr Kry has pushed you behind him. You can glance at Silas standing a few meters away dressed in his black coat, but you hide behind the doctor to shield yourself.

“How did you know we were here?” Dr Kry asks coldly.

“I have my ways”, Silas answers just as chilly. “Now, give me what’s mine and you won’t die here today. I might even let you go. Might.”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Silas? You were no match for me last time.”

“Oh, come on, doc … you shouldn’t annoy me. You had luck before. But we’re no longer in your hospital, you have nothing to use here. I’m at an advantage.”

“At least I have Y/N, am I right?”

Silas grits his teeth. “Not for long. What have you done to their cheek?”

"They fell."

Silas tilts his head to look at you. "Clumsy baby. I guess I have to tie you to the bed once we come home, to make sure that you don't hurt yourself running anymore."

"You mean chaining me to the wall in the fucking basement!" you shout, unable to control your anger any longer.

"Details", Silas scoffs and rolls his eyes. "What's important is that you're coming back with me."

"They're not going home with you!" Dr Kry says sternly. "After what happened to them last time they were in your care, I'll never allow it! They have to come back to the hospital with me. I take good care of them."

"Like Hell they do! They belong to me!"

You decide to take this opportunity to flee. They’re too busy arguing that they don’t notice how you back away from Dr Kry and make a run for it into the woods. Only when you’ve come ten meters away, do they notice the running shadow.

“Y/N, come back!” Dr Kry gasps before glaring at Silas. “Now look at what you’ve done!”

He’s about to run after you when Silas's voice is heard again. He's gotten an insane idea that he's not sure of himself.

"Hey, doc."

"What?" Dr Kry scoffs, turning his head to the criminal who's standing calmly with his hands in his pockets.

"How about we team up?"

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere fics #yandere mafia #yandere stories #yandere oc x you #yandere doctor #yandere oneshots #yandere series #yandere ocs x reader #yandere duo #yandere ocs #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere imagine #yandere scenarios

1K notes · View notes

frostbytemyrik · 9 months

Text

Danny Phantom Required* Watching

*It isn't actually required. I know there are a ton of phans who have never even seen a single episode of the show, but it's a fun watch and I would recommend at least catching some.

Sorting the episodes into colors (with the first letter in parenthesis by the title for those who might be too colorblind to tell). Note that this is all just my objective opinion, and everyone is free to leave their own thoughts on this!

Green (G) - Introduction of an important character or major plot development, such as a new power for Danny or another major shift in the status quo. If you can only watch a few of the episodes, watch these.

Pink (P) - Introduction of a side character or minor plot development.

Red (R) - Introduction of a new character worth mentioning or other general status quo change, but the episode is generally considered to be...not great by most people. (But hey, nothing wrong with liking these episodes!) They'll be summarized at the bottom of each episode description for those who can't be bothered to watch them.

Blue (B) - Nothing important happens to the overall plot, but it's a fun episode that fleshes out the characters.

Season 1

Episode 1: Mystery Meat (R) - Establishes the show and its main characters: Danny, Sam, and Tucker, as well as a lot of other important characters such as the Fenton parents and Jazz, and minor recurring characters like Dash and the Lunch Lady. The writers are still getting their footing so the main trio is unfortunately among the flattest they get here.

Episode 2: Parental Bonding (P) - Introduction of Paulina and Dora, first look at Valerie, and most importantly, Danny's power to overshadow people. Fun episode in general, Tucker makes a weird comment at the start but this is one of Sam's absolute best episodes as a character. (Tucker and Sam actually getting to be fun characters instead of just "butt-monkey comic relief" and "selfish asshole" is rarer than I'd like, so I always like pointing out the episodes where they get some love.)

Episode 3: One of a Kind (G) - Introduction of Skulker, a recurring major antagonist, and his motivations.

Episode 4: Attack of the Killer Garage Sale (P) - Introduction of Technus, Ghost Master of Technology and Destroyer of Worlds, Manipulator of Machines, Lord of all Gadgetry, Wizard of Integrated Circuitry, Master of All Things Electronic and Beeping.

Episode 6: What You Want (P) - First appearance of Danny's Ghost Ray and introduction to Desiree and the Ghost Catcher (a Fenton device with an unfortunately rather...culturally insensitive name and design), explores Tucker and his relationship to Danny. I went back and forth between making this green and pink because I'm biased in my love for this episode, but it isn't necessary to comprehend later episodes. (If you can watch it, though, it's a lot of fun as we get to see how close Danny and Tucker are and how Tucker feels about Danny's powers.)

Episode 7: Bitter Reunions (G) - Formal introduction to main series antagonist, Vlad Masters, and his relationship with the Fentons and the ghosts of the Ghost Zone. (Antisemitism tw: Vlad has hired ghost hitmen that are vultures with Yiddish accents, hooked beaks, and fezzes. They thankfully don't show up anywhere else, as far as I can remember.)

Episode 8: Prisoners of Love (P) - Introduction to the Ghost Zone itself and Walker, a side antagonist. Shows Alicia, Danny and Jazz's maternal aunt who never appears again after this episode.

Episode 9: My Brother's Keeper (G) - Gives Jazz a focus and formally makes her a major player in the plot through a certain discovery she makes. Also introduces side antagonist Dr. Penelope Spectra.

Episode 10: Shades of Gray (G) - Valerie Gray, a background character from Episode 2, gets new motivations and becomes an important part of the series going forward.

Episode 11: Fanning the Flames (P) - Ember is introduced, and she hypnotizes the entire town to fall for her with her music. To keep Danny out of her hair, she makes him fall for Sam. Whether this episode is a Pink or a Red depends on whether or not that bothers you. (Racism tw: there's a sequence towards the end of the episode that shows people around the world watching Ember, and they're all very stereotyped appearances of Japanese, Eastern European, Arabian, and Indigenous Australian people. Thanks, Hartman.)

Episode 12: Teacher of the Year (B) - A fun episode with Technus. It does have some of that early 2000s "don't underestimate me because I'm a girl" stuff, but it's still a good episode with a lot of heart.

Episode 13: Fright Night (P) - Introduces Fright Knight. A Halloween special that has its ups and downs (eating underwear?) It's just really funny that an actual ghost, who has been to the maddeningly twisted and alien world of the afterlife, still can't scare anyone to save his life.

Episode 14: 13 (P) - It's a shame this isn't actually the 13th episode. Anyway, it introduces Johnny 13 and Kitty, while Tucker and Sam get to hang out without Danny while trying to solve Tucker's new run of bad luck and the fallout for his reputation.

Episode 15: Public Enemies (G) - Walker's back and he's making a major shift in the status quo: ghosts are confirmed to exist as he stages a major invasion of the town. Things don't go well for Danny, and the repercussions will be felt for well into the series. Also introduces Wulf, a ghost who looks like a werewolf, exclusively speaks Esperanto, and has the ability to tear the fabric of reality to create portals between Earth and the Ghost Zone. He's putting this power to use for Walker, but it's clearly not by choice...

Episode 17: Maternal Instinct (B) - Maddie notices her son is growing distant from her and tries to take him to a science symposium to bond with him, but disaster strikes and leaves them in the woods, with the only shelter available being...a cabin owned and occupied by none other than Vlad. Meanwhile, Jack tries to understand Jazz, who doesn't seem to want anything to do with him or ghost hunting. Lots of great character moments for the Fentons.

Episode 18: Life Lessons (B) - Danny and Valerie, arriving late to class because they both were out ghost hunting, get paired up in home economics class to raise a flour sack baby together. We get more insight into what Valerie's life is like after Shades of Gray, and she learns to get along with both Fenton and, temporarily, Phantom, after an excursion through Skulker's part of the Ghost Zone. As a B-plot, Tucker makes money babysitting other students' flour sacks while ignoring the one he has with Sam, and Sam tries not to get attached to the sack. It's not important to the plot AT ALL but I'd put this as a must-watch if I could. Alas, I made the rules and must follow them.

Episode 19: The Million Dollar Ghost (B) - A million dollars is placed on the head of the ghost boy, Public Ghost Enemy #1: Inviso-Bill, known to us in the audience as Danny Phantom.

Episode 20: Control Freaks (G) - The circus is in town! New villain Freakshow gets introduced, and he becomes important later. Kinda. Depending on how much you like a certain blue episode that comes on down the line. The trio go to this cool new goth circus, but there's a string of ghostly robberies in town and Danny has been acting strangely lately...

Season 2

Episode 1/21: Memory Blank (R) - Danny and Sam have a fight, Sam wishes she'd never met him, Desiree makes the wish come true and now Danny has no powers and neither he nor Tucker remember her at all. Sam gets him fried by the portal again to get his powers back, but this time with a new logo she designed slapped onto his chest. Really all that happens is Danny gets his logo. This can be skipped...if you wish. ;)

Episode 2/22: Doctor's Disorders (B) - There's a bug going around - literally - getting the kids at Casper High sick. Symptoms include sneezing, chills, coughing, congestion, and various ghost powers depending on the student. The only ones immune seem to be Danny (thanks to his ghost powers) and Tucker (wearing his new homemade cologne that smells awful in a different way to everyone). A new hospital opens up to treat them, but something fishy is definitely going on. ...But Tucker is afraid of hospitals. Great Tucker episode.

Episode 3/23: Pirate Radio (P) - Introduction to Youngblood, an occasional antagonist. A new radio program pops up, and every adult in town (and Jazz, who's 16 but sees herself as an adult) is enraptured by it and the one song that it plays on loop. Then one day, every single adult in town leaves behind a note that they're going on a cruise, and it's up to Danny to rally the teens of Amity Park to discover what's so fishy about the cruise and get their parents back.

Episode 4/24-5/25: Reign Storm (G) - The creepy castle in the Ghost Zone Danny accidentally freed Fright Knight from in Fright Night holds yet another secret: the coffin of the Ghost King, known as Pariah Dark, whose goal is to rule over the Ghost Zone and the human world with an iron fist. Vlad frees him hoping to snatch the powerful artifacts on him, but it backfires and now the King is free and follows the fleeing ghosts to Amity Park, which he promptly invades. Danny, Valerie, and various enemies including Vlad need to team up to seal King Pariah back within his sarcophagus and save both Amity Park and the Ghost Zone as a whole. Major status quo shifts happen here.

Episode 6/26: Identity Crisis (B) - Not my favorite episode, but I'm including it here because it was popular with the Phandom a decade ago. Danny gets tired of trying to balance his human and ghost lives, so splits himself in two using the Ghost Catcher that was introduced in Season 1 episode 6: What You Want. That also, unfortunately, divides his personality to two extremes; the human half ("Fun Danny") is lazy while the ghost half ("Super Danny") is an absolute ham of a superhero stereotype, and Tucker and Sam struggle to put their friend back together so he can stop Technus in a way only he can (and also because both halves are honestly really annoying them).

Episode 8/28-9/29: The Ultimate Enemy (G) - This is THE episode of all time. Maybe not the best episode, but it's great in its own right and, more importantly for this list, introduces another major status quo shift. It's also basically required viewing for the comic that came out last year (at time of writing), as that comic is a direct follow-up to this episode. Clockwork, a ghost that is essentially a deity of time, has a mission to eliminate the greatest threat to Earth and the Ghost Zone that has ever been before he comes into that role: a ghost named Danny Phantom. Danny comes face-to-face with a version of himself that caused a doomed future, and needs to fight to ensure that future never comes to pass.

Episode 10/30: The Fright Before Christmas (B) - The boy Danny Fenton, a Grinch to his core, finds the holiday season to be quite a chore. Into the Ghost Zone to blow off some steam, he accidentally causes a scene: the Ghost Writer's finished manuscript in ashes, and with Danny's indifference he clashes. He traps him in a book that warps space and time, and forces all events in his life to rhyme. You're in for a treat if you like all these rhymes, but if they annoy you, then don't waste your time. (This factoid may not matter to you, but this is where we learn of the Christmas Truce!)

Episode 11/31: Secret Weapons (R) - Jazz is overbearing, Danny doesn't like it, so Jazz decides to go to Vlad. The episode's latter half isn't bad, but it's R because Jazz's constant invasions of Danny's privacy and the repetitive thermos jokes grate on me. If you plan to skip, the thing that makes it a red episode is this: Vlad learns that Jazz is in-the-know.

Episode 12/32: Flirting With Disaster (G) - A lot of the more plot-relevant episodes in season 2 (and one in season 1) have been building romantic tension between Danny and Valerie, and here's where it comes to a head: they actually start dating! However, after some jealous stalking thorough investigating, Sam finds that there's someone pulling the strings, and manipulating their real feelings for each other to pull them together and get them out of the way... Valerie especially undergoes a lot of major character moments, and we learn a lot more about her as a person. One of my personal favorite episodes (and I don't just say that because I'm a Danny/Valerie truther) (the "engraved" ring and Sam being a stalker about it aren't great, but honestly I just try to ignore those parts. Yes, I know I'm biased).

Episode 17/37: Kindred Spirits (G) - While Danny's busy being an asshole to his friends leaving Sam and Tucker to take the blame for property damages during his fights, he finds a strange girl named Danielle (or "Dani") who claims to be his cousin and shares an eerie resemblance with him. The similarities go more than skin deep, as she quickly reveals that she's ALSO half ghost. Tucker and Sam warn Danny that there's something suspicious about the whole ordeal (in between being left behind to be blamed for collateral damage more times than I'm bothered to count right now), but when Danny winds up in trouble anyway, they still skip detention (that he got them in) to save him before it's too late. Danny's a dick, but despite that, it's still a good episode and we get introduced to Dani before her next appearance.

Episode 19/39-20/40: Reality Trip (B) - Freakshow gets the Reality Gauntlet: an off-brand Infinity Gauntlet that can warp reality to anything he desires. He gets Danny's secret revealed to the world, causing the government agency the Guys In White (from Million Dollar Ghost in season 1) to relentlessly pursue him. Luckily, thanks to knowledge Sam gained from a book on the gauntlet, the main trio manages to warp the gems to different parts of the United States, severely limiting Freakshow's power. Unluckily, Freakshow retaliates by kidnapping their parents and Jazz, forcing the three to go on a cross-country road trip to get the gems back to Freakshow and save their families while evading the law. No permanent shifts of the status quo, but one of my personal favorite episodes. It's a fun ride!

Season 3

Episode 1/41: Eye for an Eye (R) - A prank war between Danny and Vlad ends in Vlad becoming mayor and passing a lot of horrible laws specifically to spite Danny. The laws are undone by the end of the episode, but Vlad stays mayor.

Episode 2/42: Infinite Realms (R) - In trying to map out the Ghost Zone, the main trio end up meeting Frostbite: leader of a realm in the Zone known as the Far Frozen, filled with spirits that take the form of peaceful, yeti-like monster folk who revere Danny as the chosen one who defeated Pariah Dark. Frostbite is also keeper of the Infi-Map: a map that can take the user anywhere in the Ghost Zone. Now for the bad news: Vlad is here, he wants world domination now for some reason, and he wants the map to help him do it. Vlad steals the map, the trio needs to get it back. It's not the worst episode, but Vlad's villain decay is...tragic. Tl;dr: Frostbite is the leader of a tribe of friendly yeti spirits and keeps the Infi-Map, which can take the user to any point in the ghost zone.

Episode 5/45: Forever Phantom (B) - One of the only actually fun filler episodes in season 3. Introduces us to Amorpho: a ghost with the power to shapeshift into anything and anyone, who uses their power to cause mayhem for attention. They bite off more than they can chew when they impersonate Danny Phantom, however, and a Fenton device gone awry locks both Amorpho and Danny into the form of Danny Phantom. Wacky hijinks abound.

Episode 6/46: Urban Jungle (G) - Haha green. Like plants. Anyway, Danny has been cold lately. No matter what he does or where he is, he's consistently freezing. It gets worse: while Danny's in this weakened state, a giant plant ghost named Undergrowth takes over Amity Park and possesses Sam. Unable to fight the constantly-regenerating Undergrowth or to keep himself from freezing, he flees into the Ghost Zone to seek Frostbite's aid.

Episode 9/49: Frightmare (B) - Danny wakes up one night to learn, to his horror, that Nocturne, the ghost of dreams, has put all of Amity Park into a deep sleep to feed on their energy. He enters the dreams of his friends to wake them and get their help taking Nocturne down. A good episode for people who ship Danny/Sam, and a GREAT episode for people like me who like to pretend that all the episodes I left off the season 3 list were just bad dreams.

Episode 10/50: Claw of the Wild (B) - The students of Casper High are ending summer with a camping trip in a foggy forest. All seems normal until, one by one, campers go missing. Danny, Tucker, and Sam go investigating and find their ally Wulf, who seems to know something about the disappearances...

Episode 11/51: D-Stabilized (G) - Regarded by most as the final good episode of Danny Phantom. Dani had been on her own in the world since we last left her, but over time, her form has been getting unstable, causing her to be slowly melting into a puddle of ectoplasm. She tries returning to Amity Park to get help, but is now being hunted down by Valerie, who Vlad commissioned so he could melt Dani down and study her remains to make a superior clone. (Valerie thinks he's just going to keep her contained for the safety of Amity Park; she isn't informed of the cloning.) Valerie turns Dani in to Vlad, but Danny manages to form a shaky alliance with Valerie to get Dani back, since Valerie knows that Dani is half human.

Episode 12/52-13:53: Phantom Planet (R) - The only reason this is here is because the comic continues from where this episode left off. If it didn't, I'd suggest ignoring it entirely. Rapid-fire summary: an asteroid is about to hit Earth, Vlad reveals himself to the world and demands unquestioning rule over Earth (and one trillion dollars or something) in exchange for turning the asteroid intangible. Vlad can't turn it intangible since it's made of Ectoranium, an anti-ghost substance we never hear of until now. Jack leaves Vlad in outer space. Danny gets every ghost he knows to help him turn Earth intangible, it works somehow, and Danny reveals his secret identity to the world. Statues of Danny are built all over the world, Sam and Danny start dating, and Tucker becomes mayor of Amity Park. A bunch of other stuff happens too but it's all stupid. Valerie gets thrown into a dumpster on live TV and that's her only appearance besides clapping for Danny at the end. I'm still mad. Don't watch Phantom Planet.

The Comics

Book 1: A Glitch in Time (G) - Danny's life is perfect: his secret identity is out, and the world accepts him not just as a part of it, but as its savior. His parents and former bullies fight on his side now, he's in a committed relationship with Sam, and Amity Park seems to be at peace. There's just one problem: his powers are getting weaker by the day. Unbeknownst to him, there's another problem in progress: Dan Phantom, the evil future Danny from The Ultimate Enemy, is released and fuses with Clockwork, causing present Danny and those near him to experience unstable glitches in time. Vlad returns to warn Danny of the threat of Dan, and they all team up to venture into the depths of the Ghost Zone to find a way to stop Dan and get Danny back to full strength. Meanwhile, Jazz and Valerie hold down the fort at Amity Park, holding Dan off for as long as they can while the trio and Vlad search for answers.

Book 2: To be continued in 2025!

Danny Phantom can be watched on Paramount Plus, but if you don't have a subscription, there may be DVDs at your local library! Other people may also have resources on how to watch the show, so feel free to ask around!

Danny Phantom: A Glitch in Time can be found anywhere books are sold! Abrams Books Amazon Barnes and Noble Google Play Waterstones

#danny phantom #danny phantom agit #a glitch in time #dpagit

395 notes · View notes

seramilla · 3 months

Note

May I propose that for a fun twist, that when Vaggie goes dress shopping with her mamá and hermanas she tries every single thing but the white just gives her the ick reminding her of Heaven a bit too much. So Carmilla picks out something unconventional for her. A red and black wedding dress…one that has a slit going up to her thigh that shows off the black lacey wedding garter.

Before meeting Charlie, the thought of "marriage" and "Vaggie" in the same sentence had never computed in Vaggie's mind. Even when she and Charlie had started dating, she hadn't been sure marriage was in the stars for her. It seemed like something other people did, but not her. But then Charlie had proposed to her, and Vaggie's entire outlook had been turned on its head. Vaggie had of course said yes, and now it's up to her to figure out what that means for herself.

The only problem is, Vaggie has no idea how to plan for a wedding, or what to even wear, for that matter. She's never been to one, and has no idea what the ceremony even entails. Thankfully, she now has a mother who had been married at one point when she was alive, and two older sisters more than willing to provide an...age-appropriate opinion, so that Carmilla doesn't get carried away, as mothers are often wont to do.

Don't get her wrong, Vaggie values Carmilla's opinion...she just thinks Odette and Clara might provide some much-needed...perspective. Carmilla was married a long time ago...and times have changed since then.

Case in point: Carmilla is old-school, and drags Vaggie, who is very nearly on the verge of puking, through a boutique stacked floor to ceiling with the most gaudy white and white-adjacent wedding gowns Vaggie thinks she's ever seen. Carmilla says it's tradition, and just the way things are usually done. White has been the color of choice for brides for generations of women -- mostly for reasons like tradition, symbolism, personal preference, and just carrying down the same outfits from generation to generation.

The only problem is, Vaggie hates white. Hates it. It reminds her of Heaven and empty platitudes and purity culture and asshole nobles who had called her and the other Exorcists "ruffians" for not embracing the typical snow-white and pastel attire adorned by almost everyone else up there.

Vaggie tries on a few white and lighter-colored dresses, because she loves Carmilla, and a part of her really wants Carmilla's approval in this. But after about the fourth or fifth one, she can feel the bile creeping up the back of her throat at the thought of trying on another. When Carmilla tries to shove the next dress into her arms, Vaggie puts her foot down.

"Mama!" Vaggie huffs, pushing the next dress away. "Look...I really appreciate you wanting to help me, but I just don't like any of this stuff. Isn't there something that doesn't make me look so...angelic?"

"Give it up, Mama," Clara says, doing her best not to laugh at Carmilla's "How-Dare-You!" expression. Odette covers her mouth in amusement, also trying not to laugh. The overlord is simply doing her best...but Carmilla can be a little overbearing when it comes to shopping with her daughters. She has very strong opinions. Odette and Clara had tried to warn Vaggie beforehand, but the fallen angel is clearly discovering it now.

Carmilla sighs heavily. "All right. What colors do you want?"

Vaggie twiddles her fingers. It's a little embarrassing...but ever since meeting Charlie, the red aesthetic just does it for her. They both wear it so often at the hotel, that it's just become a part of her outfit rotation. She mentions to Carmilla, "Something red?"

Carmilla, "Hmmms" under her breath, looking around the store until something catches her eye. She then drags Clara and Odette along with her, as if to gauge their opinion on whatever she's found. A few minutes later, her mother and sisters return with a few different pieces. Carmilla likes one in particular more than the others...but again, Odette and Clara override her, saying there's way too many sequins and lace, and it's not flattering on Vaggie at all. They make their own suggestions, taking Vaggie's preferences into consideration.

Ultimately, Vaggie settles on a gorgeous red wedding dress, with black around the bust and inner lining, and a slit going up the side to expose a black lace garter underneath. Vaggie blushes to herself, just knowing instinctively Charlie will love it. Charlie loves red on her. She makes a mental note to help Charlie find a sexy red suit to match.

Odette and Clara go on the hunt for some matching accessories, and Vaggie honestly just wants to hug the two of them. Carmilla means well...and she did manage to find a pair of banger shoes to go along with the dress...but her sisters had really stepped up for her, in more ways than one. All in all, the family works together to make this process as enjoyable as possible, and come away with something that Vaggie, and Charlie, will appreciate for the rest of their lives.

Vaggie decides that even though she isn't much of a shopper, it's nice to be able to spend time together as a family like this. Even with all the little quirks and annoyances that go along with it. She will take the good and the bad. Because it's all part and parcel of finally having what she's always wanted most -- people who love her.

#hazbin hotel #carmilla carmine #vaggie #vaggie hazbin hotel #odette hazbin hotel #clara hazbin hotel #ask #fan theories #vaggie carmilla related au #chaggie

93 notes · View notes

creatingblackcharacters · 3 months

Note

Hi! Neve sent an ask before, so I don't know how this works, but I'll chip in an obligatory I love your account; your reblogs especially were very helpful for my character casts! I'm currently working on a short-ish story where one of my main protagonists falls for a black woman. Their relationship is supposed to have conflicts, but ultimately they're endgame and supposed to be a genuine example of true love. But the thing is, I'm a white woman. I've searched a fair amount of your posts, but I haven't found anything on interracial relationships (Correct me if I've missed it!) What are things you noticed/dislike about how interracial relationships are portrayed in current media? And what are common harmful tropes/misconceptions included in them? I apologize if this subject derails from the conversation, but there's not many places I can find info on this topic, so I might as well ask here:!

Hello! Please capitalize Black when sending me asks. I'll put it on my pinned post, just so everyone is aware.

Tbh, this was likely one I was going to do a full lesson on at some point, so for now, I can give you some points of things that I personally don't like and/or find problematic or distasteful. Also, I've discussed these things in my lessons, particularly 3, 4, and 6. Please refer to my pinned post.

1. When the White partner is always the desirable one.

Black people are attractive, are sexy, have charisma, allure, endearing traits. It's gotten quite old that the partner that's always doing the chasing, regardless of their own quality of character, is the Black character. Maybe the White partner should be putting in the work!

2. An offshoot of that is that the White partner is described as being beautiful and attractive... Because they're White.

Now many people may not realize they're perpetuating this white supremacist belief, but when you're emphasizing "pale" (when we know you mean white) and light, thin hair, colorful eyes and other European beauty standards as what makes them the most attractive person in this story (versus mousy brown hair and tanned skin and plain brown eyes), you're implying that everything else is somehow less than. Especially when their partner is Black. If you're not putting in that much effort to describe the beauty and or marvel of the Black partner and character... It reveals your (however unconscious) beliefs!

3. How the White character is the "weaker", "more gentle", "purer" one.

This tends to happen with White women and white gay men characters. The idea that the Black character is inherently stronger, larger, more brutish, in need of being tamed... It's rooted in racism. Sometimes the White character could wait hand and foot on the Black one to show love and devotion 🤷🏾‍♀️ maybe it's the White character that needs to get their shit together 🤷🏾‍♀️ Black men characters can be masculine and gentle too. Black women characters can be softhearted and strong too. We are as capable of nuance as anyone else.

4. The idea that the Black character is meant to help the White one unlearn racism.

Now this is a touchy one. Because on the one hand, there's obviously going to be learning about culture and exchange in an interracial relationship. It's not wrong to have your Black character point things out to your white one, to help them be a better person bc they're in love and they need to understand and love and respect their partner's Blackness. Preferably they'd already know everything, but that's society. It's an active process.

But... There's this idea that somehow racism will be overcome because "love", and that's just not true. I personally don't think it's very romantic for a racist white woman to meet a Black man and through the story the message is "oh I learned how to see his humanity as we fell in love!" That's not... Cute to me. It is not hot in any way to have some guy or girl find my humanity and I'm supposed to thank and love them for that. That's the bare minimum. I'll respect them when they put in the work to show that they're unlearning, and when they get to a safe point, I'll be like okay. Certainly not "oh she's racist now but I know there's a good heart in there" noooo not really.

5. Every interracial relationship with a white person is not gonna result in a light-skinned baby.

Oohhoohoo I can't wait to elaborate on this one next lesson. 😈

These are my main ones. If any other Black fans have any opinions to add, I'd love to hear them!

#creatingblackcharacters #ThatsJustTips

74 notes · View notes

laenordeservedbetter · 2 years

Text

the demon i cling to

Words: 8.1k

Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You couldn’t escape madness no matter how hard you try, but maybe there’s a way where you don’t have to lose your mind alone.

Warnings: (18+) violence, murder, blood, gore, mentions of substance abuse, cussing (+ reader is morally grey!! she's complicated and unhinged.) lmk if I missed any.

A/N: I finally wrote something after three months and it's 8k words of word vomit, making this my longest fic ever. Again, it's been three months of not writing, so please be nice.

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

[September 2005]

There can only be a certain amount of restraint one can have before they snap.

You discovered that at a young age. You can’t put the entirety of the blame on growing up in Woodsboro, but it is most likely one of several reasons. The murders have been looming over the town since you’ve been born. Woodsboro, the city where Billy Loomis and Stu Macher went bonkers (that’s a kinder way to put it). Even though there hasn’t been another set of killings since that year in this town, there’s still a good amount of trepidation whenever it gets brought up.

According to your parents, Billy and Stu were like all the other normal kids.

Until they weren’t.

“It’s not something you should worry about, Y/n.” Your mother told you during the thousandth time you brought it up. When you try to say something in protest, she’d shut you down. You were a weird kid, your teachers say so. Attentive, sure, but maybe a little too much.

It wasn’t until the Jenny Willoughby incident that your parents started to suspect that everyone was right about you.

You were in a playground with the kids from your class as an activity to get to know each other. It was pointless, you thought. Everyone already knew each other from the previous years. There are already friend groups and bestfriends. And why did you have to be outside anyway? The classroom has enough space.

You kicked the rocks in front of you to see how far they can go, quite enjoying yourself before one of the rocks hit Jenny’s scrawny leg.

“Ow! Mrs. Bishop, she hit me! Y/n hit me!” She wailed, clutching her foot. Jenny looked like a kangaroo hopping around with one leg while the other was injured. You found it quite funny and laughed without a care in the world, which your teacher didn’t appreciate.

Mrs. Bishop looked at you through her glasses, “Why did you do that, Y/n?” She asked, frowning.

You liked Mrs. Bishop. She was nice. She always gave you extra time to nap and she was patient with you unlike the other teachers. So, seeing her look disappointed made you feel ashamed of yourself. You had let her down. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bishop.” You mumbled.

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to.” Mrs. Bishop told you, nodding her head in Jenny’s direction.

“I know.” You pursed your lips, taking the courage to walk up to Jenny and apologize. Bowing your head, you say, “I’m sorry for hurting you, Jenny. I swear I didn’t mean to. I didn’t see you, so I-”

“It’s okay. I forgive you.” Suddenly, she sounded cheerful.

What?

You never understood how people can go from sad to happy in a matter of seconds. Analyzing Jenny’s face, you saw that her smile didn’t reach her ears. She is giving you the same smile she gave Samantha Carpenter when the girl accidentally took her bag that had the same color as hers. That smile sets an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something is wrong, you know it, but you say nothing else except “Thank you. Again, I’m really sorry.”

And there was that.

You went back to your original position. Instead of kicking the rocks, you opted for counting the flowers in the bushes.

“Children, please behave yourselves! I’m going back inside the school for a few minutes because I need to use the restroom!” Announced Mrs. Bishop.

Too busy admiring the flowers, you failed to comprehend Jenny settling beside you with her group of friends. “Look at her. She’s such a freak. All alone with no friends. No wonder why she hurt me. She just wants something interesting to happen in her life.” Jenny sneered, acting like you weren’t next to her.

Kris, her equally evil twin, chuckled, “It runs in the family. Her parents are freaks too.”

At that, you recoiled. “Leave me alone, Jenny. I already said I’m sorry. Don’t bring my family into this.”

“Or else what? You’re gonna hurt me with a rock again?” Jenny taunted, showing off the gap in her two front teeth. She took a step closer to you while you stayed put. “Oh, I’m real scared of you, alright. Oh, no, she’s gonna murder me! Help!” She mocked, placing the palm of her hand against her forehead as if to show distress.

Shut up.

“Don’t be silly, Jen. She doesn’t have the guts to do it.”

“You’re right. She doesn’t. That doesn’t make her any less of a freak, though.”

Shut up.

“Speak, you freak!” Jenny shoved your shoulder as hard as she could, sending you tumbling backwards. Her figure stood over you, satisfied by the results of her actions. Bullies like Jenny thrive off of fear. They want to make you feel small so that they can feel better about themselves. Be the bigger person, adults say. Don’t give in.

“Go away.” You mutter, clenching your fists tightly as your palms begin to sweat.

“Why should I? Bullies need to be taught a lesson. Isn’t that right, girls?”

Shut up.

You close your eyes.

Shut up.

“Father said her family is full of losers. She’s one of them.”

SHUT UP.

“He’s right, you know.”

Your sprung to your feet, your fist colliding with Jenny’s face. Her sister and friends let out a scream of terror as you hit her. Over and over and over again. “SHUT UP!” Punch. “SHUT UP!” Punch. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” She wouldn’t stop talking (the excuse you would give later on). I just wanted her to be quiet. Your knuckles were starting to turn red, you notice, and your entire fist was coated with blood that wasn’t yours. That’s what urged you on. The satisfying sound as your hand collided with Jenny’s face.

“Y/N!”

You were about to land another blow when four strong hands pulled you back.

You don’t remember what happens next.

“SHE BEAT SOMEONE UP!”

“She’s just a kid! Kids make mistakes!”

”THAT WASN’T A MISTAKE. THAT WAS ASSAULT!”

Your parents were in the room next to yours, arguing about what happened. Jenny was sent to the hospital. Fortunately, there wasn’t any permanent damage. Jenny’s parents wanted you expelled, but your father made a bargain to the principal. What kind of bargain, you know not. Just that your mother appeared to be bothered by it.

Eventually, the shouting became unbearable. A part of you felt guilty - not for hurting Jenny but for being the reason your parents are fighting in the first place. You twisted the rusty door handle of your room (your parents should really have it replaced), double checking to see if they heard anything. When the yelling didn’t cease, you took it as a sign that you were free to go.

It’s not the first time you snuck out. The first time you discovered that it was possible was when your parents grounded you because your grades were lower than the year before. They instructed you to stay inside the house. As the curious child you were, you made a careful analysis of every room. That’s how you found out that the backdoor had a faulty handle.

Putting one foot in front of the other, you let your feet lead you to the park a few blocks from your home. You weren’t worried about anybody bothering your moment of solitude. Most of the children have been told by their parents to steer clear from children like you - whatever that means.

Being feared has its perks sometimes.

When you finally arrived at your destination, you were baffled to see Samantha Carpenter on the swing alone. Her long dark hair cascaded down her shoulders in waves, paired with her blue jumper and white shirt. She spotted you approaching and waved, a small smile spreading across her face.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing back behind you, searching for someone else she could be directing the wave to. As you realized there was no one, you were disinclined to wave back. But you did so anyways.

Sam, no longer seated on the swing, came up to you, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Heard you kicked Jenny Willoughby’s butt.”

Your lips pursed into a thin line, “That’s none of your business.”

She raised her hands up in surrender, “Hey, I was going to say that it was pretty cool. It’s about time she learned her lesson.” Sam smiled without a care in the world - like what you did was no big deal.

You nod, your mouth unable to release a response to her statement.

Sam caught how tense your shoulders were and seemed to remember one important detail. “Oh. Sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Sam-”

“Samantha Carpenter. I know.” You shrugged, “You’re pretty hard to ignore.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It can be.”

“Thanks… Anyway, you can call me Sam for short. All my friends call me Sam. My parents, too. Except when they’re mad at me.” Sam rambled, waving her arms as she spoke each sentence. Then, she took your hand in hers, leading you to the swing that she previously occupied.

You shove your hands into your jean pockets, unsure of what to do.

Sam seems to think two steps ahead based on the way she guided you to sit down. “I’ll push you now. Just lightly. I don’t want to hurt you. Is that okay?”

“I- yeah. Sure.”

True to her word, Sam began to push your body so the swing can move. Each time you go forward and back again, Sam makes sure to place a hand on your back to support you and to literally push you in the right direction. Although you weren’t sure what made Sam Carpenter act like you knew each other your whole life, you felt at ease being the kid that you currently are. Laughing in glee with Sam felt right. When she talks to you, you don’t feel the apprehension that others usually have. You decided right then and there that you were going to be her best friend.

[June 2010]

Sam slumped down beside you, back leaning against the tree you were resting on. Her eyes were red. There were bags under them. It didn’t take you long to realize that she’d been crying.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?! Are you okay?” You hastily take off your headphones, hands planting themselves on Sam’s forearms. Sam hasn’t been seen around town for two weeks. You tried calling. You even went to her house, but got no response except for when Christina told you that they were dealing with family matters and that it isn’t a good time to visit. Now, seeing her like this made you curse yourself for not trying harder to be there for her.

“My dad left.” She said, defeated. “He left because of me. It’s all my fault.” Sam sobbed as you took her in your arms. It was something akin to a chant. Something you knew she made herself believe.

It breaks your heart every time you see her like this. Even if it wasn’t often that the Sam Carpenter broke down in front of you, it doesn’t take away the hurt that it causes you everytime she does. You’re not mad at Sam. You can never be. You’re mad at the world. However, you can’t do anything about it except be there for her when she needs you the most. This is definitely one of those times.

So, you hold her; conveying using your actions that you will always be here for her to lean on when nothing or no one else could. You let her cry in your arms for as long as she needs since that’s what you do for the people you love and because she told you that your arms are the only place she feels safe in. And lastly, you tell her that it’s not her fault. You don’t do it because she wants to hear it. You do it because she needs it. “Sam, it’s not your fault. You hear me? It’s not your fault.”

Sam shakes her head indignantly. “It is. It is m-my fault. Billy Loomis is my father.”

Your blood runs cold at the mention of him. “What?”

“I was looking at my mom’s old diaries to see what kind of cute memories she had with my dad. Then I found out he wasn’t actually my dad at all and that my mom was seeing some other guy, Billy Loomis. He got her pregnant and told dad that it was his . . . When I confronted her about it, screaming, I… didn’t realize that dad was right behind me all along. He didn’t know. That’s why he left. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I… Mom is blaming me. So do I.

“There’s more. See, ever since I found out, I’ve been having these visions of Billy, my biological father. He says things and I can’t… I don’t know how to deal with it.” Sam finishes, turning away so as to not meet your eyes, afraid that there might be abhorrence occupying the space in them. The whole world could judge her and she wouldn’t bat an eye. Her only concern is you being a part of that as well. She fears that one day you’ll realize that she’s no longer worth the effort. She can’t lose you too.

The air lingered with words that are yet to be said, but both of you knew that now was not the time nor place.

“What kind of things does he say, Sam?” You ask gently, rubbing circles on her back to soothe her. By now, your white shirt was soaked in Sam’s tears, though you could care less. Sam is more important than a shirt that you could change out of anytime you want.

There’s a long pause before Sam gives a response to your question. “If I tell you, will you run away?”

“Sam, even if you killed someone, I won’t run away. I’ll even help you bury the body. And even then, I’m staying.” You say, instantly regretting your words once Sam visibly flinches. “Shit. Sorry. Bad take. Anyway, my point is, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what. Nothing you say or do will change that.”

Sam looks up at you, then. There’s something that shines in her eyes that you can’t decipher. Trust? Hope, maybe? “He tells me to just go out there and cut some throats.”

“Do you want to?” You ask, not out of judgment, but out of pure curiosity.

“No. God, no.” Sam shakes her head in the negative, face twisting at the thought of herself sending her peers to their graves. “I’m just scared.”

“Of what, exactly?”

“Scared that I’ll end up just like him. I’m scared that one day I’ll snap and I can’t go back.”

You hum, processing the information Sam just gave you.

“Y/n, say something.”

“You want to hear what I think?” You pull Sam away from you gingerly. For a second, fear flashes in her eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it came when you interlock your hand with hers. When you receive the green light from Sam, you look at her and say, “You’re not your father. I know that what you found out scares you, but Sam, I’ve known you for half my life. I know that you don’t want to hurt people unless they hurt the ones you love first. That’s one of the things I- that’s one of the things that makes you different. You have a heart. So, keep it. Fight for yourself and fight as hard as you can so that you don’t become the person you don’t want to be. Also remember that I’ll be here for you every step of the way to support you.”

Sam wipes away the tears from her eyes, chuckling lightheartedly, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Oh, I know, alright.” Your mouth opens in mock offense when Sam punches your shoulder. “That hurt!”

“Sorry.” Something in the way she says it tells you she’s not, showing from how her mood switches once more. “What if I can’t fight anymore? What if I go crazy? Will you still be by my side?”

You don’t hesitate to answer. “I always will, Carpenter. You’ll have to literally kill me to pull me away from you. It’s you and me till the end of time. We’ll go crazy together, I promise.”

Sam leans her head on your shoulder, letting out a breath, “Crazy together. Somehow, that’s oddly comforting.”

[October 2014]

The call comes at around 3 am, precisely 10 minutes after you had fallen asleep. You had been up all night studying for an upcoming exam that in all likelihood would determine whether you have a shot at getting out of Woodsboro. Sam would have told you that it was too early, that you at least have one more year to figure things out. That is, if she bothered to be around. The older Carpenter sibling has been pushing you away lately, much to your annoyance. You can’t help someone if they don’t want to be around you. Nevertheless, that doesn’t dissuade you from coming to her rescue every time she gets herself into trouble.

You rub the sleep from your eyes, reaching for your phone from the wooden nightstand. This scene felt rehearsed. That’s understandable, no doubt, if you take in the events like this that took place too many times for you to count. You can recall each time, each cop that called, the reasons for Sam being in jail again without missing a detail. If you try hard enough, you can even name all officers on duty during the ungodly hours of the morning. That’s a clue to how often Sam got sent to the precinct.

You press the green button, accepting the call without looking at the Caller ID. “Hi, Deputy Hicks.” Clearing your throat, you sit up, turning the lamp on.

You hear Judy sigh on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Y/n. It’s about Sam.”

“Always is.” You mumble, already on your way to the front door. Since you fell asleep still wearing your jeans, you only had to put on a sweater before going out. Your parents were still asleep and if they heard you steal the keys to the car and start the engine, they don’t make it known. A part of you had a suspicion that they knew what you do every other night, but they couldn’t be more indifferent. As long as you kept your grades up and maintained your family’s reputation, they will allow you to do whatever you please. It was both a blessing and a curse. “What is she in for this time?”

“She got high and drove while intoxicated, almost running a boy over. Before she could try to escape, the boy’s mother saw her and called the cops.”

You went quiet, having nothing more to say. This was one of the stupidest things that Sam has ever done. You would rather have her defacing school property while under the influence than being so close to putting other’s lives in danger, including her own.

“Does the mother want to press charges?”

“Lucky for Sam, no. They don’t.”

“Okay, thank you, Deputy. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Arriving at the precinct in record time, you parked your car to the side and turned off the engine. The officer at the desk barely acknowledged your presence, used to your face showing up. One of these days, you may start joking that the police station has become your second home with the way Sam has been acting.

Deputy Hicks looked up from her paperwork when she saw you, “She’s over there.” She tilts her head to the side in lieu of hello.

You ignore the sympathetic glance she gives, “Thank you, Deputy.”

Sam sits in a chair in the corner of the room, looking up at the ceiling, hands folded above her lap. She’s still affected by the drugs. It’s as plain as her mud-covered shirt. She sees you and beams, “Y/n! You came.”

You try to ignore the fluttering feeling in your stomach when she directs her gaze towards you. You’ve had a crush on Sam for a while now, though, you don’t plan on doing anything about it, fearing that it might compromise your friendship. It’s not a right time for feelings either. The two of you will be off to college in less than two years and as your mother put it, it’s best to not be in a relationship when your future is on the line.

Wait, why are you entertaining the idea of possibly being in a relationship with Sam when it’s very clear that she doesn’t like you back?

“Y/n?” Sam waves her hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Sam’s in the precinct, you remind yourself, you’re mad. This is not healthy anymore.

“Just get up, Samantha.” You say coolly, urging Sam to go ahead of you.

“Jeez, you look pissed.”

“That’s because I am.”

Sam rolls her eyes, “Okay, sorry.”

You’re starting to not believe the words that come out of her mouth. Even if Sam is sorry, she’s not exactly trying to get better.

Deputy Hicks grabs your arm at the same time you were about to head out with Sam. “Y/n, wait, I need to talk to you.” She sees you look towards Sam and adds, “Alone, please.”

“Go wait in the car.” You stare at Sam directly but you don’t look at her. Her breath hitches and you have to ignore how your heart clenches at the sight of her being crestfallen.

Sam holds her hand out. You gave her a questioning look. “Keys?”

You weigh out your options. On one hand, Sam is still experiencing the effects of the drug she took. On the other, you knew she wouldn’t put her life in danger - okay, well, that’s debatable. Sam is… Sam. She’s not completely irresponsible. You trust her. “Don’t do anything stupid.” You toss the keys, watching as she catches them effortlessly.

Sam lets out a sigh of relief upon seeing that your trust isn’t completely lost. “Got it.”

The moment Sam is out of sight, Deputy Hicks releases the grip she had on your arm, eyes softening after taking in your appearance. You don’t squirm under her gaze, having learned from experience that you don’t look so great when you don’t fix your hair before going out. “Look,” She starts, “You’re a good kid. You get good grades, you stay out of trouble, and I know you care about Sam, but-”

“With all due respect, Deputy, I think you should stop before you say what I think you’re thinking.” Your mood shifts, gaze hardening. When other people think of Sam as nothing more than a delinquent, they tend to make judgments based on what they see. They don’t think about what is really going on. They don’t know her. Deputy Hicks doesn’t like Sam. You know that much. But you’re not gonna let her talk shit about your best friend when she isn’t even aware of the full story.

Deputy Hicks doesn’t heed your advice. She goes on. “She’s trouble, that’s what I’m getting at. You have a bright future ahead of you, Y/n. Don’t let her ruin it.”

“She’s not ruining anything.” You argue.

“I know that you missed a test last week because you had to bail her out. It’s why - and I’m only assuming this - you stayed up all night studying for said test because the school gave you a second chance. I know that you will probably spend the rest of your morning taking care of Sam. You’ll go over to her house, take care of her and her sister Tara because their mother is barely around. I get it, trust me. However, I know how this goes. Trust me when I say that you’re better off without her.”

You don’t think too hard about what the deputy just said. “I know myself better than you know me. I’m not going to stay away from her because you said so. You’re not my mother.”

Deputy Hicks runs a hand across her face, knowing that she wasn’t going to get through to you. “Maybe not. But I am a mother. I know I wouldn’t let my kid go around like this.”

“Goodbye, Deputy.” You dismiss, turning to walk out the door with nothing more to say. Deep down, you knew she was right. You didn’t want to acknowledge it, though.

“If you find out who gave her the drugs, will you give us a call?” The deputy asks, changing the subject.

Your body goes stiff when the feeling of rage wakes the part in you that you so carefully hid from the world. It’s here again, stronger than ever. The blood in your body is boiling with anger, that urge to hurt someone in order to make it all quiet. You haven’t felt like this in a while.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

“Will do.” You plaster a fake smile. Needing to get out of this place as soon as you can, you sprint towards your car, opening the door, forgetting that Sam is inside. Ragged breaths come out of your body, throat clenching due to the never-ending thoughts swirling in your fucked up brain.

“Y/n?”

“SHIT!” You get startled by Sam’s voice.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m okay.” She reassures, right hand resting on your shoulder. “Look at me.” When you don’t do what she says, Sam takes on a firmer tone. “Y/n, look at me. Listen to my voice.”

Her voice is soothing to your ears, driving away that anger; a remedy to whatever is happening inside your head. “Sam,” Your voice breaks when you say her name. “You can’t keep doing this. You have to talk to me instead of getting your hands on every stupid drug that ever existed. If you don’t want to explain it to me, then at least talk to someone. Please, Sam. You have to help yourself. There’s only so much I can manage and… I don’t want to do something I can’t take back.” Murder. The thing that’s left unsaid. You don’t want to have to murder the people causing this, but if it will help Sam, then…

Fuck. No.

You’ve thought about it for sure. You just never got to a point where you are actually considering doing the act.

Sam’s brows furrow, “You’re scared of saying shit to me? Is that what you mean? You don’t have to clean up my messes all the damn time. I’m not making you do this.”

“Sam, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant that I don’t want to be the person who tells Tara her sister is gone because she did something she shouldn’t have,” You lie. If you can’t make her understand things in your perspective, maybe bringing up Tara will make a difference. “Tara will be heartbroken, Sam. She doesn’t want to lose you too.”

That part is true. You spoke to Tara a few nights back when you saw her curled up on the living room couch, waiting for Sam to come home. After you guided Sam to her bedroom, you went downstairs to check on Tara, asking her what she was doing up. She told you everything she knew and felt, including how worried she was about Sam. It is not something a ten-year-old should have to feel, but then again, she can’t know why this is happening. She’s too young to understand.

Sam glances down, looking remorseful. What you said made her partially aware of how this was also affecting Tara. “I’m sorry.”

“Do better. That’s all I’m asking you. Promise me you’ll try.”

“I am trying. You have to know. I am doing better.”

“And what happened today was, what, a mistake? You say the same speech whenever you get caught. I’ll believe you when I see that you’ve actually been trying, because this? This is not what trying looks like.” The way you speak sounds harsher than intended. You should really listen to what your guidance councilor says. Bottling up your feelings will only make things worse. Word by word exits your mouth like a flood that you feel powerless against. Tears stream down Sam’s face as soon as her brain echoes what you were saying.

You were never this upset at her. Hearing you like this guided her in realizing how royally she fucked things up.

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t fight your own tears anymore. The two of you cry in front of each other, aware that although you were physically near, you could not be more far apart. You cry until there are no tears left, cry until your throat is aching and your heart feels like it has been sliced a thousand times by tiny daggers, leaving wounds that would take a long time to heal.

But it feels like a step in the right direction. Somehow, you knew you both were going to be okay.

You held that thought until Sam explained what went down last night.

“I swear I was going to get clean. But then, he approached me, said that he needed money. He didn’t look well, so I took the drugs. He said I didn’t have to take them - that I can throw them away and that he’ll pay me back as soon as he can, but I wanted it. The drugs. They were right in front of me. So, I told myself that it was going to be the last time. I was only fooling myself.” Sam said. “That’s not going to happen again. I’ll get help. For real this time. I promise.”

You stare at the roof of the car, closing your eyes in order to think clearly. “Sam,” You say nonchalantly compared to the tone you used earlier. “Give me a name.”

Sam’s eyes widen, “What?”

“Give me the name of the guy who gave you the drugs.”

She chuckles awkwardly, “Why does it matter? What are you going to do to him?”

“Nothing! I don’t kill people. You know that! I just want to turn him in, is all.” You were stunned by how convincing you sounded.

Sam seemed to believe you. Her shoulders relaxed a bit, the tension in them gone, “Jacob Parker.” She pauses, “Don’t let the cops be too harsh on him. He’s only trying to help his family.”

You purse your lips, “You know I can’t promise anything, Sam.” Sam appears despondent but she doesn’t speak another word. “So… Jacob Parker.” You repeat, testing how the name sounded coming from your mouth. “Thank you.”

Your smile is alarming. “You look psychotic.” Sam says plainly, shaking her head. “Stop that. It’s creepy.”

You put your hands up in surrender, “My apologies.”

“Get us home already.”

You don’t make a move to start driving, deciding to talk to Sam longer. “We’re not done with this conversation yet.”

“I know.”

“We still have a lot to work on.”

“I know.”

“But you’re going to be okay.”

“We’re going to be okay.” Sam corrects. “You and me against the world, right?”

“Damn right.”

You let silence go by on the way to the Carpenters’ residence. The air is lighter now, relieved of the tension that was around before your conversation with Sam. You were pleased by the outcome of this day, no matter how early it still is.

You shouldn’t.

You really shouldn’t.

If someone had told you two years ago that you’d be outside Jacob Parker’s house wearing a Ghostface costume, you would have shit your pants while laughing maniacally, but you’re here, doing exactly that.

It’s 4 am, which means that the sun will come up soon, giving you an hour to get the job done or else it will all be fucked and you’d have gone through trouble for nothing.

The house itself was pretty neat. It had a white picket fence and a yard three times bigger than your room. Sam was wrong. Jacob has it good. That motherfucker lied to her. You can’t blame Sam for having a kind heart. She got taken advantage of. That’s not on her. It’s on the guy who saw her vulnerability and turned it into a business opportunity.

Your disdain takes over whatever ounce of hesitation left within you. You have to do this. You have to protect Sam. You’re doing this for her. This is the only way you can protect her.

Plucking out a burner phone from your pocket, you dial Jacob’s number, the one you asked Sam for prior to leaving her house. You turn on your voice changer and press the call button, waiting for Jacob to pick up his phone.

It took three rings, but eventually, the boy answered, a bit disoriented, “Hello?”

“Hello, Jacob.”

You can hear Jacob shuffling around, dazed. “Who is this?”

“Let’s play a game, shall we? I give you ten seconds to hide and if I find you, I’ll gut you like a fish.” You say cheerily, moving towards the house. The back door is the most favorable option, seeing that it wasn’t locked. Idiot, you thought. There’s no car parked in the garage or in front of the house, which implies that his parents aren’t home. Is it this easy?

“Look, I don’t know who you are or why you’re having the Ghostface voice, but that’s not how they usually speak in the movies. They don’t play hide and seek.”

You’re positive he can see you smiling through your words even if you’re not in front of him, “Ah. A fan of slashers, I see . . . What’s your favorite scary movie, Jacob?”

“There. Now you got it.”

His breathing is too relaxed, indicating that he’s not moving, possibly not counting you as a threat. You slide open the door as quietly as you can, ambling through the stairway leading up to the second floor. Jacob’s room is very hard to miss. There’s a big sign on the wooden door that spells out his name in bold, cursive letters. Your eyes scan through details of this place, looking for one you can use to scare him.

A picture frame on the counter with him and a little boy. He has a brother. You remember, overhearing a gossip from school that his brother was sick. There’s a rumor that went around about how that is the reason why he’s selling drugs. His family is loaded, so it can’t be about money. It’s about finding a distraction.

You read the writing on top of the frame.

“Jacob and Barry”

That’s the same moment you notice another door next to Jacob’s room.

Bartholomew.

You walk over there first, peeking inside the room. On a bed lays Barry, wires hooked into his body, a machine next to him, displaying his heartbeat. You almost feel bad about what you’re going to do.

Almost.

“Give me an answer or else I’ll cut Barry’s head off! You wouldn’t mind if a few years gets removed from his lifespan, right? After all, he’s already sick. Might as well stop his suffering.”

“NO!” You hear hurried footsteps coming from the other room, no doubt that it’s Jacob on his way to save his little brother from his own end, not knowing that it secured his. “Don’t touch him, I swear to God! You better not! I’ll do anything, please!”

“I’ll ask again. What is your favorite scary movie?”

“STAB 5! THERE! I SAID IT! NOW LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

As soon as he steps out of the room, you shove him against the wall and plunge your knife into his stomach, twisting it until the blood begins to pour out. You use your free hand to cover his mouth, muffling his screams. “Stab 5 was the worst movie of the entire franchise! It’s no one’s favorite!” You pull out your knife for a moment before driving it into his shoulder.

You glance at the blood on your hands in awe. It was a dream come true. You could not apprehend how so much blood can reside in one body, taking your time in watching Jacob bleed out in front of you, the voice in your head quiet at long last. The rapture followed. He can’t hurt Sam anymore. “This is what losers such as yourself get.” You state, withdrawing your hand from his mouth.

Jacob’s eyes are silently pleading. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but Barry is innocent. Don’t hurt him. You owe me that. He’s my family.”

“I don’t owe you shit!” You laugh incredulously, “No one owes you anything! I don’t give a shit about your family. You messed with mine first.”

“W-what?”

You don’t give him a response, perforating his heart with your blade.

His head lolls to the side, staring at nothing in particular.

That’s one less person who can hurt Sam.

The thrill of the kill sticks with you long after you went home to clean yourself up, ensuring that you left no trace behind. You got rid of the body, of course, so the police doesn’t suspect that another psychopathic Ghostface is on the lose.

You’d do anything to protect Sam.

It’s all for her.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam saw the full extent of what you were capable of doing - adding another name to her list of fucked up connections.

[May 2015]

“It’s not gonna work, Sam.” The ghost or hallucination (depending on who you’re asking) of Billy Loomis states, standing behind Sam, their eyes locking in the bathroom mirror. He has a calm exterior, as if he knows what’s about to happen to Sam before the latter can begin to think. “You can’t avoid her forever. She killed someone. Acknowledge it.”

Sam opens a bottle, taking out an antipsychotic pill, shoving it into her mouth without hesitation. “I have acknowledged it. She killed the guy who gave me drugs.”

Billy shoots her a no-nonsense stare, “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Okay, then speak to me since you’re such a know-it-all.” Sam clenches her fists, “You’re not even real.”

“Aren’t I?” Billy challenges. “Wanna hear the truth, Samantha? Here it is: the murder is not what bothers you. What bothers you is the fact that it doesn’t. You would care if it was an innocent person, but Jacob wasn’t an innocent. He manipulated you, knowing damn well you have a problem. You feel relief that he’s dead, but you’re guilty because you think that his blood is on your hands, thinking that you’re the reason Y/n did what she did. You don’t want to destroy her.”

Sam’s throat clenches, knowing Billy was right. However, that doesn’t mean she’s happy about it. “Shut up.”

“You’re the one who wanted the truth. I’m giving it to you.” Just when Sam thinks he’s done talking, he goes on, similar to a man on a rampage (which he has really done before he died). “You did not corrupt her. It is not your fault. That girl you’re in love with - oh, don’t give me that look - has had a darkness inside her that existed before you came into her life. The same darkness that you and I have; the only difference being that she’s not doing it out of revenge like I did. She does it for you, which makes it difficult for you to understand your feelings because you believe that if you accept her for who she is, you will go crazy. That maybe she’ll convince you to kill for her or something. She won’t. You know that. You are just afraid.

“Crazy runs in our blood. One day you are gonna stop fighting and accept who you are. The only choice that is presented to you right now is you either accept her for who she is or push her away.”

“You say that as if murder is something simple.” Sam scoffs.

“You will forever have an argument against the things I say because I’m a murderer. That’s who I am to you. But what do you truly believe, Sam?”

Sam (surprisingly) simply shrugs defeatedly, “I don’t know.”

“Well, figure it out. Must I remind you that she’s leaving. Today.”

At the mention of your departure, Sam shows her father an emotion other than ire. “That’s today?” She blinks and sees that Billy was no longer there. Quickly, she checks her phone and see what the date says. “Fuck.” She grumbles, rushing out the house like lightning.

You look out your window for the umpteenth time, hoping that somehow, she will show up. The last time you spoke was three weeks ago. It’s like she’s purposely pulling away from you and you have no idea why. Though Sam was true to her word and stopped getting herself into trouble, she decided to talk to everyone but you. You gave her space while you thought about what you could have done wrong. When you bumped into her at school (which was unexpected since she has been doing a good job at using alternative routes to her classes just to avoid you), you told her you were leaving.

You got accepted at NYU and were leaving earlier than expected. New York is about as far from Woodsboro as you can get. You can’t wait to leave this place yet there is someone you don’t want to leave behind. You don’t want to leave Sam, but you know that eventually, everyone leaves. You would only be putting off the inevitable.

As for the Jacob situation, the cops never found out who did it. They assumed he ran away (you grabbed a suitcase with you that belonged to him and put clothes and essentials into it). That was all. Cased closed. Simple as that.

You don’t feel an ounce of remorse. Even so, from time to time, you get nightmares. You don’t remember much from them. The only things you know is that you wake up sweating, your heart racing, and tears stream down your face at the same time a name makes its way out your mouth, sounding like a prayer. Sam.

“She’s not coming.” Your mother says sympathetically.

You forgot she was standing near the doorway, watching you pack your things. “She will.” You’re sure. Sam was many things, but time showed that even if she was upset at you, she would still show up for the events that matter. And this, moving to New York, was a big change. She wouldn’t dare miss it. “I know she will.” You say, determined.

“Okay.” Your mother nods. She opens her mouth to speak, but Sam appears by the doorway, sweat dripping from her forehead, both hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “I stand corrected.” M/n grins, “Sam.”

“Good morning, Mrs. L/n.” Sam breathes out, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I’ll leave you two alone for a moment.” M/n lightly shoves Sam inside the room so that she can close the door.

“Did you run here?” You asked, amused. Walking over to your nightstand, you grabbed an unopened water bottle and handed it to Sam, who downed the drink in one gulp.

“Sure did.” Sam wipes her sweat with the back of her hand. She sits next to you on the bed, shuffling her fingers, something you knew she does whenever she gets anxious. “I’m sorry for avoiding you these last few months…” It’s because I followed you to Jacob’s house without you knowing and I saw you kill him for me.

One look at her and you knew she knew. The one thing you’re good at other than stabbing is reading Samantha Carpenter. You’ve spent so much time memorizing her that you knew immediately. You don’t know what to say except “It’s not your fault, Sam. Please know that. It was my choice. You didn’t force me to do it.”

“Why did you?” Sam asks, unsurprised by how quickly you caught on. She didn’t make a move to step away from you because she wasn’t afraid. She never was. That never changed.

“You probably don’t understand, but there’s this… thing that has always been a part of me. I could control it most times but when I can’t, I hurt people. There’s so much noise going on in my head. The two things that can pull me out of that is by inflicting pain onto others or just being in your presence. I know it’s fucked up. I would much rather choose the latter every time, but I can’t. When Deputy Hicks asked me to give her a call if I found out who sold you the drugs, that anger came back. Maybe it never left. I don’t know. I did what I did because I thought that if he’s not there anymore, nothing can hurt you again. It’s stupid. I know. I’m sorry.”

Sam does the last thing you expected her to do. She kisses you, her hands going to the sides of your face, cupping them gently, afraid that you would break.

You freeze, unable to form a response.

What the fuck?

Sam kissed you.

You grin from ear to ear, surprised by the action, but not deeming it unwelcome.

Sam pulls away, mortified, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I thought you-”

You cut her off, “Shut up and kiss me again.”

She wastes no time in closing the gap, reconnecting your lips once more. Your hands went to her waist, needing her to be as close to you as possible. This time, you kiss her back passionately. You’ve had many roles in your life, but nothing felt as right as being the one to kiss Sam Carpenter. You were made for her.

Sooner than what you wanted, Sam pulled away. You open your mouth to protest but she presses a finger to your lips. “If we don’t stop kissing, we’ll run out of air.”

You scrunch your nose, “I don’t know, Carpenter. Dying in your arms doesn’t sound too bad.”

Sam shakes her head fondly, “God, you’re such a dork.”

“You like me, though, right?” You asked jokingly even though deep down, you were quite unsure.

“Yes, of course I like you.”

“I like you too.” You say immediately, satisfied with the answer.

After a while of kissing and… more kissing, you lay beside each other, doing nothing in particular except staring at the ceiling. You break the silence. “So what now?”

Sam ponders the question, “Now… You go to New York.”

You roll over to the side, propped up on one elbow, using your free hand to brush hair away from her face. “What about us?”

“We’ll see each other again.” She asserts, placing a kiss on top of your head.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I do understand. More than anyone.”

She rolls you over on your back in a mission to kiss you for as long as time allows it. Caught up in the moment, you fail to question what her words meant. Your mind fills with thoughts that consist of how perfect this moment feels. There was noise, yes, but they lie in the form of the most beauteous poems. Samantha Carpenter gives you clarity yet she is capable of bringing you down to ruins. The best part is that you’d let her. You would authorize her to bring out a sentence; to amplify the light inside of you or to let the madness consume you both. Regardless of the outcome, you would not mourn the debris that would rain down upon you. For the sweetest poison is in the form of her lips.

[August 2022]

You were scanning mountains of paperwork when your phone buzzes. Although normally, you would let it ring until whoever is calling realizes that you are occupied, the name that flashes on the screen makes you think twice. Pressing the green button to accept the call, you bring the phone to your ear, anticipation bubbling inside your veins.

The voice that comes from the device is not the one you were hoping to hear. It sounds eerie, sending a chill up your spine.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

[The End.]

Taglist: @daddy-jareau

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #samantha carpenter #melissa barrera #scream 6 #scream vi #scream franchise #scream

622 notes · View notes