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love-kurdt · 1 year ago

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Now That We Don't Talk (byler): 1

word count: 13,034

warnings for this chapter: mild sexual content, a few homophobic slurs. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short, if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, pls dni.

When Will Byers first moved to California, it had taken him two whole months to fully unpack his boxes. And it wasn’t really a mystery as to why; he had no desire to be there. Yes, he’d admit that he wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of Hawkins, either, considering the events of the past few years, but when it all came down to the nitty-gritty, Hawkins was the lesser of two evils. Because Hawkins had Mike, and Lenora was… well, Mike-less. He’d never really thought about life without Mike in it up until then, because he didn’t think he’d ever have to. But then he did have to. And it was an awful feeling.

They’d driven away from the old house, and Will watched as Mike became smaller and smaller, until he was merely a stick figure in the passenger side mirror. Will blinked his tears away and turned his gaze to the road ahead, trying to focus on the lyrics of whatever song by the Smiths that Jon was playing, but it was impossible to take his mind off of his new reality. As cliché as this sounds, Will felt a piece of his heart break that day. And from the look on Mike’s face as he stood idly by, bike leaning against his hip, he was hurting just as much as Will was. He’d looked lost, confused, and hurt. Will could totally relate.

When the Byers arrived in their new house, Will had mixed feelings about it at first, because that’s what usually happens when you arrive in an unfamiliar environment, but those feelings pretty much dissipated within a day. The house was bigger, for one, which was nice in a way. It had two floors, and had enough rooms in it so that El, Jon, and Will didn’t have to bunk up like they’d been doing up until the move. It was in a bigger town than Hawkins was, so not everybody knew each other’s business. Which was great, considering that the Zombie Boy name hadn’t been able to tag along for the ride.

It was a lot warmer than it had been in Hawkins, and he’d grown to hate the cold over the past few years, so that was a welcome change. It was a welcome change for everyone. They’d taken time during their first week in their new home to just sit together on the deck, basking in the sunshine. They learned quickly that sunscreen was a must in California, even when it wasn’t scorching hot. Will had burnt his nose on more than one occasion, and El proceeded to call him Rudolph at every possible opportunity.

El’s addition to the family was another perk of moving. El and Joyce had been able to bond really well, albeit over the loss of Hopper, but also because Joyce finally had a daughter. El and Jon got along well, too, which was nice. And Will was cool with her. She never did anything wrong to him… besides dating Mike, of course, but that was completely out of his control. Plus, it wasn’t like he’d ever want to be with Will in that way. He’d set that in stone over that one summer when he told Will, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

Not even half an hour after their fight in the rain, Mike and Lucas had biked over to Will’s house to apologize. Of course, his demolition of Castle Byers and the return of the Mind Flayer had Will kind of preoccupied at that point, so nothing officially happened to resolve that situation. It was the Subject Change of the Century; they got so wrapped up in the Upside Down stuff that Mike and Will put it off, then put it off some more, and then swept it under the rug altogether.

Nothing was the same after that night… at least, not on Will’s end. What Mike said to him kind of changed his life. He’d become so dependent upon Mike’s overwhelming presence near him all the time that he kind of lost sight of himself and his own identity. In his mind, he wasn’t Will; he was Mike’s-Friend-Will. He felt worthless without Mike, and was always so quick to forgive him out of fear of losing him that he’d inadvertently become Passive with a capital P. And he didn’t want to be that way anymore. So Will created a strictly platonic boundary between them, one that allowed the tension to dissolve, and to give himself space to grieve the idea of Mike he’d created; the one who loved Will back. And then… they were back to best friends again. Just in time for Will to move. At least he and Mike would still be able to talk over the phone.

Will could not have been more wrong. Mike did not make a single call for the entire seven months that he was in Lenora. He didn’t send a single letter, either. Well, at least not to Will. El was in correspondence with him literally every week, practically skipping into the house after trips to the mailbox with letters upon letters in her hands, beaming with excitement. Will hated to admit it, but it got really annoying after a while. Then, she’d started building a shoebox shrine to Mike, and Will was just like, what’s so special about him? He’s just Mike. But then he realized that if he were in her shoes, he would be doing the exact same thing. Because he was Just Mike, and that was why Will loved him.

After watching this go on for a few months, Will kind of fell into a depression, and El was too busy swooning over all the “From, Mike”s to notice that he was falling apart. Will had resigned from the idea of reaching out to Mike, because Mike hadn’t made any kind of effort to reach out to him. That was when he decided to finally start unpacking his boxes. Unpacking meant that the move became real. Unpacking meant that it was permanent. Unpacking meant that he’d have to officially start his new life, at a new school— high school— without Mike in it.

Each box represented a call and letter El received. His clothes were put on hangers in the closet, and his art supplies finally found a place next to his bedroom window. And all of Mike’s writing was shoved away into the darkest depths of Will’s lowest desk drawer, never to see the light of day again. Yeah, Will was being petty, but he was angry. He deserved to be angry, damnit. He was angry at Mike for abandoning him, and he was angry at himself for being delusional enough to believe Mike cared that much about their friendship.

But then, Will started the painting. The Painting. He’d sworn to himself that he would stop making art that revolved around Mike. He would no longer be Will’s muse. He’d started off the piece as a typical landscape, but he added the Thessalhydra, and then he added himself, Lucas, Dustin, and… Mike, at the front, leading the Party to victory. Screw it, Will had thought to himself, everyone else is in the painting, it’d be weird not to include Mike. When he painted the red heart on Mike’s shield as a finishing touch, it hit Will like a truck that he’d created one of his best paintings to date with Mike in his subconscious thoughts the whole time. Mike was inescapable. There was no use in ripping himself up over what he couldn’t control, so Will figured he’d just give Mike the painting during Spring Break.

Spring Break happened, and boy (man, really; the boyish look had almost completely faded away), Mike had changed, in more ways than one. He’d shown up the airport gate nearly half a foot taller, with sharper cheekbones, longer hair, and a deeper voice, wearing the dumbest looking outfit Will had ever seen. He was so happy to see Mike. Mike hadn’t been as excited as Will was, considering the timid clap on the shoulder he’d been given while Will had gone in expecting one of Mike’s amazing, tight hugs. He’d always given the best hugs. Not anymore. So Will tucked the rolled up painting back under his arm and took a step back, letting El and Mike have their time together as a couple. He admired Mike from afar, but that was all Will ever did.

Mike had changed, in more ways than one; he’d gotten so much more attractive… but he’d also turned into a total asshole. Will finally confronted him about his standoffish behavior at Rink-o-Mania, and he’d placed all the blame on Will, not once taking responsibility for essentially forgetting that Will existed, and on his birthday, no less. When he asked why El got so many letters while he got absolutely nothing, Mike replied that it was because she was his girlfriend. Which, yeah, obviously. But when Will followed up with, “...And us?” Mike had snapped, “We’re friends. We’re. Friends.” As the two of them laid in bed that night, it set in that Mike had taken Will’s question in a romantic context. That made his heart flutter a little bit, but he shut himself down immediately, because he was not going down that road again.

Will’s mood hadn’t shifted much when they initially arrived back in Hawkins, following the worst road trip he had ever had the displeasure of going on. He had been trapped in a weed-infused van, sitting inches away from a wordless Mike. He’d given the painting to Mike and lied about its origins just to boost his ego. And worst of all, Will endured an Emotional Michael Monologue in which he told El that he loved her multiple times. When they got out of the van, Will had taken the biggest sigh of relief, because thank God the suffering was over. Oh wait, no, scratch that, because the suffering had only just begun; Vecna was the “Him,” Will was feeling all those years, and “He,” was destroying Hawkins as they spoke.

About a month into the Vecnapocalypse (Dustin had been the one to coin that term, and Will doubled over laughing during a very important group meeting when he’d first used it), Mike had told Will that he’d finally broken up with El. Will was secretly elated; the mope-fest was finally over. But when Mike revealed the reason why they’d broken up, which was the very painting that Will had used as a device to try and clear the air between Mike and his sister, Will’s back-breaking efforts seemed to be all for nothing. They had a little argument-turned-heart-to-heart about it, but they hugged it out in the end like best friends do. And things were fine. They were a team again, and that’s what mattered most.

The dynamic between Mike and Will changed, though, throughout the course of the Vecnapocalypse. And Will wasn’t complaining. They’d gone from being virtually radio silent to… whatever the situation was. They’d flirt, hold hands, listen to each other’s mixtapes, and partnered up together during missions. This continued on for a while until one particular moment in the Upside Down, when Mike had leaned in a bit too close, almost as if we were about to… no way. Will was beyond tempted to lean in as well, caving into the deepest desire he’d ever had in his life: kissing Michael James Wheeler square on the mouth. And he almost did. However, in typical Mike fashion, ever the dramatic, Mike jumped backwards, stumbled outside, tripped over a gigantic vine, and triggered a bunch of Demobats to swarm the Upside Down version of the Wheeler house. After that shit show, Will couldn’t help but be a little bit bitter towards Mike. That side-battle could have cost them everything. Vecna could have won. And on top of all that, Will was tired of being led on by Mike and all of his contradictions, so he kept Mike at a physical distance from there on out. They never brought up the Almost-Kiss ever again.

Things got even stranger a few years later. On one particularly gross day in August of 1989, he’d dropped by the Wheelers’ to ask Mike if he wanted to watch a movie later that night. Will headed up to Mike’s room, and the door was slightly ajar, so he lightly knocked. No response. Mike probably had his headphones on or something. Will walked in, but he was nowhere to be seen. Mike’s notebook was lying open on his desk beside a pile of multiple ripped-out pages, with one of his signature blue LePens sitting on top of the page, the cap cast to the side. Mike had a bad habit of accidentally letting his overly-expensive pens dry out, so Will figured he’d do him a favor and put it back on and save him the trouble. He took a few steps over to Mike’s desk and reached for the pen, but immediately paused in his tracks when he noticed the first two words written on top of the page.

Dear Will,

He shouldn’t have read any further, because he wasn’t sure if it was Mike’s intention for him to even see it, but it was too late to go back. His eyes involuntarily scanned the page, widening more and more with every sentence.

Dear Will, When I look into your eyes, I see the rest of my life. Poetic, I know. It kind of came out of nowhere. You know I’m not much of a poetry kind of guy, I’m more of a storyteller, but the thought came to me in a dream I had about you, and I just had to write it down in one of these letters.

Hold up, Will thought. What the hell? He… had a dream about me? Why would he have a dream about… Why me? What letters? What was he talking ab— His eyes hesitantly drifted to the pile of papers beside the notebook. He gulped, his suspicions confirmed.

You’re asleep in my bed, and I’m hunched over my desk, writing this letter because I am freaking the fuck out. And not because I almost ruined our chance to defeat Vecna. Well, that too, sorry about that. But the primary reason for my current freak out session is because we almost kissed. And that’s weird.

He flipped to the next one.

Something is wrong with me. I swear to God, I didn’t mean for this to happen. But I keep staring at you for longer than I should. And I can’t look away. I haven’t been able to since the Almost Kiss™. You’ve caught me looking these past few times and I feel myself burning up like a match every time. And I’ve come to the conclusion that you, Will Byers, are my flame.

And the next one.

I’ve kind of gotten used to sleeping in the same bed as you, subconsciously cuddling through the night, and waking up tangled together. Your face is so relaxed right now, and you hum contentedly to yourself every few minutes. It’s so fucking cute. I’m glad you’re not having as many nightmares anymore. Or, at least you’re having slightly better dreams. I should go to bed soon. I don’t want you to catch me writing. But yeah. You’re adorable. And I really like you.

And the next one.

I was so caught off guard by the fact that you called me cute that I couldn’t get any words out. You turned around quickly to get your bike and hopped on, giving me a small wave as you left my driveway. And it hit me then: I love you. I am in love with you. Unabashedly, wholeheartedly, head over my fucking heels in love with you. And believe me, this has been a long time coming, and not just because you complimented me. I think I’ve loved you for a long time. I just didn’t know what it was.

And the next one.

Why does loving you feel so wrong, yet so right? It seems like for every thought I have about you, another comes to bite me in the ass. I wish I could just think about you in peace without all of the shame. But at the same time, I know it isn’t normal for me to like you, to love you, to want you. I’m usually able to stop my mind from wandering into that territory, but there’s something about you that is making it more and more difficult for me to resist those thoughts from entering my head. I think the main culprit is your shoulders. Yes, I said it. I am attracted to your shoulders. Specifically when you wear your polo shirts that are a size or two too small and hug your upper body a little too tightly. Or when you steal my leather jacket and shove it on, and it accentuates your arms, rather than making them disappear like it does to mine. You’re so attractive, it’s actually crazy. I think my brain needs to catch up to my heart. Because my heart is thriving, but my brain is a killjoy.

Another.

I turned to my dad with a wild look in my eyes (probably), and said some shit like, “Yeah, me and my boyfriend, Will Byers, had such a great time last night! We stared longingly into each others’ eyes for hours, then we cuddled, then we kissed, and then we got each other off! It was so hot, Dad. Truly. I wish you could’ve seen–” … I know what I said was a lot. I mean, it was pretty vulgar. Plus, it's never actually happened, and it never will happen. So I'm sorry about that.

Another.

I found this set of dice, though, and they were just… so you. They were a deep, translucent purple with gold stars painted around each number, all of which were also gold. They reminded me of your Will the Wise costume. I know you haven’t worn it in a long time, and that’s probably my fault. I think the last time you wore it was the day we had that fight in the garage, when I told you it wasn’t my fault you didn’t like girls. And the sick, twisted irony of that is, in reality, I’m the one out of the both of us who doesn’t like girls.

Another. Another. Another.

I think about you and those fucking gorgeous lips almost every waking moment. And the urge to follow through with my desire to kiss you always gets stronger whenever you’re in the room. Which is unfortunate, since you’re always in the room now— specifically my room, because it’s summer, so of course we’re hanging out every day. We made that stupid promise to dedicate one-on-one time to just the two of us. If only “one-on-one” was synonymous with “you-on-me.” Or “me-on-you”…? Either would work for me, honestly. But there’s something about the thought of you straddling me and leaning your entire body weight onto me that makes me weak in the knees. I’m kind of glad your mom wanted you home tonight, because there’s only so long I can refrain from lunging into your space and holding your face in between my hands and

But then, your very short swim trunks clung to your thighs, and eventually, I was able to see the full outline of your dick. Like, the whole thing. Those shorts do not leave anything to the imagination. And, imagine I did. I began to fantasize about the most lewd things: getting you off with my hand, sucking you until you came down my throat, using those thick thighs to grind myself down onto, groping your perfect ass as you flip me over onto my back, feeling the sensation of our cocks rubbing together through our clothes, feeling you on me, inside of me. That last mental image snapped me out of my thoughts, and I realized I was rock hard in my own swim trunks.

We fell asleep, together, on the couch last night, cuddling like we had during the time that you lived with me, and I felt something similar to homesickness. Nostalgia. When we woke up, I was resting my head on your chest, and I shifted my eyes upwards to look at your lips, which were slightly parted by the soundest of sleeps. I wanted to kiss you. I really, really wanted to kiss you, Will. And I want you to hold me in your arms forever, because it’s the only place I can truly call home.

Will continued shuffling through the letters, counting twenty five. Plus the one in the notebook, which made a grand total of twenty six. He could barely believe what he was seeing. This had to be a kind of creative writing exercise or something. Or maybe Mike had met another person named Will and… fallen deeply in love with them? Or maybe it was a cruel joke Mike was playing on him, because he’d decided that writing love letters would be a good prank to pull on his gay best friend. Mike had no right to do this to him. No fucking right. Will ripped the last letter out of the notebook, gathered the rest of them between his sweaty hands, and headed down the two flights of stairs leading to the basement.

When he’d attempted to confront Mike about the letters, Will was pinned against the wall and kissed as if it were something he should have been expecting that entire time. There was no way Will could have fathomed that this was how his time in Hawkins was going to close out. He’d been looking forward to the point in his life where everything could just be normal for once; he’d been on a decent roll for the past two years. But Mike just had to go and drop the bomb on Will that he wanted the two of them to spend the rest of their lives together, and that threw Will for a goddamn loop, because in what world– in what universe– was Mike Wheeler loving him, Will Byers, even remotely viable? Had the Upside Down come back again? Was Will trapped in a nightmarish torture chamber, with Mike as the subject of said nightmare?

He would believe it, honestly; when Will mentally added up the Vecnapocalypse period of their relationship (including the Almost-Kiss), the endless mixed signals afterwards, senior prom, the letters, and the probability that Mike would have just let Will leave town without admitting his stupid, dumb, impossible feelings or letting him know about all of those love letters he’d written over the past few years, it made sense. And that kiss, if he’d really meant it, made Mike’s stance on their relationship crystal fucking clear, leaving Will feeling breathless and blindsided. By the time he escaped the Wheeler house that humid August evening with tears following the semi-permanent track marks that stained Will’s face due to crying for literal years back to back, he knew for sure and certain that he couldn’t spend one more week in Hawkins, Indiana. He was done.

Will had been pretty damn quick about escaping Hawkins to begin with, but the urgency to get away from Mike only accelerated his timeline. He spent the rest of the summer avoiding Mike at all costs; he’d been working at Melvald’s with his mom all summer, but started picking up extra hours under the guise of wanting to save as much money as he could for a new car– which he’d already had more than enough money for, but still. Time spent at work was time spent away from Mike. And a couple extra paychecks couldn’t hurt. Joyce certainly didn’t complain; she loved having Will around, and savored every moment she could with her Baby Boy before he moved to the Windy City.

Will realized, as he sat on his mattress amongst heaps of boxes scattered across the floor of his dorm at the American Academy of Art, that anger seemed to fuel his unpacking process. It ignited the flame of desire for transition and change in his life. And oh, after the summer Will just had, did he desperately need a change. This particular change, Will decided, would be good for him. He was out of Hawkins, at his dream school, about to begin studying the subject that he loved most in the entire world, and Michael Wheeler wasn’t around anymore to throw him off. He grabbed a marker out of his pencil case and marked off the date on his calendar: Sunday, August 20th, 1989. This was going to be a good, drama-less, normal year. Will could feel it.

“That’s everything, huh?” he turned to look towards the doorway, where his mom stood with misty eyes. She took a few steps inside, letting the door close, and Will hopped off his bed and wrapped her in a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head.

“Yeah, this is it,” Will said, his voice shaking a little bit with overwhelming emotion. It was bittersweet. Yes, he hated Hawkins, and was grateful to have finally escaped, but he also hated the idea of leaving his mom back in Indiana. She’d brushed Will’s concern off, saying she wouldn’t be alone, because his stepdad would be there with her. Will didn’t even like referring to Hopper as his stepdad. He’d accidentally called Hopper “Dad,” over dinner a year ago, and after an emotional encounter where James Hopper, the Hawkins Chief of Police, shed actual tears, the name kind of stuck. Hopper couldn’t make the trip up to Chicago with Joyce, as he needed to help El move into her dorm at Vanderbilt University.

Joyce pulled back to smile up at Will. “You are going to do, and are already doing, great things in this world, Will. You deserve every opportunity you’ve been given, and more. I am so proud to be your mom.” He felt tears pricking his eyes. He’d miss his mom the most.

“I love you,” Will replied, hugging her once more in order to avoid an emotional breakdown. He’d gotten close to having one at least five times throughout the day, but never did. He saw the door open out of his peripheral vision, and he lifted his head to see a guy step into the room. His hair was shaved down to a buzzcut, and a copious amount of freckles splayed themselves across his face. He casually strode right past Will, without even acknowledging his existence, before tossing a duffel bag onto his bed and unzipping it. Only now did Will notice the near-complete setup on the other side of the room; he’d apparently been here for a while.

Will decided to talk first and introduce himself, because this guy clearly wasn’t willing to make any effort. He wanted to make a good impression, even if Buzzcut Dude didn’t.

“Hey, uh, I’m Will. Byers.”

“Aaron Heathrow,” Buzzcut Dude– Aaron– replied, turning towards Will. They gained eye contact for the first time, and Aaron’s eyebrows curved into backwards S’s on his forehead. He looked Will up and down and scoffed, returning to his unpacking without another word. Well. This was going to be an awkward arrangement, that was for sure.

“Honey, let’s go check out the common area!” Joyce broke the silence, and Will couldn’t help but glare back at her. He wanted to deal with this on his own. Will loved his mom with his entire heart and would literally die for her, but this was not his idea of a fresh start. Joyce gave him a knowing look and Will, knowing his mother’s stubborn nature all too well, followed her out the door and down the hallway. She led them toward the armchairs in the common area and gestured for him to sit down next to her. Will knew where this was going, but he obliged anyway.

“Are you sure–”

“Mom, oh my God, I’m fine–”

“He just seemed very–”

“Yeah, okay, he was rude,” Will kept his voice low at the risk of people overhearing, but keeping his tone firm. “But not everyone in this world is kind. I, of all people, should know that.” He watched as his mom’s features fell from their usual anxiety-riddled state and into more of an empathetic sadness.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she murmured, and for a second, he felt badly for snapping. He shook off that shame, because as unfortunate as this situation was, Will knew in his gut that he was right; the world didn’t owe kindness to him. But he also knew he didn’t owe kindness to the world, either. It had taken enough from Will already.

“I just want to stick this out for a little bit before jumping to conclusions,” he said, and his mom went to talk, but he continued on before she could. “I’ll switch rooms if anything does happen, I promise.” He took his mom’s hands in his own in an attempt to put her mind at ease, which would not be an easy feat, but he could at least try.

Apparently it worked, because the next thing she said to Will caught me off guard: “Okay, sweetie. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” Who was this woman, and what did she do with Joyce Byers-Hopper? Hell if Will knew.

“No, it’s fine,” he assured her, “I just… I want to start making my own decisions and being more independent and stuff. And I want you to know that I’ll be okay.” He placed a hand on Joyce’s shoulder, knowing that this transition would be incredibly difficult for her to process. After everything that had happened with the Upside Down, Will had been shocked when his mom was so encouraging regarding his pursuit of art school. He’d assumed that she would want him to stay as close to Hawkins as possible. But in the end, she had been the one to slide the American Academy of Art pamphlet across the table.

“I know you will,” Joyce smiled up at Will, reaching up to pat his cheek. He leaned into the affection, knowing that this would probably be his last time seeing his mom until Thanksgiving. She raised her left wrist up to her face and squinted at her watch. “I should start heading home, before it gets dark. I love you, my sweet boy.”

Will couldn’t help but pull Joyce in for one last hug, feeling the emotion creep back into his voice as he told his mom that he loved her so much and to call him when she got home so he’d know she was safe and sound. He walked her out of the main lobby, waving as she headed back to the visitor parking lot. When she pulled away, Will turned on his heel and headed back up to his dorm room. His dorm room. Holy shit. He was in college. What even was life?

Will opened the door to his room and saw Aaron laying on his bed, his basketball short-clad legs spread obnoxiously far apart in front of him as he read what looked like a book about the Reign of Ronald Reagan. Lovely. Will diverted his eyes before Aaron could catch him staring, and focused on the pile of boxes he had yet to unpack. He picked one up, set it down on the edge of his bed, and unfolded the pre-bent corners on the top to reveal his extensive sweater collection. Perfect.

He pulled out the blue sweatshirt on top, letting it fall into its full form in his hands. Oh, god. This was Mike’s sweatshirt, the one Will stole from him last winter. He laid it out on the mattress and reached in for the next sweater, but there weren’t any more. He peered inside the box to see the dice… that Mike had given him for his seventeenth birthday, the picture frame… that held a photo Jonathan had taken last year when Mike had the genius idea to hop his six foot three self up onto his handlebars, and the binder… that held all of Mike’s letters that he’d written to Will. He’d kept everything in a shoebox under his bed back home, and he had no recollection of packing them. How did they end up making it to Chicago with him? No matter how it happened, it had, and Will was stuck with all these memories of Mike. He would never throw them out, because that would most definitely keep him up at night. And he didn’t want to hide them away, because despite the sadness he felt when he looked at them, they were also accompanied by a strange sense of appreciation for what he and Mike did have: thirteen years of friendship. That’s still something, right?

Will shrugged the sweatshirt on. I’m wearing it because it’s comfortable, he tried to justify himself to himself, not for any other reason. Now that that was settled, Will was determined to unpack something that would make his room feel like his own. He set the dice and the picture frame on his desk and reached over to the rolled-up posters that sat on top of all his bags. He removed the tape from the edges of one of them and unrolled it to reveal the album cover of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John. He smiled to himself and grabbed a few thumbtacks from his box labeled “School Supplies,” before standing on top of his mattress and hanging the poster on the wall. Once Will was satisfied with its placement (five attempts and three concerningly lost thumbtacks later), he got off of his mattress and took a step back to admire his work, putting his hands on his hips.

“Elton John?” he heard a voice ask from behind him, and Will turned around to face Aaron, whose facial expression had settled into what looked like disgust. He’d forgotten Aaron was even there. “Jeez, man, if I knew I’d be dorming with a fag this year, I’d’ve brought my gun.” He knew it. He knew Aaron was a homophobe, he knew it from the second he’d looked Will up and down when he introduced myself earlier. Maybe Will’s mom was–

“Better to shoot you with, my dear,” Will replied coolly, before snapping his mouth shut and widening his eyes at the realization that he was the one who had just said that. He’d never been good at comebacks; that was more of Mike’s specialty. In high school, Will was the one stuttering out the lamest retorts of all time while Mike verbally kicked their bullies’ asses right back at record speed. Will envied his lack of filter sometimes.

“What did you just say?” Aaron narrowed his eyes and moved to get off his bed and meet Will in the middle of their room, so they stood face to face. Will could feel Aaron’s breath on his face, and it smelled like stale sour cream and onion chips, but he stood his ground.

“I said,” Will lowered his voice, moving closer into Aaron’s space, “I’m a pretty damn good shot, so you’d best leave me alone.” He took a few steps away from Will and put his hands up in surrender. Good. When Will promised to himself that things were going to be different, he meant it. He was not going to take any shit from this guy, or anyone else for that matter. Not anymore.

“Where was I?” Will asked himself, flipping right back into the good mood he’d been in before. He picked up the next one and hummed to himself before hanging up his poster of The Cure’s Boys Don’t Cry.

This campus was so confusing. Will had to stop and turn around on the sidewalk at least three times before he found the Convocation Hall, where he was due… right now for orientation. He pulled the unnecessarily heavy door open with all the strength he had, which was not much, but he managed to make it through and reach the sign in table for last names A-E.

“Hi! Welcome to freshman orientation!” the girl seated at the table smiled at Will, and he noticed little white stars drawn in the corners of her eyes. “Can I have your last name, please?”

“Sure, it’s Byers,” he replied, “B-Y-E-R-S.”

“William okay? For your name tag.”

“Just Will’s fine.”

“Alright,” she nodded, handing him one of those cheesy Hello My Name Is stickers. “So you’re gonna be over in circle seven, head on over there and take a seat!”

“Thank…” Will trailed off, having to squint so he could read the name she’d written on her tag. Kate. “Thank you, Kate!”

“You’re welcome!” she called after him, and he walked over towards the table with the giant green “7” centerpiece. He glanced down at his tag, noticing what Kate had written on the tag: Just Will. He swiveled around quickly, and watched as Kate snorted a laugh, giving him a thumbs up. She was funny. Will smiled back, returning the thumbs up before approaching his group.

He had no idea what to expect; they’d obviously be going over typical orientation things like campus life, rules and regulations, and maybe a fire escape route or two. But they would also more than likely be doing icebreakers, like a “getting to know your peers” kind of deal. Will hated icebreaker exercises, because not much about him was interesting. Not much that he was legally permitted to share, anyway. And even if he could, he wasn’t sure if he would want to revisit that time in his life, or if he wanted others to know about what he’d been through. He was kind of grateful that his NDAs revoked that decision for him.

Will reached the only empty seat left at his table– karma for his tardiness– and sat down with his group, who was already knee-deep in conversation. The only seat left was between two girls; one of them looked like she could star in a live action anime series, and the other looked like she’d fit right in with a stoner rock band.

A guy with bleach blonde hair noticed Will’s presence and glanced up, a smile spreading across his face. “Aye! A newcomer! Welcome! What’s your name?”

“Uh, Will,” he eloquently said.

The guy stood up, crossing the circle in order to shake Will’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Will! I’m Pete, your group leader, and…” he looked around at everyone else, “Why don’t we all go around the circle to catch Will up?” The girl sitting next to Pete lifted a hand in greeting, starting off the Name Game.

“Hey, I’m Claire Bierker.”

“Ryan Baker.”

“Jackson Boonstra.”

“Ivy Baldwin.”

“Hannah Reid.”

“Wait–” Pete cut Hannah off, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Reid? I have you on here as ��Beid.’”

“Yeah, um, about that… there might have been a typo on my application, something to do with my terrible handwriting.” The rest of the group laughed at that, including Pete.

“Well… I think you should be fine here. Will, take your seat between Hannah and Ivy, and we can get started on our other activities.” Half an hour went by, and they’d kind of drifted away from the initial Orientation outline that Pete had been working off of. Will was kind of glad that this was the case; if he had to tell one more person about his favorite food, he was gonna riot. Beside him, he felt Ivy nudge his arm with her elbow.

“So. This is gonna be a fucking blast,” she muttered.

“Tell me about it,” Will replied.

“What’s your major?”

“Painting,” he said, “You?”

“Ceramics.”

“Woah, really? That’s so cool!”

“Thanks,” she grinned. Will felt Hannah lightly tap his shoulder with her fingertips, and he turned his head to give her his attention. It hit him that he hadn’t been to a social function since that last high school party he and the Party went to; he wasn’t used to this amount of attention.

“I can’t help but notice your guitar pin on your backpack,” Hannah gestured downward, where Will’s black Jansport backpack sagged onto his shins. “Do you play?”

No. The pin was Mike’s. I might have stolen it from him.

“My… my friend does,” Will hesitated, trying his best not to outwardly cringe at himself. Mike was not his friend. Mike ruined my fucking life. He wrote twenty-six letters to me, confessed his undying love for me out loud, kissed me with an urgence that haunts me every night, and then expected me to just– “I don’t play any instruments. I wish I did. But I love to listen to rock music.”

“What are your favorite bands?” Ivy asked Will, and he hummed in contemplation. He leaned back in his chair, wrapping his feet around the front legs for gravitational support. That way, he could see the two of them without getting whiplash.

“The Cure, Pink Floyd, The Smiths, the Beatles… I also like Bowie and Elton John.”

“Look at you! Hannah, this is my kinda guy!” Ivy exclaimed, smacking Will’s shoulder so hard that he almost fell backwards onto the floor. Hannah saved him, though, pulling him upright again.

“Let’s not scare him off, now,” Hannah laughed uneasily, and Will shook his head.

“No, you’re not gonna scare me off. This is kind of… nice, actually,” he admitted, folding his hands together in his lap. “Would you guys wanna hang after this snooze fest is over?”

“I’m so down,” Ivy replied instantly, and Hannah agreed not even a second later.

Maybe making new friends wouldn’t be as difficult as he’d imagined.

They ordered a pizza and, in the meantime, headed up to Will’s dorm. He unlocked the door and braced himself for Aaron’s usual disdain, but was pleasantly surprised when his roommate was nowhere to be found. He exhaled, and headed inside, holding the door open for the two girls. Hannah immediately gravitated toward his desk, where his set of dice rested atop the little purple pouch they came in.

“Oh my God, you play D&D?” she gasped.

Will nodded, taking a few steps in her direction. “Yeah, I used to play more often with my friends back home. But… I kind of stopped a few years ago. They all lost interest.” ... ‘Lost interest’ was a fucking understatement.

“Well that’s depressing,” Hannah slumped down onto Will’s comforter, haphazardly splaying her arms out on either side. “Tell you what, though,” she lifted her head to look at him, “My roommate, Kate just so happens to be the the DM of our school’s D&D Club, and she was telling me that they’re gonna be at the activities fair next week. Maybe we can check it out!”

Wait a minute… Will knew that name. “By any chance was Kate at–”

“The A-E sign in table at Orientation? Yup, that’s her!” she grinned. “She’s a junior. They paired all the freshmen with upperclassmen this year for some reason. Something about mentorship? I dunno,” she sat up and shifted her gaze to Aaron’s side of the room. “Who’s your roommate? He has…” she squinted, reading the titles of the books on Aaron’s desk before widening her eyes in shock. “He has an interesting taste in literature.”

Will could only nod. Meanwhile, he couldn’t help but notice Ivy’s fixation on something on his desk. Maybe she was just admiring the dice, or checking out Will’s pile of books. But as he moved closer, he realized that she was staring at none other than the picture frame. The one and only picture frame Will owned. The one and only picture frame Will owned that just so happened to hold that one photo of– “Who’s this attractive string bean?”– Mike.

“Oh, he’s just a friend,” Will said, and Ivy shot a suspicious look in his direction.

“Looks like you two were close,” she smirked up at him. “Really close.”

“Were. Past tense,” he repeated back to her firmly. He really didn’t want to dredge up his turbulent… whatever-ship with Mike Wheeler right now. He just wanted to focus on the Here and Now of it all.

“So, Will, are you dating anyone?” Hannah asked, changing the subject. And for that, Will would be eternally grateful. Because even from hundreds of miles away, Mike Wheeler still managed to stress him out.

“No, my love life is kind of dead at the moment,” he shrugged, and Hannah’s eyes lit up.

“Maybe we can find you a cute girl!”

Woah. Will hadn’t been expecting to have to come out so soon, but… there’s a time and a place for everything, and apparently, this was both the time and place, no matter how apprehensive he felt about it.

“Um, about that…” he began, but was cut off by the sound of Ivy’s palm smacking the surface of his desk.

“What did I tell you?!” she exclaimed, her wild eyes meeting Hannah’s. “I called it. I. Fucking. Called. It.” Will was so confused.

“Huh? Called what?”

“You’re gay, right? You’re into guys?” Ivy asked, and he nodded hesitantly.

“See?!” she screeched suddenly. “I’ve got lesbian intuition!”

“Guess I don’t have to formally come out, then,” Will chuckled.

“I’m so sorry about her,” Hannah placed a hand on his shoulder, and he shook his head. He took her hand in his, lowering their connected hands off his shoulder and swinging them back and forth between them.

“No, it’s okay, it made things easier for me, I guess. I’m kind of glad I didn’t have to prepare a dramatic speech or anything.”

“Yeah, God, that’s always a pain,” Ivy added. “It’s so stressful running the risk of ruining a friendship or relationship just by being yourself.”

Will knew that experience all too well. “Yes, it’s horrible.”

“I have a feeling we’re going to be good friends, William Byers,” Ivy smiled, taking both his and Hannah’s free hands so they formed a triangle. “Best friends, even.”

Will’s first class was Painting I with Dr. Miriam Horovitz, located clear on the other side of campus. He knew from the get go that it would take a while for him to figure out where the hell he was going, so he left an hour early, just in case something like this happened. And it did. So when he finally sat on a worn-down stool in front of an empty easel, it felt all the more surreal. He’d made it. To class. But also… he’d made it to art school in Chicago.

Dr. Horovitz was a short, middle-aged southern lady who had the combined fashion sense of a Flower Power protestor and a gothic, medieval witch. Mike would have loved– no. No. Not now. Will needed to focus, specifically on the assignment Dr. Horov– Miriam, as she insisted upon everyone calling her– was explaining.

“So for your first assignment, I want y’all to paint something that brings you joy, but also inflicts immense pain. It could be a feeling, a person, a material object… it’s up to y’all where you want to take your projects. I’m just tryin’ to figure out everyone’s specific styles.”

If Will were given this assignment a year prior, he would have done something related to the Upside Down. But now, as he closed his eyes, his thoughts went awry. Vines, snakes, fire… Mike. Vecna, gouged out eyes, mold… Mike. The rain fight. The Almost Kiss. The neverending flirtation. Prom. The letters. No, Will, I’m in love with you. Don’t say that, please don’t say that, you don’t mean it. Mike’s sobs echoing up the stairwell on his way out.

Well… looks like Mike is gonna be the subject of my first ever project in art school, Will thought, rubbing a hand down his face with a groan. Fuck me.

Will glanced at myself in the mirror, which he currently stood in front of, shirtless. He’d been insecure about his body for years. He had always been more on the skinny side, but then he got tall and skinny, his knees turned into knobs, and his voice dropped— but he kept his baby face. He was a walking contradiction. It didn’t help that his clothes just made him look worse. They were more often than not hand-me-downs from Jonathan, or purchased for a buck each at the thrift store. When Will was younger, he would secretly resent his mom for not being able to afford newer, more flattering clothing. Then, he learned about the concepts of money and divorce, and that resentment never once entered his mind after that. He could never blame his mom for their circumstances, and would never dream of holding their poverty against her, but still. It was embarrassing. Especially when most of his other friends walked around looking like they’d come fresh out of the Starcourt Mall. Thankfully, when he’d moved to California, Will’s shoulders had filled out a little bit, and he could wear most of those clothes without cringing anymore. And after the events of the Upside Down, he spent some of his government hush money on a new wardrobe.

Even then, despite the broader shoulders, newer wardrobe, and a few years’ time, there still wasn’t really much to see, physically speaking; he looked less like a young man, and more like a boy with unbalanced muscle mass and light, barely-there stubble on his jaw. To be fair, he was only five months into being eighteen, and had plenty of time for his body to mature. Working out would probably help quicken the process.

“Alright, man, you ready to go?” Aaron came out of the bathroom rather abruptly, startling Will out of his thoughts. Aaron’s eyes lowered down to Will’s torso, lingering for a few extra seconds before he said, “I’m glad you decided to come with. You definitely need it,” with a light chuckle. Will felt his face burning up with self consciousness as he scrambled to his dresser, throwing on the first shirt he could get his hands on: a plain white Fruit of the Loom tee, the kind that came in a multipack. It was a bit loose on him; his mom had been a bit optimistic when she’d talked him into buying the mediums.

Will could have easily turned down Aaron’s offer to go to the gym with him. Aaron’s new membership included a promotional perk which gave him the option to invite a second person for free. In turn, once the person paying for the membership had built up enough points, they could redeem said points for a private training session. Aaron, a cup that apparently overfloweth with boundless generosity, offered that guest spot up to Will. Because he was poor. And skinny. And he liked Elton John. That was, like, the trifecta of male incompetence. Will often thought about why Aaron insisted upon coming to the American Academy of Art if he hated gay people so much. He assumed that in order to get on Aaron’s “good” side– whatever the hell that even meant, if it even existed–, he would simply have to play the role of a straight guy, which was what he had been doing for his entire life up until a few months ago, so it wouldn’t be difficult to do.

Will hastily laced his black high top Vans up, tying them a bit too tightly, but he was too intimidated by his roommate’s eyes drilling lasers into his scalp to care. He grabbed his empty drawstring bag, because what do you even bring to a gym, tossed his wallet and keys into it, and followed Aaron out the door. They headed down the hall and descended the stairwell, and Will watched as Aaron’s calf muscles flexed with every step.

“So. How’re you liking the school so far?” Aaron called back to him, and he got confused for a second, because, was he talking to him? “Any interesting classes this semester?” Oh. Okay, so he wasn’t just hearing things.

“Uh… it’s good,” Will replied, quickening his steps to catch up to Aaron, “I really like my painting class. The campus is just kind of confusing to navigate.”

Aaron chuckled at that, holding the door open for him once they reached the dorm hall entryway. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. I must have gotten lost seven or eight times in my first year.”

“Oh, you’re a–”

“Junior. Architecture major.”

Huh. He’d kind of forgotten about the Junior-Freshman pairing system. And it made a lot of sense why Aaron had decided to pursue architecture. It’s the straightest art form there is. They approached the student parking garage, and Aaron fished in his pocket for his keys.

“Oh, nice,” Will said, “what made you choose to go here?”

“They have the best architecture program in the state,” Aaron shrugged. “I’m really into postmodern stuff as well, and most schools don’t really teach that. But they do here.”

When they got into the car, Will had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes into the darkest depths of his skull, because of course it was a Mercedes. Aaron checked his reflection in the rearview mirror before reaching an arm behind Will’s seat, leaning back and looking behind him as he backed out of the parking spot. Will was shocked; Aaron seemed to despise being within two feet of him, and now he had almost come into contact with Will’s shoulder. Were they… making progress? “By the way,” Aaron said once he’d changed gears, “I’m sorry for being such a dick. I think I misjudged you.”

See, now, Will’s kneejerk reaction had always been to cut the person who was apologizing off with a lighthearted, reassuring, “No, it’s okay.” He always felt the need to absolve people of their guilt, but now, that need was seemingly gone, because he let Aaron continue with his apology without interjecting once. And it felt nice to not take on someone else’s burden.

“I just can’t stand all these fucking homos around here, I thought I was stuck living with one.” If he hated homos so much, then what the hell was he doing at the American Academy of Art? What was he expecting? If you hate gay people, don’t go to an exclusive art school. You’re basically asking for your own personal torture chamber, Will thought. But he kept his thoughts to himself, opting to sit there in silence for the rest of the ride. The drama simply wasn’t worth it.

They arrived at the gym, and Aaron headed straight over to the treadmills. “Cardio,” he explained, and Will went along with it, because if it weren’t for Aaron, he would have no clue where to begin. They ran a mile and a half before switching gears and moving to the dumbbells. Aaron handed Will a pair of 2-pounders, just to fuck with him, but then actually taught him how to lift the 5-pounders properly, without tearing muscle. They then moved over to the larger sets of weights, which Aaron loaded onto a bar and taught him how to do a proper barbell hip thrust, which he found to be a strange first exercise to teach someone. He had no idea so much effort went into the form and technique. But Will found myself strangely loving it. He’d have to find time to go on his own time, so he didn’t feel so pressured as he did around Aaron.

Will felt like he was dying as they stood beside the water fountain. He raised his cheap AAoA water bottle to his lips and chugged the lukewarm water as quickly as the dumbass mouthpiece would allow him, which was not much. He messed with it for a few seconds before Aaron grunted out, “Congrats on the new girlfriend, by the way.” Will was so glad he hadn’t unscrewed the top yet, because he damn near dropped the bottle out of pure shock.

“I’m sorry, what?” Will spluttered, and Aaron merely clapped his back with a laugh. “Don’t be shy, Byers, you’re dating Hannah fucking Reid! Own that shit!” Oh, Will was going to kill her. He knew she meant well, but… really?

As soon as he got back onto campus, Will sprinted to the girls’ dorms and up the stairs to Hannah’s room. He knocked, but could hear really loud music playing… was that Zeppelin IV? They’d gotten to that point in their friendship where Hannah, Ivy, and Will would barge into each others’ rooms unannounced, but he apparently never got the memo that anything had changed.

“Wanna tell me why Aaron goddamn Heathrow thinks we’re–” Will started, but cut himself off at the sight in front of him. Ivy and Hannah pulled away from each other– no, excuse him, Ivy moved from where she’d been straddling a borderline naked Hannah on her bed. Will turned away, shielding his eyes with a screech. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I should have knocked louder– You guys are together?!”

And then it made so much more sense. If Hannah and Will were “dating,” at face value, then she’d be able to be with Ivy. And– in their words, not his– he’d be able to find a “sexy hunk” of his own someday soon. As much as they all hated the idea of a “beard,” arrangement, it was the best possible way for all of them to love who they wanted to love. That conversation ended with happy tears, hugs, and hope.

Will’s sketch of Mike was coming together nicely. He’d been meticulously planning it out for the past week on smaller sheets of paper, and had finally transferred it to a giant canvas. He shifted his hand from side to side across the canvas to darken and further emphasize Mike’s prominent jawline. It was insane how drastic and how quickly that transformation had happened; it was so hard to believe now that Mike had ever been bullied for his looks. If only their bullies could see what Frog Face looked like now. He was convinced that if someone were to put a piece of glass within three inches of Mike’s insanely sharp bone structure, the glass would split in two. Will smirked at the thought and glanced down at his pencils, which he’d lined up neatly on his right hand side in order of lightest to darkest. He was about to decide which one to use for shading his cheekbones when he heard a familiar, strong Southern drawl from behind him.

“And who is this handsome young fella?” Dr. Horovitz asked him, and he felt his body deflate a little bit. She wasn’t wrong. Mike’s attractiveness was undeniable. Using Mike as his muse for the past thirteen years definitely helped in portraying his beauty. Even then, Will didn’t want to entertain that idea any longer than he had to, so he downplayed it.

“Oh, just this guy from back home,” he said, refusing to meet her eyes, which he just knew were overflowing with curiosity, given the silence that followed. “He’s not important now,” he added, just to make a point. And that was the truth. Mike wasn’t important. He wasn’t… as important. Not as important as how Will made him out to be throughout his childhood, sitting high on a pedestal. Dear Will, when I look into your eyes, I see the rest of my–

“I notice there’s a bite to the way you talk about him,” his professor noted, and he turned to try and meet her gaze, but she was observing his work thus far. “If he isn’t important now, as you say, he must have been important in the past.”

Who even was this lady? She was the professor of his painting class, yet she was reading him like a therapist would. And Will knew by the slight insistence laced in her voice and the way she’d parked herself next to his station that she wasn’t going away until she’d gotten some answers.

“He and I didn’t leave things on the best terms when we left for school,” Will admitted, and Dr. Horovitz nodded, processing. He turned away to take a sip from his water bottle as she spoke.

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. So he’s an ex boyfriend, then?”

He nearly spit out his water. “God, no,” he said, feeling heat rise to his face at lightning speed. “He… uh, he’s– he was my best friend. Mike.”

“Mm. Best Friend Mike,” she crossed her arms in thought. Suddenly, her eyes snapped over to Will’s, the eye contact sending chills down his spine. He worried about what she would try to pry out of him next. “He broke your heart, didn’t he?”

Well, shit. She’d been able to see right through him. Maybe he wasn’t as good of a liar as he thought he was. So much for being vague.

“Yeah,” Will confessed slowly, watching a smile spread across his professor’s face. Sadist! “Yeah, he did break my heart. And he really messed with my head. But even now, I still believe he’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“Well, you’ve covered the topic of the assignment quite well,” she told him, taking a step backwards. “I’m looking forward to seeing your progress.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Will, I told all of you on the first day of class, call me Miriam. None of that old lady business.”

“Sorry, Miriam.”

“You’re forgiven.”

He watched Miriam walk away and begin talking to one of the other students in his class about their piece, and he tried to focus back on his work. But Miriam had gotten him thinking. She had gotten him thinking about one specific day. The day where Mike finally confronted him about the painting.

“Hey, can we talk about something for a second?” Mike asked from across his basement couch. Will set his pencil and sketchbook down. Mike had insisted upon being a model for Will’s potential college portfolio. He didn’t even know if he’d be going to art school at all, but Mike was so sure that he’d get in somewhere “really fuckin’ cool.” Mike shifted his body out of the position he’d been in for the past hour, and Will heard Mike’s joints crack as he stretched his long legs out onto his lap. Don’t get a boner, Byers, Will thought to himself, repeating it like a mantra in his head.

“Sure,” Will croaked out, his voice rough from lack of use. “Uh, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, “I was talking with El yesterday, and I mentioned the commission she’d given you for the painting.” Oh shit. “You know, the one from Spring Break.”

Will gulped. “Yeah?”

“It’s kind of funny, actually,” Mike continued, “because El said she had no idea what the word ‘commission’ even meant. Do you know anything about that?”

“I’m not following,” Will blurted out in a sad attempt to preserve his own feelings, but Mike knew that he’d never been capable of keeping secrets from him.

“Come on, Will. I know you know what I mean.” He gave Will a pointed look and pulled his legs in before scooching closer to his side of the couch, crossing his legs. Their knees touched, and Will felt like he was on fire.

He knew then that he’d been caught red-handed. “I was trying to–”

“What, lie to me?” Mike cut Will off as he stared down at the carpeted floor. “I thought we didn’t do that.”

“I told you what you needed to hear,” Will said, and Mike crossed his arms.

“Yeah, so you lied.”

“I didn’t want to lie, Mike!”

“But you did, Will, and that’s–”

“Just listen, alright?!” Will raised his voice, startling Mike into silence. He hated doing that, but it was the only way he’d listen to what Will had to say. “Hear me out, okay?” Mike’s lips formed a straight, thin line as he nodded. “I just… I thought if the painting came from El, you’d feel needed again. Like, you told me you felt worthless to her, so I did what I could to try and… fix… that.” Suddenly, Mike’s face was inches from his own, and Will could barely breathe. It was probably just his imagination, but he could have sworn he saw Mike’s eyes flicker down to his lips, then back up to meet Will again.

“You know,” Mike breathed, blinking slowly, “It would have meant a lot more if you’d admitted that the painting was from you.”

“Oh,” was the only word Will was able to get out.

“Yeah,” Mike said, voice smooth as velvet, “You’re my person, Will.”

“Hey, Will! We– woah.” he hadn’t noticed he’d spaced out until Ivy’s voice hit his ears. He turned to see both her and Hannah gaping at his work.

“Oh! Hey!” Will smiled, trying to keep the tone light, “I wasn’t expecting you guys to be–”

“Is that the guy from that photo in your room?” Hannah asked.

“Well… yes,” Will admitted, “but he’s not–”

“Bullshit,” Ivy interrupted, her eyes narrowed. “Bullshit to everything you’ve said and are about to say. You’re going to tell us about this boy.”

“Fine. Can I at least wash the paint off my hands first?”

The D&D Club had a bi-weekly movie night, where they would all go to Kate’s house in their pajamas and eat enough snacks to feed a small army. Both Kate and Will’s favorite candy was Reese’s Pieces, so there was always an overabundance of them in her pantry. Will shoved his hand into a bag he had rested between his legs, throwing a handful back as if they were a shot of hard liquor. The credits of CLUE were rolling, and Kate spun around from where she sat on the floor wrapped in a giant quilt. She clapped loudly to get everyone’s full, undivided attention.

“Okay, so. What are we thinking for Halloween?”

Crickets.

“We need a group costume for the party in two weeks, obviously!” Kate exclaimed, as if this were supposed to be common knowledge. Will didn’t think Halloween was a thing anymore. It certainly wasn’t a thing when he was still in Hawkins. “We need one that fits a group of five.”

“We should all be Ghostbusters!” Pete said, but Ivy immediately shot that idea down.

“Too clunky. Plus, the proton packs are gonna be a bitch to make, not to mention difficult to lug around everywhere.”

“She’s right,” Will found himself saying, and felt all of his friends’ eyes on him, expecting him to explain himself.

“You’ve dressed as a Ghostbuster before?”

“Yeah,” Will nodded, “Back in middle school. My friends and I made proton packs out of vacuum tubes attached to these huge plastic boxes with straps.”

“That’s badass!”

“Well, yeah,” Kate shrugged nonchalantly, “But that also cancels out that option, since Will has done it already.”

“If we take into account every costume everyone has ever done, then there will be no options left,” Pete pointed out, and Kate grimaced.

“That’s fair.”

“What if we did Marvel characters?” Hannah asked, and Will shook his head.

“That would put us in the same situation as the Ghostbusters, it’s too complex.”

“Hey, guys.”

“Fine, well, what if we did the Beatles?”

“There are four Beatles, Pete.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Guys.”

“What about Yoko?”

“Please don’t tell me you just suggested Yoko is the fifth Beatle, Pete.”

“Is she not???”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just ask that.”

“Mötley Crüe?”

“The Runaways,” Pete grinned. “Will and I could go in drag, it’d be so hot.”

Hannah’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why are we suddenly so focused on bands?”

“I don’t know, do you have any doable ideas?” Pete retorted.

“Hey assholes!” Kate snapped.

“What?!” they all shouted back.

“We should be the Mystery Gang.”

“As in Scooby Doo?” Will thought out loud.

“That’s a really good idea, actually,” Pete nodded slowly. “It’s classic, people will know who we are, and they won’t perceive us as total rejects!”

“I want to be Velma,” Ivy announced.

“That makes one of us,” Hannah snorted.

“Hey! I’d be a hot Velma!”

“I won’t deny that.”

“I guess I’ll be Fred,” Pete said.

“Will has got to be Shaggy,” Kate giggled, reaching her arm out far enough to run her fingers through and mess up Will’s hair. “I mean, his hair is perfect for it.”

“Yes, oh my God–”

“He’d be the buffest Shaggy I’ve ever seen,” Ivy said, and Will whipped his head in her direction.

“Buff? What do you mean, buff?”

“Will, have you seen yourself lately?” Hannah gawked. He had no idea what she meant.

“I mean, yeah, I go to the gym pretty frequently, but like, it’s not like I’ve changed that much…”

“Will, honey,” Ivy sauntered over to where Will sat, and crouched down until they were eye level. “We all know that I only have eyes for women, and even I can admit that you are smoking hot.”

“I concur,” Pete said.

“Seriously,” Kate exclaimed, “why hasn’t Will linked up with anyone yet?”

“Okay,” Will tried to kill the tangent before it grew legs and ran away, “let’s not discuss my nonexistent love life–”

“Um, excuse me– it did, in fact, exist,” Hannah quipped back. “You just prioritized yourself over someone who treated you like shit.”

“Amen to that,” Ivy said, and everyone else laughed in agreement.

“So I’m gonna ask again: why hasn’t Buff Byers found himself a man yet?”

“Buff Byers,” Pete snorted, “that’s fucking brilliant.”

Will put his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ.”

“Let’s be a little more realistic, because I’m pretty sure Jesus wasn’t into guys,” Hannah said, earning a sad laugh from Will.

“Are you sure about that?” Ivy questioned her girlfriend, “Because his suspiciously close bond with twelve men shows us otherwise–”

“This is not the time to delve into biblical theology, baby.”

“He let Judas kiss his cheek! You cannot tell me he wasn’t at least a little bit gay.”

Okay, that was enough. “Guys, really,” Will insisted, “I’m fine. I don’t need to date anyone right now.”

Pete quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t need to? Or you don’t want to?”

“Alright, everyone,” Kate called out to the rest of them, “so we’ve established that we’re going to this party as the Scooby Gang. But I have a plan in mind that’ll make this Halloween a night to remember.”

“Which is?” Will asked warily. Kate couldn’t hide her devilish grin.

“Operation Get Will a Fine-Ass Man.”

Will was sure that going to this off-campus Halloween party wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had. It wasn’t solely his idea, per se; everyone had decided upon their group costume weeks ago, and Will was fully aware of the environment he was voluntarily entering, so he had plenty of time to back out if he wanted to. Even then, Will didn’t back out, because he was obviously a new man; outgoing, social, and bold. He no longer allowed his crippling anxiety to interfere with his life. The latter statement would probably be a bit difficult to justify, though, considering the fact that he had soaked through his fluorescent, vomit-green tee shirt with sweat the second he’d walked through the door. It also didn’t help that his friends were still dead set on a singular mission for the evening: Operation Get Will a Fine-Ass Man. This was a bad idea. A really, really bad–

“Ooh, I spy with my little eye… Jose Cuervo! Come on!” Ivy exclaimed, the corners of her eyes crinkling with joy underneath her fake glasses as she grinned up at Will. Oh God, here we go, he thought as he followed his friend over to the center island in the kitchen. Every square inch of counter space was occupied by some form of hard liquor. This was not Will’s first rodeo; he’d gone to a handful of parties back in high school. He enjoyed the atmosphere, but he just wasn’t a party animal, for the lack of a better term.

“Alrighty, one for you… and two for me,” Ivy muttered as she poured her favorite vice, Jose Cuervo tequila, into three disposable red Solo-brand shot cups before handing one over to Will, and he took the cup hesitantly. She then grabbed two lime wedges out of a bowl on the kitchen counter, and located a salt shaker a few seconds later. She turned to him, grabbed his free hand, rubbed the lime on it, shook some salt over the spot so it would stick, then did the same for herself. She held one of her shot cups up to Will’s, clinking them together as a toast.

“Fuck Mike Wheeler!” she shrieked, and Will burst out laughing. While he calmed myself down, Ivy licked the salt off her hand, threw the shot back like it was water, chomped down onto the lime, and cringed at the taste. Once she’d opened her eyes and seen that he hadn’t done his shot with her, she pouted up at him.

“You’re supposed to actually do the shot, not just stand there,” she whined. Will looked down at the shot, squinting at it before lifting it up, bringing it to his lips. Before he could properly throw the shot back on his own, Ivy tilted the bottom of the cup further upwards, and he felt the tequila rush down his throat much faster than anticipated. “That’s how you do a shot, Billiam,” she told Will as he sputtered out a cough, followed by an indignant grunt. He wasn’t mad; he probably wouldn’t have done it without her involvement.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been so incredibly selfless. You’d do anything to make people happy. But sometimes you do it at your own expense.” Not the time, Mike.

He and Ivy had stayed a few hours late in Miriam’s classroom to finish up their pieces, so they’d all agreed to just meet at the party. When Will had set his brush down for the last time earlier that afternoon, he thought to himself, “Hey, I’ve finally achieved the closure I’ve always wanted, so I should feel better.” But Will didn’t feel any different; if anything, he felt even worse than before. The Heart gave him closure, but he still felt like Mike was there. So when he arrived back at his dorm to change into his costume, he glanced at the bunched-up blue sweatshirt on his bed and made a decision: It was time to pack up the Mike Box again. Will put everything (the dice, the frame, the sweatshirt, and the binder) back into a box and under his bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Shaggy! Velma! You made it!” voices exclaimed from behind him. Hannah, Kate, and Pete approached them, dressed as Daphne, Scooby, and Fred, respectively. A smile quickly made its way across Will’s face as he collided with his friends in a group hug. Once they all pulled back, the gossip was instantly afoot.

“So, any luck yet?” Ivy asked her girlfriend, who shook her head.

“Not yet, we just got here a little while ago.”

“I’ve seen a few potential candidates who I think he’d get along with–” Kate began, but Pete interrupted with an expression of pure confusion.

“Sorry, what’s going on?”

“Operation Get Will a Fine-Ass Man! Come on, Pete, get with the program!” Kate clapped her hands in the middle of the circle, and the rest of them laughed while Will rolled his eyes. They were being absolutely ridiculous. Will didn’t need to get any man, let alone a fine-ass one. He was perfectly fine with being alone. Totally content, and not at all depressed.

The song that had been playing faded out, and a familiar bouncy synth introduction to the next song vibrated up from the floor and sent shockwaves through Will’s entire nervous system. Kate demanded immediately that the group should dance, and the rest of the Scooby Gang agreed, save for Will. He didn’t do well on dance floors, because his claustrophobia often got the best of him. So he stood against the wall, watching as his friends disappeared into the crowd. The beat picked up, and he sighed deeply, crossing his arms over his chest. This was the radio cut. If Mike were there, he probably would have complained for hours afterwards.

“Will. I’m being serious! If you know about the existence of the 12” version of Smalltown Boy and still opt to listen to the radio cut, you’re committing a crime against both me and Bronski Beat. I said what I said. No further questions.”

Will hated that he couldn’t tell Mike how, for once, he actually agreed with him. He wasn’t here with Will, and it was all his fault.

Will checked his watch– 8:26pm. They’d only been there for less than half an hour, and he already wanted to go home. There were enough people packed in the house for it to be considered a fire hazard, and his friends were nowhere to be found. So much for Operation Get Will a Fine-Ass Man. Besides, he was dressed as Shaggy from fucking Scooby Doo, there was no way any guy would want him while looking like a disheveled cartoon character. He decided to go outside to get some fresh air, and maybe smoke a cigarette… or five, but right when he began to move, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Kate and Ivy, standing on either side of a guy with spiky black hair and chunky black liner under his eyes. The only defining elements of his vampire costume were the fake blood dripping from the corners of his painted red lips and the cape draped over his shoulders.

“Will, Matt. Matt, Will. Speak,” Ivy rushed out, pushing them together by their backs. Will watched, stunned, as his friends pushed their way through the crowd, giggling the entire time. He then shifted his gaze to meet eyes with… the very hot guy who stood before him.

Matt.

next part

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#byler #byler fanfic #byler fic #byler tumblr #mike wheeler #will byers #will x mike #mike x will #stranger things #stranger things fic #ntwdt #ntwdt1

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nokingsonlyfooles · 10 months ago

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"Best Candidate"

Jeeeeeesus. Forgive me, but we used to call North Korea "Best Korea" on FARK, and that's stuck in my head. Kim Jong Un had the "Best Haircut" and "Best Horse," ya get me? That is a real quote from the article, though. Someone thinks he's the best. I... I have some doubts about how we're defining "best" at this point.

Given that Sanders is out there defending him and Schiff is telling him to step down, the ideological fault lines are... Well, look, I won't speculate why right now, but coming at me for being too left-leaning and critical ain't gonna patch this up. This isn't a result of ANY of the issues I have with Biden - I thought if he was too impaired for presidentin', we'd do him like Reagan, or Wilson. I didn't think the debate would move the needle. Me and the mainstream just aren't simpatico.

And the press are clearly still pissed at being gaslit and put off. They have no mercy left.

It's not possible to fight this war on THREE fronts. The people with money are turning against him. He needs money to fix his disaster campaign. He needs severance pay for whoever suggested he could pivot from "enemy of democracy" to "unity" without falling flat on his face. And yet, some of the people with money won't hear a word against him, so even if they do pick a new candidate, this campaign is going to be suffering from anemia for the foreseeable future.

Puffing up like scared kittens and walking sideways and saying "We are so strong, it's fine" is not going to help the outcome here. You know in Inside Out (the first one, *sigh*) how we learn Sadness is so people will come help you and constantly hiding behind Joy will allow your situation to deteriorate until you're stealing mom's credit cards and running away on a bus? I don't know how else to express this in nonthreatening language: It's all right to cry. We need help. Even if you think no one's gonna help you, sometimes you get a surprise.

A big part of abuse is making sure you're too scared and hopeless to cry for help, so it can continue indefinitely. I'm just putting that out there. Crying has value.

Team Biden does not want to address this. The above poll says they have to. I don't think the lugenpresse have it wrong - they're not being nice anymore, but I don't think they're wrong. "Fake news" is someone else's mantra, we don't need that. For whatever reason, voters would prefer another candidate. How will Biden respond? More denial, or action?

And how 'bout you? We've got a big problem. You don't have the money or clout to fix it and "make moderates and donors stop abandoning Biden" is not going to be on any ballot. No matter how much you want people to just go vote anyway, that's not how they work. That's the political reality you're dealing with, like the death of the Voters' Rights Act and the electoral college. Biden pissed off the press, moderates, AND his donors. The guy may not win. He certainly won't unless something improves. I'm not going to cast an evil spell and make that happen by saying it, and neither will you. So what's your plan? And if that doesn't work, what's Plan B?

#us news #us politics #ap news #poll #biden #listen has mr. rogers ever steered you wrong?#you need to hear it again to feel safe?#it's all right to cry #crying means someone might notice what's wrong and stop it from getting worse #what else have we got?

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lostusagis · 1 year ago

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Forgiveness

''Do you want me to braid it?'' Kamui asked his sister while he had been working on brushing her hair. The two of them were alone with each other, so being like this was a lot easier.

''Nah, just leave it out. I haven't had it like that in a while.'' Kagura would say. She was pretty fond of any style Kamui used when brushing her hair. He was surprisingly really good at that, but given how his own hair looked, she really shouldn't be surprised.

Given that he seemed to be in a good mood though, Kagura assumed this was a good opportunity. ''Hey Kamui, mother's day is coming up you know.''

''I know.'' The response was forced, with annoyance hidden behind it while he continued brushing her hair.

By now, Kagura's learned that if she was ever going to help him move on then she had to be persistent. He tends to close himself up whenever their mother was brought up.

''Do you want to come with me to visit mami? I'm sure she'd like to see you.'' Once Kagura had asked that, Kamui stopped brushing her hair. There was a lingering silence, since he ended up drowning in his own thoughts.

''Kamui?'' No answer.

''Kamui!'' Kagura looked back at him after raising her voice, which evoked a surprise reaction out of him. Blue gaze looking at her startled.

After a few seconds, he'd force on a smile. ''I.... already went with you to visit her this year.....''

''So? I visit her a few times a year sometimes.'' It didn't click in her head until after she said it, that maybe it wasn't the right choice of words when responding to him.

Kamui looks away, ''Must be nice. Being able to visit her and not completely hate yourself, huh?'' The words were mumbled but Kagura fully turned around to look at him while on the bed, shocked.

''You're acting as if you killed her or something. What happened was out of our control.'' She does remember Kamui explaining everything behind their mother's sickness, but in the end it still wasn't anyone's fault. That's what she'll always believe.

''That fight I started with the baldy, it made her worse. And the fact that maybe if I tried harder maybe..... I could've saved her.'' Kamui was fully convinced all of it was his fault. He had pinned all the blame on his father, when in reality he felt at fault.

''I'm sure she wouldn't want to see me, not after I ruined her last few days anyway. She's probably gotten sick of seeing my fa-'' His words were cut off by Kagura punching him across the face. It at least grabbed his attention long enough for her to speak since he seemed too absorbed in his self deprecating thoughts.

''Are you stupid?! You must seriously be stupid.'' Kagura couldn't help the frustration she was feeling right now, but she also knew he wasn't doing this on purpose.

''Mami wasn't like that. I was there with her up until she died, and she never blamed you for anything. Nothing at all.'' Kagura remembered every conversation between her and their mother during those final days. There was never any hatred.

''The only thing she felt was sadness because she wanted all of us to go to earth together, don't you remember?'' She felt herself becoming emotional, eyes stinging intensely.

''She wanted to experience that with all of us, and hey... at least....'' Kagura couldn't help crying at that point, but quickly shielded her eyes with her arm.

''At least eventually we were all on earth together. I'm sure she witnessed that from heaven. So... if anything... she's happy. She's not upset with you, idiot.'' Once she wiped her eyes, Kagura glared at him only to be met with the sight of her big brother breaking down. The glare faltered after that.

This was the same person so many feared, the same person who probably killed numerous amount of people. At the end of the day, he's just a boy mourning his mother. Struggling to move on. Kamui was annoying, but right now she just..... felt bad. She wanted to help him, but she didn't know how. She was trying her best, but it seemed hopeless.

She wanted to help. But.... he was still hurting, still in pain. He was standing there, in front of her crying. Kagura could hear the mumbles under his breath, ''It's my fault.''

Despite what she told him, he kept thinking that. Repeating it over and over again. Although, she heard him say something that made her freeze.

''It'd be better if I was the one who died instead.''

Damnit..... why the hell did he keep thinking like that? Honestly, hearing him say that stung BADLY.

She pulled him into a hug, ''Shut up already. Don't say things like that.'' Kagura felt her form trembling, while crying herself.

''Neither me or papi think that. No matter what you did in the past. We care a lot about you, we're really happy you decided to be part of our family again.....'' Her chest was aching like crazy right now.

''Mami would never think that either, you knew her. Why would you think stuff like that? Get out of your head already, come back to reality where there's people who care about you and have the common sense to believe nothing was your fault.'' After Kagura said that, she felt Kamui's arms wrap around her tightly.

''I just want to make this pain go away Kagura.....'' He'd weep while hugging her,

''You have no idea.... how much it hurts. How much I've been hating myself everyday, wishing I could go back in time.'' Kamui sniffles, and she couldn't help but sigh.

''It'll probably never stop hurting but.... if you make the effort.... it'll hurt a little less and less. But you have to be willing to confront all those feelings. You can't keep repressing everything.'' He had such a bad habit of just holding it all in, and pretending everything was fine with that stupid smile on his face. It pissed her off.

''Eventually you'll be able to visit mami with a smile. That's probably what she'd want anyway. For you to eventually move on, and forgive yourself.'' She went ahead and looked up at him,

''She'd want us to both see her, smiling. Being happy. We're a family again, imagine how overjoyed she is right now.''

Kamui ended up staring at her silently before looking away. These feelings were scary. He had preferred ignoring them, focusing on his goal to become strong. But now, he had to face all of it.

Kagura at least...... made it easier. She was so determined to help him despite how hopeless he was.

''Fine.... I'll go with you to see her.'' He did want to move on, but the struggle to get to that point was hard. Terrifying even.

''If it's too hard for you Kamui, you really don't have to. There's plenty of other days you can try. Doesn't have to be immediate, but I just want you to know that yeah... I think you're the biggest pain in the ass in the world but I really want to support you through this.'' There was wholehearted honesty in her eyes when saying that. She meant every word of it.

To be honest, it was reassuring for him. Kagura seemed to never give up on him no matter what. That's the reason he was here with her right now, talking to her like this.

''How cute, my little sister acting all grown up taking care of her older brother.'' That earned him an irritated glare, and she immediately pushed him away.

''You couldn't just keep your mouth shut, huh?'' She folded her arms over her chest, ''Couldn't keep the stupid comments to yourself while I'm trying to be nice?''

Kamui ended up laughing, ''Couldn't help it, annoying you is a hobby of mine.''

She huffed with annoyance, ''Get a new hobby then, dumbass.''

He seemed to be doing better, but Kagura got a feeling he was just trying to lighten the mood to force them to forget about their conversation from before.

Kamui was unbelievably frustrating.

#DRABBLES. Kamui #DRABBLES. Kagura #( ough. pain. )#( just realized most of my drabbles are in kagura's P.O.V l0l )

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caramelcroissant · 5 months ago

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The Thin Thread of Forgiveness (and How It Snapped Anyway)

I like to think of love as a roller-coaster. Thrilling highs, gut-dropping lows, and the occasional feeling that you might vomit, but you hang on because you bought the ticket. Unfortunately, my ride was less “romantic movie” and more like those rusty county fair contraptions where you just know the bolts are loose. And in my case, those bolts were named “trust,” “self-worth,” and “common sense.”

You see, surviving with someone after they’ve cheated on you feels a lot like trying to carry a crystal vase tied to a string of dental floss. You hold your breath, you move slowly, and you tell yourself it’s fine—totally fine—while praying the weight of your feelings doesn’t snap the string and send everything shattering to the floor. But no matter how hard i tried, it will snap. That string? Not made for this kind of mess.

The first time he cheated, I didn’t want to believe it. The man I loved, the one I defended to friends who definitely saw the red flags before I did, had done the one thing I thought he never would. But did I leave? Of course not. Because love makes you stupid. I stayed, and I forgave, and I became a walking Pinterest board of inspirational quotes about forgiveness and second chances. “Love is patient. Love is kind,” I whispered to myself, as if love had anything to do with what was happening here.

And so began the painful saga of “trying to make it work” with someone who didn’t even know what “work” looked like. Trust? Gone. Every text alert, every unexplained late night, every moment his phone was face-down sent me spiraling into my best Sherlock Holmes impression. “Who is he texting? Why is he smiling? Why does he suddenly care about his hair?” I became that girl—the one who overthinks so hard, she creates problems in her own mind, obsessively accusing him for all the things he didn't do-or he does, i just can't put it altogether. all because someone decided honesty wasn’t his thing.

But I forgave him. Again. I stuck around because love is also stubborn. I convinced myself it was my fault he cheated. Maybe I wasn’t enough. Maybe if I was prettier, smarter, or just a little less “me,” he’d be happy. So I worked harder. I laughed at his bad jokes. I cooked his favorite meals. I canceled my plans to prioritize his needs. I turned myself into a human sacrifice on the altar of his approval, all while holding onto the thin, fraying thread of hope that maybe, by any weird constellation, this time would be different.

It wasn’t. Because when someone cheats on you once, and you let them get away with it, they learn two things: 1) they can do it again, and 2) you’ll probably stay. So he did it again, and this time, I felt the snap. I’ll never forget it—the moment I realized I was the only one trying to fix this broken mess of a relationship. It hit me like a bucket of ice water: he didn’t love me. Maybe he never had. I was just a placeholder, the person he called when it was convenient for him. The love I thought we had was nothing but an illusion I’d painted over reality.

And yet, even then, I didn’t scream at him. I didn’t scream at her. Trust me, I had every right to. Instead, I sat quietly with the weight of the betrayal pressing down on me, swallowing my anger like it was a bitter pill. I let him go, even though it tore me apart. I let him walk away with someone else because fighting for someone who doesn’t choose you is a battle no one ever wins.

Looking back, I realize I had an attachment to him that bordered on self-destruction. Maybe it was a mental thing, or maybe it was just that old, familiar craving for someone who didn’t deserve me. I validated his cheating like it was an exam I’d failed. “Maybe I wasn’t good enough. Maybe I wasn’t pretty enough.” But the truth? Cheating is a choice. A conscious, deliberate choice that says more about the cheater than the person they betray.

But the aftermath? Oh, it’s a special kind of hell. The insecurities it leaves behind turn you into a mess of questions. “What did she have that I didn’t? Why wasn’t I enough?” You start picking apart every inch of yourself, desperately searching for an answer, as if understanding why would make it hurt any less. It doesn’t. Because the truth is, there’s nothing to “understand.” There’s no logic in betrayal.

And the funny thing is, the damage doesn’t stop when the relationship does. It follows you. Into new relationships, into friendships, into quiet nights when you’re just trying to watch Netflix but your brain whispers, “What if he cheats, too?” You start side-eyeing every man you meet, convinced they’re all just better liars waiting to be caught. It’s unfair, of course, but heartbreak doesn’t care about fairness.

Even worse, you compare. Oh, the comparisons are relentless. No matter how terrible my ex was, he’d still win in my head. Why? Because dysfunction feels familiar, and familiarity—even when it’s toxic—is weirdly comforting. Letting go of that comfort, of that chaos, feels like stepping into the unknown with nothing but a flashlight and a vague sense of self-worth.

But I did it. I let go. And it took every ounce of strength I had. I cried more tears than I knew were possible. I begged God to take the pain away. I woke up every morning with a weight on my chest so heavy I could barely breathe. But I didn’t go back. I couldn’t. Because I finally understood that loving someone doesn’t mean you have to destroy yourself for them.

If you’re reading this and you’re in the same boat—whether you’re holding onto that thin thread or watching it snap—let me tell you this: you get to choose your battle. If you want to stay, if you’re willing to live with the anxiety, the mistrust, and the constant second-guessing, that’s your choice. I won’t judge you. I was there, too.

But if you let go, even when it feels impossible, I promise you something better is waiting on the other side. It won’t happen overnight. The sadness will pour down your heart like a storm that never ends—until it does. One day, you’ll wake up and realize the thread is gone, and so is the weight that came with it.

You’ll be free. Not instantly happy, not magically healed, but free. And freedom, my friend, is the first step toward becoming the person you were always meant to be.

So here’s to the hard lessons, and the heartbreak that teaches us what we deserve. May we never settle for less again.

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lemondaily · 11 months ago

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diaries of a bipolar 19 almost 20 year old

I think about this quote a lot

“Life is so subtle sometimes you find yourself walking through the doors you once preyed would open”

like., yeah. I grew up kind of rough (could have been worse never forget that) but with everything going on I was having serious mental health issues around 12, and I guess my surroundings were safe for me to be experimenting with gardening and four lokos, and by the time I was 16 I was literally a fully fledged alcoholic; totally following in moms footsteps.

It wasn’t until I got serious with bf when I realized how insufferable I was being, and it was a H U G E reality check, made me really think about who I was. Made me want to leave this world better than I found it. It was subtle changes at first. Part of the beginning of practicing mindfulness can start from truly coming from a place of wanting to be better for the people around you, which is an amazing building block for the rest of the work, but then I started noting patterns with the way I thought about my life and the things that would happen

And I realized; these conflicts and things in my life weren’t directed towards me… I know.. shocking right -.- but as someone who had never thought about anything any other way, this was h I uge for me!

If you’d had told me a year ago that I finally started to let things go, in many ways and different levels, I wouldn’t believe you. I used to say “I’ll forgive, but I’ll never forget”, and now I’m starting to give myself grace with everything I do, I started granting myself the same courtesy that I would give to others in a heartbeat, and it was like my life took a left and I drove myself into a place of forgiveness, where I don’t feel like I’m destructing my thinking 24/7

And the worst part is, if a therapist tried to tell me this before I learned it the hard way, I would have been like haha yeah okay good luck with that sweetie I am the way I am.

So I guess what I’m saying is,

Yeah. You are the way you are. But it takes a long time to see how miserable you are, but it takes even longer to see that it doesn’t have to be that way.

And by the time people figure it out, they’re like 40 and already married with children

When these things SHOULD be taught. My parents would never have told me to try changing my mindset, no I had to take some lsd at 14 and learn that shit the hard way. But oh well right we gotta let it go, I was just saying it’s so funny how I’m so different than I was. I used to be horrible at being alive. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong, I thought it was all my fault and the universe just hates me. But man let me tell you, if you start living your life knowing that there’s a balance of everything good and bad and in between, and you live accordingly, you respect the right things, you learn quickly what the universe is asking of you, and your purpose reveals itself. And your life isn’t gonna turn out how you dreamed it to be, but by the time you get to the future, whatever you built for yourself will be even better than you could have ever imagined.

And that’s why people always tells you it gets better

You could be sitting front row at a funeral and somebody could say “this too shall pass” or “don’t worry it gets better” or easier, or whatever kind of stock post they feel like spitting in ur face at that moment and you think, no you’re wrong this is the end of all things

and then the sun hits ur face the next morning, you think yeah I’ll eat I guess. That’s all it takes. One step, and then the next day you’ll get up a few seconds faster, and you’ll start preparing yourself to live your life again. It may not get better, but honey, you do.

You do get up again, you do learn how to deal with those big feelings, if you’ve lost someone you know, every day is another day of pain, but it’s also another day of you dealing with pain, and even if it doesn’t feel like time is moving and it’s getting better, it still does no matter what. You just hold on tight and lean on the people who love you. And watch movies, and cry, and you do get up again. and don’t forget that everything has a place in this world

Even spiders and flies and bees 6/23/24

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soir-rouges-esprit · 1 year ago

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xxv.f: Destroyer, then watched as he sneezed, burped, and hiccupped all at the same time ... I played with him and put the collar around him, which he seemed not to mind much … time passes and dinner had been made, The Imp brings me a plate, sits next to me and turns on some random internet video over her TV “SCP-096 Documentary” and we begin to eat the Thai scallop sauté mixed with soft white rice and steamed broccoli covered in light dabs of soy sauce. “So … are you … ok?” Loaded question really “It's not supposed to be … ” well, I mean … I'm alive and still kickin ain't I? I'd say that's pretty good, wouldn't you? “*sigh* Stop … dodging the question. Come on … please?” *sigh* yeah … I'm ok, for the most part … just adjusting to a lot, trying to figure out more or less where I stand. “Where you stand? I hope you know, we're good … I care for you and I know you care for me, so you don't have to think, at least for me … that you're on the rocks or not important … I think about you more or less every day, at least once … so you know.” I had no doubts on us, or about you … and … Thank you, you mean a lot to me as well … especially now more than ever, you're important in ways I'd never be able to express to you Imp, not easily at least, especially with … my past transgressions and idiotic mistakes towards you, sorry again for it all btw, never meant to hurt you, just wanted to protect myself and others. *a smile and eyes as big as an Olympic swimming pool grew on her face* “Heheee! … Well … I … I-i don't really know what to say. I never expected … didn't think it possible for you to apologize to me … at least not the Red I used to know … and I get it you know, I'm sure you'd understand more than anyone what it's like to be treated as a monster or a threat … especially when in reality … you're just trying to love. I understand why you did what you did, I'd probably do the same if I was in the same situation, and had similar fears. It's ok, I forgive you.” Thank you … truly. I still feel responsible, however, a debt that must be repaid. “You weren't at fault … do you remember what you told me years ago at the lake? When we all gathered around for The Jesters' birthday party?” Um … I don't, no, what was it? “Never save those truths from the heart for a rainy day, lest you'll drown in regret … speak to everyone worth a damn” “like they're You” … anything other than that … is a shitty mask, keeping you from seeing what's really going on in the moment. “Yep! You got it … I thought about that for years, especially during college, there were plenty of times I just … would put on a mask or persona, and just kind of pretend I was something or someone I wasn't … every time I recognized that, I remembered that. I tried to just, stop and switch back to what I wanted to say/do and just move on … it helped a lot … thank you.” Thank you for telling me, what was your greater point to all that though? I don't follow sorry. “It's not your fault what you did … I think you maybe put on a mask because you didn't honestly remember how to deal with inner group conflict … and in the end … it ended up hurting me yes, but not because you were purposely doing so, or at least, not in a way that I know you were trying to … you as you said, were just trying to protect. You just forgot/maybe got caught up in the whole situation and made a few rash decisions. I mean … am I right?” You're absolutely right … I hadn't even honestly thought of it like that before, partially because I feel more or less like I'm not immune, but more so … less prone to those types of situations, it's hard to accept honestly, the realization that I slipped … part of that “adjusting” I was talking about … need to learn how I ticked … need to reestablish the order of operations and become … Old … again … haha, if that crazy nonsense even makes sense ... [To Be Continued]

#creative writing #writing #original story #the imp

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nep2unes · 3 years ago

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❝ a letter from a version of yourself that you need right now ❞ FT. STUDIO GHIBLI MASTERPIECES

𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘴 : channeled letter from either a past or future version of yourself, channeled song, things of significance

𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘳 : take what resonates and ignore what doesn’t. remember your intuition is quiet, peaceful, and self-doubt free! take a deep breath and do not overthink when choosing a pile, the first picture your eyes land on is usually the pile is for you. ALSO, remember that you possess the privilege of freewill so whether the things that i channel below happen or not, depends on you. there are infinite amounts of possibilities and you are in control of your fate. i am simply here to read the current energy!

𝘱 𝘪 𝘭 𝘦 𝘰 𝘯 𝘦 :

╭┈┈┈┈╮

to: current you

from: a heartbroken version of yourself

╰┈┈┈┈╯

𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒,

it wasn’t your fault. stop blaming yourself for this. you have to understand that what that person did to you had nothing to do with you and everything to do with them. stop blaming yourself and free yourself from the chains of resentment. forgive them and let them go. you’ve been thinking of them and what they did to you lately right? maybe dreaming of them? don’t be afraid of reliving the moment. relive the moment but do not judge yourself for how you feel about it. instead, feel the emotions and then peacefully let them go. your emotions do not have to consume you. please understand that the choices and decisions i made were all based on the knowledge i had at that time. i couldn’t see the red flags. but that was the whole point. i had to go through this to learn how to see them! stop being ashamed of me. without me you wouldn’t be the person you are now. you’re so much more smarter and in tune with yourself now! my chaos led to your growth and you rose beautifully from the ashes like a phoenix. to let go of the grudge, you have to address that it’s there. so accept me, forgive me, and let me go. you can only do the same for that person if you do this for yourself first. it’s time. you’re entering this new chapter where you’ll be meeting kind-hearted people who genuinely have your best interest at heart but to recognize them you have to face your past demons and most importantly, you have to face me. i want to congratulate you with how far you’ve come! know that you are strong enough, smart enough, and beautiful enough. you can conquer anything that comes your way because you are such a strong being. you’re strong as hell, acknowledge it now and forever!

𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎,

𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉

✧ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 : heart locket, breakup, dark room, 444, betrayal, deceit, keys, orange peel, discombobulated?, afraid of facing past, sexual trauma, empathy towards yourself, dreams, sesame street,

✧ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 : godspeed by frank ocean

❝ i let go of my claim on you, it’s a free world ❞❞

𝘱 𝘪 𝘭 𝘦 𝘵 𝘸 𝘰 :

╭┈┈┈┈╮

to: current you

from: a future, successful version of yourself

╰┈┈┈┈╯

𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝒹,

why are you so scared of becoming me huh? you know, i got a little bone to pick with you. you got me damn near fed up with how you’re talking to yourself right now. you know that i’m inevitable right? you can tell yourself you’ll never be me all you want but know that doesn’t actually stop me because i already exist in some other reality. really you’re just prolonging yourself from becoming me or should i say “unlocking” me. we’re not separate beings. we’re one! you’re already successful. you already love yourself. you’re already confident. You just got to believe it. first, you need not be afraid of tapping into me. most importantly, don’t be afraid of what others will say when you tap into me. fuck what everyone else has to say. you know how I got here? by letting bygones be bygones and not letting others’ opinion of me sway how i move in the world. that’s how i got my peace of mind. i said fuck you to those intrusive thoughts, self limiting beliefs, and anything that ever made me question my identity and soul purpose. you already know your purpose. your ego is trying to tell you that you don’t but you do. trust me when i say this that all there’s left to do is to, well, do! you are limitless. you’re such a good ass manifestor. shit, that’s another reason i’m in this position right now. that and most importantly, my consistency and patience! listen, i’m not telling you that it’s easy or it’s a linear journey. even i still have off days. i doubt myself every now and then but the whole point is to know that your thoughts aren’t necessarily the truth and you can choose to change them. you can change your way of thinking in an instant if you wanted to do. be delusional if you have to. at the end of the day, you are the only person in your way. so get the fuck out your way and boss up. be a leader. it’s you vs. you, which means the only outcome is to win! be confident in yourself because you’re way more powerful than you think. we are one. i’m literally within you. remember that always, especially when it gets difficult. oh! make sure to do some self-confidence affirmations and some solar plexus meditations. i found that incorporating this into my routines daily has really aided me in my path and still aids me now. anyways, you’re gonna be good. everything’s going to be fine. it may not seem like that but you got a bright future, kid. now get your ass up out of bed and connect with me!

𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎,

𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒

✧ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 : 17, 15, 111, 222, sag placements, doubt, ludacris?, angel, catastrophe, regina george, columbus, blocked solar plexus, confidence issues, imposter syndrome, lack of motivation, the letter s, feeling stagnant, exhaustion

✧ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 : massa by tyler the creator

❝ whatever brings you immense joy, do that, that’s your luxury. ❞

𝘱 𝘪 𝘭 𝘦 𝘵 𝘩 𝘳 𝘦 𝘦 :

╭┈┈┈┈╮

to: current you

from: your inner child

╰┈┈┈┈╯

𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒷𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓎,

can we have a little bit of fun? for once? i want to play with you, see new things, i want to go outside. i don’t like being cooped up between four walls. it makes me feel so much more lonely. i definitely don’t like to work all the time without breaks either! when can we actually have fun? remember when we used to paint and write and do all those arts and crafts projects! man, that was my favorite. why won’t you let me play? why don’t you listen to me when i’m scared? i just want to be comforted. i just you to accept me and give me a safe space to be myself. i want to dance crazily in the rain! i want to do all the fun stuff i see in the movies. i feel so lonely at times. it’s like if i was locked inside a dark, cold room. i think i have superpowers. i can see and feel people and things that not everyone can see or feel! mom and dad told me that it's just a phase and that when i grow older it won’t be there anymore. it’s so weird and i don’t quite understand it but i think it’s pretty cool. do you still have superpowers? i hope you do because i like being a superhero and helping others. it makes me feel so unique and sometimes i use it to help me do and decide things. i have an idea! you should use it too! i know you have been stressing over that choice/decision you need to make. use your superpowers to help you decide and not feel so stuck. sometimes when i sit down quietly outside is when my superpowers are the strongest. i love to be outside. it makes me feel so good, plus i love to look at the different animals like the squirrels and ladybugs! i hope you know that i look up to you. you are everything i wanted to be. you’re so strong and independent. you’re just so flipping cool! i wish you would show people your super cool side. i just know they’d like you sooooo much and you’d be have so many friends. i never had much friends but i bet you if i was you and knew everything you knew, i would’ve had a ton. please pay attention to me more! you’re the only person that understands me. i really like talking and spending time with you. be safe. love you.

𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎,

𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊

✧ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 : 404, 101, imaginary friends, animals, rainbow loom, friendship bracelets, mandarins, nature, touch grass, cher, 70′s era, curiosity, venus dominant, loneliness, burnt out, grounding work, inner child work, let loose, rest, crown chakra upgrades/activation

✧ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 : dreams by fleetwood mac

❝ it’s only right that you should play the way you feel it ❞

𝘱 𝘪 𝘭 𝘦 𝘧 𝘰 𝘶 𝘳 :

╭┈┈┈┈╮

to: current you

from: an ‘addicted’ version of yourself

╰┈┈┈┈╯

𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁,

why are you still letting that toxic relationship define your value? that person really fucked us up huh? it’s okay to cry it out. let it all out. fuck what everyone else says about “moving on.” a relationship that intense and chaotic could never be forgotten. and it shouldn't! it shouldn't be forgotten because now you know what to look out for. you have learned to identify the red flags i couldn’t. because of this, history can never repeat itself. that person violated my boundaries, told me ugly shit about my physical and inner self, and controlled me. it’s okay to not have sympathy for them. however, learn to accept this and forgive me for being so stuck. once you forgive me, only then you can forgive them. you have to understand that i was in such a vulnerable state back then that i was so blinded by the fact that someone was taking advantage of me. it fucked me over because i gave and gave until i didn’t have left for myself. let me say, you are NOT what they said you are. you are only what YOU say you are. point blank. they say the greatest addiction is hardcore drugs but i’d say it’s people. i was so addicted to that person, i couldn’t bring myself to leave and i took in the love i thought i deserved. once you took the step for me and actually left, it was so freeing. you dug us up out of that hole. you saved us. no one else can say they did that for us. you were the one that did and that takes balls. you know, i always knew you were a warrior. it crossed my mind all the time but i couldn’t bring myself to believe it and for that i am sorry. i am sorry that i let us get so far into the deep end in the hands of another. i am sorry that i put my self worth in the hands of another. i’m gonna be honest, it seems like constantly hearing all self-deprecation and negativity from them all that time has impacted you more than you know. you’re in recovery mode right now, believe it or not, so be patient with yourself. journal everything you feel! every time a self-deprecating thought comes through, simply observe it and let it pass. then replace it with something positive about yourself. you deserve the entire universe so act like it! hang tight ‘cause a little birdie told me that you got someone new coming your way... and this one’s a good one. don’t let my insecurities and over-protectiveness fuck it up. remind me to not be so protective and that it’s safe to let our walls down. the worst is over. it’s only up from here. you’ve been through hell and back and you’re still that bitch. don’t let anyone take that away from you or tell you otherwise ever again!

𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎,

𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉

✧ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 : purple, 2′s, 3′s, 44 mins, jhene aiko’s souled out album, “you have have gotta lose your mind just to find your peace of mind”, narcissistic people, heart chakra, sacral chakra, toxic relationships, damaged self-worth, putting up a mask, forceful smiles, glass slipper, mac miller, cinderella, cats, tacos, west coast, cube, math, reverence?, shameless

✧ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 : who you are by jessie j

(highly recommend hearing the full song! lovely message in there, especially for this pile)

❝ tears don’t mean you’re losing, everybody's bruising ❞

𝙃𝙊𝙋𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙀𝙉𝙅𝙊𝙔𝙀𝘿 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙔. 𝘿𝙊𝙉’𝙏 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙂𝙀𝙏 𝙏𝙊 𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙏𝘼𝘽. 𝙁𝙀𝙀𝘿𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆 𝙄𝙎 𝙃𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙇𝙔 𝙁𝘼𝙑𝙊𝙍𝙀𝘿! xo

#this needed to be dropped already so here #pac.#pick a card #pick a pile tarot #pick a card tarot #tarot #pick a pile #free tarot #psychic readings #tarot readings #psychic medium #pac #pac tarot

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

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The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 45

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is the product of my limited knowledge of Chinese characters as I attempt to learn the language. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 45- This Venerable One Knew You Would Come

Xue Meng shouted angrily into the air: "Bullshit god! Are your dog eyes blind? Are we trespassing? You can clearly see that we were kidnapped!"

Shi Mei said: "It's useless. This is the voice he left behind. His real figure isn't here at all. I think it's a fake Gouchen that got confused because of Zhaixin Liu's judgement. It made him think that we're trespassers with bad intentions."

The voice continued:

"Those who are worthy of divine weapons in the world should understand what is benevolence and kindness. They should not sink into illusions, nor lose their minds. Since you are here, you will be tested by me. If you pass the test, you will be safe, and a divine weapon will be offered to you. But if you are selfish and indulgent, if you have a weak heart, then you are not worthy of being a divine weapons master!"

Chu Wanning's blood-stained lips opened and he said hoarsely: "Benevolence and kindness. . . Draining someone's blood is what you call benevolent?"

He knew that Gouchen couldn't hear him at all, but he was still angry. Even if he breathed heavily with every word he spoke, his wounds getting even more aggravated, he couldn't control his harsh words.

The voice continued to echo in the Divine Weapons Arsenal on its own: "To test the nature of your heart. You will fall under the illusion of Zhaixin Liu's Sweetest Dream. If you do not wake up from the illusion in time, your companion will bleed out and be buried here."

When the three of them heard the words, their faces drained of colour.

Shi Mei murmured: "What. . ."

That means that the three of them are about to fall into an illusion.

If they can't wake up in time, will the three of them really live forever in a beautiful dream and let Mo Ran bleed out and die in reality?

Xue Meng was dumbfounded for a moment and then shouted angrily: "What kind of immortal are you!!! If cultivation means cultivating into someone like you, I don't care to touch a sword again in my life!!!"

Chu Wanning also said angrily: "This is ridiculous!"

"Shizun!" Shi Mei panicked and advised him, "Don't get angry, be careful of your wounds."

And the offspring of Gouchen the Exalted surprisingly recited a poem at this time. He slowly said slowly: "If one pours water onto a level ground, it itself will run north, south, east, or west. Man's life is also bound to fate. And we should not lament at work and brood at rest. So I pour out some wine to soothe my anxiety, and raise my goblet to stop singing The Road of Adversity. How can my heart made of no stone or wood be indifferent? But silently I wander around and dare not to speak out.*"

*(T/N: Poem 4 of Bao Zhao's Road to Adversity)

Xue Meng was flush with rage: "What are you talking about!"

Shi Mei said: "Bao Zhao's poem is about the road to adversity, meaning that everyone has his own fate. How can he feel sorry for himself and relieve himself with wine? The poem is interrupted by wine. The human heart is not a solid stone, how can it be devoid of emotion? The desire to speak is still there but he doesn't say it. He wants to talk and not stop."

Gouchen let out a long sigh and said: "In this vast floating world, how many people can give up their lifelong dream to help someone else? The world will not stop killing and conquering. If a divine weapon falls into the hands of a traitor, it's all my fault. How could I forgive myself for the sins committed with a blade I forged. . ."

Suddenly, the Divine Weapons Arsenal went dark. The shards of casting metal flying in the air also stopped moving. A layer of shimmering light slowly lit up at the dome, as if there were starbursts of colour gradually trickling down and shining on the ground.

A voice whispered in the air: "Go to sleep. . ."

This soft and bright brilliance seemed to have some kind of confusing effect. Shi Mei and Xue Meng's cultivation was not very profound and they soon fell unconscious.

"Go to sleep. . ."

Chu Wanning gritted his teeth and forcibly resisted, but the power of the primal god was so vast that he couldn't get rid of the drowsiness that came over him and fell into a dream.

The Divine Weapons Arsenal.

As blood dripped out, Mo Ran was the only one who was awake. He coughed up blood, and across the weakened waterfall, he could vaguely see the three people who fell into an illusion behind it.

Chu Wanning, Shi Mei, and Xue Meng have all fallen asleep.

Mo Ran heard Gouchen's words and knew that if only one of them could wake up in time, the illusion could be broken and he would be saved.

However, as time passed, his mind became more and more dizzy, and his body gradually grew cold. But no one woke up from the dream.

This could only be described as retribution. In his previous life, he did this to Chu Wanning, and in this life, he also felt the taste of blood dripping out of him.

Real funny.

Who among them would give up the best dream in their lives, the thing they wanted most, to come and save him?

Xue Meng was out of the question.

Chu Wanning. . . ah, he didn't want him.

If it was going to be anyone, that person should be Shi Mei, right?

He pondered vaguely. But he had lost too much blood and he was barely able to stay conscious.

Mo Ran glanced down at his feet. The blood leaking to the bottom of the copper drip was diluted by the water in the funnel, flooded with light red waves.

He suddenly wanted to know, if he also fell under Gouchen's illusion, what kind of scene would he be able to see?

Will he dream of crystal clear pure wontons, Shi Mei's gentle smile, Chu Wanning's praise, the wind-blown begonias all over the mountain when he first came to Life-Death Peak. . .

"Mo Ran. . ."

Suddenly he heard someone calling him.

Mo Ran still hung his head. He must be so close to losing his sanity that he was hallucinating, he thought.

"Mo Ran."

"Mo Ran!"

This wasn't a hallucination!

He snapped his head up.

The scene in front of him caused his pupils to dilate-

He almost hissed: "Shi Mei!!!!"

It was Shi Mei!

The person who woke up, abandoned the beauty, gave up his happiness, and still remembered him in the midst of all the things he wished for the most.

It was Shi Mei. . .

Mo Ran looked at the slender boy through the waterfall. He walked towards him, and suddenly he felt a lump in his throat.

"Shi Mei. . . You. . ."

In the end, he didn't know what to say. Mo Ran closed his eyes and said hoarsely.

"Thank you. . . Even in a good dream. . . can still remember me. . ."

Shi Mei waded through the water. His clothes were soaked, and his eyes were dark. His appearance was as gentle as when he first saw him. The same tenderness that he had seen in his dreams many times in his previous life, the same tenderness that he talked about when he reminisced when his body had grown cold.

Shi Mei said: "Don't be silly, there's no need to thank anyone."

He came closer and Mo Ran realized that both of his feet were bleeding.

He didn't know when the ground became hot. Gouchen seemed to be determined to test how much a person would do for his companion, so the temptation of a beautiful dream was followed by callous torture.

Shi Mei's boots have been burned through. If he doesn't move, the ground will remain as usual, but if he insists on moving forward, every step he takes will give rise to a cluster of heavenly fire beneath his feet. The temperature wasn't high enough to burn a person enough to immobilize them, but it was still absolutely excruciatingly painful.

But this gentle person, even though he was already in so much pain, took a glance at him. His eyes became firmer and he walked toward him one step at a time.

"Mo Ran, bear with it a little longer."

He said.

"I'll get you down in a minute."

When their eyes met, Mo Ran didn't know how he could say "don't come over".

This man's gaze was too determined and too stoic.

This man's eyes are too determined and too stoic.

He had never seen such an expression on Shi Mei's face before.

If Mo Ran was a little more in his right mind, he would definitely find it strange.

Shi Mei always called him "A-Ran". When did he ever call him Mo Ran?

He only said that Shi Mei was good to him, but he didn't realize that the person standing in front of him at this time was not Shi Mei, but--

It was Chu Wanning.

Zhaixin Liu's last technique was called Heartpluck.

The so-called Heartpluck was the exchange of hearts and souls between people.

When Chu Wanning broke free from the dream and woke up, he found that he and Shi Mei had actually switched consciousnesses. Under the Heart Plucking Technique, his consciousness was transferred to Shi Mei's body and he thought it probably was the same for Shi Mei. It's just that Shi Mei didn't wake up, so this whole time, he didn't know that he had changed bodies.

Chu Wanning had no time to explain, and Mo Ran, who was blissfully unaware of the truth, really thought that the person in front of him was Shi Mei.

He felt that Shi Mei would definitely be strong enough to push through the pain. He could be experiencing death itself and yet he wouldn't forget his good nature. He was a very stubborn person.

But it was too cruel.

When Chu Wanning finally came to the copper hourglass and went to climb the towering vine willow, trying to save Mo Ran, the vine willow suddenly erupted with thin thorns that were burning with flames.

Chu Wanning hadn't been expecting that. His hand was suddenly scalded. He had to grab onto the vine to climb but Shi Mei's cultivation wasn't very strong. He slid down violently, and the flesh on his hands was instantly melted away by sharp spikes.

". . . !"

Chu Wanning cursed and cringed in pain.

Shi Mingjing, this broken shell!

Mo Ran: "Shi Mei!"

Chu Wanning fell to the ground. The flesh that touched the ground was instantly scalded by the high temperature. But his brow was furrowed while he habitually clenched his lips to prevent from shouting out.

Such a look would appear very stubborn and ruthless on his own face, but when it was replaced by Shi Mei's soft and beautiful face, it was a little pitiful.

Some humans really are incomparable.

"Shi Mei. . ."

Mo Ran opened his mouth, but tears were trickling down his face.

It felt like a knife was piercing his heart. Through his blurred vision, he saw the man's thin and weak body, such a frail person, little by little, grab the vine willow and slowly climb up.

The fine thorns pierced his hand, and the blazing fire burned his body.

They were dyed bright red, and everywhere they passed, there were mottled bloodstains.

Mo Ran closed his eyes. His voice was bloody, his words trembling, and he choked:

"Shi. . . Mei. . ."

The man was very close. Mo Ran saw a flash of bitter pain in his eyes. He seemed to be in real pain, and even the sound of Mo Ran's voice was torture for him.

Therefore, although the expression of the person in front of him was stubborn, his gaze could almost be called pleading.

"Don't call me that again."

". . ."

"Mo Ran, wait a little longer. I'll. . . get you. . . down. . . from there. . ."

Almost the moment the words fell out, the tough light in his eyes came out like a sheathed blade. On that gentle and accustomed face, it was indescribably beautiful.

Chu Wanning's robes surged around him and he jumped on the hourglass.

His face was like golden paper, and he was shaking. Other than the fact that he was still breathing, he looked no different from a dead person.

At that moment, Mo Ran felt that he might as well let his blood be drained and die. It would be better than letting him suffer like this.

His voice broke in his throat: "I'm sorry."

Chu Wanning knew that this sorry was not for him. He wanted to explain but he glanced at Gouchen's silver-blue sword, which was stabbing Mo Ran between his chest and ribs. The source of the spiritual power of the vines may be in this sword. He was worried that Mo Ran's surprise would cause further injury, so he asked, still acting as "Shi Mei":

"Mo Ran, do you believe me?"

"I believe you." There was no hesitation.

Chu Wanning raised his gaze through his eyelash curtain. He glanced at him and held the hilt of the sword. This sword was close to his heart. One wrong move and Mo Ran would die.

". . ." Chu Wanning's hand trembled a little. He held it but he didn't move.

Mo Ran's eyes were still red, but he suddenly smiled, "Shi Mei."

". . . Mmm."

Mo Ran said: ". . . Am I going to die?"

". . . No you won't."

"If I'm about to die, can. . . can I give you a hug?"

He was very careful when he said this, and his eyes were shining with a moist light. Chu Wanning's heart instantly softened.

Yet, at the thought of seeing another person in Mo Ran's eyes, this softness immediately froze into ice.

He suddenly felt as if he was an insignificant clown on stage, hidden behind the water-sleeved clouds of the green-clad flower girl, and no one noticed him.

He was superfluous in this touching piece.

Or maybe the only way forward was to wear this ugly face mask, a smile painted in ink, to match other people's emotions, happiness, sadness, love, hatred and sorrow.

How ridiculous.

Mo Ran didn't know this. He saw the flickering of Chu Wanning's eyes and thought that Shi Mei was reluctant. He quickly said, "Just a small hug. Just a moment."

A faint sigh.

"Actually, I. . ."

Mo Ran: "What?"

". . . Forget it." Chu Wanning said, "It's nothing."

He leaned over, not particularly close, fearing that it would move to the sword, and he reached out and gently gathered up Mo Ran's shoulders.

He heard Mo Ran whispering in his ear: "Shi Mei, thank you for waking up. Thank you for remembering me in your sweet dreams."

Chu Wanning lowered his eyes. his eyelashes were like the flickering of a butterfly's wings. He smiled faintly: "No need to thank me."

After a pause, he added: "Mo Ran."

"Mmm?"

As if he was still in a dream, Chu Wanning embraced him. He stroked his hair and sighed softly, "Do you know that if a dream is too good, it often isn't real?"

After he said that, his hug was like a dragonfly, gone in an instant.

Mo Ran raised his eyes. He didn't quite understand what Shi Mei meant, only that this little hug was a treat that Shi Mei was kind-hearted enough to bestow on him.

It was like a sweet and sour treat and, when rubbed against the base of his tongue, there was a hint of tartness.

At the moment when the sword was removed, blood flowers fluttered like begonia petals being torn off by the fierce wind.

Mo Ran only felt a sharp pain in his heart. For a moment, he thought he was going to die, and a thousand resentments mingled in his heart. He suddenly blurted out: "Shi Mei, I have always loved you very much. What about you. . ."

As the sword fell to the ground, the willow vines dispersed in an instant. The waterfall rushing down from the vault in the sky came to an abrupt halt, and the Divine Weapons Arsenal suddenly reverted to silence.

I have always loved you very much.

What about you. . .

His body had reached its limit, and Mo Ran felt a sudden darkness in front of him.

The moment he fell, he was caught by a pair of blood-stained hands. He fell into Shi Mei's arms. He didn't know if it was an illusion but Mo Ran saw Shi Mei frown softly. He slowly closed his eyes, and water seemed to smoothly escape the edge of his eyes.

It was as if he heard Shi Mei softly say: "Me too."

Mo Ran: "!"

It was an illusion. Otherwise, why was Shi Mei's expression so sad, yet he still promised him.

"I. . . love you too."

His consciousness finally escaped him and Mo Ran passed out.

#the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #bl novel #chinese novel #english translation #chinese bl #danmei #danmei novel #2ha #2ha novel #mo weiyu #mo ran #mo ran x chu wanning #chu wanning #ranwan #yaoi novel #yaoi

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rphelperblog · 3 years ago

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Random Page YA Book Quote Rp Meme

Part one-I opened one of my 42 large moving boxes of books to a random page and wrote down the quote for Rp Meme- feel free to edit quotes or change pronoun or person

“knock knock! I just happened to have my ear pressed to this door. I might have overheard some things, and I have a suggestion!”

“Libraries were full of ideas—perhaps the most dangerous and powerful of all weapons.”

“She was a pistol wrapped up in silk. She was a blade disguised as a girl.”

“But how will we learn from our mistakes if we don't make any?

“Hope is the most dangerous thing you can give someone.”

“You don't go into battle because you're sure of victory. You go into battle because it's the right thing to do.”

“Silent acquiescence in the face of tyranny is no better than outright agreement.”

“Truth be told, I liked that blurriness. That line where reality and fiction jutted up against each other.”

“There’s not much to be afraid of when you’ve already lost everything that matters.”

“Let's have a toast. To the incompetence of our enemies.”

“Instead of being afraid, I could become something to fear.”

“I want everyone to meet you. You're my favorite person of all time.”

“Sometimes things that appear very different on the surface are actually exactly the same at their core.”

“We find things, just as we lose things. If you’ve lost your honor, you’ll find it again.”

“Hope is the most dangerous thing you can give someone.”

“Love is a drop in the ocean of what I feel for her. Love is a single sun in a heaven full of stars.”

“I'll be your family now,"

“Girls hunger. And we’re taught, from the moment our brains can take it, that there isn’t enough food for us all.”

“I am me because I choose to be me. I am what I want. Some people say you have to find yourself. Not I. I believe we create ourselves to be what we want.”

“They trained me for this. It's their own fault. They helped make their own doom.”

“It’s weird how we have to get a little older to realize that people are just people. It should be obvious, but it’s not.”

“The right thing and the easy thing are never the same.”

Because of me. Because I let fear make decisions for me. Because I’ve chosen to let the world push me around instead of pushing my way through the world.”

“I am often told I defy expectations.”

“All the time in the world is worth nothing if I don't get to spend it with you.”

“...Because the voices in your head that say otherwise are just fear talking. Never listen to fear.”

“Do not accept an evil you can change.”

“How can a man be so handsome and annoying at the same time”

“I don't know why it's so hard for people to admit that sometimes they're just assholes who screw up because they don't expect to get caught.”

“Apparently she's got revenge on her mind, and it's really annoying when people try to talk at you while you're feeling murderish.”

“Reasons we should get married:Because I love you.We both look good in black boots.I spent some time without you, and I didn’t like it.You make me happy.I make you laugh.I like the way you fight.You see through my masks.I really love you.You love me, too. “

“Do not cry for me, I am already dead."

“If by a moment, you mean me not wanting to strangle you for the first time since we met, then I guess we are.”

“Why do we desire, above all other things, that which has the greatest power to destroy us?”

“There are so many worse things than death. Not to be loved or not to be able to love: that is worse.”

" I couldn't find you. And I will never forgive myself for that. Ever.”

“Yeah, but broken isn't the same as unfixable.”

“I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we'd choose anyway.”

“I mean, most people want to escape. Get out of their heads. Out of their lives. Stories are the easiest way to do that.”

“Are you like the girls in the book too? Because I think I am.”

“Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you'll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won't matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart.”

“The people you love weren’t algebra: to be calculated, subtracted, or held at arm’s length across a decimal point.”

“We want to prove things, in life, more than we want to disprove them. We want to believe.”

“Strange how applause was just noise, when you were all alone.

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jedi-lothwolf · 2 years ago

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Whumpril Day 8: Forgiveness (Alt prompt 5)

Fandom: Star Wars The Bad Batch

Note: implied season 2 spoilers

Summary: Crosshair is rescued by the batch.

Crosshair woke up on the Marauder. The last thing he had seen was Hemlock so how had he gotten here? Was this another cruel dream? Would he talk to his brother's again, finally feel alive again, only to be woken up from a wonderful dream to face the harsh reality that he would never see them again? That the way it needed to be.

But no, this time he knew he was safe as pain rushed in. Never had Crosshair been so happy to be in a senseless amount of pain. Echo walked over to his brother and checked on him. "He's awake" he spoke softly.

"Good." Hunter sounded tired. Crosshair had heard him tired before but this, this was a new kind of tired.

Wrecker walked to Crosshair's side, "hey Cross, how do you feel?" The tone of Wrecker's voice startled the clone. Never before had he sounded so sad, so done.

"I'm... I'm okay." Crosshair mustered the strength to speak. "Where's Omega" he whispered.

"Resting" Echo answered the question softly.

"Tech?" The looks on everyone's faces answered the question for him.

"He died a little while ago." Hunter sighed, "around three months."

Crosshair did his best to give them a nod. Three months was about the time Omega had been captured and taken to Mount Tantus. The two advents likely connected somewhere but Crosshair would wait to ask.

Time would go by and Crosshair would heal. Walking around with his family he wondered why they never talked about what he had done, why they forgave him so easily? Eventually the burning question had to be asked.

Everyone sat around a table on Pabu. Echo had come to visit them and the five had been invited to have dinner with Phee, Shep, and Lyana. It was a warm and beautiful day. Everyone sat down to enjoy their time together and some good food.

"Why?" Crosshair asked. He knew now wasn't the time but there may never be a time and he needed to know.

"What?" Omega looked over at her brother confused.

"Why did you forgive me so quickly?"

The others stared at the man for a moment. "It wasn't you" Wrecker started.

"Part of it was."

"And you regret that part" Echo knew this would come; he knew at some point Crosshair would ask. The answer that lay in the back of their minds was that they had already lost one brother, they weren't going to lose another. Tech would want them to forgive him.

"That doesn't change what I did."

"Crosshair, we know that. You're our brother and we care about you. You did some awful things that you regret and have learned from them. You're not some tearable person killing people for fun. When you did hurt people you thought it was for a greater and better cause. The empire manipulated you and once you saw that you did something about it" Hunter insured his brother.

Crosshair looked at Hunter for a moment before continuing, "I got Tech killed. You came there for me."

"Gerrera got Tech killed, not you." Echo set his drink down.

"He wanted you safe, all of us safe. Tech's decision was his own to make." Hunter put a hand on Crosshair's shoulder.

"And you weren't even there! It couldn't be your fault!" Omega walked over to Crosshair, who moved his chair back slightly. "We forgave you because we understood. When you figured out you were wrong you did something about it and then instead of trying to leave Tantus you warned us." The girl wrapped her arms around the man.

"That doesn't mean you should forgive me!" Placing his hands on her shoulders, Crosshair shoved Omega off of him. She stumbled and fell back into Wrecker.

"Why are you trying to find reasons for us to hate you?" Echo moved over behind Hunter, who sat beside Crosshair. The three non-clones tried to figure out how to help. Unsure of what to do Shep and Lyana quietly exited, deciding they should leave it to the family. As much as they wanted to help it was best for them to work though it.

"Because you should!" The sniper stood quickly, slamming his hands on the table. "I'm a horrible person! I don't deserve this! I don't deserve your forgiveness and I don't deserve the peace of Padu!"

"No you're not!" Omega and Wrecker shot back.

"You are not a horrible person Crosshair. We already told you that." Hunter stood and rested his hand on his brother's shoulder again.

"Crosshair, you need to forgive yourself." Everyone turned to face Phee. "You can't keep blaming yourself for things out of your control and you have to acknowledge your growth" she walked closer to the clone. " If you don't it'll kill ya."

The ex-imperial stood there stunned. "She's right" Hunter removed his hand from its resting position and laid it at his side.

Instead of arguing Crosshair started to leave. He put one foot in front of the other and left them. Despite their calls for him he left. Tears welled in his eyes as he thought. Their love, their time, their kindness; it was all wasted on him. He didn't deserve their forgiveness and he didn't deserve Tech's. In his eyes, he never would.

@whumpril

#star wars #star wars whump #star wars the bad batch #whump #crosshair the bad batch #the bad batch #the bad batch whump #whumpril 2023 #whumpril #whumpril day 8 #forgiveness #crosshair needs a hug #crosshair bad batch #crosshair whump #crosshair #guilt

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oopsimbug · 4 years ago

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in which... y/n is just trying to put on eyeliner and harry is bored pt. two

a/n: when she’s back from a six month hiatus after making only ONE fic. wow, do i suck. for anyone who cares, school has been pretty rough. i’m actually procrastinating studying for an exam to finally upload this. it’s been pretty hard to balance both school and writing but oh well. anywho, here it finally is. it took so long to write because i wasn’t feeling very inspired by this. a lot of people asked for a part two and even though i kinda wanted to leave it on a sad note, i am a sucker for giving the people what they want, so sorry if this is a bit shit- i definitely don’t like this one myself. i guess i’m not one for fluffy endings. well, at least for this one i wasn’t. i really hope you enjoy it! more stuff to come, if school doesn’t mind fucking off for a little while (or maybe just forever?) xox -(a) bug

pairing: best friend! harry styles x reader

summary: Harry is worried about Y/n. Y/n is worried about Harry. Harry is solving it by thinking of ways to check on her, while Y/n uses cheesy pasta and the Fresh Prince of Bel Air as an excuse to not think. But what will happen when someone is at her door, and it’s not her delivery man?

warnings: angst, swearing, y/n and harry being idiotos, fluffy end, kissing

word count: 5.3k

It had been a week.

One gruelling, painfully long week.

Harry was biting his nails, staring up at the ceiling as he laid in his bed, worrying about her.

About how he fucked up.

He didn’t think that she would be upset for this long. He thought she would scream at him and then text him the following day, wanting to hang out- a silent “I forgive you”, he supposed.

But after two days of radio silence on her end, he decided to call her. The only problem was that her last words to him were “leave”. She wanted space. She needed to think things through- what things? Harry had no clue. But he had to respect her and her choice to not want him around. So with that, he put down the phone.

But a small part of him (okay fine, a big part of him), wanted her to just show up at his house so they could cuddle again, talking about the stupidest of things while they made cupcakes in his kitchen. They would be listening to groovy music and now and then, they’d stop mixing bowls and sifting flour to dance- well, they were horrible dancers, so more so just wave their hands, hips and shoulders around. It would be fun and would always end up with them laughing at one another. He would lick the batter and she would berate him, telling him that “one of these days, you are going to get salmonella and I’ll just laugh at your stupid ass” and he would retort with something witty and a bit flirty like “don’t worry darling, we both know you would be right at my side if I got sick. I know you can’t stand being apart from me” with a wink and a cheeky smirk. He just wants to see her in her oversized Space Jam hoodie and little basketball shorts. Or her short flower shirt and his sweatpants that she has to cuff at the bottoms because they’re too long. Or even-

He’s gotta stop thinking about her, or his brain will soon explode. But he just can’t stop. He tries to think of the happier moments, like her showing him a tour of her very healthy houseplants that she prides herself in, but every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is her teary face telling him to leave. So no, if he was given the choice to think of her flailing her arms around in his kitchen to dancehall tunes while making sweet treats or crying at something that he provoked, you bet your ass he’d choose the former.

But after the seventh day, he knew that something wasn’t right. This was too much “thinking time”. For all he knew, she could be fine, but she could also be positively bawling. She could be living for this free time, but she also could be waiting for him to make the first move. She could be wanting Harry out of her life for her benefit forever, but she also could be feeling lonely and counting the seconds for their makeup, just like he was.

That was it. He had to go see her and make sure his best friend was okay.

He practised what he was going to say to her in his car on the way to her apartment. “Y/n, I’m so sorry for how I acted. I didn’t stop to think about how you were feeling and didn’t take your emotions into account which was unbelievably wrong of me. I’m truly sorry. It’s just that I really care about you and you’re my best friend and I can’t see you choose a tinder fuck over me and if I saw him in the street I would knock his lights out and I just want to kiss you, can I kiss you, oh god please let me kiss you I just want to-“

Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why was he so upset? He had been on plenty of dates with other celebrities and models and she was always on the sidelines, cheering him on. So why was he getting so touchy-feely about a single tinder date? Maybe he was just in desperate need of attention. He hadn’t had a girlfriend for almost one year and casual fuck arounds also stopped about four months ago, so maybe he just needed to fuck someone quick. That would explain why he sees his best friend’s kindness and natural flirty nature as something more romantic. Every laugh at his jokes, every look in her eyes, every graze of her hand on his thighs as she leans over him to get her drink on the side table next to him, he becomes more switched on and awake. She leaves him feeling giddy and excited at every conversation. “This can’t just be because I’m horny right?” he cannot believe he would ever be that horny. What the hell was he going to do?

This is pathetic she thought.

I’m pathetic.

She let out a huge sigh before shoving another forkful of cheesy pasta into her mouth.

What am I doing?

The answer?

Eating carbs upon carbs upon carbs, lounging on her comfy sofa in the most comfortable, yet daggiest pair of pyjamas ever while watching reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air for the fiftieth time, actively avoiding all commitments, housework and jobs that involve moving further than to the kitchen, which even then was an embarrassingly burdening trek on its own.

But she let it slide. How could she not? She was upset and this was how she coped. That’s what she kept reminding herself as she boiled more and more pasta watching the days pass her by without realisation, but now, she’s beginning to question if this was the best idea. Pushing all thoughts of him out of her mind by not looking at her phone just in case he called or texted. But she was beginning to struggle.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what inner turmoil she was facing. He seemed genuinely hurt when she snapped at him. He truly didn’t understand why she took so much offence to the playground ribbing, it seemed. And she had to go be a dick and ignore him. He was probably worried sick. How many times would he have called to check up on her? 10? 15? The more she thought about it, the more she wanted this stupid feud to be over and just be in his arms again, even if it’s just as a friend. So she caved. Turned on her phone, expecting there to be at least a call or a text asking if she was still alive or not. And although she did receive a message of that likeness, it wasn’t from Harry, no. It was from her daily water tracking app, pleading her to fill in her daily intake of water so as to not die of dehydration after she was suspected to have not drunk any for the entire week when in reality, she was just too in her head to open her stupid phone and log her water.

Wow, she thought.

Now not only has Harry chosen to not speak to you, but you also look like a huge idiot right now. Of course, he wouldn’t want to talk to you! You got pissed at him for absolutely no reason and now he hates you. He’s gonna ask for his cardigan and track pants that he keeps at your house in case he wanted to sleepover. He’s going to take back all of his little knick-knacks that he leaves over, like the cute diffuser that he leaves because he knows you need it for your constant hay-fever that blocks your nose and then he’s going to declare that you aren’t friends anymore and then you will never get the chance to tell him how you feel and then-

Her panicky brooding is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who the hell could that be?”, she thinks. It was too late for it to be the postman with her package containing her entire Amazon wish list that she bought on the third day of mourning to make herself feel better. But it couldn’t be Mrs Xiao asking her if she had any holes in her shirts that needed stitching. The sweet old lady fell asleep at 8:37 pm sharp after her medicine that she’d take at 8:30 pm would kick in (which she learnt after spending nights over at her apartment where her niece, Mei, took care of her. Y/n would learn traditional recipes like baozi and watch movies with her two friends all the time). It couldn’t be Mei either, she was always in online uni lectures from 8:30-10:30 pm, locked away in her little study, so as to not bother or be bothered. So now, a little panicked, Y/n wondered who was truly at her door?

Another two knocks come, echoing off the walls of her little apartment as she turns down the volume of the program she was watching. She stares at the door from her couch, debating whether she should risk getting stabbed by a possible murderer or not, before ultimately deciding that life was too short. She was also getting sick and tired of the knocks that kept arriving in threes. She swings her legs off the couch and onto the floor, pushing them into her slippers so that her feet wouldn’t touch the cold floor, waddling her way to the door before shyly opening it, peeking at who it could be through the tiny crack in the opening, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t mind her current state: belly filled with pasta, hair knotty, giant shirt with sweatpants on and Harry’s patchwork cardigan hanging off her shoulders- which she had been wearing all day, cherishing the pretty piece of clothing and his scent imbedded in it, taking it all in just in case he asks for it back. She peeps at the torso of this mystery person, realising that Harry owns the jumper worn by them, before looking up and locking eyes with a worn out and tired eyed Harry, one hand in the pocket of the familiar hoodie and another extended out near the door, ready to knock again before freezing when it opens up all the way to show herself to her best friend. He doesn’t eye her up and down cheekily like he normally does when she is wearing pyjamas, wolf-whistling at her relaxed state, claiming that “You look runway-ready, my love! Do a twirl for the crowd, will you?”. Instead, he stares her right in the eyes with what looks like almost relief, before smiling a weak and broken smile.

One of them needed to break the silence or both would have just stared at each other in her doorway until the world exploded. So she starts.

“Hi.” her voice hovers a tinge above a whisper, almost as though if she dared to speak louder, this probable illusion of the one she loves would fade away. He lights up a little bit, probably relieved that she started the conversation.

“Hey,” his soft voice matched her volume and tone as if he too didn’t want this to be a dream. “May I come in?” The words sound awkward to her coming out of his mouth. Harry never had to ask for permission to be invited in- he usually just strolled in without so much as a holler to indicate he was present, finding amusement in scaring her instead while she was doing whatever she was doing, whether that be reading, watching a movie, cooking or napping. They were the best of friends and never had to inquire about entry to each other’s domains, along with other small things like if they had anything in their kitchens to eat or if they could sit somewhere, so hearing it was a little disheartening and provoked Y/n to think about how serious this situation was.

“Okay”, she replied after the pause of contemplation, opening the door fully so that the lanky boy could follow along behind her, like a little puppy. She didn’t like how awkward the situation was. She just wanted things to go back to what they were.

But then you wouldn’t be able to tell him you love him... her inner voice argued. And she agreed. She knew that yes, this will be awkward, but it’s an opportunity for him to listen to her and know that she isn’t joking.

“Would you like some tea?” She enquires. They’ll need to handle this like proper grown-ups (which in all honesty, isn’t their dynamic- it’s more like first-year uni students who are mature enough to have deep conversations but still laugh at dad jokes and anything remotely serious, like a painting with boobs), and from what she knows, or has seen in movies when the characters are being serious, is that you need tea or a drink of that sort and a sit down on the couch where you talk stuff out. So that’s exactly what she does.

“Yes please,” Harry’s soft voice replies as he toes off his boots that most definitely cost more than her apartment. Y/n nods and heads to the small kitchenette and flips the switch on the electric kettle before going into her cupboard that housed the mugs. Harry stood awkwardly near the sofas, and to save him the embarrassment of waiting while standing, Y/n invites him to sit with a small, “You can take a seat,” and a quick glance at him before returning her gaze to the mugs to make herself look busy. She didn’t want to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds in fear of bursting into tears and the worn out and tired sight of him. She shakes the thought out of her head and begins to prepare the mugs.

Y/n put two teabags in her mug while putting one in Harry’s. She was raised in a household of avid tea drinkers and she inherited her strong tea quirk from her father who would always keep two teabags with only a dash of milk, and the only difference between her tea and her fathers was that Y/n wasn’t strong enough to take her tea without sugar, unlike her father, who thought that drinking unbelievably concentrated leaf juice with milk was a fun and relaxing time. On the other hand, Harry liked to keep one tea bag in his mug while he drank it, but just like her father, he too took little to no sugar with his cup, being the health freak he was. And early in their friendship, when she mentioned it to him, Harry chuckled and chirped, “Your father is a smart man. He has to be for raising amazing and talented people like your siblings. I’m not sure what went wrong with you though...” while booping her nose as they laid together under a tree for a little picnic. And though she rolled her eyes at him and punched his shoulder for the sly dig at her, she was practically beaming at the fact that he thought her family was smart. Harry had no idea how much that meant to her. Y/n loved her entire family, and she was unbelievably close to them, so it made her entire week to know that Harry, someone she respected and loved so much, recognised how talented and smart each of her family members were. Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t need the validation to know that her family was amazing, but she felt so special knowing he took the time to notice. He did that a lot though. Doing things that meant a lot to her without batting an eye. Saying things that only a person as observant as he could notice, like complimenting her eye colour in the light and asking her to read for him because he constantly mentions how much he loves her voice.

Y/n looked over to the same sweet guy she fell head over heels for, who was sitting on her couch, fidgety as ever, and wondered if they would ever be the same after the very next moments to come. She didn’t want things to change between them, but she was dying inside knowing that he wasn’t hers. And getting over him was not in the question, after the fiasco that happened last week. She just wished she could get inside his head to sate her painful curiosity.

What is he thinking about?

What is she thinking about?

It’s the million-dollar question running through his mind. What was she pondering over as she made them tea? Did she want to talk to him? Was she mad that it took him so long to find the balls to face her? Was she as nervous as he was? Was she worried that they would never be the same again like he was?

He was going into panic mode, questioning everything, while probably looking stupid as ever. As much as he regretted how awkward things were now, and the fact that he instigated her to lash out at him a week ago, he was realising that he was not regretting the fact that he did it. He didn’t want her to go out with someone else, and she didn’t. And yes, of course, he feels bad-beyond bad, in fact- for making her cry, and wishes he could take it all back, he also sees this as an opportunity to tell her how he feels about her. He could finally tell her that he thinks about her all the time. About her soft smile, her bright eyes, her melodic laugh, her speaking voice that brings butterflies to his stomach. He could tell her about how he loses himself at work, the grocery store, fuck- even at events- thinking about what she was doing at her house. Was she under her blankets on her couch, watching some corny tv show? Was she baking her signature choc chip cookies that taste like the gods blessed every single biscuit on the tray before they were put in the oven? Was she knitting her cat, Chesnut, another rug to plonk herself down on, with her feet up on the ottoman as she listened to the 7 o’clock news on the radio? Was she writing a paper for another deadline? Something so sophisticated, like the exploration of white and male privilege and how it is ingrained in our society? Something that Harry tried to understand and research so that he could stay in the loop with his smart girl’s interests, but he always struggled with.

It was a huge insecurity of his. Not that his best friend was smarter than he was, no way. He treasured the fact that she could and would whip his ass at a debate on things like the state of the world, or human rights. She could school him on global politics, languages, maths, science, history and literally anything else, and he would be cheering her on. What he was insecure about was her realising that he was probably slowing her down in life. Y/n was well within her rights to kick him out of her life for being nothing but a freeloader and stopping her from reaching her full potential, what with him constantly stopping her from her own life to help him go through shit happening in his. Whenever he was sad, or confused, or upset, Y/n was the first person he would talk to and he feared that she would realise that he was probably taking advantage of her and stop talking to him. And that scared him. It scared him because he knew that she didn't need him at all, but he needed her to do anything in life. Every major and minor decision in his life has been approved by Y/n first, and not because she was a controlling friend who didn’t trust him with his own life, but because Harry needed her validation. Harry Styles, a world-famous superstar, had girls, guys and non-binaries at his feet, following his every beck and call. Harry Styles, who was on the cover of every magazine, known by every celebrity, dated only the most perfect of women, required validation from Y/n, a psychology major at a small university. Y/n, who liked to plan her day out on a to-do list, end up not doing anything on that to-do list and cry about it afterwards. Y/n, who breaks it down to “Murder She Wrote” by Chaka Demus & Pliers like it’s her last 4 minutes and 5 seconds alive on this Earth while making pancakes. Y/n, who cries more when she’s laughing while watching Tik Toks than she does during sad movies.

To celebrities, Y/n was nothing but a regular. But to Harry, she was all. She was the warmth of a sweater that you toss in the dryer for a few minutes to make it extra toasty. She was the pad of butter that you spread onto your pumpkin sourdough toast and it ends up being exactly the amount you wanted. She was the feeling when you are driving home from a long day of interviews and premiers, and you’re on the freeway and the windows down and you just… exist. She is the feeling you get when you watch Pride and Prejudice, and the relief of when you find the perfect word to end a lyric. She is when your shoes fit perfectly, and when you finish a book so utterly fulfilling that you lie there in a trance, looking up at your ceiling at 3 am, wondering how you could have been so lucky to be able to be blessed with an ending like the one you just read. Y/n was all those things and more.

And that’s why he had to tell her he loved her. No matter how scared he was.

***

The electric kettle is finished boiling the tea all too quickly as the bubbling comes to an end and the distinct click of the switch turning back off echoes around the silent apartment. Y/n had poured the scalding hot water into the two cups she had prepared stared into them.

It was time. She had tried to avoid this for as long as possible, but now it was the moment to face the music. She picked up the two mugs of tea and brought them to her lounge where Harry was sitting on her worn in green sofa, staring at her coffee table, eyebrows scrunched, pouted lips, deep in thought, before looking up at her with wide green eyes, and followed her to where she stood in front of him. She passed his mug to him before sitting on the comfy chair a few feet away from the sofa and from him, putting some distance in between them for her sake, so that she wouldn’t try to hug him and say sorry without saying what she needed to say first. Which she needed to start talking about now, so as not to sit in the awkward silence created by the two.

Say something!!

“So…’

Jesus fuck…. was that all you could think of? Wow. I am going to lose my best friend.

Y/n was choking.

“I am so sorry,” Harry’s voice intercepts, raspy from the lack of use, looking up from the coffee table he seemed so interested in. “I am so fucking sorry Y/n. I have no excuse as to why I was making fun of you that day. I pushed too far and I am a shit friend for not noticing that you were already on edge. It was so wrong of me and I am so sorry.” He stopped himself before he started to ramble, looking at her with eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

Y/n felt… unsatisfied. Why did she feel this way? He apologised, right? So why does she feel unfulfilled? Why does she want him to say more? He hit all of the points he had to for a standard apology, so why did she think he hadn’t done enough? Was it that little optimist in her brain hoping he would maybe reveal a slight attraction to her? Maybe tell her that he loves her, and has loved her forever and ever? Confess that she has bewitched him, body and soul so that she didn’t have to? God, was she an idiot. But a lovestruck idiot at that. She bites her tongue and replies.

“Harry, I forgive you. Although you were annoying as ever,” She rolls her eyes and smirks, while he lets out a breathy, half-assed chuckle, showing his acknowledgement at her attempt to ease the lowered yet still prevalent tension. She continues. “ I understand that you were just trying to have fun. I guess I was the one who irrationally lashed out . I am always okay with you poking fun at me, but I was just frustrated and tired and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for the improper communication and I’m sorry for pushing you away when we should’ve just talked…”

“I forgive you too. I think this was just miscommunication on both parts.” He stared into her eyes, almost as if he could sense the discontent in her, but chose to ignore it.

“I guess so.” She halfheartedly answered, not really knowing where to take the conversation next. They had both apologised, but evidently still had things to say. Well, Y/n had things to say, that’s for sure, but she was pretty sure that Harry wanted to say something too. He had that look on his face where he wanted to say something but was forcing himself not to.

What does he want to say? Why can’t he say it to my face? I mean, sure, I’m also hiding shit I wanna say, but I have an excuse. This could ruin our friendship. What does he have to say?

“Great,” Harry replies, trying to fill the awkward pauses and conversation that is being held. He still looked like he had something to say, but seemed like he was not budging.

Well, if he’s not saying anything, I’m not either. Why do I have to confess my feelings and put our friendship on the line if he isn’t even going to say what’s on his mind?

“So, are we good?”

“I don’t know. Are we? I mean, I forgive you and you forgive me, right?”

“Right… No yeah, we’re alright. We’re completely fine!” Y/n replies quickly. Why the fuck would you say that? You’re not fine.

There is a pregnant pause and Y/n has half a better mind to just get up, walk to the bathroom again with her head down and lock herself in there till he leaves again, because she cannot take this awkward conversation. Not with him. She shifts, ready to stand up to get some water, when Harry looks at her, confusion and slight panic setting into his face.

“Wait. I don’t think I’m fine…” She looks up at the boy sitting in front of her, reading the words from her mind like they were scribed on a piece of paper in the blackest of ink, permanent and bold. Her heart stuttered. What else did he want?

“Is everything okay, H?” she tentatively asks. He loses eye contact with her, gaze lowering towards the table in front of him

“I-” he pauses, trying to collect his thoughts while simultaneously trying to explain to her why he wasn’t okay. “I just- fuck” his head falls down, his face inches away from the hot tea in his hands, the humid steam billowing out of the mug and warming his elegant face as he takes a deep breath and tries once more to convey his thoughts. “I don’t want us to be friends again.”

Her heart stops. This could go one of two ways. He could either be confessing his hatred or his adoration for her, and either one would probably end with her imploding. She tries to take a neutral tone when she replies.

“What does that mean, H?”

He looks at her once more. “It’s not enough, Y/n... “

“What?” She is confused. Her friendship isn’t enough? How is she supposed to reply to that?

“I want more. I don’t want us to just be friends. I want to be more with you. I want to do more with you. I want to do things that friends… they shouldn’t do together…”

Is he trying to confess he likes her? Why, in all the ways you could speak, would he choose to speak like that?! She has had enough of him dawdling around his feelings. “Harry, stop being cryptic and fucking tell me what’s going on?!”

“I love you, Y/n! I fucking love you, Y/n. So much. And it is eating me from the inside out. I hate that we can’t be normal anymore, and I hate that you don’t love me the way I love you, but I cannot sit here and pretend everything is fine, because I love you.”

Y/n is stunned. Frozen in her spot. Can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe. Stuck in space, and stuck in time.

Holy fucking shit… he loves me…

While Y/n processes the life changing knowledge that her best friend loves her, her best friend conveniently sits next to her, wishing that he was dead for the letdown he was about to receive.

“Say something… please, for the love of God, say something!”

****

She looks up at Harry. Not Harry Styles, playboy, whore, singer, millionaire, but instead; Harry, her best friend of five years, reddened face out of embarrassment. She sees the mortality in his eyes. Feels his presence so heavily in the moment. She is in awe. True awe of him, and his ability to love her. And with that awe- and that stupid look on her face, she reaches up and cradles his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs softly over his plush pink lips. He stands just as still as her, barely breathing, as if it would shatter the fantasy to stardust and he would wake up in his bed, cold shivers running down his spine, as has happened previously whenever he thought of this moment, staring up at his ceiling at 3:40AM wondering why he thought of his best friend in such a way. She creeped closer to his face before stopping a breath away from him, and whispered.

“Is this okay?”

She looked into his eyes, and he looked into hers, both never feeling so alive before. He wishes to tell her that she needn’t ask for his permission, and that he wants to kiss her forever. Eternally locked in an embrace that holds their souls together. But all he can muster is a weak and broken whisper back.

“Please,”

She can hold it for no longer, and leans in the rest of the way, their lips moulding together, for the very first time, eyes fluttering close, as his hands reach to grab her by the hips to straddle him, deepening the kiss even further. And when they part for breath, panting for air with slightly moist lips, they touch foreheads, eyes still closed. Words needn’t be exchanged- everything that yearned to be said was useless, as it could never describe how they truly felt for each other. So hopelessly besotted with one another, that all they could do was breathe together before kissing once more, hoping that their actions could provide even an iota of an idea of how much they love one another.

Two best friends, turned lovers forevermore.

#by bug #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles fluff #hope you have a wonderful day my little pots of sweet tea!

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ieattaperecorders · 4 years ago

Text

May You Find Your Rest

Somewhere else. Two men who were not born in this reality lie in bed together, hold one another and unpack a few things. (Just 4k of cuddling and talking about feelings, really.)

Read on Ao3

---

It's dark in the small, quiet room where they sleep. Not completely, neither of them feels entirely safe in the dark anymore, so the curtain is always parted to let a sliver of light in.

Curled against Martin, Jon is warm and still and finally thinking of nothing. He's just starting to drift off when he feels him reach over and plant light, careful kisses on his cheek, on his temple, on the top of his brow. He sighs with pleasure. It would be so easy to keep drifting, to let himself sink into sleep as the one he loves kisses him softly and sweetly. But instead he opens his eyes, not really knowing why he does it.

Maybe it's the way Martin moves, slow and deliberate. Maybe there's a subtle a hitch in his breathing, something Jon senses without seeing or understanding. Something that tells him he shouldn't go to sleep. Not yet.

So he lies listening to the silence as Martin's hand moves over his side, outlining him. It nudges itself under the hem of his nightshirt, tracing the softness of his waist. Then, as if this hadn't been its destination all along, it brushes the wide, ragged scar over his stomach. A twinge (not sharp, not much more than a tingle) runs through his body. His breathing barely changes – it's not a gasp, just a slightly deeper inhalation. But Martin notices, hand hesitating, drawing back.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, and he sounds so horribly solemn.

"Not really," Jon says quietly. "Just a little sensitive. Scar tissue."

Gently, he places a hand over Martin's and presses it down into his abdomen, until it's covering the center of the scar. Jon has scars that are sensitive in other ways. Martin has learned to be careful around the thin line that cuts across his throat. Knows there are days when the chewed circles that pockmark his body itch uncontrollably, when he'll scratch himself bloody if he isn't thinking.

(In the safehouse, Martin had pulled the hand from his face and whispered don't. Had kissed his scars over and over, until he couldn't feel the itch, could only feel the gentle pressure of his lips and his kindness and love.)

He wants to say, it doesn't hurt when you touch me here. To show Martin that his body won't flinch from his touch. It wouldn't be his fault if it did. It wouldn't be either of their faults. But it doesn't, and he needs him to know that.

The hand relaxes against him. It moves in a slow arc, finding the edges of the wound, mapping and knowing it. Jon keeps his own hand in place, letting it move with his.

"I'm sorry," Martin says.

Jon brings a hand to his cheek. "So am I."

He wonders what Martin is apologizing for. For cutting the tether, letting them out? For the wound that could only be made by his hands? For not being able to let him go? No . . . Jon doubts he would be sorry for that.

Maybe it isn't an apology at all . . . maybe he's just sorry. Sorry he had to be hurt again.

"So am I," he repeats. "But it's done. We're here, now. Together, and alive. Despite it all."

Martin's head rests on the pillow, gaze turned to the side. He's subdued in a way that feels meaningful but that Jon can't identify. So he says nothing, lies still and lets his hand trail up the side of Martin's face, over his temple, around his ear. Affectionate touch, easier and less confusing than the jumble of words and questions swarming in his brain.

After a long silence, Martin says, "I wish you had trusted me."

" . . . What do you mean?"

"In the Panopticon. I just wish you'd trusted me enough to go along with the plan."

Jon frowns. "I . . . don't know if that was about trust."

"Wasn't it, though?"

"I didn't do what I did –" he pauses, rephrases. "I didn't kill Jonah because I thought you were lying, or going to betray me, or – or controlled by spiders. I didn't think your intentions were anything other than what you said. But I couldn't bear the thought of what we were doing . . . or I thought I couldn't. Clearly I could. In the end."

"Yeah. Well. Turns out both of us did things we didn't think we could," Martin says bitterly, thumb still tracing the scar.

"Funny how often that happens."

"You could have trusted that I knew what I was doing."

"But you didn't. None of us did . . . no one could in that situation."

"That includes you, you know," Martin frowns. "You kept going on about all you knew, but even you said you weren't unbiased. You don't think maybe the idea that the only way out was global euthanasia had anything to do with your own baggage?"

Another twinge, sharper this time. Without realizing, he'd pressed Martin's palm down harder than he should have, in where the nerves were still healing. He eases off.

". . . Maybe," he says eventually. "Probably. I doubt any of us were unbiased. How could we be?"

"But it was your biased plan you decided to go with. Like you always do. You always think you know better than everyone else--"

"I don't think that's entirely fair."

"It's not entirely unfair either."

He feels something stirring defensively in him. Then he stops. Assesses. "No," he says eventually. "I suppose it's not."

The hand is warm against his stomach, and he can feel the dampness of sweat just forming between their skins. It's not pleasant or unpleasant, just something he can feel, and he focuses on it for a while.

"You didn't trust me either, you know," he senses an objection coming, and he heads it off. "You were right not to. I wasn't trustworthy. You thought that I would go behind your back, and I did."

The tension that was rising deflates a little at the admission, and Martin's voice is gentle when he says, "you did."

"But I don't think you were lying when you said you trusted me." Jon adds. ". . . Do you?"

" . . . Fine, I get it. Trust is complicated and all that," Martin sighs, "it just. It hurts."

". . . I'm sorry."

Martin nods, is still for a moment, then leans forward and kisses him once. He kisses back.

"Do you regret it?"

"Which part?"

"Killing Jonah. Not waiting for us. Trying to go the other way."

Jon thinks of the hours before it happened. Of whimpering into Martin's chest, almost pleading, begging him to see. Horribly aware that Martin was as deeply set in his feelings as Jon, that there would be no budging for either of them.

He thinks of the moment he spent watching Martin's sleeping form, just before he climbed those stairs. Seeing his brow creased with unquiet dreams, and knowing that he was about to hurt him. He thinks of the terror, the dawning horror that fell over him as he saw what it all had been leading to.

"I don't know," he finally says. "I regret the pain you went through . . . I regret making you feel that."

There's a curved line trailing over Martin's forehead, just above his eye, which Jon follows with the edge of his thumb. The one on his shoulder is larger, took ages to heal, and there are more that travel down his back and arms. Places where the rubble struck him, before they both unraveled.

The scars aren't really what Jon is referring to when he talks about pain. But he supposes they're a part of it too.

". . . Do you?" he asks.

"Do I what?"

"Regret any of it?"

"I'm not sorry that I didn't let you stay in that tower and kill the entire world, if that's what you mean," he says firmly. "I'm sorry, but I'm never going to regret that."

"No . . . I wouldn't expect you to."

"I wouldn't have told the others to start if I'd known you'd already done it. But if I'd known that . . . that would've been it, right? We'd be stuck there."

"Unless the others went behind both our backs."

"What, you think Melanie wanted to stick a knife in you that badly?"

"I don't know about wanted. But I think Basira could have done it."

"Yeah . . . maybe."

". . . I'm sorry that I went behind yours."

Martin breathes into the space between their bodies, a long and expressive exhale. "I know. . . And I know you were hurting. And scared. I do know that."

"We both were."

"Yeah. Yeah . . ." he sighs. "I forgive you for it. I do. I don't want to hold onto that."

Jon finds Martin's hand in the dim light, pulls it closer to himself and kisses it. He hesitates – not sure if he should say this, should even acknowledge it – before linking their fingers together and pulling the hand back to his stomach, over the place where the knife went in.

"I don't need to forgive you for this. That is – I, I don't believe there's anything to forgive? It was what you had to do, and it was what I asked for. But . . ." he pauses, hesitates. "I know guilt can be an insidious emotion--"

"Oh, do you?" the lilt of sarcasm does not go unnoticed. Jon ignores it.

"–And I want you to know . . . if you feel like you need to be forgiven for it, you are. Entirely and unconditionally."

Martin nods, moving his hand off the scar and over around Jon's side. As he leans in for another kiss he grips him a little more firmly, his touch seems less hesitant and Jon is glad that he said something after all.

"Anyway, I was right, wasn't I?" Martin says after a moment. "We're here. We're in another world, and things are fine. It's normal. Maybe the fears are here, but it's not an apocalypse. Maybe it never will be."

That makes Jon frown. "You don't know that."

"Neither do you."

"And we never will," he says firmly. "We won't ever know the cost of what we did. Maybe it balances out. Maybe it doesn't. Either way, you and I won't have to feel it."

"At least it's normal here. You're not even an avatar," Martin says, and Jon nips back the impulse to quibble about the nature of that term. "You haven't been having the dreams, and you haven't needed a statement since we got here."

". . . I'm still feeding the Eye." It isn't until he sees the look of confusion on Martin's face that it occurs to Jon he didn't already know. "I don't have the power I once had, or the same needs," he explains. "But I feel it sometimes, using me as a conduit. It's as if the signal's fainter, but the receiver is so much more sensitive."

"Do you know it's happening, though, or are you just guessing?"

"I'm not sure how it happens, exactly. Maybe it just grazes off the fear I witness when I see something terrible on the news, or pass by someone in distress. Maybe in time it'll push me to seek out more, to force myself into other peoples' tragedies in service of the Beholding. Or maybe it never will, and I'll stay this way for the rest of my life."

Martin's brow furrows, and his voice is insistent, pushing back with some need Jon can't quite understand. "Okay, but it's not like you're actually hurting people--"

"No . . . I am," he says firmly. "And I am certain of that. It might be more subtle now . . . a lingering feeling of invasion, or paranoia. Or a trauma that would have otherwise passed leaving a decades-deep mark." He stares thoughtfully at his own thumb. "It feeds through me, and I give it strength. On some level, my existence still depends on the suffering of others. That's one consequence we can't avoid."

Martin is quiet for a long while. ". . . Guess it doesn't matter, right?" he finally says. "It's done. Can't undo it."

"No. Not any of it." He shakes his head. "It's funny, really. All my paranoia and suspicion, all my worry that the Web would slip an agent in under our nose, and the whole time I was looking in the wrong place. Seeing and seeing and never understanding."

"What do you mean?" Martin fidgets, and Jon wonders if he's said something he shouldn't have, though he can't guess what. "Looking in the wrong place?"

"I mean myself. The mark when I was a child. The lighter I could never remember. Even the tapes they sent to press on my wounds, keeping that anger fresh. All of it leading to that moment."

". . . Oh." Martin sighs. "Yeah, Jon. They manipulated you, that's what they do. They manipulated all of us."

"They did. And I was more theirs than I ever realized."

He feels Martin's fingers tapping against his side, thoughtful. After a moment, he speaks. ". . . She said that about me, too. Annabelle. That I was suited to the Web, or something."

"I imagine she'd say anything she knew would rile you up."

"She was right, though. At least a little bit . . . ." he takes the edge of Jon's sleeve between his fingers, twisting and fidgeting with it. "When we were down there, waiting, I could feel you coming through the web. The vibrations just spoke to me, I knew Basira was with you even before I saw her."

That surprises Jon. Startles him, even. He feels Martin fidget again, and in his mind he plays back what do you mean, looking in the wrong place. Notices the quiet nervousness in his voice. Considers how deep and old Martin knows his hatred of the Mother of Puppets to be.

"I always knew," he says, voice light and casual, "that there had to be a reason you'd defend anything as vile and repugnant as the common house spider."

Hearing Martin laugh, feeling that tension release in a sudden startled lungful – it's beautiful, it's a victory, and he smiles as Martin nudges into his shoulder. Halfway between a gesture of affection and a headbutt.

"Arsehole," he mutters. "It's not just that. I know I'm . . . well, I'm not always great at being direct. And maybe I can sometimes be passive-aggressive . . . ."

"Well—"

"You don't have to agree with me."

". . . Right."

"But that's sort of Web stuff, isn't it? And I – I was always good at telling Peter what he wanted to hear. I know why she said what she did."

"Mmm." Jon lifts Martins' fingers from where they're worrying at his sleeve, rolls them between his own. "You've learned that it's safer to nudge and suggest than to be direct. To make yourself look smaller than you are. I can see the . . . thematic overlap, I suppose. Imagine it drawing the attention of the Spider."

". . . Does that bother you?"

"Well I'm not worried you're some spider-controlled double agent," he says, then adds something under his breath.

". . . What was that last bit?" Martin lifts his head.

"Nothing."

"Did you just mutter ‘anymore?!"' he asks incredulously.

"My point is, we call to them in countless ways, often without knowing or wanting to," he sighs. "Besides . . . I'd hardly be in a position to judge. They had their strings on me from the start."

"That makes you a victim of them. Not an agent or an avatar."

"Martin . . . ."

"Don't ‘Martin' me, I'm right."

"Do you really think the two are incompatible? Being a victim of a power, and being a channel through which it feeds on others? After all you've seen?" his voice softens. "After all you've been through . . . after the Lonely?"

Martin goes quiet. Jon runs his fingers over his shoulder, absently stroking.

"In the end, I chose to be theirs. With it all falling down around us, I saw what they'd known I would do from the very beginning. I witnessed my fate laid out for me and instead of defying it, I ran towards it."

". . . You still regret it, don't you? Letting them out."

"I don't know, Martin. Truly, I don't," he says. A smile starts, then dies on his lips. "There's so much I regret nowadays, it's honestly hard to keep steady how I feel about most things."

A vague, hmm sound, an expression of some emotion that Jon can't guess at, though he suspects that wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. He brings both his hands up, cupping the sides of Martin's face between his palms. Martin startles, but says nothing.

"Most," Jon says, looking back at him seriously. "But I know how I feel about you. That doesn't change. And I don't regret staying with you."

The beginnings of tears form in Martin's eyes, and there is quiet in the room as Jon brings his face to his. Brushing a soft kiss over his mouth, the trails on his cheeks, the space above each closed eye. He doesn't stop until Martin shudders, swallows, and speaks again.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," Jon says. "And I'm glad that I'm here. I'm glad we're together and alive . . . whatever else comes with that."

Martin shudders again, a weak and pained sound coming out of him. It's all Jon can do not to pull Martin's face into his chest and let out a thousand desperate apologies, to self-flagellate, to beg forgiveness for ever allowing any pain to come to him. He sensibly quiets that urge, because he knows it's the last thing Martin needs. It's the last thing either of them need.

"Do you promise?" Martin whispers.

"Promise what? That I love you?" Silence follows, and Jon frowns, confused. ". . . I do promise that, if that's what you mean."

Instead of answering, Martin silently reaches between them, fumbling for Jon's hand and squeezing it tightly.

"Some nights I pretend to sleep," he says after a pause. "Or, well. Pretend's too strong a word . . . I just lie quietly in bed. But I'm waiting for you to fall asleep first."

Jon's fairly sure he lost the thread of this conversation, and he doesn't know where or how. ". . . Why?"

"Because I'm scared I'll wake up and find you gone."

"Oh. Oh, Martin . . . ."

"I don't-- it's not that I really think--" he shakes his head, "just sometimes can't let go of the thought of it, and it scares me." A wry smile crosses his face. "Which power feeds on that, you think?"

"I mean –"

"Not actually looking for an answer, Jon," he sighs, a mixture of affection and irritation. "Anyway, I think we both know which one it'd be."

He nods. Holds Martin's hand, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb. "I don't know what I can say . . . I can tell you that I won't leave, that I'll be here when you wake up. But I don't suppose that helps unless you can--" he hesitates, not wanting to say trust. It's starting to feel like a deeply troublesome word, both imprecise and emotionally weighted, the sort Jon tends to despise. ". . . believe me?"

"I don't actually think you're going to just vanish in the night someday. It's hard to explain."

"It's unlikely that we'll live to see another ritual for me to be the apocalyptic tipping point of."

"There's still more . . . ordinary things."

"Don't tell me you think I'm going to run off with one of the locals?" He raises his eyebrows, smiling, lets a teasing superiority into his voice. As if he considers the people of this reality to be below their station.

Martin doesn't laugh or smile. He gives him a look, like he's being stupid on purpose. Jon half wants to tell him it's completely involuntary.

"You don't need a bottomless coffin or an all-seeing eye to run off and martyr yourself. People do it with their own hands every day."

And now he understands. Now the thread comes back, winding itself directly around his throat.

". . . Come here," he says, though there are scant inches between them. Martin does so anyway, fitting himself into the space between Jon's arms, head tucked into his collar, legs twining with his. Jon's hands run over his shoulders, through his hair, down his back. He kisses the crown of his head over and over, pouring it all into touch and action until he can find the strength for words again.

"I love you," he whispers. "I'm not going to leave. Not that way . . . not in any way I have control over."

"Seeing his body there next to you . . . it felt like when I was coming back from the shop, and the sky went dark, and the ground started reaching and –" he swallows. "E-everything had gotten so horrible but we finally had a way out, a chance to start over. And then it was just gone again."

And Jon's heart is breaking, and he's afraid if he speaks he's going to start crying, but he can't be silent after that. So he tries.

"I'm so sorry . . . ."

"I know . . . I know." Martin sniffs. "It's not . . . I'm not looking for that. Honest. I just . . . ."

He goes quiet for a while.

"I know you were in pain," he continues. "The night before it all happened. I know – I knew that it was killing you, what we were about to do. It wasn't that I didn't care. But I told myself that someday – even if it wasn't right away, someday you'd be glad we'd done this. Because there'd be a someday."

". . . Maybe I would have been."

"And maybe you wouldn't have. I didn't know. I don't know. We'll never know. But I know you were hurting, and that's just it. Because I also know it . . . s-still hurts."

"I couldn't do that to you."

"We've both done things we thought we couldn't do," Martin says humorlessly.

"Right . . . I take your point."

"I know you feel guilty," Martin whispers, "and you – you just said that while you're alive others are suffering –"

". . . Yes."

"I know how tempting it can be. To just give in to it."

"I know you do."

"So . . . ."

Martin trails off, helpless. Jon feels helpless too. He clumsily feels for Martin's hands and brings them up against his own chest.

"Whatever else I feel, I promise you that I'm glad I'm alive," he says, holding their hands over the place where his heart still beats, steady and warm and living. "Even when it's difficult to bear it all, I'm glad that I'm alive and with you. I want to build a life together, here and now, more than anything. To take whatever chance we've got."

He wonders what Martin is looking for as his eyes trace over his face. Whatever it is he seems to find it, or maybe just trusts that it's there, because he takes a shuddering breath and nods.

". . . I believe you," he says.

"Thank you," Jon breathes deep, feeling the sharp heat behind his eyes fade as he blinks his own tears away. "And . . . I can hope that we made the right choice. Really it's all either of us can do, anymore."

"True."

They lie together in the silence. Martin slides his arms around Jon's sides, resting his head against his chest, and Jon feels the rhythm of his pulse next to his ear. His body is heavy and real, meat and bone, tangled up together with one that he loves. He feels the heat of Martin's breath as he sighs, the gentle weight, the tickle of hair, the hard ridge of skull beneath it. Abject, bloody systems of life.

". . . Martin?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you . . . for coming back."

In the dark he feels a smile against his body. ". . . Which time?"

"Any. All."

"I always will," he whispers. ". . . Thank you for staying."

"That's the deal."

"Yeah. . . yeah." Martin lets out a long, steady sigh. "That's the deal"

Jon feels Martin's limbs relax around him, grip loosening as eyes tiredly close. He twines his fingers through Martin's hair, stoking softly and sweetly as his beloved drifts. Jon doesn't close his eyes just yet, instead watches the face that rests against him slowly go slack in the moonlight. Thinking that maybe tonight, Martin will fall asleep first.

#jonmartin #tma #tma spoilers #tma finale #tma fanfic #me every time i post a new fanfic:#oh no THIS is the most self-indulgent one #every other *cuddling and talking about feelings* fic was dignified and okay #but THIS ONE oh nooooo

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soranis-sunshadow · 4 years ago

Text

Looking back

@cruelfeline wanted a snippet between Hordak and Glimmer where they contemplated on how much of a fuckup either of them is.

I took it as a prompt and I hope this little oneshot scratches that itch.

It was always better to go to a banquet than to host it, Glimmer thought to herself while making her way down the long hallway of the reclusive palace wing. If she felt at odds or tired or just not in the mood, all she had to do was signal Bow and he’d take her home. But as a host, she WAS home, there was nowhere else to go to. Besides, since she was the esteemed host, she couldn’t leave early. It would be in poor taste.

This year, the anniversary of the end of the war was hosted in Bright Moon and she had to find a secluded place in her own home to take a breather from all the commotion before she had to return to the party and smile and nod and… try not to feel like such an imposter.

She finally found her favorite overlook, the one where she came to sulk whenever her mother gave her a stern -and justified- talking to, the best view and the music of the party down in the main hall was muted. No sooner did she lay her hands upon the balustrade that she spotted movement to the periphery of her vision. It was another person she really didn’t want to interact with due to the sheer awkwardness: Hordak. He was sitting by himself in contemplation, looking on into the distance in the last light of the day.

She and he stood meters apart on the balcony in silence for a while. He seemed to look at peace while staring off into the sunset. She tried to do the same. Her maelstrom of thoughts made it difficult.

During the war, she had never met him face to face, all she knew was what other people said of him – both her own and other hordesmen that were captured and interrogated.

Their first meeting in the flesh had been memorable… for very terrible, nightmare inducing reasons. Even now, she couldn’t look at Hordak without seeing Prime discard his errant tool then threaten to destroy her world in a dulcet voice as if it were the most trite of things. It probably had been to that monster…

Hordak hadn’t been what she – an everyone else thought he was. What made it even more jarring, and unexpected, had been his eagerness to repent and atone following the war.

Glimmer had decreed that Prime’s little brothers were not at fault for what they had been made to do for their creator, all of them, Hordak included. She couldn’t in good conscience persecute any of them whilst knowing, intimately – unlike the other monarchs- where they came from and what had been done to them.

Hordak however, decided to be difficult, because of course he did.

He insisted that even had his actions been in the hopes of serving Prime, they had been his actions, his mistakes. He owned them, and he owed Etheria. He had decided- by himself - to rebuild the things he had a hand in destroying not out of a desperate bid for forgiveness but because it was what he had been convinced that it was the right, and the just thing to do.

It made it very awkward for her to interact with him… whenever she invited Entrapta to these events, he was always her plus one. Entrapta was a sore spot for Glimmer. She had decided that the Dryll princess would be the first one to be invited whenever Glimmer hosted any event. It was the least she owed her.

She had learned that Entrapta endangered herself to save her back when she had been abducted on Prime’s ship… a few weeks before that, Glimmer had argued with Adora and Bow to leave her on Beast Island for the time being. It was a shame that stung deeply. Entrapta had been a far better friend to her than she had been to Entrapta. To make matters worse, Entrapta seemed either oblivious or not to hold it against her. It made Glimmer’s guilt even worse. At times, she wished Entrapta HAD been angry, she wished the other princess would give her a piece of her mind, at least then, she’d be able to make it up to her.

Huh!

No wonder Hordak “punished” himself with reparations and reconstructions…She couldn't stop a heavy sigh from escaping her. It wasn't an invitation to talk but he seemed to take it as one since the noise startled him out of his contemplation and he slowly turned towards her.

“Good evening, your grace.” It was always a bit comical when one of Prime’s clones bowed to her, they would have to bend over comically low to match her height. Hordak didn’t. He merely bowed his head smoothly and lowered his ears to convey submission.

“Uh, hey.” How dignified of her. She wished she had half as much grace as her mother had. “Uuuh,-“ he looked at her with that blank face that had been conditioned into him. ‘Ugh, say something Glimmer, this doesn’t have to be this awkward. Make an effort, for Entrapta’s sake at least!’. “- lovely sunset, right?”

He blinked slowly then turned back to the vista. “Indeed.”

‘C’mon! Give me SOMETHING to work with here!’ She thought to herself. “What do you think of the party?” That had been a host thing to ask, it was appropriate and neutral right?

It wasn’t... The answer came in that calm, low, dignified and slightly husky voice of his, a voice that had cracked from screaming and had never recovered. His posture betrayed his unease. Hordak further stiffened at the question.

“It is,-“ he paused considering his words carefully “quite sumptuous, your grace.” He bowed again. It was clearly at least as uncomfortable for him as it was for her.

This wasn’t helping… ‘Good job Glimmer!’ If it hadn’t been weird and both of them had enjoyed the companionable silence before, now she had made things awkward.

While considering what to say next, he saved her the effort by saying. “Your guests are enjoying themselves.” Was that a compliment? Was he trying to compliment her? She knew from former interactions with him that he had a very stiff and formal way of talking, very unlike his progenitor. Words fit poorly in his mouth. It was so curious how, despite having the same voice and the same face, almost… they sounded worlds apart. He held himself differently too, Prime had filled every space he was in, he owned every room he walked into. Hordak on the other hand seemed perpetually on eggshells. Was that why he was here by himself?

“You are my guest too.” She said to him, trying to sound warm and welcoming but it came out a bit defensive.

The unasked question hung between them in the dying light of the day.

He saved her from asking it once more. “My presence… makes some of your other guests uneasy, your grace. I did not wish to impose.”

“Impose? Nonsense!” She waved it off with a chuckle. “You and Entrapta are welcome here, I’ve expressly invited the both of you myself. There is no way you could ‘impose’ in any way!” Then it hit her… “Did anyone tell either of you that you were imposing? If they did, tell me who it was and I’ll have a chat with them.”

He huffed out a chuckle then turned towards her once more. A small, tentative smile made its way on his face. “No such thing your grace, the initiative was all mine.” The shared gaze was broken as he looked at his feet then back into the distance. “ I wished to prevent it from becoming an issue. Many of your kinsmen are weary of me, and for good reason. My actions on your world did not endear me to most of your kind.” It seems that guilt had brought them both on this overlook.

“I should name this ‘the shitty overlook!’ Hah!” She laughed. “Because everyone comes on this balcony to feel shitty.” He looked at her, one browridge raised in inquiry. “You’re here because of the whole conquest thing and I’m here because I’ a terrible friend.”

Glimmer continued. “We both did regrettable things during the war.” She too looked on into the distance, the line of bleeding orange light got thinner and thinner as night overtook it, a thin line of fiery hues reflected off the surface of the turbulent lake. Silence hung between them for a few minutes.

“You did what you thought was necessary, your grace.” Despite the curt tone, it was a reassurance. It was uncanny for Hordak of all people to be the one trying to comfort her.

“We both did. It still doesn’t make it feel right.” Both of their closets had skeletons cramped in them.

“It may not but, at the time, you saw no other way to do your duty.” He sighed deeply. “Hindsight is indeed, not a charitable beast your majesty, but it is unfair.” He clicked his claws on the balustrade. The motion was somewhat distracting. ” You know things now that you couldn’t have possibly known back then. Within the constraints of the time and the data available, you did the best that you could, the best that could be expected. You were a formidable opponent.” As sound as his logic was, it did little to assuage the anger she aimed at herself.

“And I had my friends take the fall for me because I thought it was necessary.” She sighed and hugged herself. “I was wrong, even back then but I didn’t want to admit it, I thought the ends justify the means. They don’t. They never do.”

“It’s easy to overthink the choices made when one is aware that there were other options, other paths that could have been taken.” He sounded, small and sad, his own demons haunting him.” The reality of it is that, in the moment, you may not have been aware of other possibilities and time had not been on your side. You decided to move forward down the only path you saw before you. The alternative would have been admitting defeat. Had you done so, you wouldn’t be here to second guess yourself. It was, in general, the right thing to do even if you are left with the consequences of your perceived momentary oversights. You have the privilege now, to make up for your mistakes – a privilege you wouldn’t have had should you have not done the things you did. “

“Thank you. I needed to hear that.” She hadn’t known she needed it nor would she had ever asked for it and that’s exactly why the point had hit home. “She was right, you’re a good listener.”

He chuckled again, an animate chuckle that rippled through him as he shook his head and turned back to look at the lake. She made her way closer and took in the familiar view. Neither of them said anything after that.

They watched the stars appear on the night sky, reflecting off the surface of the lake, somewhat distorted. The ripples of the lake made their twinkling even brighter. The night was peaceful.

#glimmer #hordak #entrapdak #spop fanfic

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yandere-society · 4 years ago

Text

The Rabbit Hole

Summary: The Windy City in the mid-1920s is a spectacle of lights and sounds, roaring with the excitement of jazz music and swinging dance moves. Amid the brilliant stars of Chicago nightlife, there is a dark underground of secrets, mainly that being the mysterious Wonderland Ball you've been invited to participate in and be crowned the next "Alice". What you don't know is you may or may not be allowed to leave, per the Mad Hatter and a White Rabbit's desires. So, daring and brave as you are, you decide to take a journey down The Rabbit Hole and come face to face with high society - people - as you've never seen them before.

Genre: Yandere; Historical Fiction/ Fantasy Based In The 1920′s; Smut; Thriller; Alice in Wonderland Inspired

Warnings: Yandere themes, Mentions of drug/ alcohol use with/without consent, mentions of “gangsters”, light talks of selling your soul/ the devil/ religious “themes”?, sedative drugs used non-consensually, vivid dreams/nightmares, maybe light profanity? Smut: Non-protected sex (twice), creampies, oral sex (f and m receiving/giving), slight nipple play?, spanking, marking, bruising, slightly rough sex, use of a sex swing/ sex swing intercourse, f and m orgasms. I think that’s it.

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook (White Rabbit) x Reader (Alice) x Kim Seokjin (Mad Hatter), Side Pairing of Johnny (Jonathan) Suh from NCT x Reader, Johnny x Jung Jaehyun from NCT.

Author’s Notes: This is not going to be a historically accurate piece. As much as I am an advocate for research and learning about the times of old, I am only human and I am short on time researching in between my full time job. I have grown up and currently live in Chicago and I have never written a story about the Windy City before so here I am, writing to you about the wonderful city I call home. I am doing my best to stay true to my writing as well as make it as accurate as one can, but please forgive me if there are faults in this story!

We are not doing a collective Valentine’s Day event this year but the contents of this piece have been weighing heavily on my mind, so I asked if I could write this story for a little something-something. I hope you all enjoy it!

Written By: Admin 💖 @therealmintedmango

Also, who do you think the other boys from BTS are from Alice in Wonderland in this story? I’d love to know!

Stepping out of my very own vehicle my future husband’s family sent for me, I take in the sights and the sounds that Chicago provides this snowy afternoon.

People waltz around one another and mingle about, snow crunching under their feet. The faint sounds of jingle bells float down the streets in the chilly air, it smells of popcorn and roasted nuts as well as the sludge of gasoline tainting the snow. A cold breeze gliding across the buildings nearly knocks me off my feet as I look up to my new place of residence, a new high-rise Michigan Ave. The stars above my head seem to sparkle in the dark sky, or are those just the electric lights from the grand buildings surrounding me?

Curious, I think as I continue to have my sights set above the horizon. I’ve certainly strayed very far from the corn fields of back home. Inhaling the sharp, bitterly cold air around me, I feel a sense of dread almost wash over my senses. I knew what I was signing up for when I came here. Jonathan and I discussed it in great detail over the wire.

The reality of the situation is finally sinking into my layers of clothing.

Jonathan Suh, the grandson of Suh Realtor Industries Incorporated - which owns about one third of Chicago - has asked me to marry him. It was seemingly out of the blue too. I was going to spend the next years of my life trying to marry into the best livestock or vegetable farmer in town, not the filthy rich grandson in a large city. It felt like a dream when he called me and begged me to come as soon as possible. I suppose it pays off to be kind to everyone, especially when it felt like it was yesterday we were both in grammar school together.

I drink it all in, the busy sounds, the cold night air that leaves me feeling bitter and raw standing in the street while snow begins to descend from the blackened sky. It feels foreign to me even though it’s only about two hours away from the farm. The breeze blistering in from the west sends a chill up my spine.

This is a new beginning, I ponder to myself as I stretch upwards in the middle of the sidewalk. This is my chance at a better life, this is way better than being some poor, sad farm girl. That’s right! I’m going to be the wife of my childhood friend who just happened to be some rich playboy who has more money than he knows what to do with.

I’m going to be a Suh!

...Even if the whole arrangement is a sham...

“Miss, you are going to freeze to death outside!” Jonathan’s maids rush to usher me out of the cold quickly, but not before I accidentally bump into someone on the busy sidewalk.

“I beg you to pardon me,” I mumble as I set my sights over my shoulder on a man dressed in a long coat with hair as white as the snow currently blanketing the ground. “You’ll have to forgive me, I am just enraptured with how bright Chicago seems to shine at night.”

The man’s seemingly red eyes expand with my excitement, then soften. “No pardon to beg, Miss…?” He queries, a bloom of warmth spreading across his face.

“Suh.” I smile as the men shout from my car they have finished unpacking. “Well, I am the future Mrs. Jonathan Suh. For now I suppose I am still Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Strange, I didn’t think he… Well, never mind that now.” His eyes linger on mine. “Johnny’s got good taste.” I hear him mumble under his breath in a deep tone, slurring his words together in a string. “Well, I can’t wait to see more of you, future Mrs. Jonathan Suh.” He says as he swings his coat behind himself and takes off down the street, the crowd and the night dissolving him like a pill in warm water.

Curious and curiouser this night becomes, I think as the maids finally have enough of me standing about in the cold.

“Do you know who that was?” I ask the hoard of them, hoping someone has the answer to my bump in the night with a rather odd fellow. My heart is beating but I’m not sure what for. I know my place. I know why he called me… My fate was sealed as soon as I got the wire from my future husband.

The collective flock shake their heads and mutter polite “noes” as they lead me up grand staircases of marble and through dim corridors at this time of night, leaving my brain a drifting piece of snow in the blizzard that will surely accumulate outside overnight.

“Right this way.” A young redhead coos as she parades me up what must be my twentieth flight of stairs I’ve climbed this evening. “Master Suh will be so happy you are here at last!” They lead me into a beautiful room with the most lavish furniture I’ve ever seen in my life! Magazines and pictures certainly don’t bestow such fine items with quite the same honor as seeing such beauty in person.

“Madam Suh has a full schedule for you this weekend.” One of the elderly looking women dares to swoon as she says, “Wedding planning, I’m sure, no doubt.” My coat is taken from me and I am given house slippers to wear.

The flock - or really I should call them a herd of lemmings - all agree once more as a butler leads us through a hallway with objects of fine art, pottery, and paintings. Each item is so uniquely wonderful that it would make my brothers’ and sisters’ heads spin if they saw how perfect and polished everything is. How ornate and lavish! Am I to spend my life with fine, intricate pieces of art from all mediums? I wonder if Jonathan has created any of these himself? Would he allow me to paint? I wonder...

“Master Suh,” I inhale, realizing I am right at the threshold of a beautiful oak door. “Miss Y/N Y/L/N has arrived.” The butler announces.

My body feels all fuzzy and nervous for some reason. It’s been many years since I’ve seen my dear friend from when we were still learning how to hop on a bicycle in the country where his family had a small house and property that butted up against my family’s by the little lake in the middle of a corn field.

“Y/N!” A deep, refreshing voice purrs before he embraces me in a tight hug. “How was your ride? Did the car fair well, unlike the weather?” He chuckles as his tall frame dwarfs mine in comparison. The scent of him is most definitely cinnamon, scotch, and leather, which I’m not surprised. All fine things to smell of for certain.

The maids all giggle and mumble their approval and the butlers look away, anxious to gaze upon a woman in another man’s arms. I suppose his gesture of a greeting is very rude, but I don’t mind. Being smack-dab in the middle of my siblings, I feel like nothing phases me anymore, even the hug Jonathan wraps around me.

“Jonathan Suh,” I simper, pulling out of his embrace, “The ride was not too terrible, and my, how tall you’ve grown! And so dapper too.” I sigh earnestly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“I hope you say that every day you wake up and I am there beside you.” Jonathan’s brown eyes seem to daze in the glow from the lamp lights in the sitting parlor.

There’s nothing more I hate than an arrogant flirt, not to mention an arrogant flirt with money is all the more trouble. Is this really going to be the rest of my life? Living with Jonathan like this? So contrived and fake… it makes my insides twist.

“I am rather weary though from a day full of travels.” I pretend to yawn, shifting out of his arms bit by bit and heading toward the door. “May I have the delight in seeing you tomorrow?”

“Oh yes, you must be quite tired. I always get sleepy on car rides.’ Jonathan muses as he extends his hand to the door and the staff scramble into place. “Mr. and Mrs. Alan would you please escort Y/N to her room? I will be here but on the other end of the house until we are...you know-”

“Goodnight, Jonathan.” I say almost too quickly after that, leaving almost as swiftly as I’ve come.

Once my hair is down and I am dressed comfortably in my nightgown, I feel like I can take a deep breath again. It feels odd with my hair unpinned, sitting in a brand-new nightgown, overlooking the rocking waves of the lake and the snow that drifts down from the sky. Basking in the sill of my window from the beautiful lights and moonlight shining through my velvet curtains, I hope and pray that every night I spend in Chicago is not as forced and fake as this one has been.

I’m chasing something odd in my dream.

I move between pictures hanging on the walls, through the bellies of grandfather clocks, I emerge through the darkness every time, chasing a little white rabbit with a cottontail through or around objects of grand design. I have never had a dream that felt so vivid and real, like I am actually flying through my thoughts, time of the utmost essence for some unknown reason. I can’t seem to escape a dark feeling looming around me and I feel slightly frightened that I will not catch the little thing.

When I reach for the little dumpling covered in pretty white fur, it lurches forward, propelling my desire to catch up to the little beast.

I descend deeper and deeper, the spotlight in the darkness focused solely on the bunny ahead of me. I can’t reach him, I’m not fast enough, my feet do not carry me quick enough. I call to the animal but it doesn’t hear me, instead it flies between two large velvet curtains.

“Please!” I beg the animal as I pop through the hole in the curtains, shuffling through on my knees. “Where are you taking…me…” My question dies in my throat as I look up to find red eyes, his curly blonde hair waving at me from under a gold top hat, a gold mask from that of a masquerade celebration covering most of his face.

But, I know that soft smirk well now. I’ve replayed it several times already in my mind like the fool I am.

This is the man I met on the sidewalk. I gasp. But, why is he inhabiting my dream?

“Welcome to Wonderland, Alice.” A soft voice wafts from high above the two of us, making me shiver. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Why am I frightened? Surely this is not a nightmare. I was only following a rabbit and now I am here with these two men.

Slowly, my eyes trail up the large mahogany platform, showcasing a very large, ornately plush gold and maroon seat which houses a man in an all green suit of the finest quality. He is also wearing a mask trimmed with greens and golds, his lush lips pinkened like he had just indulged in delicious raspberry jam pulled into a dark smirk. He sits with the side of his pale face in one of his hands, resting comfortably on the arm of the pretty chair. The man from the street sits on a swing that hangs high from the rafters, silently taking me in. An aura of power and class drips tastefully from every fiber of his being, weighing heavily upon me like he is a hammer and I am but a humble nail.

“Good job chasing rabbits.” The man’s smile further stretches, his amber eyes boring down upon me, making my skin want to jump from my skeleton. “The next step is to find The Rabbit Hole.”

My eyes fling open, a train's loud horn blaring in the distance, the golden morning haze filtering from the curtains across the room. I jolt upward in bed, cold sweat beading my body, tainting the beautiful nightgown the Suhs have given me. I throw the sheets off my bed and clutch my forehead, musing the words of the man in all green over and over to myself in a frenzy.

...What a dreadfully vivid dream...

I’ve been here for almost a week and I’ve lost count of the tea parties and luncheons I’ve attended with Mrs. Suh. The people and the houses and families they all belong to are getting lost to me in the wake of planning for a wedding. Though, I’m not sure how much I am actually planning. Merely pointing between two colors of table placemats and napkins or choosing between a flower or two.

Tonight though, it is another snowy evening on the lakeshore, we are attending a jazz concert at the Sunset Cafe to see a wonderful show performed by the talented Cab Calloway and Louis Armstrong who make the most wonderful music. I was practically buzzing when I heard the news that the Suhs would be taking me this evening. As always, Jonathan and his mother have only two options for me to wear this evening and I must make a choice between them. A silver, more A-lined gown that shows off more skin than one should in the winter with a mink-fur cowl or more fluttering, off the shoulder velvet cobalt-blue style of a ball gown with embroidered golden stars falling from the bust in waves of tulle.

Call me old fashioned, but I choose the one that makes me feel like a princess, not the one that makes me fit in. My thoughts wander between which Suh picked out which dress for me to wear and the dream of me chasing a white rabbit.

I can never seem to catch that rabbit nor have I seen the two men since my first dream. It relieved me, but it also scared me.

A shimmering laugh that is made of moonbeams and stars pulls me from my spell of thought that engrossed me.

The Suhs are dotting and cheerful people, always looking out for their only son in this cruel world. They are wonderful and powerful in their own ways, working the men and ladies in the sitting room of the theater with just a glance or smile of their lips. Mr. Suh smokes a cigar and smacks Jonathan on the back as they stand in the corner away from the ladies. Mrs. Suh includes me in all her conversations, never wanting me to feel lost or dissuaded from a million questions by another matriarch of a well-to-do family.

I can see why Jonathan doesn’t want to disappoint them or the good people of his clan’s name before or after himself.

The room is hazy from the smoky cigars that the men all drag on in between their elaborate conversations about President Coolidge and his beliefs while the women discuss lighter subjects such as traveling to Paris and Morocco as well as tennis. I find my thoughts up in the cloud of smoke that hangs in the room.

“Pardon me, ladies,” Jonathan places a hand gently upon my shoulder, “may I steal Y/N away for a few moments?”

“The concert will begin shortly, Johnny.” Mrs. Suh smiles, casting her charms to her son who smiles with reassurance to his dear mother.

“Don’t fret, mother,” Jonathan grins as she calls him his nickname, “I want to show her off to my college chums.”

Her eyes twinkle in delightful mischief as she swirls her glass of sweet liquor in her hand. “Just be sure to return her in one piece. Y/N has a long day ahead of her tomorrow.”

More wedding planning I’m not privy to I suppose? Such is my life now. High society is fun and all but the pressure is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before… No, my brain is captivated once more by the dark aura of the man from my dream, looming and lingering above me, teeth glimmering in the lim electric light of the room from my lucid dream. That was true, pure evil pressure I wish to never partake in the feeling of ever again.

Jonathan says nothing as he turns from her, ushering me away with his hand placed gently on my shoulder. We move silently and quickly through groups who mingle and giggle, alcohol strong in their glasses and upon their breath as we pass through the crowd of rich socialites.

We stop at one group of gentlemen, but I am only introduced to one handsome man named Jung Jaehyun who fondly shakes Jonathan’s hand and winks at me. What an odd fellow, I tell myself as we dive deeper and deeper into the crowd of people loitering in the fancy sitting room.

“I’m glad you wore the one I picked out.” Jonathan says so low that I may only be able to hear his words. Well, that answers that question then. “These men might eat you alive, so stay as sharp as a blade but soft as a lamb, understand me? They will not leave me be until I introduce you to them.”

“Are they your friends?” I query with a whisper as he pulls me to the edge of the room where young men have beautiful young ladies draped on their elbows.

I have never seen a lady look like they do, but I suppose it is fashionable and “kept up with the times”. I am not so appealing as these ladies are with their skin on display and their heels high, they attract my attention before the men who hold them up do. Their makeup is dark, yet shimmering in the soft glow from the electric lights from above. The fair ladies’ hair is cut so short, their sideways hats and feather headbands merely slip off their sleek and shiny hairstyles. I am in awe of the way they look and envy them for behaving and chatting so freely.

“Do not be scared, but they are budding gangsters who run speakeasies.” My eyes widen with his words, but I do what I am told. “Please do me another favor, Y/N, and become the most desirable woman here.” Jonathan whispers to me before we approach the hoard of people in front of me. “I will set you free from this cage as soon as I can.”

I can only nod as my demeanor switches like that of a light switch.

Walking up to these men and women I’ve never met, I invoke the acting spirit of Jane West for Jonathan. I demand my attention. I am the most beautiful creature in this sitting room, if not all of the world. I did not go to college but I am going to show you how well read and cultured I am. I am going to be a Suh and I command you all to bow down to me in this instant.

“Suh!” A tall man with coiffed, sandy blonde locks beams as he steps away from his fair darling on his arm tonight. “You dog! I didn’t think you’d grace us with your presence this evening!” They shake hands and laugh at nothing vigorously as I look between the two before the blonde catches my eye. They are pretty amber eyes that remain half-lidded and surely dazzle in the glow from chandeliers above. He’s not as tall as Jonathan, but he is handsome. “This must be-”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

A voice from behind the blonde says clearly, setting to be free from the shadow of Jonathan’s friend.

It’s the white rabbit! I think as I try to hold myself together. He looks rather dapper in a white and gold waistcoat with tails, a top hat making him appear to be as formal as one can be. This is the gentleman I bumped into the streets, but I cannot press out of my head. I want to tell him to stay out of my dreams, but I fear he will think me mad if I declare such a bold thing without expressing my thoughts further.

“You know of my future bride, Jeon?” I feel the grip upon my shoulder tighten and breath being held from above me. Don’t fret, Jonathan, I would never tell anyone. I promise. Your secret is safe with me.

The friend with his hair as white as the fallen snow looks at me passively, eyes rimmed red like he can’t sleep a wink either. “I met her on the sidewalk, John, but we’ve never been properly introduced.” He bows and takes my blue-colored gloved hand in his white ones. He kisses the top of my hand and in this ball gown-like dress I am indeed fulfilling my fantasy of pretending to be a beautiful princess. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, future Mrs. Jonathan Suh.”

“Y/N,” Jonathan says, exhaling the concerned breath he’s been holding in, his grip returning to normal as well. “These are my friends from college: Mr. Kim Namjoon, whose family owns one third of the city like mine does, and Mr. Jeon Jungkook, who makes up the triangle of the most powerful families of Chicago.”

“At your service.” Jungkook says with a cheeky grin stretching across his face, kissing the top of my hand once more.

The way he looks up at me makes butterflies trapped in my body flutter and flounce about. But I cannot swoon or succumb to a young man so openly. Jonathan is counting on me.

“I’m delighted to meet Jonathan’s friends from his schooling.” I say in the same charming manner Mrs. Suh has produced all week.

“Forgive me for this is a bold question, future Mrs. Suh, but, will you be getting a gown made?” Namjoon asks me as he sips his scotch on the rocks.

“I think tomorrow I am going for a fitting, yes.” I nod my head, smiling just the right amount.

“Then it should be crafted by the finest in the Windy City, Kim’s Couture on the corner of Washington and LaSalle Street. Have you heard of the establishment before?” Namjoon queries.

“Indeed! I have!” I exclaim happily, my eyes wide as his stay half-lidded as though he is sleepy, though he smiles earnestly.

“Then I must insist you have a treasured wedding gown made by my seamstresses.” He hands me a white business card with only his name upon it. I stare at it until he taps it twice. “They will take excellent care of you, I promise.”

“Oh-ho!” A soft, almost melliferous voice rings out behind me. No... “This must be the infamous bride-to-be!” I know this voice! Fear rattles through me, making me tremble as I look over the shoulder Jonathan is not draped over to look at the mysterious voice. Time is slow as molasses as I face the man from my dream, clad all in a green waistcoat, vest, and top hat, wolfishly grinning at me.

“Ah, this is my eldest brother,” Namjoon muses as the electric lights flash, indicating the performance will begin soon, “Seokjin Kim.”

Kim Seokjin...

I feel like I know everything about this man yet nothing at all. He is the type of man who is a brilliant summer on the outside and stormy winter on the inside. The smile on his lips - that is the color of the inside of a cherry tart - is warm, yet cold all in the same breath. He appears to be a powerful man of high class, wrapped in an enigma of grace and power. But there is a scent of something malicious in the air as he closes the gap between us and gets down on his knee to kiss upon my hand.

I’m not sure what made me do it, but something comes over me, the flight or fight instinct animals possess lurches out of me in this moment.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” I ask, pulling my arm away from him.

Seokjin’s bright amber eyes slowly travel up my ball gown, disbelief and confusion colors his good looking features.

Mouths open in shock and my heart drops, but I feign a lie, turning out of Jonathan grasp, and quickly say, “Forgive me, for I feel faint.” I run to the bathroom in the hall as everyone piles into the main room of the Sunset Cafe, heart pounding in my chest and cheeks on fire.

I’m so sorry Jonathan, I did not mean to make a fool out of you. There is just something about the way Seokjin’s gaze is so feral that chills me to the bone.

A hand rests upon Jungkook’s shoulder while he continues to longingly gaze at the door as if he was willing me to come back with his mind. “Don’t worry, Jeon.” Seokjin purrs in his ear, amber gleam set upon the door. “She is the one who chases you every night, not the other way around.”

“I know, hyung.” Jungkook whispers as the brass begins to trumpet through the building. “When do we make our move?”

“Soon.” Seokjin chuckles darkly, guiding the younger of the boys to follow behind him. “Very soon we will have our glorious tea party.”

The subject of marriage has always been an odd one to me, I think to myself as maids and fashion consultants from the Kim’s dress boutique flutter and coo around me.

My parents married but it was never for love. I knew that, my siblings and myself knew that, yet they both loved us all the same. My mother and father married as more of a “good match on paper” sort of situation, than they were truly, madly in love. Still, they never fought, my father never hit my mother, never drank himself silly, never talked to another woman. My mother upheld the same standard and raised us all with love in her hardworking heart. I knew she was aware that I haven’t spoken to Jonathan since we were young children and that I would soon be in the same boat if I accepted his offer.

“A lifetime of money doesn’t equal happiness.” She told me. “You should marry for love, not for any green or gold.”

I agree. I know this full well. I’m not one to be stingy or greedy by any means. I don’t want to be an actress in a picture show or model for a beautiful Channel garment. And though I do want love in my life, I want a secure future. I am the middle child of middle-class farmers. The best match I could have made besides this one was with a cattle farmer or a man who works in the stockyards on the south side of Chicago.

It’s selfish for me to do this not only for myself but to my mother as well.

But, I am here and like my family, I will be fiercely loyal to the man I will call my husband. If not, call me a bold-faced liar and take me and my words to the grave.

Jonathan Suh is not a bad man for who he prefers in the sheets. I know that and have never felt such a way to treat someone less of me if they do prefer the company of one sex over another. I will not break the promise I’ve made to him, but I cannot help but feel like a songbird trapped in a tight, metal cage for the decision I’ve made to help him.

Due to the poor weather Chicago has currently come down with, the wedding has been postponed until further notice.

When I wired my family to tell them the news, my mother answered. I was a bit more than surprised that she almost sounded relieved when I told her the news. I promised I would wire soon and my younger sisters begged me to take them to the city to go shopping at Marshall Fields. My father sounded passive at first when the telephone wire was transferred to him by my youngest brother after he told me the family cat, Cheshire, had gone missing.

Truth be told, I am also more than happy to exhale a breath and not worry about someone questioning me about my upbringing. Or having Mrs. Suh and the don of high-class ladies and waist-coated men galloping around every breath I take.

I can finally relax, I think as I pull out a book in the study as Jonathan reads the Chicago Tribune on the couch across the way from me. We get along well, I realize. Silence suits us both. No tricks, not faking our way through hordes of important people. We have to conserve and save our energy for when we face the people mercilessly wanting to know everything and anything about us, good ole’ Jonathan and I...

No, not Jonathan anymore… I am to be his wife, and he...my…

I peer at him from over my book on flowers, losing interest in the pages.

Can I really pretend we are to be an item forever? Will one of us crack or slip up? It seems like we are stuck in a circle now, both of us floating in a pool of choices we will surely drown in.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Someone knocks at the door, plucking me from my fever of thoughts. I fully peer over the pages in my hands, pretending like I was in fact engrossed in the origin story of an author I enjoyed as a girl.

“Enter.” Jonathan says without skipping a beat, not looking up from his black and white ink. His eyes scan the pages, following the drumming beat of the grandfather clock next to the roaring fireplace. But, now that I study him closer, I’m unsure if he was actually reading or just musing to himself like I was moments ago.

“The post, sir.” Butler James reports as he opens the door, my handmaiden Emily gliding up to us with a silver plate in her hands.

“Thank you, Emily.” Jonathan gives her a half-smile as he takes the single envelope off the tray, slicing it open with trepidation.

I look at the blood-red colored wax seal as he flips the paper, revealing a knight chess piece glaring upside down at me.

Jonathan scans the letter passively at first, his orbs lazily scanning the pages, then suddenly his eyes ignite with rage behind them. “No.” He says softly, red flushing to his handsome face. He rips the paper up into shreds then, aggression and hatred oozing from every pore for some unknown reason. He gets up as he throws the scraps in the fire with vigor as butler James, Emily, and I all stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “Don’t you dare go.” He warns me, irises blaring with unmeasurable loathing. “Those people are dangerous.” Jonathan practically snarls as he exits the room in a fit of rage, stomping down the hall as we look on stunned and slack-jawed at what had just happened.

From what I can tell, Jonathan isn’t one to get upset easily or lash out so that letter must have set him off. But what could it have been?

It really has sparked my curiosity, that’s for certain.

Where wasn’t I supposed to go and who was so dangerous?

I got the answer the next day as I read a book about traveling the jungles of South America.

“Miss!” My handmaiden whispers like a hiss as she enters the study. “Miss!”

“Yes, Emily?” I smile, putting my book down as she flutters to my side in a nervous frenzy. “What is the matter?”

“I snagged this from the post, miss.” She hands you the letter you saw the previous day with Jonathan, the one that he got enraged over. “Please open it quickly, miss, before the butler spots it! They want us to destroy anything with this seal on it!”

I do as I am told, opening up the letter addressed to both Jonathan and myself with the odd wax seal to find an invitation inside.

You Are Cordially Invited To Participate In:

THE WONDERLAND BALL

A Masquerade Party To Determine The Next “Alice”

For Directions Follow Us Down The Rabbit Hole

Knock Thrice For The Door Mouse To Let You Inside

Cheers,

The ‘Mad Hatter’ & Company

“How curious...” I muse as my eyes trail over the letter over and over, wondering what has Jonathan all in a panicked rage. “Well, I don’t even know where “The Rabbit Hole” is so I shan’t be going.”

“Tis’ a speakeasy, Miss.” Emily says her eyes wide as she reads the paper with you. “They say it’s the most fun one in all of downtown!” She giggles. “Shall I fetch you a gown for the ball?”

“No.” I shake my head with a small smile, hanging her back the letter. “If Jonathan said he doesn’t want me to go, I won’t.” I pick up my book as she slightly deflates, wanting to paint me up for the festivities I was invited to. “Please burn this now, Emily, so you don’t get in trouble.”

“Right away, Miss.” Emily bows a little before she heads out of the room, leaving me to daydream in the middle of the study in peace.

“How long must we wait?” Jungkook pesters Seokjin tirelessly who looks down from his wooden pedestal in the back room of the very peculiar club. “I am afraid a letter and her dreams are not going to cut it.” Jungkook snorts, frustration flashing in his red eyes.

“Mm, yes…” Seokjin rubs his chin with his white gloved hand, “Johnny boy has been hiding our little Alice away from our prying eyes, hasn’t he?”

“Yes!” Jungkook stomps his foot like that of a child, fists balled into tight fists at his sides. “And I was promised a maiden for all the hard work I’ve done for you!”

Seokjin laughs darkly then, the sound echoing off the walls of his private chambers. “Jungkook, I’m not sure if you understand that poisoning people and taking out a few smaller families in our beloved city is considered hard work.” He stops then, Seokjin’s usually light voice dripping with malice when he says, “But, I suppose this is one way to end the Suhs and get the last jewel on the crown you are desiring in your attempts to rule the city.”

“Is everything in place for the ball?” Jungkook grits his teeth as he stares up into the man who could end him in one go, but is choosing to help the young gangster. “Your magic won’t fail us now?”

Seokjin winks at him, spending him a flying kiss as he says, “It's going to be dreadfully delightful.” Ending the Suhs, managing to take out some more people in big crime families in Chicago, and adding one more perfect woman to his growing collection of pawns.

Sure, he was mad and about to destroy several lives in the process, but hell if he wasn’t half brilliant and good looking while doing so.

“Mr. Jeon!” I gasp as I peer at the man at my penthouse doorstep, covered in white flakes of heavy, wet snow sticking to his black trench coat and bowler hat. Everyone, even most of the maids were out this afternoon which is why I find myself in front of the door to the penthouse.

“Good evening, Y/L/N.” Jeon Jungkook smiles as he looks down at me earnestly. “Is your future husband not at home?” He whispers as he looks around the empty foyer, red-rimmed eyes glancing over the dim electric lights in the hallway.

I flush. My mind was hazy remembering my kiss with him and the other man that is never far away, Kim Seokjin, from the depths of my dreams. My dreams need to leave me be or I may turn into a codfish with the way they keep my head spinning. They haunt me so, the way my brain demands my nightmares to be replayed over and over like this.

“I’m afraid not, he said he’d be out for the night, taking care of something important at the office.” I say with a fake sigh, shaking my head. Truthfully, he’s been acting very strange lately and I can't quite put my finger on the reason for his odd behavior. Ever since he got that letter… Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any post since that strange night. I’ll ask Emily about it in the morning.

“I see.” Jungkook says softly. The grandfather clock chimes from the sitting room and I am suddenly aware of what time it is. I’m severely underdressed in my baby blue lounge attire, completely ill-prepared for meeting company. Books about faraway lands with princes and kings were the only thing occupying my time this evening and I’m embarrassed to even think that. “In that case, your outfit will just have to do, I suppose…”

Jungkook suddenly steps closer to me in one long stride, closing the gap between me and him. My heart skips a beat, his pupils dilate, my words run dry as he snakes one arm around my back, the other holding my chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“Mr. Jeon-” I stammer, unable to call for help, now that this man has me in his grasp.

“I have been willing you to come and follow me, to give into your darkest desires, but still you resist me.” The young man hisses down at me, brows knit with confusion. “You are the only thing anyone talks about and I cannot stand it any longer.” My mouth hangs open. His nostrils flare as he makes his move. “You will be mine. Not locked away in this tower while Johnny is out and about with another man. You will be our new Alice.”

Before I can say anything, he pours a vile from his pocket into my mouth, holding it above my arms so I can’t smack it away. It tastes like roast turkey and strong alcohol and I try to claw and get away but I cannot as Jungkook holds my mouth open; my tongue feels numb and my arms feel like jelly, going limp in Jungkook’s arms. The only thing I can remember before completely blacking out is the little tag on the side of the bottle that says “DRINK ME”, tied with a pink ribbon hanging from the tiny glass and the smell of his cologne which reminds me of musk with a dash of black pepper.

Faint sounds of brass and strings pull me from my unconscious state in a flurry.

My brain is working hard, producing series and strings of thoughts. Why did Mr. Jeon Jungkook do that to me? Does Jonathan know where I am? In the same breath, where am I? What was that drink? Have I been poisoned? I look at myself on the red heart-patterned bedsheets. I look fine. There is no sign or feelings that I’ve been harmed, no bruises, and most importantly of all, there is no blood. There is no indicator at all that I’ve been harmed at all, which makes me sigh in relief.

But still, where have I been taken? This surely is not a room in the Suh residence.

A room with no windows, a giant bed in the middle of the room, large wooden pedestals with various wax candles lit drip down the sides surround me, red velvet curtains drape the walls making the warm room seem even more dim, and a wooden swing all decorate the space I find myself trapped in.

I can feel the color drain from my face when I realize that I’ve been here before. In fact, I’ve been here many, many times - almost every night. Not in the flesh but in my dreams. The only thing that is missing are the two men I see every night…

All the little hairs on my body stand at alert, worry coloring my thoughts, and I feign a small gasp in the large room.

With a lump in my throat and my heart thumping so hard I fear it might try to escape my chest, I run from the room.

My blue nightgown flutters behind me, time seems to slow as my bare feet carry me through the rooms from my dreams - though it’s backwards this time. I dash like a mad person, twirling and twisting my way through the room with mirrors on every side, seeing myself panting like a dog running so hard in the reflective glass. Though, I am happy to see I have no scratches upon my face either. I run through the room with clocks hanging all over the walls chiming and ticking at different times, springing through the belly of a giant, tall grandfather clock. I trip over the hems of my dress in the room with a long table in the middle which appears to stretch on for miles in this long room. There are various tea sets, cups, and pots along with tea cakes and sweet treats placed in a perfectly chaotic mess on the table as the eyes of various animal heads stare at me from their places hanging on the walls.

As I shimmy through the small door leading to the room with the walls full of water and sea creatures from the ocean, I pause my panting and sputtering as I spot Mr. Jung Jaehyun with his back pressed up against the glass. He is moaning, panting himself, a masquerade mask dangling in his hand, legs wrapped around the waist of a tall man in a vest who is rolling his hips sensually into his. My eyes widen as I figure out what the two of them are doing quickly and avert my attention. My thighs rub together, a strange fire grows in my lower abdomen, and I know I shouldn’t be looking but there is nothing but pure bliss on Mr. Jung’s face.

I can’t stop, I remind myself as my feet continue to carry me through the rooms I know so well.

Slinking away across a far wall full of lobsters without being caught, I hear Mr. Jung Jaehyun mewl one singular name, “Johnny!” I want to turn around, catch my “future” husband's side profile as he makes love to another man, confirm it’s him, but my mind flashes back to meeting Jaehyun for the first (and only) time and how they touched each other so fondly. Jungkook’s words ring in my words as I hear laughing coming from beyond the rooms filled with tanks and gilled beasts.

Keep going. I can make it out of this place from my nightmares.

The next room is filled with more people, though it’s hazy at best in here. There are giant hookah pipes in the middle of floor cushions, people with and without masks on touching each other so unabashedly, some naked, half-nude, or still in their ball gowns all laying over each other in a pleasure-filled party I was slightly jealous I haven’t been invited to.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” A deep yet clear baritone purrs over the sounds of jazz music and groans of love-making. I turn my head to his voice, feet skidding to a halt as I look at Mr. Kim Namjoon in his half-naked glory, navy blue silk robe hanging off his shoulders exposing a lovely chest, half-lidded eyes tracing my form like I am a piece of delicate meat he wishes to indulge in. “What are you doing without your mask?” He snaps his fingers, chuckling lightly as he takes another drag of his long silver pipe. “Twins, get her a mask!”

“Where am I?” I query as I feel the presence of two figures slowly approaching me out of the dim haze. “Who are you people?” It feels wrong to be here, to witness this. It doesn’t feel right. I feel out of place and my body is begging me to run and my legs tremble like a fawn.

His brows furrow as he takes the tube out of his mouth, blowing smoke rings in my face. “Who are you to question me, Y/N?” He snickers as the “twins” catch my arms, placing a mask over my face as I struggle. “You are but another “Alice” to me. Take her to the ball, you two. The rabbit and the hatter are dying to see her, I’m sure.” They tie the mask around me successfully, leading me out of this room into the next one which I know is the one where the floor is a giant chess board.

“Please,” I plead with the good looking twins who march on like the loyal soldiers to this strange cause, “what is all this?” The music and the chatter and maniacal laughing is growing louder as we prance down the hallway with portraits of people who are dressed in all white and all red. “I just want to know…”

“Suppose we ought to tell her?” The taller of the two says after a moment of silence between the three of us.

“Suppose we ought not to.” The shorter one shakes his head as he carries on in the quest to take me somewhere. “Boss will be mad.”

“You are to be the belle of the ball.” The taller one says with a viscous boxy grin.

“The new “Alice”.” The short one with fluffy lips nods this time.

“Everyone keeps saying that, but I don’t know what it means?” I say as I hold my breath, about to waltz into the strange chess-board-like room.

“The most beautiful, wonderful, talented, special, magical-” The taller twin rambles on.

“The most perfect woman at The Wonderland Ball is called “Alice” until the next one.” The shorter one states softly as he inhales a giant breath. They both let me go, pushing me forward as the drapery of the simple heart-patterned curtain gives way and I am standing at the top of a grand staircase while hundreds of people from below all gasp and stare up at me.

As soon as I regain my footing a spotlight hits me and causes me to shield me eyes away from the bright light bearing down upon me. The upbeat music falls silent and I am acutely aware that I am standing here in my loungewear and not properly dressed to be at the forefront of attention this evening.

“And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” The voice that makes my hair stand up on end purrs as his lush lips soothe the microphone on the little stage they’ve set up for the jazz band to play on. Kim Seokjin, my eyes lock with his which dance with mischief, his smile greedy, dressed to the nines in a rich green suit. “The crowning of the belle of the ball, the apple of all our eyes, the one that shines brighter than anyone in the picture shows, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N!”

A roar of cheering, clapping, and brass music erupts as a white haired-man with a stretched, gummy smile that doesn’t fade takes my hand and leads me down the black and white staircase. The noises seemingly die in my ears as the man on my arm says nothing, grins like a cat about to catch a mouse in its claws. Time slows, people moving and waving at me become a blur as I see who is waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

Mr. Jeon Jungkook.

The man on my arm notices how tense I am and he ever so slightly turns his head and says to me in a deep voice, “They are not going to harm you. Jungkook is infatuated with you.” My cheeks heat up. “Seokjin is helping him accomplish his dreams because he signed his life away to the servitude of others for as long as he shall live.”

“Signed his life away?” I breathe, eyes never leaving Jungkook in a white waistcoat.

“You can’t get something for free in this world.” The cat-like man growls as we are almost there. “You’ve heard of an eye for an eye, correct?” I node slightly. “A soul of servitude so he can produce strange magic, according to him and the Red Witch of Underland.”

My heart nearly stops realizing what has happened. “The devil?”

“Bingo, babe.” The cat-man chuckles a deep rasp, sliding his arm away from mine. “Have fun.”

“Now you kids have fun chasing rabbits!” Seokjin’s voice crackles through the microphone. “Everyone, enjoy the last few hours of the wonderland ball!” More hooting and hollering echoes in the building as I am exchanged into Jungkook’s strong arms.

“I thought you’d never make it.” He smiles from under his white mask at me. He takes my hand and leads me to be embraced on the dance floor. Seokjin smirks at us as he begins to sing a popular pop song everyone swoons at.

“Would you like to tell me what this is all about?” I query with a sneer on my lips. “Why am I here? Why have you poisoned me?”

“I have not nor would I ever harm you.” Jungkook grips my waist tighter. “I merely gave you a strong sedative so that I could bring you to our wonderful palace.”

“Why?” I question as he twirls me around his outstretched arm.

“Because from the moment I bumped into you, you have been the only thing consuming my mind.” He earnestly tells me, sorrow coating his eyes. “I’m not sure what trap Johnny has ensnared or tricked you in but I very much hate seeing him lock you away from the world.”

“You’re wrong.” I state angrily, glaring at him.

“He doesn’t care about you. He likes to frolic about with diplomats’ sons, not farmers’ daughters.” Jungkook smiles at me.

“That’s not true…” I mumble, my eyes looking away from his red-rimmed ones boring down upon me. “I-I am marrying Jonathan for my own personal reasons.”

“Oh, ho?” Jungkook softly chuckles, leaning over, turning my gaze back to him as he gently caresses my cheek. “Do you really believe that, darling?”

“I do...I do! I-I came here willingly.” I tremble, my facade I’ve been trying to convince myself of this whole time crackling under the pressure of his words. “I l-love…” My words linger as I look beyond Jungkook, looking up to see, “...Jonathan…” walking toward myself in the middle of the dance floor.

“Jeon!” Jonathan says, Mr. Jung Jaehyun trailing behind him, eyes wide and scared when they find mine. The male in the waistcoat holding me turns his head to the noise, the brass music climaxing, the gasps of people Jonathan is stepping between couples dancing in the soft electric light from above - I feel like my heart is going to burst. My future husband pulls his arm back, fists clenched, ready to hurt Jungkook, and with an exhale I close my eyes fearing the worst was about to ensue.

The electric lights in the strange ballroom give out in the same second.

People scream all around me, a loud thud is heard and I feel like something unexpected is about to occur, the atmosphere heavy and full of invisible pressure.

“Release the jabberwocky!” A voice echoes as chaos ensues.

“Come with me.” A voice purrs, ripping me away from Jungkook’s arms. I feel almost empty as shouting and yelling break out in the middle of the dance floor. “I will protect you, Y/N, my crown jewel.” My stomach pits hearing him say my name, tickling my ear like the serpent that led Eve to eat the apple of her demise.

Kim Seokjin.

With a snap of his fingers, we are back in the room I started out this evening in and where my dreams always have me end at. I land on the bed in a huff and he ends up sitting upon the swing, looking at me with a triumphant smirk on his luscious lips. There is a certain air about him now that doesn’t seem so threatening, so serious now for some reason. Perhaps it’s him sitting upon the swing like that of a child? I haven’t the slightest clue.

“Where am I?” I demand, glowering at Seokjin from across the way.

“Curiosity often leads to trouble, my dearest Y/N.” Seokjin chuckles darkly, eyes roaming my body, a knowing look on his features. “I think before your marriage you are looking for a little trouble, if you catch my drift.”

Trouble…

My mind completely spirals remembering the scenes of people entangled with one another, their mouths working in tandem with each other, their slippery pink tongues entwined in a passionate battle for dominance. Mr. Jung Jaehyun’s face twisted in pleasure, moaning and mewling as his lover - my future husband - was thrusting vigorously.

A lightbulb finally goes off in my head.

“You want me to give into you both then my dreams will end?” My voice shakes as I query to Seokjin who continues to lightly push back and forth on the swing. “Then you will let me leave?”

His eyes flicker with a hungry vigor to them, gleaming in the dim candlelight. “Precisely.” His soft voice cuts the atmosphere like a sharp blade, leaving me with a chill radiating down my spine. “Let’s have some fun, “Alice”.”

“As long as you promise I am to be set free from all of...this.” I gesture around the room as he makes a come hither motion with his fingers at me.

“You have my word.”

Somehow, I don’t believe him, but I am desperate for any way out of this wretched place I can find.

So, I will use the body I was blessed with to the fullest extent.

I am a loyal woman. I step toward the man on the swing, my hands coming up to the ties around my chest and my waist. His eyes spark with a ravenous hunger in the depths of his orbs. I know that I am not doing a decent thing. Seokjin snaps his fingers again, all his clothes disappearing but his green top hat, vanishing before my very eyes. I know I am more than what I am succumbing to right now. But my stomach does feel hot and my thighs rubbing together is making me feel faint for some reason. My garments fall to the floor in a soft patting sound and I lose my breath in the same moment.

Don’t tell me I actually want this…?

I stand in front of him on the swing and I can’t help but bite my lip as my eyes roam his pale figure, tracing down his collarbones to his sculpted abdominal muscles he has been hiding. Did he sell his soul to the devil to become handsome too I wonder?

“So beautiful.” He revels looking at me unabashed, a wolfish grin spreading across his pretty face. Part of me wants him to touch me, to caress the underside of my breast, to trace the outline of my hips with his fingertips, but he doesn not.

I have to remind myself this isn’t for me. This is for the man that has been tormenting me.

“Get me ready for you.” Seokjin commands, smirk still spread across his face. I comply, dropping to my knees to be faced with a large member swinging forth from the middle of his legs on the swing. “And you will address me as “Sir”, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” I respond, biting my lip as I look from his eyes to his member once more.

“Suck.” He chuckles lightly, pointing to his middle and I can’t help but follow this simple instruction.

I don’t tease him, though I’m not really sure I know what I am doing in the first place. I swirl the flat of my tongue over his mushroom-tipped head several times. He moans in response, his hands coming off the swing’s ropes to hold my hair from my face as I swallow him further down my wet cavity. My middle aches and pulses, empty, missing something as I steady myself against Seokjin’s thighs.

“Good little girl.” Seokjin hums, his sound voice making me feel appreciated. The sound vibrating through to my own middle, making me groan around him.

I bob my head up and down his long length, enjoying the way he hums and gasps in response to my efforts. It’s a little hard to breathe I think as I continue my pace, nose hitting Seokjin’s pubic bone, smelling the most intimate part of him.

My dominant hand grabs his member at the base, working him in tandem with my mouth. Up and down his thick member I go, reveling in every twitch and rumble that flies out of his throat. The swing starts to sway with my rhythmic movements, bobbing him back and forth with vigor, tears climb to my eyes. The tip of him hits the back of my mouth, making me gag and choke on his wonderful cock. The heat was pooling in the middle of my stomach and I fear I am going to lose my mind. I pick up the motions of my mouth and hand, tears skating down my pinkened cheeks, his grip tightening around the base of my skull, digging into my scalp.

It burns… But, I also enjoy it. This feeling...so wet and tight and I feel so evil and sinful but the pleasure is driving me mad.

“Baby girl.” There’s warning in his tone as I pop off his cock in an instant, looking up to him with big worried eyes. His head was leaned back, not focused on looking directly at myself, but the feeling of my lips and fingertips. “Up.” He commands once more, head twisting back to a comfortable position to stare at me.

I scramble to my feet, missing the feeling of him in my mouth already, not to mention aching for him in the middle of my legs. I rub my thighs together for some easy friction, knowing that it won’t help me much at this point.

Seokjin moves his hand to stroke against his giant member in his palm and I lock my orbs in place on the slit of his cock where a clear liquid was oozing out. My mind is truly hazy at best, as I just stand there and watch him stroke himself up and down in a lazy fashion. I bite my lip once more.

I do want this. I am almost ashamed to admit that I want this man.

“Are you going to be good and let me use you?” Seokjin’s dirty words make my middle pool and contort with more of a raging fire.

“Y-Yes, sir.” I say again, cheeks hot and damp from sucking his cock moments ago.

His nostrils flare, his cock twitches in his grasp as he motions to sit upon his middle. “I bet you’re so wet for me.” He chuckles, smile darkening with his words.

Seokjin eases me down on his thick member, my hole so wet, so slick, allowing him to stretch my clenching walls in an easy motion. I gasp, eyes popping out of my head. My nails dig into his shoulder blades, back arching with his giant, twitching dick tight inside of me. I wrap my legs around his lean waist, his pale skin flexing in the candlelight with his movements as he stills, letting my hips sink down into the base of his cock.

“Baby girl.” Seokjin purrs, breath tickling my ear as he throbs inside of me. “I need you.” He growls, littering the crook of my neck with sloppy kisses. He positions us just so on the swing, readying us to begin when he deems necessary.

“P-Please use me, s-sir-r!” I mumble in the base of his neck, feeling high on this pleasure-filled pain.

“I live to serve.”

I gasp as he starts moving his hips inside of my center, bucking up into my body with a fevered pace instantly. The swing moves back and forth and I feel like the motion is going to make me feel his body sliding in and out of me too well. I cling to him for dear life, my grip surely bruising him or harming him in some way as he slides in and out of my slicked out center at a brutal rhythm.

Tears find my eyes again as he nips at my neck, marking me up with tender love bites. I’m a howling, moaning mess, losing my sanity. I am finally full of Seokjin’s girth, filling me up beyond desire.

Seokjin kisses my lips then in his, melting our mouths together in a hurry. He holds my face in his palms, grunting and groaning for me, and only me. His tongue enters my mouth in search of something unknown, moaning into my lips laced together with his hot mouth connected with my pink tongue. He rolls his saliva coated tongue into mine in haste, need seeping into my senses, consuming my thoughts as he thrusts up in me, using the swing as a propellant to ease us forward and backward.

“Feels...so-o..good~!” I moan in between our passionate kisses.

Seokjin just growls like a feral animal in response. The tip of his cock kisses my cervix continuously, brushing past a spot inside of me that instantly makes me quake. He rockets himself against me, rutting his body against my core in sync with his hips slamming into mine. Seokjin expels filth from his mouth about filling me to the brim with his seed, seeing my stomach swollen and full of his children, his warm breath hitting my ear making me shudder in response.

I can’t focus, my climax getting ready to pop at any moment. Wet noises fill the dark room, as Seokjin’s rough speed of his length in and out of my molten, wet center continues. My erect nipples swirl on his pale chest, circling quickly as he bounces me up and down his giant cock, swinging through the air like some sexual trapeze artist.

“Are you going to be good to me?” He asks me, smirk present in his tone, pace almost blinding now as he pushes in and out of me with a need so heavy and strong I can practically smell it rising from his skin. “Are you going to let me fill you up, my little doll?” Seokjin snarls into my skin.

“Pleaseeeee!” I practically scream, eyes flying open as he hits my center at just the right spot that makes me see white.

“Ah-ah!” He tsks. “What do we say?”

“Please, sir!” I mewl and gasp, thighs quaking in his hold, my juices squelching out of me as he continues to thrust into my sensitive molten core. “Seokjin!” I cry while he growls into the scorching skin of my neck inhaling sharply as he slams his hips into my shivering body. “Sir!”

Seokjin grunts, cock spurting his seed into me with a need so raw, so feral he finds his footing hard to maintain on the swing, stilling us from moving about, holding my hips tightly down upon him. He sucks harshly on my skin as he too shudders and grunts, biting down on the crook of my neck, stretching my clenching walls around his member as he fills me with his hot white seed.

My cries of pleasure fill the small room, my pleasure-filled haze coming to a close as Seokjin shifts us - still joined together - to the bed in the middle of the room. I hold onto Seokjin as he keeps his seed inside of me, feeling like I just had the ride of my life on top of him. My climax dies down, my first high fading away, fog around my brain being lifted temporarily as my nails rake over shoulders I’ve definitely marked up.

A cool, damp towel appears with a wave of his arms, stroking my middle with it delicately cleaning up the mess I’ve made. “How does it feel to be connected with the devil?” Seokjin sneers as he pulls out of me, making my center ache and twitch for him.

My eyes grow wide and my lips part but before I can say anything Jungkook bursts in the room.

“Am I late?” Jungkook pants as he looks awestruck by me on the bed.

“For a very important date.” I gaze back to Seokjin who is now fully dressed, smirking that soft, playful smile like he usually does at Mr. Jeon. “Don’t worry, I was just getting her ready for you, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook eyes him with narrowed orbs, but buys the lie Seokjin is selling and proceeds to strip himself of his white waistcoat. “What is on the menu tonight?” His red-rimmed irises bore into mine and I feel self-conscious suddenly. He circles the bed in the manner like that of a wolf would as he finishes stripping himself of any dressy garments, though his slacks remain on.

“The one you most desire out of everything in this world.” Seokjin purrs, stepping up to take his seat on his pedestal high above us.

Is he going to watch us?

“Fuck,” Jungkook growls, dropping to his knees in front of the bed suddenly. He pulls me closer to him by my ankles, throwing my thighs apart so my center is exposed to him in the rawest form. He stares at my glistening middle as I try to close my legs with a little, pathetic whimper.

“Don’t.” The rabbit-like man moans wantonly, holding onto my ankles loosely. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” His hands glide up my thighs achingly slow, holding me in pace for his eyes to ravage as they please.

The fire in my lower stomach has returned, hungry and ready to go for more.

His warm fingertips make it to my inner thighs, kneading the flesh there tenderly, so close to my throbbing core that I almost beg him with a cry to dip down into me, but I refrain, hanging on to every trace or brush of his hands against my scorching flesh.

“What do you want, my darling?” He groans into my inner thigh, lips ghosting my sensitive flesh there, inching closer to my heated skin with his upper body.

“Please.” I finally ask, begging, almost choking out the word, forgetting Seokjin watching us from above.

His dominant hand finally finds my nether lips, tracing them up and down with his two longest fingers but not exactly touching me where I am aching quite yet. “Please what?” He teases, stroking me up and down slowly, holding his feral gaze in mine, amber eyes seemingly on fire.

“Please, Jungko-“

He slaps my middle with little force or malice behind it, but I jolt, mewling aloud, wanting him to secretly do it again.

Jungkook goes back to tracing my lips in the middle of my body, smug smirk seated on his devilishly handsome face. “You are so wet, darling.” He slaps me again, though this time I want it more than I’d actually care to admit.

“Jung-” I choke on my words.

He slaps me again, this time with slightly more force behind his fingertips. I hiss out a breath, staring at him with my mouth slightly ajar, brows turned up, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes already.

“I have to have a taste.” He kisses my inner thigh as he slowly traces his thumb over my slicked out folds.

I let out a wanton cry as he hums into my thighs, growling low and deep. I swear there’s a smile in his voice as he works with his mouth and fingertip in tandem. “Mine.” He breathes, sucking on the sensitive flesh of my innermost thigh, marking me with a throaty growl.

“J-Jungkook..!”

I am a mess. I let loose a series of pants, breathless moans as he works my coil in the pit of my stomach tighter with every brush or groan he grants my hot body. I am melting under Jungkook’s touch, my body feeling sticky, arousal dripping from my middle while he circles my delicate clit.

His thumb was increasing his pace of gliding over my bundle of nerves, still slow, still making my breathing become erratic, but the desire for Jungkook to do more was driving me insane. I’ve had a taste of sex and look at me wanting more. I didn’t know if I could be in the position to ask for more. But I wanted him to place those perfect, beautiful sinful lips on my molten core. Jungkook’s breath fans over my middle as he continues to stroke me down there.

I miss the twitch confined to the middle of his pants from the man watching us from above with eager need.

As if sensing my need, his tongue swipes a slow stripe through my folds, the cool of his muscle against my exposed center making me black out for a moment, the sensation far too much for me to bear with right now. His snort of laughter brings me back to reality as he swirls his pink tongue at my empty entrance.

Jungkook laps at my folds as if he is a starved man, hungry, desperate for his next meal. I keen, gripping onto the base of his golden torso as laps at me. I’d think grounding myself on top of Jungkook’s head would make me saner, gripping his strands of hair as he goes to town in my middle. But really, it makes me feel completely mad, like I’ve gone insane.

The feral, untamed animal-like noises that escape his throat drive me absolutely wild, my skin on fire with need and want. My nails cling to his scalp, dragging him closer to my middle as he ravages my core. He maneuvers his two longest fingers through the glossy slick, lubing his digits to breach my entrance.

“Jungkook!” I gasp, choking on my words as he makes a come hither motion with his fingers, splitting my velvet walls to open for him.

Jungkook swirls his tongue over my little pearl of sensitive nerves, lapping and sucking my flesh like he's never eaten a thing in his life. He continues his very audible growling and moaning, husk in his voice incredibly thick.

“Let go, baby.” He coos into my middle as I jolt and shake, his digits brushing past the most delicious spot deep inside of my clenching walls. “Give me your release.”

His words finally tip me over the edge.

I tighten my hold on him, gritting my teeth in the process. My head falls backward on the sheets, eyes screwed closed as Jungkook slurps every inch of my middle clean, not leaving anything to go to waste.

“Kookie,” I sputter out, the feeling of his tongue and fingers becoming too much for me. “I-I’m c-c-cumming-!”

As I say the last of my words, the world comes undone around me for the second time today, my tight coil finally popping. Blinding white stars coat my vision for a second, my body shivering and shaking as I drip out onto the flat of Jungkook’s tongue.

He laps up my sensitive hole up with more snarls, more feral noises escaping his body. Tears flow down my face as I unhinge my nails from his silky blonde strands, trying to push him away from my overly sensitive flesh with pathetic mewls of protest escaping my throat.

More. My brian prompts me to continue to sate my undying lust burning inside of me. I need more.

“Jungkook,” I beg while his tongue still explores my throbbing hole, giving my sensitive skin rapt attention. “Jungkookie. Please. I c-can’t.” I tug at his blinde hair gently, trying to get him to stop teasing me with his tongue.

He doesn't stop and I can only think of one thing to ask before I lose my damn mind with him between my thighs.

“Jungkook.” I shudder, high building up once more. “Please fuck me.”

Everything in the room stills, the only sound heard was our heavy breathing.

He looks up from my sensitive core, brows knit together as he looks into my eyes with such a passionate gaze of uncertainty. My juices were coating the bottom half of his face, his blonde hair is in a state of disarray, as he proceeds to slowly rise to his feet, looking over me on the bed.

“What?” He questions incredulously down at my fucked out form. Jungkook looks at me as if I am the most fragile thing in the world, as if I would burst into flames at any moment. “My darling, my love, there’s no going back if we-“

“I know.” I smirk up to the gorgeous gangster in all of the Windy City. “I want this too.”

His nostrils flare, his eyes widen, and his gaze softens. Jungkook looks down at me with something akin to lust, which makes my heart rate increase...

“Up.” He commands, raw husk pouring out of his tone as he starts to undo his pants, the zipper noise almost jarring in the quiet of the night.

I do as I’m told. I’ve fallen far down the rabbit hole now, I think as I shift on the bed. Standing was a little difficult as he’s just given me one of the best feelings I’ve ever had. I keep my eyes glued to Jungkook. His hands travel sensually down his tiny waist to his slacks he unbuttons. I am gasping, unable to take my eyes off the very beautiful sight of his thick cock bouncing, finally free from the confines of his dress pants. The tip was red and angry, a bead of precum adorning the slit of his mushroom-like head. He was long, girthy, and I want nothing more than it inside of myself at this very moment.

Jungkook grips the base of his cock with his hand while he steps out of his pants, giving his shaft a few pumps up and down while I watch with an open mouth.

“I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long.” He confesses softly, reaching for me with his free hand. I inch closer to him, gliding my hands over his defined body, admiring his lithe, yet sturdy frame. My fingers hungrily trace every ridge, every contour of his golden torso. Jungkook was so warm, so wonderful, and I am slightly kicking myself for not giving into him sooner. “To have you,” he continues, kissing up the side of my neck.

“Please.” I beg him again, eyes flickering back and forth between his.

“Turn around.” He leans in to kiss me with passionate need. His lips molding into mine as I cling to him for more. I taste my essence on his tongue which makes me whimper into his strong hold. “I’m going to fuck you now, my love.”

Again, I don’t need to be told twice as he guides me to where he wants me, bending me at the waist so my fingers dig into the unkept sheets below, my backside open and exposed to him.

“So pretty for me.” I hear the grin in his deep rumble. Jungkook slaps my bottom, granting him a hiss to escape my throat. I whine when he does it softly several more times, making my head soar.

I hear him spit before I feel the extra saliva lubricant coat my backside, the cool of his juices combined with mine was driving me up a wall.

“Jungkook!” I gasp.

He groans when I call for him, pushing his fat head of a cock at my aching, empty hole, wanting him to finally join the two of us.

“Darling,” he sounds like he’s straining to hold back. “Baby, please, fuck!” He grunts, splitting my walls inch by agonizingly slowly. I moan as he stretches me wide, entering me like he owns me.

He thrusts inside of me all the way with one snap of his hips suddenly. A cry leaves my lips along with a strangled one from the man inside of me. My eyes widen as I realize that he’s not going to go easy on me tonight, he’s going to fuck me on his terms. I was in for a wild ride this evening.

Jungkook leans the front of himself over my sticky back, pressing our heated flesh together more, growling to the outside shell of my ear, nipping the flesh under my lobe while sliding in and out of me with a brutal pace he’s set.

“Baby…” he moans in my ear, the deep purr vibrating throughout his body making my breathing hitch and sob. His hips snapping into mine with a rhythm, I swear, no human man could ever achieve. Liquid was flowing down my eyes as the push and pull of Jungkook slamming his giant cock into my velvet folds repeatedly already had me tearing the sheets in two with my nails.

“Jung! Ah! Kook!”

Seokjin glides his hand over his cock from above the bed, matching the rhythm Jungkook’s hips produce, enjoying the wonderful show.

I gasp this over and over like a prayer falling from my lips. My eyes are squeezed shut, my body hot with the raw purpose to feel Jugnkook inside of my heated center. His cock pushes in and out of me at a fevered pace, making my vision blur, seeing far too many white stars.

My brain is fuzzy as he hits the spot inside of me that blinds me, pleasure swimming in my veins. My third climax was surely on the way.

“Baby,” Jungkook grunts, one of his arms snaking up my torso, his long fingers finding one of my bouncing breasts. He starts pinching my erect nipple, holding on to me tighter as we slide back and forth off of one another.

My coil was wound so tight, I don’t know if I’d be able to last much longer. Especially not with Jungkook’s fingers attaching to my hardened nipple, his lips to the crook of my neck, and his cock slamming in and out of my clenching middle with a fevered need.

He bucks into me faster, my walls clamping down on him, my coil about to pop, about to burst forth again. I can’t hold myself up any longer, my legs shaking violently. My knuckles are turning white with how hard I am clawing at the heart patterned sheets.

“Jungkook! I-“ I mewl, but I don’t get to finish my thought.

In a split second, Jungkook pulls out of my middle, flipping me over and letting me fall onto my back so I could be face to face with him. Jungkook climbs on top of me quickly, wanting to resume his feverish pace immediately, hunger and need in his amber gaze. He settles between my legs, pushing himself back into my slicked out center easily, restarting from where he last left off.

I gasp when he enters me, clinging to his shoulders, holding him while the lewd squelching noises in the room continue to grow, faster, louder. He grips onto my hips, guiding me at a blinding speed I didn’t know he could achieve. Is he a victim of the devil as well?

Sweat was pouring off our bodies, my brain unable to produce a sane thought as he grunts and moans my name, his red orbs never leaving my face as he rockets his cock into my folds like it was his job.

It happens again, the very right feeling deep inside of my body, the one that makes me grit my teeth, that makes me see hundreds of tiny white stars.

“Jung! Kook~!” I scream into the quiet room, tears flowing from my hues as I card my fingers through his blonde strands, trying to make a purchase on his roots.

My hands travel down his backside as he snarls, “I’m going to make you my wife! Not some wannabe from the Northside!” Jungkook huffs, his movements slowing down, one of his thumbs finding my folds again, circling my aching clit in hurry - a stark contrast to earlier. “I’m going to claim you as my own.”

Seokjin smiles like he’s just won the lottery, masturbating to the sight of both his clients intertwined, fucking onto each other with unbridled lust. He comes then watching his new toy’s back arch, breasts in the air, Jungkook’s frame pounding into her with hungry trepidation.

I grab onto the ample flesh of his bottom, feeling the world come tumbling around myself once more. Letting my body shake and quake on top of the sheets, my third orgasm taking me by force. I feel complete - feel whole for some reason. I am so completely taken aback with the storm rippling through my body in pleasureful tremors, one right after the other, I cannot even begin to breathe properly.

He lets a feral snarl rip through his body as he pumps into my leaking middle a few more times, my whole being consumed by Jungkook. He leans over me, sucking my neck colors of purples and dark reds and I scream as his cock swells inside of my velvet walls, releasing his own essence into my womb, holding him there like a vice grip as he spurts his seed deep inside of me.

Once our highs come to a close, I run my fingers through his hair, his throbbing cock still joined inside of my middle. We both pant, holding the other for dear life, finally together, and fulfilled with one other. Jungkook kisses along my jaw, moaning my name, telling me what an amazing baby doll I am as his cock finally softens inside of my aching cunt.

“Bravo.” Seokjin claps as he walks down the wooden stairs. “You both did very well!” He chuckles darkly. I squeak in surprise. I forgot he was there and I scramble to cover myself with the soiled sheets.

“Okay, Kim,” Jungkook says as he kisses my nose, pulling out and picking up my clothes and handing them to me. He dresses in his undergarments and dress pants quickly, buttoning them up as he turns to the man all in green. “You had your show.” I listen as I dress myself with haste, back turned to the two men. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked: invested the money overseas, gotten rid of the competition and family in this lovely city, got you a new “Alice”, and even let you watch us play ball. I think it’s time to set us free.”

“Yes,” the mad man snickers, darkness clouding his tone, “you both have served me well. But nobody is leaving my perfectly curated speakeasy.”

I turn around and my heart is dropping to the floor. Shock is written all over Jungkook’s face as I clench my jaw in guilt.

“But, I’m afraid you both made a deal with me, and I don’t give up my new toys so easily.” Seokjin caresses Jungkook’s face in his pale hand, while holding my gaze with a sense of gentle anger. “You can’t always get what you want. But hey, look on the bright side: at least you have each other.”

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A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this trip down the rabbit hole! Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!

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