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sleepyangelkami · 8 months

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You having a secret crush on ellie and you keep it to yourself but she finds your diary one day and she can't help herself so she reads it when you go to the bathroom

DEAR DIARY e.williams

☆ WORD COUNT - 3.4K

ELLIE WILLIAMS X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - you and ellie have been best friends for as long as you can both remember. she was the artist, you were the writer. you both respected one anothers hidden sketchbook and diary. until one day you're taking much too long in the shower and it's just... sitting there! ellie can't help herself and she finds out a little secret.

☆ WARNINGS - snooping? tinsey bit of angst if you can even call it that, touch starved reader, sort of loser!ellie a little, lil crying, petnames, use of y/n like once, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

for as long as you could remember, ellie had been your number one. she was your best friend in the entire world, you told her everything and she told you the same in return. okay maybe not... everything. there was one thing you'd been having an awful hard time keeping to yourself. though, you were sure it was much better in than out.

you and ellie were like an orange and black cat, you were fire and ice, the sun and moon, a writer and an artist.

ellie drew a lot. you'd seen multiple of her drawings before. you remembered the first time she'd doodled a frog onto your arm during a boring lecture from tommy and maria. she gave you a confused look to your state of shock. but you were merely surprised. sure, you knew she could draw. but you didn't know she was that good.

you were the writer. ellie was well aware of this. whether you had your laptop propped up on your knees, writing away or a pen in hand scrawling letters around the little pages. ellie always thought your handwritting was nice. it was much better than her fat chunky lettering that everyone always seemed to have trouble reading. she'd always watch the way your pen would dance across the page, so easily and smoothly. she was almost jealous.

you'd both grown to understand the boundaries of her drawings and your writing.

two things were off limits. one, was her big black bulky sketchbook that she often brought around to your house or sat under her arm. two, as your pink journal. she'd seen it once, questioning you what book was falling out from your locker drawer. you were honest with her. you told her it was your diary, the book you cherished the most, the book she could never read.

at first, ellie was a little taken aback.

sure, she knew everyone had their own secrets but it was you. you told ellie everything, or so she thought.

"oh, thank god." she spoke, pushing her jacket off as she walked into your house, right through the front door. the snow from outside decorated the crown of her head and the tip of her nose. "i was looking everywhere for that." discarding her wet boots at the door. "thought i lost it."

"nope." you chimed from your place at your kitchen counter. your stools had been the very ones joel had built for you. well, not for you. he really built them for anyone but when no takers raised their hand, you sort of felt like you had to. ellie laughed at you, stating nobody would want to sit at your kitchen counter ever again. "right here."

ellie soon made her way across the kitchen, taking the sketchbook from your hands softly. "you didn't... look at anything, did you?"

you shook your head from side to side. "'course not, els." that beloved nickname that had her cheeks turning pink. "'s the same way i wouldn't want you reading my diary. i wouldn't look at your sketchbook like that." god only knew what ellie williams was drawing on the cream coloured paper.

she breathed a sigh of relief, believing you. "okay, thank you." though she still had a gnawing feeling at the bottom of her stomach. what if you did? i mean, you wouldn't do that much less lie to her afterwards. but what if. once the thought entered her head, she had a hard time getting it to leave again.

"wanna watch a movie?" you questioned, placing your chin on your hands that had been propped up by the elbows onto your kitchen counter.

ellie sat herself on one of the white stools, not the wooden ones joel had made. "whatcha have in mind, sweetheart?" it wasn't often that ellie came over for less than a day. i mean, you two were practically attached together by the hip. if ellie was at your house, and even just for something as small as to collect the sketchbook, she was more often than not staying over.

you hummed, your lips pressed together. try as you must but you never were able to play off the stammering and flustered appearance as she called you those pretty names. but that was sort of the whole point, she liked the way your cheeks heated up. "something christmassy." you spoke. "like the muppets or something."

the girl merely raised a scarred brow at you. "it's november."

you huffed out a sigh, rolling your eyes. "'s never to early for christmas, els."

that was enough for ellie, she supposed. after this short interaction in the kitchen, you both ended up sat atop your living room couch, you fishing around with the remote. thankfully, she'd agreed on the muppets christmas carol, and you were not about to give up the oppertunity to watch your favourite movie with your favourite person.

a hand came down to your side, gently rubbing up and down gently. suddenly, the buttons on the controller seemed hazy and you blinked not once, not twice but three times, a breath falling from your lips. her fingers were so long and pretty, gently soothing the bare skin from underneath your shirt, barely hitting against your stomach. it wasn't much but for a touch starved girl alike you, it was enough to have your stomach in knots, your mind blurring into one big watercolour.

ellie seemed to have taken notice to the way your entire demeanour changed, her brows barely moving. "something wrong, baby?" you couldn't tell if she were being serious or not. perhaps it was because everything seemed hazy but truly, you couldn't distinguish whether or not she was trying to fool around with you or if her words had really been spoken with such innocence.

did she know what she was doing to you?

you cleared your throat, bee stung lips rolling. "lets jus' watch the movie, els." pressing what you assumed was the start button and watching as the screen lit up. avoiding the question completely.

you'd missed the way her lips curved up into a smirk.

of course, ellie williams was well aware of the effect she had on you.

you see, you'd been hiding this 'crush' on your best friend for quite a long time now. but it was times like this that you swore she knew, she had to. of course, she had to be aware of the way you stumbled upon your words around her or the way your face seemed on fire when she used those pretty nicknames on you. that was the thing, she called you the names, nobody else, not even those fuckbuddies of hers.

it begged the question, where did you stand to her?

you'd been best friends for so long now, you were sure she merely called you these things and seemed so impossibly close because she was comfortable with you. otherwise, there'd somehow be a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why she treated you so differently. though, the bigger part of you, the one consumed by romance novels and love letters, the one that consumed romantic films as if it were food, that part of you wanted to believe it was because you were different. well, not you necessarily. you didn't want to be different to all the girls she fucked, well, you didn't really care. you just wanted ellie's feelings for you to be different.

you didn't want ellie to look at you like you were one of those girls that'd spend the night then leave by morning without so much as a breakfast or goodbye.

you wanted her to look at you like you were worth a million stars. the way you looked at her.

you'd been enamoured by her since the day you'd met her and it appeared as though it were obvious to just about everyone other than her. your best friends dina and jesse had instantly picked up on it when you were kids. it was a wonder to both you and them how ellie still hadn't found out.

but even when dina and jesse brought it up, whether there was a teasing tone etched to their words or perhaps they were asking a serious question, you did exactly what ellie told you to do in every other situation. deny, deny, deny. probably the only time you ever took on ellie's advice.

the one person or thing, i should say, that actually knows about this little 'crush' on the auburn haired girl was the little pink notebook tucked away in the side drawer of your room, right next to your desk.

seeing as it was merely ink to a page, you didn't have to hide. you didn't have to become flustered the way you did when talking to ellie and you didn't have to lie the way you did to dina and jesse. you could simply breathe again.

it was the thing you admired most about this little book, the freedom.

you could say anything you wanted about anyone you wanted and nobody would ever know. it'd never leave the little pink book. besides, the only person that knew about your diary was ellie and you trusted her enough not to look through it. the same way you'd never pick up ellie's sketchbook and look through it.

not only because she asked but because you too know what it's like to have something of yours worth so much value. not in money, of course, but in a sense that it truly was yours and nobody elses.

"yes i could." you bit back to the auburn haired girl that sat atop your bed. the movie had ended hours ago, you'd even thrown on another one. this time, ellie got to choose and as always, she chose a horror. you hated horror movies and yet every single time, without fail, ellie was throwing one on.

"no you couldn't." she rolled her eyes. the current debate was whether or not you would be able to survive the scream movies. you were sure that you would, without a doubt but ellie wasn't so sure. "you can barely sit through a horror movie let alone be in one."

"they're just not interesting." you all but pouted, your stomach leaning against the bed as you looked up at her, tight lipped smile on your lips. "they always have the same plot and they're so... gory." it wasn't that you were scared of them necessarily. don't get me wrong, sometimes you're halfway behind ellie, screaming in her shoulder at what you're watching but even then, you still wouldn't choose to watch horror movies even without all the jump scares.

"yeah, yeah." she rolled her eyes again, she seemingly always did that when you were around. "just say you're a pussy."

you narrowed your eyes at her. "am not."

"annabell." the one word sent shivers down your spine.

"that's different." you defended. you hated the movie more than anything else in the entire world, probably even more than you hated ellie's silly jokes (you loved them really).

she cocked a brow. "how so?"

"because!" you exclaimed, flopping onto your back. "that's a scary doll that'll break into my house while i'm sleeping and―i don't know find some really creepy way to kill me. but ghostface?" you huffed out a giggle. "I could take him on."

this time, ellie tilted her head, a smirk on her lips. "really?" as if she didn't believe you at all.

you frowned at that, did she not think you were strong? you liked to believe you were strong, strong enough to take on ghostface? perhaps not. "i could take you on." you scoffed, looking at her arms.

although you wish you hadn't. the way they flexed under her shirt was enough to have your stomach rolling. her arms were the very thing that had you squirming, they were so defined and toned, along with her stomach, showing you what true muscle she had. your head felt nauseous merely looking at her.

she was getting closer to you, watching as you observed her, eyes never leaving her body. "that so?" teasing voice.

but you didn't respond with words, a mere "mhm." falling from your lips though it sort of sounded like a mix between a hum and a whine, you were failing so horribly at keeping your little secret inside.

"show me then."

you'd done this with ellie before, giggles falling from the bedroom door as you attempted to pin ellie down but right now felt so different. the air was off and the tension was rising.

at first, you tried to play it off. you playfully grabbed at her wrist, trying to push her onto the bed. usually, she'd let you win. she loved to see that victorious smirk on your face after she let you beat her. in the back of your head you'd know, though. you could never beat ellie.

but this time, she didn't let you win.

this time, she flipped your wrists and then you completely. your eyes widened when you realised how strong she was. you always knew she was strong, don't get me wrong but never had you been pinned down by her with such force behind her hands. you felt your face heat up and your stomach swirl as the girl landed above you, her head looking down at you with a smirk playing on her lips.

this time, she won.

"whatever." with a little shove, you manged to push her off. she let you, grinning as she sat back on the bed, pride swelling in her chest as she watched you flusteredly try to hide your face. "i have to go shower."

"good." she joked, watching you get up from the bed. "you fucking stink." she watched you grin and stick your tongue out at her, she did the very same in response, watching you enter your bathroom with clothes that had been sitting on your chair now in your hands.

and then, she was alone.

you'd done this the other day, about a week ago and everything changed. it was the day that ellie did the very thing she swore she'd never do and yet she did it anyway.

she just couldn't help herself.

when you were in the bathroom, showering, she'd reached over to the nightstand to look at the photograph you had on it, you and her, icecream on her nose and smeared on your cheek. a week ago, she'd grinned at it, thinking it was the most heartwarming thing she'd seen in months. then, her eyes had glanced to the little pink book that lay beneath it.

a month ago, she'd swear she'd never go near the thing, ever.

a week ago, she opened it and her eyes scanned the page.

she hadn't had any bad intentions, not really. she was just curious as to what you wrote about, what you were keeping so hidden from your dear, beloved best friend. and when she started, she couldn't stop. she soon realised that the lovely words scrawled across the page weren't about how the sunlight peeked through the clouds or how the rain fell into the puddles collected on the ground. the words were about her.

soon enough, she'd made herself believe that if the words were about her, surely, she should be allowed to read it, it was only right.

she waited until the batrhoom door closed before she reached over to the side of the bed. she knew it was wrong, so wrong, it was an invasion of privacy and she knew you'd probably burst into tears if you'd seen it. but you know what they say, curiosity kills the cat.

she placed the book on the bed, attempting to pick up where she left off.

i just can't help but like her!! what does any of this meannnn??? you don't touch someone like that as a friend, you don't call your 'friends' names like that, it's not normal!! i'm reading into this. i always fucking do this, i read into it and then bam! that's it! i'm gonna loose her to this stupid crush. it's not a crush, i think i'm in love with her. no, i can't be. it's a silly crush and it'll be gone in a day. EVEN THOUGH IT'S BEEN YEARS!! i hate myself and the only option is to throw myself off of a fucking cli―

"els, i think i left my―" she'd never shut something so fast in her entire life. ellie's wide eyes shot up, looking at you standing in the front of the bathroom doorway. "w-what are you doing?" you'd barely registered what'd happened, your eyes already burning.

"shit." there really was no way of defending herself. you'd caught her red handed with the book sitting on the bed. "darling, i didn't―"

"you read it." you deadpanned, feeling the tears begin to well up in your eyes. "you read it, you promised me you wouldn't read it!"

but ellie was already standing from the bed, discarding the book completely. "i know, angel, i know, i'm sorry i jus―"

she was attempting to race to the other side of the room, get to you and presumably comfort you. she couldn't stand the tears in your eyes. "do you know?" that you've been helplessly in love with her the past four years and running? her silence gave a response but not one that you were particularly happy with. "do you know?"

her voice was a meak whisper. "yeah, baby, i know."

humiliation, embarrassment, shame,

all you could feel.

you'd been helplessly and hopelessly in love with ellie for as long as time yet never have you truly worried about it getting back to her. dina knew but she'd never squeal, neither would jesse if he knew what was good for him.

that little pink book didn't just know briefly of this 'fleeting crush' it knew everything, every minor detail. ellie consumed the pages, every pen stroke had her name on it. you were sure that the book knew more about this crush than you could ever grasp.

"hey, hey, don't cry." she was up in your face, hands attempting to hold your face, soothing you gently. "hey, i'm sorry, i'm sorry." she kept repeating everything but nothing could stop the way your lip wobbled and your eyes filled to the brim, the dam breaking as a fat tear rolled down your cheek. "okay, just―"

ellie was panicking. she knew how you could get, once you started crying it was damn near impossible to get you to stop. the way your lip trembled served as a constant reminder that she had been the one to put you in this situation, she had made you cry.

before you could even thin, there was a big black book being shoved in your hands. you didn't think to look down, mind to foggy and far away but ellie was already opening it up for you. "angel, look, see?" finally, you pulled your eyes away from the little pink book on your bed, eyes trailing down to the sketchbook. ellie briefly flickered through the pages, your brows pinched together. were they... drawings of you? "i do it too, see?" had anyone ever put their heart on the line merely to get you to stop crying? no. then again, nobody else had ever been quite like ellie williams.

you sniffled, glancing at one of the pictures. it looked so real, as if you were looking at yourself right now, eyes shut and lips sort of smashed against the pillow. "am i sleeping?" you sniffled, mouth sort of dry.

ellie found herself a dark crimson. "well―yeah." she only now realised what she'd done. she just wanted you to stop crying, she didn't think of what she was doing to herself, outing herself like that. then again, it was only right as she'd outed you before.

you swallowed thickly, wiping the tears away with your sleeve. "'s really stalkerish, els." you mumbled and she couldn't help but grin at you.

"i'm really sorry." her voice low enough to have you glancing up at her, straining your ears. "i shouldn't have read it."

you nodded your head. "you shouldn't have." but you couldn't help but feel a little weight lift off your chest. she knew now, at least you'd no longer have to hide it.

once again it left you wondering where you stood.

ellie could see the way your eyes went sort of foggy, blocking her out. she wondered what you were thinking now. "y/n?"

finally, you pulled your eyes away from the ground, looking at her perfect green eyes.

"i love you too."

main masterlist/ellie's masterlist

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villifix · 7 months

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it seemed a lot of people liked the brother-in-law merle headcanons and a couple of people like the idea of uncle merle, so... let's talk about how you and daryl make merle an uncle :)

─•~❉᯽❉~•──•~❉᯽❉~•──•~❉᯽❉~•─

• you get pregnant not long after the group settles in alexandria

• merle keeps his distance from you while you're pregnant

• your hormones are all over the place, you go from laughing to crying at the drop of a dime, and any time he opens his mouth around you, he's always saying the wrong thing

• daryl has to play mediator so that you don't kill him, even though sometimes daryl considers doing it himself

• like when merle mentioned how big you were getting during your second trimester... *sigh*

• you cried

• daryl snapped

• it was... not a good day

• so he stays away for the most part, asking daryl when he wants to know how you're doing. he occasionally brings you some snacks that he must have stolen from the pantry, but you're always too hungry to care about how he got them

• first time merle actually calls you his sister out loud is after you've given birth and he holds his niece for the first time

• "atta girl, baby sister. you did real good."

• he is BEAMIIIINNGGG

• his eyes are just a little wet because the air is dry, that's all...

• he had wanted a nephew so bad, but the second he sees her, his heart grows three times it's size

• he was convinced that dixons could only make boys, but here he is holding a little dixon girl, daryl's babygirl, and she's the most precious thing he's ever seen

• constant jokes about needing a paternity test

• "i'm just saying, that nose is lookin' more like mine than yours, maybe your girl slipped into the wrong bed one night-" "shut the hell up, merle"

• merle always gives you a little wink to show he's just being an ass and not actually accusing you of such a thing

• which daryl knows. it doesn't annoy him any less, though

• never allowed to babysit EVERRRR. if your daughter isn't with aunt carol or aunt maggie, then she's at the grimes house. merle always has choice words about it

• okay, well... he babysits a couple times. and your daughter was returned back each time covered in dirt. one time merle carries her up to the door with wet pant legs pulled up to her knees and bits of leaves still strewn in her hair

• "oh... you had a fun time with uncle merle, huh?" "damn right she did, mamas. taught 'er how to catch frogs. babydoll, tell yer mama what a frog says!" "bib-bit!" "she's learnin'."

• saying the name merle is too complicated for your daughter's limited articulation, so she just calls him 'unca' while she's learning to talk.

• when your daughter DOES start to articulate...

• "son of a bitch!" "bitch!" "ha! that was good! wait- nah, nah, don't say that- aw, shit..." "shit!" "no!"

• he refuses to own up to it

• "merle! why's my daughter cursin' like a fuckin' sailor?" "well, darleena, sounds to me like she's gettin' it from you!"

• he's the favorite uncle (after aaron - your daughter adores aaron)

• rick's lowkey offended by it and tries to subtly bribe your daughter into saying she likes him more

• "uncle dick!"

• ...

• "... are you kiddin' me?" "don't know where she learned that from. must be a good judge'a character."

little bonus that doesn't have to do with uncle merle: it's really up to you, but i like to think that you and daryl would have agreed to name your daughter beth 🥺 you would have suggested the name, knowing that part of daryl never really healed after her death, and he would freeze. forgets how to breathe for a second as the memories wash over him. and then he would blink really fast as he feels his eyes start to water and he'd give you that soft little nod he does when he's trying not to cry. PLEASE- 😭

#twd #the walking dead #merle dixon #twd headcanons #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #uncle merle

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toxinoire · 2 months

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Out of boredom I'm just gonna make more Mean Girls headcanons because you people seem to really love those.

• Cady is a picky eater. She can eat dishes that are so extreme, but show her mashed potatoes and god forbid scrambled eggs mixed with bell peppers and she will go "No."

• Gretchen owns a lot of glitter pens. She fucking loves glitter pens.

• Janis is into coding. She had to learn it once because a digital website for art she uses crashed so out of spite, she learned coding.

• Regina does know how to sew and make clothes even. She just doesn't do it a lot, so by far the only person who knew was Janis. It wasn't until Christmas where Regina gave handmade everyone jackets and beanies with designs specific to them that they learned.

• Karen knows to play the fucking accordion. The way everyone learned was that they snuck into the school's music room, there was this one dusty accordion and out of boredom, Karen just picked it up and started playing Get Him Back by Olivia Rodrigo on the damn thing.

• Janis and Gretchen are a fucking detective pair. Someone in their group got made of or is sick but hiding it? They're the first ones to figure it out.

• Damian is the parent of the friend group.

• Regina and Cady have a shared thing for Greek Mythology.

• Karen can and will read their emotions and their entire being if they don't wanna admit something with the most angelic smile you've ever seen.

• Cady sleeps early, but you cannot drag her out of bed at any time before seven.

• Janis and Regina used to have a height chart but not for the "I wonder which one will be taller" reasons that most do, they had it because they were so adamant to know which one of them would be cuddle sized. They never talked about it until one day, in Janis's house, Gretchen fucking found it.

• Don't be fooled by Cady's height, she's feral as shit and will kick your ass.

• Karen is scared of frogs.

• Regina is secretly into flower language.

• Damian has RTC cosplays hidden in his closet. Yes, even Karnak.

• Everyone still wonders how Cady did not cry during while watching Titanic.

• Gretchen is into anime, but not the cutesy ones. The gorey ones. It's a coping mechanism don't judge her.

• Speaking of coping mechanisms, so far, Janis's healthiest one is dying her hair tips/streaks a different color when things go to shit.

• Regina will just hide and come back when she's good. Her friends hate that she does that.

• Karen has once the sent the group chat a gif of a walking sign and it left everyone wondering where the fuck did she find that.

• Gretchen is into romances and she always sees multiple tropes in her friends.

• Surprisingly, now that Regina has her head out of her ass, she actually is a fucking treasure trove of ideal character tropes.

• Damian and Cady carry Hello Kitty band aids around all the time.

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hamliet · 2 months

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the notion that bnha is pro authoritarianism or social hierarchies is nonsensical not to mention acting like being pro cop is bad

Err... BNHA is pretty pro-authoritarian. I actually find it pretty disturbing. And that's even if the story turns out with the League alive at the end.

As for being pro-cop--cops are human individuals, yes. But people have in recent years in multiple countries (including Japan, by the way) protested against cops being used as tools to maintain social hierarchies wherein people who are not part of that hierarchy suffer for daring to want to be treated as human beings. When I say I'm anti-cop, I'm not saying I hate anyone on the basis of being a cop. But I am saying that the ways in which the police force are used in many countries does societal harm. Critical thinking, yo.

Honestly I feel like this whole story (BNHA) and fans reactions throughout (especially when compared to other stories) demonstrate how people are not using critical thinking. And that can have real world consequences, though it doesn't have to.

I just find it weird that people are okay with a story where the ruling class is always right and always wins. Like... how have they not? I mean, even stories that end up suggesting the ruling class isn't entirely wrong or show flaws in rebellions generally don't go hard on the authoritarianism. But Horikoshi... is doing this.

The whole thing is so weird to me personally, too, because Horikoshi's wishy-washy framing and switches in coding generally seem to be the result of him caring, deeply, what his audience thinks and feels. Too much, really, but it also seems like he genuinely doesn't want to hurt people. Except this ending--even if Tenko does reappear as New Character and saves the League--is the exact opposite. (If Tenko doesn't reappear, then everything I'm about to say is multiplied by a thousand.)

It's catering to mean-spiritedness, and while I do understand fiction isn't reality, the side he's catering to now is making the argument that fictional crimes are real crimes and thus must meet real penalties.

I can play this game too.

If people are gonna make those arguments, I'm going to say they're the problem and the reason we have wars, genocides, assaults, and more.

If you ever want a cycle of violence/abuse to stop, someone has to accept that they've taken the last punch. Not keep going until the other side is WIPED OUT.

If you equate justice with equalizing losses, then you are enacting Dazai from BSD's statement on justice: justice is a weapon. You can never heal by it.

If you want to heal, you have to stop fighting and bandage wounds. And maybe you are too injured to do the bandaging. That's okay. But someone else can, and if you try to stop them on the premise of "but no one bandaged my wounds" you're a bitter person who makes the world a worser place.

If you say a tragedy is the story, sure. But you have to set up tragedies from the start. See, Attack on Titan, which's ending I love. It began with someone crying and an ominous message to the future. You don't set up your first chapter with "this is the story of how I become the greatest hero!" spend 200+ chapters criticizing hero society and have the hero fail at the goal he'd been repeating for 200 chapters in the end and join hero society and still think you wrote a story that delivered in what you promised. You failed.

Either you wrote a tragedy and are trying to pass it off as a happy story (see how well that works usually) or your understanding of a happy story is pretty much just fascist propaganda. And yes, BNHA does have fascist themes at this point. Way more than AoT ever did. But they have smiles and cute frog girls so it's not nearly as dangerous, right? (sarcastic).

The thing is, this is where the lack of critical thinking comes in. While I've seen people talk a bit about how BNHA seems like copaganda, it's taking things much, much further than other stories usually do and into territory where I'm frankly disturbed.

Yes, BNHA started out as a clever critique of hero society and of the very idea it's now seeming to uphold: that the human instinct (which is universal in real life to) to idolize people leads to a lack of humanity for those who do not have those traits we idolize, whether their fault or not, and for people to become villains in response. But not only has it failed to deliver on this premise by upholding society (hey, Naruto and to a degree Tokyo Ghoul also failed to completely change society), it's gone so far as to endorse what it previously criticized.

It's more akin to Game of Thrones Season 8 upholding racism, sexism, and classism, than it is to Naruto or Tokyo Ghoul. GoT ended with a joke about prioritizing brothels being open, as if the misogyny was actually a good thing and not what caused a lot of the problems. There's no critical lens here. It's just like "hey, there was no point in struggling. Monarchies that abuse women, rah rah, let's go!"

BNHA seems to be going a similar route. Deku's murder of Shigaraki, Ochaco's crying over Toga, the way Shouto reaches out to Touya--it's sad, but not framed as something the audience should see as a wrong done on behalf of heroes. In fact, the heroes are not criticized at all. Frickin' Edgeshot, whom no one cares about, is fine. All of them are fine. Their statuses are generally fine, too, except maybe Enji's and even then he's not like going to face the fate of the League and die alone. His family still supports him. Hawks is completely fine and framed positively. His regret over Twice is pure lipservice. Deku really did just need to kill Shigaraki, and all his "I want to save" spiel, much like Ochaco's, is for naught. He just needed to learn to grow up and get in line.

Even if Tenko comes back, and even if Deku like... somehow knew this would happen via vestiges or whatnot (let's be real, he will if this is the case), and the message is just that society isn't ready to move forward, but at least they can live, then... I don't know, y'all. That's still depressing. I don't see how Deku is a hero for that, much less the greatest number one hero. He decided to be a hero at the cost of his own integrity, and if this was a gritty story about the realistic struggle of living in a capitalistic society where ethics are always compromised that would make sense, but... it's not. Even until the final battle, the characters were endorsing idealism.

At the very least, Horikoshi didn't deliver on his promise in the first chapter. At the very worst, he's endorsing fascist ideals.

Like, I'm sorry, but "kill this person for the good of society," the violent upholding of oppressive societal hierarchies, the importance of being a cop hero and the way the military hero brutalities are worshipped, the way heroes are lauded and everyone who doesn't get in line with this is punished, went from being criticized to being endorsed. Those are all central elements of fascism.

The little guy deserves to lose, but, but Deku is the little guy, so it can't be! Except it can be. Because it's actually pretty common irl even to trot out examples of people like Candace Owens to be like "hey, you can't possibly say Republicans are racist!"

And don't you dare say "but Japanese culture makes it unreasonable to expect a non retributive justice!" The Japanese people are not a monolith. Not to mention... Naruto, Bungou Stray Dogs, Monster, Hunter x Hunter, Yu Yu Hakusho, Mawaru Penguindrum, Oshi no Ko, Dragon Ball, Attack on Titan, and Tokyo Ghoul all say hi.

I hated the TG ending, and still hate it, but I'm not going to say that it upheld the CCG as right all along because it didn't. BNHA thus far is doing that with hero society. And even if the answer is for the League be revived and to leave society or whatever, then how can we be happy Deku is a part of this society? How can we root for him, or his classmates? Is he going to work from the inside to change it? Why wasn't that emphasized beforehand as a theme or struggle?

tl;dr Horikoshi has cooked his story no matter what he does now, and I don't think it's salvageable. Either way it has themes that are disturbing especially considering real world events across the globe, and that people should be more aware of instead of focusing solely on stories that have fascism and monsters in them but don't uphold it.

#ask hamliet #bnha #fascism #mha #hero society #mha critical #bnha critical #bnha meta #mha meta

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stevesbipanic · 2 years

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Happy birthday Liam!!!! @withacapitalp love U hope U enjoy ya lil pressie.

When Steve was young he loved exploring the woods behind his house. It was quiet there, peaceful. He liked looking up into the trees, watching the birds pass between their branches. One day he found a small pond near his favourite clearing. He watched the little fish and insects swim around, the frogs and the tadpoles. He would lay down on the grass and listen to the splashes of the pond and the wind and the birds and just breathe.

He went there as often as he could, he felt like himself there. One day, as he lay peacefully on the ground, the sun was suddenly blocked from his vision. He blinked his eyes open only to be startled by another boy standing over him.

"Hi!" The boy exclaimed, undeterred by the look of shock on Steve's face. The other boy had a wide grin, his front teeth were missing a hole that matched the ones in his jeans.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Eddie, I'm looking for frogs have you seen any?"

Steve glanced over to his pond, "Maybe, why are you looking for them?"

"I like watching them jump!" Eddie giggled. Steve cracked a smile at this, happy to hear the boy wished no harm upon his friends.

"C'mon there's lots of frogs over here," Steve replied grabbing Eddie's hand and pulling him closer to the pond.

The boys spent the day running around the clearing, watching the frogs and imitating their hops. Steve felt free, he felt whole. Eventually the sun began to set and the boys had to say goodbye.

"You'll be here tomorrow won't you?"

"All summer long, Eds."

But Steve wouldn't be back tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. You see when Steve returned home the evidence of his travels were written on his clothes. Grass stains, tears in his jeans, mud on his face and sticks in his hair. His mother was furious and forbid Steve from ever returning to the woods. Steve spent his days at Tommy's house for the rest of the summer.

When school returned Steve looked for Eddie but the boy seemed elusive, it was too late, Steve would never have that one perfect day again.

Years passed and the memory of that summer faded, Steve didn't return to the woods even after his parents stopped returning to their house.

Until one day, a month after the events of Starcourt Mall, Steve awoke in the early morning from a nightmare. His body moved on instinct as he quickly dressed and ran out the back door and jumping the fence. His body kept moving as he mind begged to feel safe. Eventually he stopped and crashed to the ground in sobs.

The pond laid before him, the soft splashes soothed him until only silent tears ran down his face.

"Harrington?"

Steve turned, on edge once more, and there he was, taller now, teeth grown back but Eddie Munson was here in their spot again.

"Eddie."

"Are you okay?" Eddie's opinion on Steve had soured in the years since that summer, but it didn't stop him craving the Steve Harrington he first met, the one he first loved and now he could see that Steve in the crying boy before him.

"Yeah, yeah um, I'm fine."

"Ok." Eddie knew he was lying but didn't want to push. He sat down beside Steve watching the pond.

"What're you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? You're the one that never came back Steve." The hurt from years ago bit through Eddie's words.

"I'm sorry, I wanted to but my parents stopped me." Eddie could understand that, he knew bad parents and while different the Harringtons were no less bad than his own.

"You're here now I guess."

"Sorry I'm late."

"It's ok, sweetheart, wasn't waiting long." Steve smiled at the name.

The boys sat and watched the frogs jump around the pond until Steve breathed easier. When they parted ways Steve echoed the question he was asked all those years ago.

"You'll be here tomorrow won't you?"

"All summer long, Stevie."

This time, they kept their promise.

#i really just wanted to give u a fic with frogs lol #happy birthday liam #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #ficlet

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marianchurchland · 1 month

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I'm boiling inside my own flesh after that trailer, so please accept this old, maybe objectively too creepy Cole drawing while I find time for new DA art. I can claim that it has a Haloween vibe, at least...

The reason it's so weird, by the way, is because I drew it using the poem "Wodwo" by Ted Hughes as a prompt. My bff @klovharun gave me the whole poetry book at the height of my DAI obsession because she thought "Gog" had Solas vibes; and it occurs to me right now that this has to be one of the best examples of friendship ever. Not just "I was thinking of you", but one step further, "I was thinking of your all-consuming fixation". She also made a Solas breakup playlist for me, which I still listen to. That is love!

Poems below for anyone who might like them.

Wodwo

What am I? Nosing here, turning leaves over

Following a faint stain on the air to the river's edge

I enter water. Who am I to split

The glassy grain of water looking upward I see the bed

Of the river above me upside down very clear

What am I doing here in mid-air? Why do I find

this frog so interesting as I inspect its most secret

interior and make it my own? Do these weeds

know me and name me to each other have they

seen me before do I fit in their world? I seem

separate from the ground and not rooted but dropped

out of nothing casually I've no threads

fastening me to anything I can go anywhere

I seem to have been given the freedom

of this place what am I then? And picking

bits of bark off this rotten stump gives me

no pleasure and it's no use so why do I do it

me and doing that have coincided very queerly

But what shall I be called am I the first

have I an owner what shape am I what

shape am I am I huge if I go

to the end on this way past these trees and past these trees

till I get tired that's touching one wall of me

for the moment if I sit still how everything

stops to watch me I suppose I am the exact centre

but there's all this what is it roots

roots roots roots and here's the water

again very queer but I'll go on looking

Gog I

I woke to a shout: 'I am Alpha and Omega!'

Rocks and a few trees trembled

Deep in their own country.

I ran and an absence bounded beside me.

The dog's god is a scrap dropped from the table,

The mouse's savior is a ripe wheat grain—

Hearing the Messiah cry

My mouth widens in adoration.

How fat are the lichens!

They cushion themselves on the silence.

The air wants for nothing.

The dust, too, is replete.

What was my error? My skull has sealed it out.

My great bones are massed in me.

They beat on the earth, my song excites them.

I do not look at the rocks and stones, I am frightened of what they see.

I listen to the song jarring my mouth

Where the skull-rooted teeth are in possession.

I am massive on earth. My feetbones beat on the earth

Over the sound of motherly weeping....

Afterwards, I drink at a pool quietly,

The horizons bear the rocks and trees away into twilight.

I lie down, I become darkness—

Darkness that all night sings and circles stamping.

-Ted Hughes

#dragon age inquisition #dragon age #Cole #I really hope Cole makes an appearance in Veilguard

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dont-offend-the-bees · 2 months

Text

Though We're Strangers 'Til Now

And now for something completely different! Now I want you guys to do me a favour here, and I need you to picture this fic as having like, a BBC Saturday night family show budget. I’m specifically talking Atlantis, but if you’ve not seen Atlantis (like most people), think Merlin. I wrote Edwin and Charles’ voices entirely as I’d write them in canon-verse, with nearly no regard to the fact I was transplanting them into ancient Greece, so it’s VERY important to me that you embrace the Camp. This is a styrofoam dungeon. Charles is about to meet his destiny in a labyrinth that’s just a quarry in Wales. The historical outfits all have zips up the back. Get on board with the vibe. This one goes out to @every-moment-a-different-sound, who not only made me aware of Painland week as a thing but also approached me for a collab! Go check out their FUCKING GORGEOUS GIFS for this fic!!! This fic quite literally wouldn’t exist without them, Robin you fuckin' rule 💛 4.7k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

The dungeon was a proper dingy place. Charles wondered if that's where they got the name from. Dingy, dungeon. Too similar to be a coincidence, right?

Lying on his back on the hard wood pallet, head on his hands, he stared at the pale moonlight bleeding through the window. 'Window' was being a bit generous; it was more of a slit in the wall. Narrow, barred, so high he could've stood on tiptoes and barely brushed it with his fingertips. But at least it was big enough to let in that light. He supposed he was lucky. Between the sliver of moonlight and the sputtering candle in the hallway past the wall of bars, he was bloody spoiled. He didn't know exactly where they were sending him tomorrow, but he had a pretty strong hunch that it would be dark. The kind of dark that drove men mad. Maybe the madness would get him before the bloody great beast in the tunnels got the chance.

Seemed a bit off, really. Putting him in the dingy dungeon when he bloody volunteered for this. Maybe they thought he'd change his mind and leg it in the night. Any half-sensible person would, wouldn't they? No one had ever given Charles an earful for having common sense, though. Usually the opposite.

No running away for him, that's for sure. He was bedded down for the night, just him and a handful of snoring cellmates. Despite the panic and crying, the six other lads had managed to drift into some kind of sleep, however uneasy. Not Charles, though. Too much on his mind. The stupid idea that brought him here in the first place. The near certainty that he'd fail, in the end, and he’d have no one but himself to blame for his bloody demise.

Wasn’t all bleak thoughts, though. After all, there was always him.

The prince.

He closed his eyes, letting it all play out in his head again. Stepping off the boat, being 'greeted' (shackled and marched to the dungeons) by the 'welcoming committee’ (royal guard). Him and thirteen other boys and girls, thanked like heroes and handled like criminals. The king in all his fancy regalia, booming his solemn gratitude to the brave youths for their sacrifice — as if any one of them but Charles had any choice in it. And standing there, at the king's back...

Look, Charles may have had more important things to think about, but he knew a fit lad when he saw one.

Fit didn't even cover it. The boy was just about the most gorgeous thing Charles had ever seen — or ever would see. Unless he spotted a prettier one before he died tomorrow, that is. Bit unlikely.

There was just something about him, the prince. Charles wasn't even into the posh sort, generally. Like with the more well-to-do lads from his own town — something about the baked-in entitlement soured them. Made them ugly, even if they were objectively alright looking. He could smile politely and play nice, but he’d sooner kiss a frog than a rich merchant’s kid. And a prince was a pretty big step up from a merchant's son, wasn't he? By rights he ought to be even worse. Charles probably didn't even register as a human to him. He wasn’t worth wasting a thought on.

Except Charles could still picture him perfectly, in his head. He could play out the whole welcome start to finish. How Charles' heart, all shrivelled in fear, had jumpstarted soon as he clapped eyes on the prince.

"Charles..."

He'd had dark hair all perfectly combed into an inky shine, almost prettier than the gold crown on top of it. Eyes like sea glass, clear and green and shining with a cunning light; eyes that had scanned the line of offerings and landed on Charles. Fixed him with such an intense, curious scrutiny he'd actually felt himself blush.

Hadn't Charles seen him somewhere before? That chin, that nose, those high cheekbones? He could've sworn he'd walked past him at a temple somewhere, carved from pristine marble. He could see him so clearly in his mind's eye, surely he must've known him all his life.

"Charles...?"

If he concentrated, really concentrated, he could even hear his voice...

"Charles Rowland!"

Blimey, that was scary. That sounded real.

Charles blinked his eyes open and frowned. He let his head flop to the side and looked across the cell, where the stone wall gave way to bars.

There, framed by iron and flickering candlelight, there he stood. Pretty as a picture — baffling as a dream.

Charles sat up, slow, cautious. He almost said something proper stupid, like 'what's a nice boy like you doing in a dungeon like this?'

"Um," he fumbled. "Evenin'?"

Mm. Not much better, really, was it?

"Evening, your highness?" he corrected himself, with a wince. Gods, his old man would've walloped him good and proper for talking to a royal like that.

Prince Edwin, however, didn't sneer or snap or even walk away. It was hard to see his face, at a distance in the gloom, but he almost looked amused. Charles thought he could see the barest shadow of a lifted lip, anyway.

"Good evening," said the prince. He said it so quiet, barely above a whisper, but his crisp tone carried regardless. He cocked his head slightly and beckoned with a finger. "Might I have a word?"

Charles glanced behind himself. Just on the off-chance there was another Charles Rowland he didn't know about squeezed onto the narrow bed with him. There wasn't, obviously, and he was a good few feet from any of his sleeping cellmates. No mistaking who the prince was after. He swallowed, stood up, and crept across the uneven flagstones, stepping over the sprawled legs of another boy.

As he neared, as the situation sank in and the prince came into focus, a new bundle of nerves started kicking off. Nothing like the anxious dread that had been stewing in his gut all night, the 'oh, gods, they're feeding me to a monster in the morning' nerves. No, this was different. More familiar but also, weirdly, worse than the monster dread. Fuck, but this lad was gorgeous. Not even the dungeon gloom could hide it. He was almost blinding to look at — and now those clever eyes were fixed right on Charles, no one else. Nowhere to hide. Fuck, Charles probably had sweat and cellar grime all over his face, and all!

Charles came to a standstill, toes almost touching the bars. Up close, he could see that him and the prince were about the same height. Edwin might've had the advantage by an inch or so, but maybe that was just his perfect posture. Spine straight and shoulders back, he regarded Charles with his head curiously cocked and his hands steepled. For a royal, he wasn't dressed all that flashy. Hadn't gone in for any jewellery besides the gilded circlet on his head. And under the blue silk chlamys clasped at his shoulder, his chiton was a simple white, clean and sharp and draped neatly to knee length. Expensive, pristine, put-together, but not exactly ostentatious. Mind you, that's just the sliver of outfit that Charles could see — because the prince had topped the whole thing off with a thick, practical brown cloak. A peacock disguised as a pigeon.

After a moment's quiet contemplation, the prince finally spoke. "I'm told you volunteered," he said. He kept his voice down, but it stayed crisp and clear. Highborn through-and-through. Probably wasn't even capable of mumbling.

Charles supposed it was a bit unusual, but unusual enough to bring a prince skulking down to the dungeons? He reckoned he was right about Edwin's eyes, that cleverness in them — he wasn't just a pretty face under a crown. He wanted to know things. He was staring at Charles like he wanted to pick him apart, understand him.

"Yeah," Charles answered. He forced a grin. "Not my best idea."

The prince blinked and leaned a little closer, intrigued. "Why in the world would you volunteer for this?"

His attention was sort of a lot — but it felt... good. Charles wanted to keep it. Hold onto it. He wanted this clever, gorgeous lad to think he was the most fascinating thing in the room.

Charles shrugged. "I can fight. I can take a hit. Seemed like the right thing to do. The decent thing, yeah?"

Edwin narrowed his eyes. "You’d forfeit your life to... give the beast a fight for its food?"

Charles shifted on his feet. "Not... exactly."

The prince watched him, all expectant. Charles sighed.

"Years it's been going on," he said, barely a mumble — Edwin leaned a little closer still to listen. "Lads and lasses being packed off, fed to that thing to keep it happy. Not right, is it? And I thought, well..."

He'd thought a lot of things. He'd thought well, he was already getting the shit beaten out of him every other day, so what's a little mauling on top of it? He'd thought about being his father's son, with his father's temper, and how maybe that could be a good thing for once. He'd thought about how things could change for him if he came back — and about who would even miss him if he didn't. He'd thought of all those kids less deserving than him, sent miles from home to be ripped to shreds. Sent away from bright futures and families that loved them. Gentle types who'd never hurt a fly. Kids who'd never learned to take a beating. Kids who didn't have the anger to keep them alive. Kids who weren't monster enough to survive the real thing.

"I thought, well, I'm pretty good in a scrap," he said, brightly, plastering on a smile. "Pretty stubborn. Thought if I went down there, maybe I could..."

"Could what?"

Charles raised his eyebrows.

Edwin looked at him blankly.

Charles rolled his eyes, held up one hand, and punched his fist into it twice.

Edwin's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "You mean to... slay the minotaur?"

"Told you it wasn't my best idea," said Charles.

"You have a talent for understatement," said Edwin, a sharp hiss. His voice had quickened and thinned into a hushed, incredulous patter. "I'd go so far as to describe that idea as fatuous, hubristic, and downright suicidal!"

Charles snorted. "Yeah. Sounds about right." He leaned his shoulder against the bars, brought his face closer to the prince's — which was such a brilliant idea it immediately gave him a really, really bad one. So bad it was impossible to resist.

He gave him a lax, lopsided grin — the one that he could bring out back home to make the girls giggle. "Be good if it worked, though, wouldn't it?"

Coming onto a bloody prince like he was some blushing farm lad... well, it probably wasn't a worse idea than throwing himself into a minotaur's labyrinth, but it probably wasn't much better, either. But what did it matter? They couldn't punish him, could they — they were already feeding him to a monster in the morning. What did he have to lose? Why not take a crack at the handsome prince with the pretty eyes? Sod it, it was his last night on Earth.

Edwin, to Charles' immense glee, actually seemed to get a little pink in the face. His eyes darted away and back again. "Yes, well..." He cleared his throat and straightened his cloak with a sharp tug of the front. "Have you a plan? Tactics? A weapon, at the very least?"

"Um. Well. No, not really." He dropped his fist on the bars once, twice, mulling it over. "But, I have been told my smile's pretty disarming!"

If his clumsy flirting hadn't been enough to break through the regal composure, that would've done it. Edwin's mouth dropped open a little, his brows drawing close together as he stared at Charles in abject disbelief. "Dear gods," he said, voice light and brittle. "You're doomed."

Charles chuckled, resting his forehead against the bars. "Yeah. Suppose so. Won't go down without a fight though, eh?"

He looked up through his eyelashes and found Edwin still staring, lips parted just a bit. Fuck, he had nice lips. Kissable. Charles reckoned he’d miss kissing when he was dead. What was the sentence for stealing a kiss from a prince — was it worse than death by minotaur? He might be willing to risk it.

Edwin tore his gaze away and glanced down the hall, first one way, then the other. Furtive. He seemed to come to some kind of decision. "Charles," he whispered. "Are your cellmates all asleep?"

Pulse quickening, Charles forced his eyes away from the prettiest person in the room to have a glance at the others. Everyone looked the same as they had before. Same chorus of snores and soft breaths and muttered, whimpered nightmares. "Yeah. Yeah, I reckon so."

"Right. Excellent." Edwin cleared his throat again and crowded closer to the bars.

Charles' heart was racing. He couldn't lean any closer to the bars than he already was but he wanted to. He didn't mean to, but he bit his lip, eyes flickering down to Edwin's mouth.

Edwin took another wary glance behind him, and tugged his cloak back. He reached inside. His hand closed around something under his arm and drew it out — something long and wrapped in leather.

Charles caught his breath.

"Take it," Edwin ordered, holding the hilt of the sword to the bars and looking Charles in the eye. "Quickly, and quietly."

Charles didn't need telling twice. He grabbed it, his fingers grazing Edwin's. Gods, he even had beautiful hands. Smooth on the back but a bit calloused on the pads. Didn't escape Charles' notice that the blade, though heavy, seemed to be a familiar weight in his hands.

"Cheers, mate," Charles breathed, drawing the cumbersome thing through the gap. If he was careful, he reckoned he could stash it under his thin cloak without anyone knowing.

He hadn't meant to call the gorgeous boy (who also happened to be fucking royalty) mate, but if Edwin was offended he didn't show it. In fact he ducked his head in a bashful little dip. It was so endearing Charles had to do another quick pros-and-cons list in his head about the risks of snogging him through the bars.

"Well," said Edwin, a forced lightness in his tone. "If you must embark upon this fool's errand, you must have the proper equipment."

Charles let out a ragged breath. "Thank you," he said, sincere, as he slid the scabbard through his belt. He laughed a little, rubbing the back of his head. "To be honest, I've... I've never been more scared in my life."

Edwin's shrewd gaze softened. His whole face did. It actually bowled Charles over a little bit, the difference. He felt like he ought to look away, like he was seeing something he shouldn't. A prince shouldn't be looking at him like that. Not him. Like he was something special. Something he was in awe of. "I can only imagine."

Charles bit his lip. "Less scared, now," he said, fidgeting with the hilt of the sword. Even though he felt a bit like he'd been flayed open and laid at the prince's feet, he still managed a wink. "Reckon I'll show that big bugger what's what with this thing, don't you?"

The prince’s eyes twinkled over his small, indulgent smile. "Oddly enough... yes. I believe you just might." He seemed to catch himself, a pretty blush high on his cheeks as he schooled his expression back into something a bit more lofty. "And quite a feather in your cap it will be. That beast has been a thorn in my father's side for years, holding the kingdom to ransom."

Edwin's gaze flickered over Charles, head to toe, and the pretty blush deepened. "If you were to end its reign of terror, you'd be more than deserving of a handsome reward."

"Oh, yeah?" said Charles. If he sounded breathless, it's 'cause he was. "What sort of reward?"

He felt dazed. He must've been dreaming. Five minutes ago he was accepting his fate, and now he'd been brought a fighting chance. By a gorgeous prince. Who was fucking flirting with him. They must've knocked his head on the bars when they shoved him in the cell — he was probably lying in the corner, drooling and babbling.

Edwin's eyes were restless, darting from Charles' face to his feet. His throat bobbed around a dry swallow. He looked too real to be a dream — but also too good to be true. His hand lifted, fingers resting on an iron bar between them.

"Well," he said, sounding pretty bloody breathless himself. "You could take your pick."

If this wasn't a dream, it was definitely a trick. Some rich kid teasing him, waiting to pull away at the last second and laugh at him for being so easy to string along. Or waiting for an excuse to run to his daddy and bag Charles a fate worse than death for getting fresh with him.

Except for whatever reason, he didn't believe that. Couldn't. For some reason, he trusted Edwin. Felt like he knew him. Like he'd always known him. And he knew he was kind. Not necessarily nice, but kind. For whatever reason he knew Edwin wasn't the sort to mess around with someone's feelings — or pretend to be interested when he wasn't.

Why he'd be interested in Charles of all people was another thing, but... sod it. Charles was probably gonna die tomorrow, anyway. Why not pretend it was possible for a minute? What the fuck did he have to lose?

Feeling once again like the undisputed king of bad decisions, Charles took a breath, and put his hand on top of Edwin's. He almost couldn't believe his luck when Edwin didn't pull away. His hand was soft — like the little gasp he let out when their skin touched.

Swallowing past his dry mouth, Charles laced their fingers. He let them lay there, woven on the bars; the warp and weft of it felt so right he wondered how they hadn't been doing this for years. How'd he gone this long, not realising how empty his hands were without Edwin's tangled up inside them?

He looked at Edwin's face and saw all his own thoughts reflected. Saw Edwin staring at their hands like they were a bloody marvel. Like the last piece of a puzzle had clicked into place. His face was so open, so alive — so gently amazed and Charles had never wanted to kiss someone more in his life.

Charles laughed, quiet, awed. "Handsome prize, alright."

That earned him another quick, coy duck of Edwin's head — but Charles could see him preening clear as day. "Be sure you're alive to claim it," he said, soft and serious. He squeezed Charles' hand once before breaking the hold.

Charles sketched a lazy salute to distract his hand from how empty it felt. "No dying. Right-o."

Edwin smiled. A proper smile; a quick flash of teeth breaking through his tight-lipped, regal composure. Charles would've fought the bloody titans to get another glimpse of it.

"You are... odd," said Edwin, matter-of-factly. "And quite mad, I suspect."

"...Cheers?"

Humming, Edwin reached into his cloak once more. "There is just one other thing..."

He brought out something small from a pouch at his waist. Something round, with a leather cord threaded through the middle and tied off in a loop. Edwin held it aloft, thumb and forefinger pinched through the handle. The little round something glowed silky gold in the candlelight, and Charles squinted at it.

"...String?" he asked.

Edwin nodded, reaching into the cell to take Charles' hand and draw it through the bars. His touch lingered as he placed the generous clew of fine, shimmering string in Charles' palm.

"I had the idea that if you were to unspool it behind you, perhaps you might be able to navigate the labyrinth with greater ease." Head bowed, he looked at Charles through his lashes. Pretty, fluttering things they were, charcoal black. "So that when you slay the beast, you might find your way back."

Charles gawped at him. "Mate. That's proper smart."

Edwin preened again — actually, he preened more than he had when Charles' complimented his looks. Handy to know. "Yes, I thought it rather a sensible idea. I spun it myself; I’ve been experimenting with the tensile strengths of different fibres. It shan’t break."

Charles grinned, closing his hand around the clew — and Edwin's fingers, too. "Brains and beauty, eh?" he said. "Where've you been all my life?"

Edwin went pinker, his eyes twinkled. Warmer than the candlelight, brighter than the moon.

Charles would have to offer up a prayer tonight to any god who might be listening. He'd do anything, give them anything, if they only promised to get him through tomorrow alive. He needed at least a thousand more days ahead of him, just to spend finding more and ingenious ways of making this boy smile at him.

Soon, too soon, Edwin sighed, reluctantly extricating his hand from Charles'. "I must go," he said, apologetic. "Questions will be asked if I'm discovered down here in the dead of night."

"Yeah. Yeah, 'course." Charles let his hand fall to his side, clenching it around the thread — still warm from Edwin's hand. He laughed, softly. "Well, um. Thanks for... dropping in?"

"And thank you for your discretion," said Edwin, raising his eyebrows as he drew his cloak back around him. "I'm sure I need not impress upon you the fact that I was never here."

Charles mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

"Good. Very good." Edwin shifted his weight between his feet a moment, finger lifting, mouth opening as if he had more to say. But whatever it was, he thought better of it. He drew his hands into fists in front of him, pressed together knuckle to knuckle, and offered a tight smile instead. "Well... best of luck, Charles Rowland. I truly hope you find fortune on your side."

With a stiff bob of his head, he turned fluidly on his heel to walk away. And it hit Charles again, hard, right between the eyes. The possibility that tomorrow could be his last day alive. A few minutes ago, the idea hadn't bothered him much.

Fuck. It bothered him, now.

"Edwin," he said, almost losing control of his volume as desperation sunk its hooks into him. He grabbed the bars, white-knuckled. "Edwin, wait —"

And he did. He waited, his back to Charles, his posture so, so perfect. Still as a statue.

Charles swallowed. "Can..."

Edwin turned his head, just slightly.

Charles' courage abandoned him. He huffed, shaking his head. "Nah. Nothing."

Of course, if there's one thing Charles knew about Edwin by now, it was that he couldn't resist a mystery. He turned to face Charles, eyes bright and curious. "Is there something else you require?"

Charles forced a smile. "You've already given me two gifts, mate. Bit greedy to ask for another one, yeah?"

"Perhaps." Edwin paused, and took a cautious step closer. "But, between ourselves... I can see little harm in the asking."

Charles' grin bloomed into something more sincere, something real. "No standing on ceremony, eh?"

Edwin's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I hardly see the point. I think perhaps you and I might dispense with formalities."

"Right."

Well then. Why not? Last night on Earth, and all that.

Charles ducked his head, laughing softly at himself. "Well. I was gonna be a bit cheeky, actually. Ask you to gimme a kiss for luck. But I reckon that's a bit — mmf!"

Quick, quicker than Charles could've imagined, Edwin was right there; reaching through the bars, taking Charles' face in his hands, and pulling him into a bruising kiss.They were lucky neither of them broke their noses against the iron strips.

Charles startled, gasped, so blindsided he didn't even know what to do with his hands — so he ended up just sort of clinging onto the bars. But soon enough his eyes fluttered closed, his breath rushed out of him and he melted. He kept his grip on the bars, though, holding on tight just to keep his knees from buckling. Edwin's lips were soft, and hotter than fire. His kiss was clumsy and overeager and not even slightly what Charles would've expected from someone so elegant, so refined. But he tasted of honey and home and Charles could've got lost in him, happily. Charles felt like he'd been shoved against the wall and plundered, in the best possible way. He felt like Edwin was everywhere, filling his senses. Hard not to feel wrapped up in him, with the way Edwin had his hands cupped round Charles' face, covetous and claiming. Like Charles belonged to him.

Fuck, maybe he did. Maybe he always had.

Edwin broke the kiss, but he didn't let Charles go. Just pulled back a little, still framing Charles' face with his fingers. His eyes were dark, hooded, his pretty eyelashes fluttering as he stroked Charles' cheek with his thumb. Face flushed, breathing hot and fast, gazing at Charles like he could devour him with his eyes. Charles shivered under the possessive weight of his gaze. He felt seen, admired, treasured. He felt owned.

He wanted more. More, more, until he suffocated under it.

Edwin took a shuddering inhale. "Come back to me," he said. And just because his voice was high and wavering with feeling didn't make it any less commanding. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

Charles nodded, in a daze. "I will," he promised.

He was as surprised as anyone to find he actually meant it.

Edwin nodded, and pulled him in close once more. Quick as you like, for just one more kiss — this one dry and fleeting, almost chaste. Bit of a departure from the one before, but somehow all the more devastating. Charles could feel Edwin's palms against his jaw, pressing so tight they ought to bruise. He hoped they would. A sword and a string weren't enough; he wanted everything Edwin could give him. Every tangible reminder that this was real, wasn't just a mad dream.

When that kiss broke, so did Edwin's hold. When he stepped away, he went all the way. And with one last lingering, longing look, he was gone, fading into the night. A mirage. A ghost.

And like a broken amphora, Charles remained right where Edwin had left him. Off-kilter, rooted to the spot. His outer shell shattered; his insides pooling at his feet for all to see.

It would be a sombre morning, just as the others had been. A familiar and predictable tragedy; as it always was, and always shall be.

At dawn's early light, just as they always had, seven young men and seven young women would be led — marched, bullied, carried — to the mouth of the labyrinth. There, the trembling gathering would be ushered into the embrace of the earth and stone. Pushed by the merciless hands of a royal guard, who'd long learned to look past the blood upon them.

But on this occasion, quite without the guards' knowledge, one youth would hang back from the crowd. From his cloak he would draw a small token, round and bright like a golden apple. A ball of fine yarn — spun in strong, beautiful fibres by strong, beautiful hands. He would find the end of the thread and fasten it, tightly, to an old iron ring within the threshold.

Then, with the clew unspooling from his fingers, painting a trail behind him like a steady drip of molten gold, he would walk into the jaws of death. Not with fear, not even with resignation, but with purpose. He was no hapless sacrifice, no tragic victim. He was a youth who'd grown accustomed to treading lightly through the dark, lest the monster in his house leap from the shadows. A youth with steel in his hand, and his own monster in his belly; a monstrous rage, and monstrous desire. A hunger to rival that of the minotaur’s.

A youth with a promise to keep in the dark; and a path waiting to lead him back to the light.

A ball of thread is known as a clew or, in an alternative spelling, a clue. To this day, we talk about following the ‘clues’ to discover something, and it’s all thanks to the story of Theseus and Ariadne’s thread. — things I didn’t even know when I came up with this idea but make me insane… everything is connected… detective boys forever… Thanks for reading guys! You know I adore your comments 💛 and don't forget to give Robin's amazing gifs some love as well! Dunno if I'll get anything posted tomorrow, but if I do it'll either be something much shorter or maybe some sketches. I will defo see you for another fic on day 4, though! Any encouragement very much welcomed, it's been a rough couple of weeks💛 Painland Week Prompt List

#painlandweek #painland week #dead boy detectives #dbda #payneland #my fanfic #transplanting their voices into this setting is UTTERLY absurd but ngl I love it #hope you do too!!#and thank you soooo much for all the love for yesterday's fic 💛💛💛#there's defo gonna be fic for day 4 #and a fic + another gif collab for day 7 👀#everything else is up in the air and we'll have to see what happens!#so yeah cheerleading very much welcomed jhdsfdbngsdgf

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apomaro-mellow · 4 months

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Hot for Teacher(s) 11

Part 10

The smell of a pup was usually a fresh, neutral scent on their own until they officially presented and it ripened with the unique scent of adolescence. It was why scenting one’s child was important. A way to mark them as your own for the whole world to know. And it was typical of parents to do this before seeing their child off somewhere, particularly school.

Shawn never really noticed before now how sometimes his classmates would smell just a little different, depending on who scented them. He wasn’t the only one with one parent but Daniel got to see his mom on weekends, and Elodie still talked to her dad. Shawn was the only one with a single parent with no contact with his other. And he wasn’t complaining. But now that he noticed, he wondered if other people noticed his single note of a scent.

No one had ever made him feel bad about it but maybe they were just being nice about his situation…

Eddie greeted his students in the morning, usually with a high five or a fist bump. “Warm up’s on your desks, make sure you have a sharpened pencil.”

Elodie got to her desk before unpacking and looked at the worksheet. “Do we get to color?”

“What do the directions say?”, Eddie asked, encouraging her to read.

“‘Color…your fa…vorite food’. Yay!”

Eddie told her good job before seeing to the other students and making sure unpacking by the cubbies went without any drama. It all seemed to be going well, so he turned his back. Of course, that was when he heard shoving and the beginnings of a wailing cry.

Shawn was at his desk while Mr. Munson tried to soothe Yasmin. She bumped her head against his leg like she was much younger than six, a move that would normally get an adult to scent her and assure her she wasn’t in trouble. Mr. Munson just gave her a pat on the head and reminded her that the cubbies had names and she couldn’t just put her things wherever she wanted, but also Daniel shouldn’t toss other’s belongings onto the floor.

Mr. Munson was really nice like that, giving head pats, and high fives, but he never scented any of the students. That would be weird. But would he scent Shawn? Where did they stand, now that he was dating his dad?

After school, Steve came and he rubbed Shawn’s cheeks. “You’re like my cute mochi thing. What do they call it? The white thing?”

“Cinnamoroll?”, Eddie and Shawn said in unison.

“No, the other thing. The rabbit.”

“That’s Cinnamoroll, Dad. Now please release my cheeks”, Shawn said.

That just made Steve squish them together more. “No, there’s something else. And I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be a dog anyway.” He let Shawn’s face go and looked up at Eddie. “We still on for tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world”, Eddie promised.

Shawn waited until they were in the car before asking. “What’s tonight?”

Steve smiled. “He’s coming over for dinner.”

“What’re we having?”, Shawn asked, trying to look nonchalant as he played with his seatbelt.

“I was thinking cockroach legs and frog’s eyes”, Steve said, snickering at the look of disgust that he caught in the mirror. “Well what would you serve then?”

“Make your own tacos. I saw you taking out ground beef earlier.”

“You know what, that could work”, Steve agreed. Nevermind that Shawn also would’ve seen the different vegetables on the counter, as well as various sauces which could only be used for tacos. Christopher Nolan, eat your heart out.

Eddie would be spending the evening with them as it was decided that he should do so without it being a date. He and Steve knew they worked well together, now it was time to add Shawn to the mix. He would only be his teacher for a few more months after all. And then in a few years, he would probably be Steve’s. So keeping them apart for that reason was about to be null and void.

Steve had Shawn finish his homework at the table while he started cooking. Eddie arrived about half an hour later, knocking at the door. Steve sent Shawn to get it only because he was washing his hands from touching raw meat and he recognized the roar of Eddie’s van by now.

“Well, if it isn’t the man of the house”, Eddie smiled when Shawn opened the door.

“Are you here to sell cookies?”, Shawn teased.

“Hmm, no cookies, only pie”, he said, bringing one from behind his back.

Shawn shrugged. “That’ll work.”

He let Eddie in and they joined his dad in the kitchen. Eddie greeted Steve with a kiss, who smiled when he saw the dessert Eddie brought.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t. Safeway did.”

Dinner was a fun affair. Probably the only low point for Shawn was when the two of them randomly broke out into a song that he didn’t know and even danced along to it. Did they not see how embarrassing they were? The tacos were good though. Shawn liked to put a ton of cheese on his.

“Hey, you got something there”, Eddie said in the middle of eating.

“Where?”, Steve asked, trying to look at his own face.

Eddie put a swipe of sour cream on his nose. “There.”

Shawn laughed enough to shake his own taco (#3) and make half the ingredients spill out onto his plate. After eating, Shawn helped by bringing the dirty dishes to the sink and helping Steve wrap up the leftovers while Eddie got to washing. Shawn got to take his slice of pie to the living room so long as he ate at the coffee table, leaving the two adults alone.

They were shoulder to shoulder as they washed and dried. At one point, Steve put his head on Eddie’s shoulder and they paused for a moment, soaking it all in. It was only one night but this one night boded well for their future. Once the dishes were done, they joined Shawn, who had taken up the middle of the couch. Without a word, they sat on either side of him. Shawn had it on a kids’ sitcom, but honestly it didn’t matter what they were watching.

Steve and Eddie’s arms were across the back of the couch so that they could touch, leaving Eddie’s side open for Shawn to lean into. Shawn let out a yawn, full and tired. Then he bumped his forehead against Eddie’s chest. His eyes bugged out, looking at Steve for a sign, approval, something. He didn’t want to spook Shawn by using his voice though. Steve’s eyes were glistening a little as he nodded.

Slowly, Eddie brought his arm down and rubbed his wrist against Shawn’s hair and cheeks. Steve could just barely hear the coo of contentment. When they were sure he was asleep, Eddie gathered Shawn in his arms and carried him to his room, Steve leading the way.

“Wait for me in my room”, Steve whispered so that he could give Shawn a bit of privacy while dressing him down in his pjs.

Eddie waited faithfully, sitting on the edge of the bed when Steve finally came in. They spent the night sharing slow kisses, building each other up while using just their hands to finish the job. It was still a school night, after all.

From then on, Eddie took some time to scent Shawn while he was fully awake, sometimes even at school. The other students didn’t think much of it but the week after just happened to be the school-wide spelling bee. A few parents were in attendance. Steve couldn’t make it, as it was the middle of the day, but Eddie promised him pictures.

Shawn took first place, almost stumbling on the word ‘lightning’ but pushing through. The awards were given and parents congratulated their kids, getting pictures as well. Eddie kept himself available, only about half of his students’ parents showed up. Shawn showed his trophy to a friend who was standing by their dad.

He knelt down by Shawn. “You want me to get some pics for your dad, kiddo?”

“Mr. Munson’s gonna text my dad, right?”, Shawn beamed.

“That I will”, Eddie promised.

It was such a benign interaction that Eddie didn’t think a thing of it. But in that moment, the other parent caught a whiff of Shawn, who smelled too similar to Mr. Munson. And texting a parent? On its own, not strange but he’d been careful not to give out his personal number to anyone. He communicated mostly through emails. Sometimes a flyer in the kids’ folders. It was all just adding up to something fishy in his opinion…

He voiced as much to his wife when he got home and she just didn’t see it.

“Are you trying to say Shawn’s dad slept with the teacher so he could win the spelling bee?”

“I mean I’m not saying that exactly, but it seems kind of rigged, doesn’t it?”

She called their daughter down from her room. “Is your friend Shawn a good speller?”

“Yeah, he can even spell some second grade words. They ran out of first grade words to give him.”

“Well, your daddy didn’t mention that.”

“I just think we shouldn’t rule it out.” A lot of the parents knew each other, at least in passing. So it was no secret that Steve was single. Of course, most would never suspect he was dating his son’s teacher but considering the scent he was carrying…

As this was brewing on Eddie's side, from Steve's past a familiar face approached closer and closer.

Part 12

Fun fact: that actually happened at my school's spelling bee. Two of my first graders spelled so well, they had to move on to second grade words. Don't praise me though, they came to me that smort.

Taglist

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @lololol-1234 @gregre369 @attic-cat-blog

@hippieg1rl420 @spectrum-spectre

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #omegaverse #a/b/o

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earth2rin · 2 years

Text

puppy love pt. 1

atsumu miya x reader

you can tell where i started to get tired of writing this LOL

tags: childhood friends to lovers, angst, mutual pining, fluff, atsumu really is a sweetheart, osamu is a little shit, slow burn, happy ending

wc: 7.9k

growing up with all boys in your family has really helped you understand the chemistry in boys' heads that cause them to act out on their inner thoughts. it did not, however, help you get used to the icky things they did. while rolling around in mud and squishing bugs with bare hands was not your forte, you could definitely see the satisfaction to gain from it. well not really, but you always tried to see from others perspectives, especially when atsumu had told you that it was fun to step on frogs. you had asked what was so fun about it, which he replied with “it’s like whenever you put on makeup or whatever, it’s just fun!” all while showing you a toothy grin. you couldn’t really wrap your head around it and opted in shooting him a confused look with eyebrows raised and a curled upper lip. to which he just continued to smile and shoot you a thumbs up.

since you were young, atsumu has always been by your side. your first ever encounter with the boy was in the first grade when you fell at recess and got your pretty purple dress dirty. you cried and cried until you felt a warm hand grab your palm.

“woah, yer bleeding! that’s a big cut, it’ll leave an awesome scar!” looking up you saw a mop of brown hair and the same colored eyes. “Let's clean you up, yeah?” with a big ol’ pout on your face, you nodded and let the boy guide you inside to the water fountains in the hallways.

the water was cold, and it hurt like hell running along your wound, but you tried not to cry in order to not look like a big baby in front of the boy. “how’s ‘at feel hmm?” your eyes were red and puffy, and you had tear stains on your pink cheeks but atsumu had still thought you looked pretty. you mumbled out a ‘hurts’ and atsumu nodded. “well if i gave ya half of my strawberry sandwich will that make you feel better?” he smiled at you, hoping to see that cute smile of yours again. you sniffled and nodded, and he led you back outside to his lunchbox and secretly handed you half of the sandwich.

you bit into it and the corners of your mouth instantly lifted. it tasted exactly like the ones your mom had always made in the summer. turning around, atsumu had seen your chubby cheeks stuffed with food and whipped cream all over your mouth. he stared for a second and you turned to look at him too. a mumbled ‘what’ came out of your mouth, barely audible, to which he replied “nothin, yer just pretty.” a slight scowl adorned your face. your dress was ripped, you had dirt all over the fabric, and you were pretty sure that you had wood chips in your braids. you had thought that he was crazy, but then again that was something you had always admired about atsumu.

“do ya think yer mom will be able to sew that up?” you blinked once, twice and said “i don’t have a mom.” atsumu stared blankly at the floor and his lips turned into a straight line.

“well my mom can sew it up for you if ya’d like.” you sat on it for a while. it was a pretty dress and you didn’t want to throw it away, after all you had just gotten it last weekend as a gift for doing so well at your piano recital. plus it was your second favorite color, after pink obviously.

“okay, i’ll tell my dad after school” he nodded and stuck his hand out.

“i’m atsumu” he grinned widely.

timidly you shook his hand and responded, “i’m y/n.”

ever since that fateful day you guys had been stuck at the hip. it was easy in the beginning, all you had to do was follow atsumu around and hold the jar that he caught all the frogs and bugs in. he claimed that being the jar holder was the best job in the world! even going as far as comparing it to being a CIA agent guarding top secret weapons that could end humanity as you know it. of course you knew he was lying, but nonetheless, you were the designated jar holder. on special occasions osamu would hold the jar and he’d let you carry the net. on days like that you would just run around and chase butterflies, laughing away when you would miss entirely. astumu would pout because he wanted you to hold the jar (he really just wanted you to stay behind him and to talk to him), but then you would catch a butterfly and put it on his nose and it always brought back that goofy smile you loved.

being the bug carrier used to be the bain of your existence, but god was it so much easier then going through puberty with the boys. astumu was so sweet in your childhood but as he got older he did start to roughhouse with you and tease you. osamu on the other hand had just gotten more reserved but nonetheless he also roughhoused with you. nothing was worse than when you had gotten all pretty for school and the boys decided to put you in a headlock and nuggie you to death. you’d get so upset and give them the silent treatment until atsumu cracked and whined about how sorry he was and to not leave him because your his best friend. you just tilt your head the other way until osamu offers to make you a strawberry sandwich to which you turn and smile, “deal.” which always left atsumu with his jaw on the floor.

they’d hold your bag over their head, teasing you to grab it while you tippy toed and whined for them to give it back. they’d put you in a headlock and make you smell their BO. they’d rub their sweaty forehead on you. they’d fart and put you in a dutch oven. they just liked to terrorize you.

but what had especially sucked was when you had started puberty. all the boys had gotten was quite a bit of inches to their height and deeper voices, but you were stuck with gaining weight on your chest, thighs and behind. but what really set things off was when you had gotten your first period.

you called atsumu crying and speaking all kinds of gibberish that he couldn’t understand and then you hung up out of nowhere. so atsumu decided to drag osamu along with him to get down to this mystery. you hadn’t lived too far from them. maybe a few blocks down, nothing their bikes couldn’t handle. your dad let them in and he was happy they were there, because he had no knowledge on how to help or comfort you in these situations. you had locked yourself in your room, screaming at your dad and brothers to not bother you or you’d rip their limbs off. you could’ve asked one of your brothers girlfriends for advice, but you felt that maybe it was a little too weird, which definitely was not the case but 12 year old girls tend to exaggerate things.

softly, atsumu knocked calling out your name. you didn’t answer, atsumu had looked at his brother who just shrugged. slowly and quietly he opened the door, and in that split second you had flung a pillow at his face knocking him on the ground.

“ow, what the heck y/n!” atsumu yelled as he rubbed his nose.

“sorry i thought you were one of my brothers.” you held out your hand to pick him up.

you looked a mess. you had a baggy t shirt that belonged to one of your older brothers, some valentine’s day pajamas even though it was the middle of september, and your socks were mismatched. you looked like you had just gotten through a heartbreak, which was odd because atsumu could not recall you talking about a boyfriend or any of the sorts.

“what happened to you?” osamu inquired to which atsumu just nodded. you flushed and threw yourself on the bed, pushing your face into a pillow. you had muttered words but the twins didn’t hear a thing.

“what?” you huffed and repeated what you said, and again, the twins didn’t hear. “huh” you quickly sat up and yelled, “i got my period!” angrily in the heat of the moment and once you processed it you could feel yourself die of embarrassment.

a “so” and “what's that” were said simultaneously which led to atsumu being slapped upside the head by his twin.

“ow what was that for!” pouting, atsumu rubbed his head. osamu rolled his eyes at his older brother,

“remember when mom doesn’t feel good for at least a week each month?” atsumu’s face changed from one of confusion into one of realization.

“ohhh, so y/n’s bleeding from downstairs?” osamu nodded and you were furious.

you flung another pillow at both of them, “just shut up and get me ice cream!” the boys nodded and quickly ran downstairs and hopped on their bikes, peddling to the convenience store. after that encounter the boys had never tried anything with you while you’re on your period, even though you had gotten more mellow about it through the years.

but what really, REALLY sucked? you’re uncharted feelings towards astumu. you have always adored atsumu since the day he helped you when you fell in first grade. but seeing him grow up into a handsome young man really took a toll on your heart. the once chubby cheeked sweet boy was now a sharp jawed tease. he had gotten much taller, and his muscles were also starting to grow from the non-stop volleyball he’d been playing since he was young. his shoulders and biceps were swollen from the hours of training, and his boyish grin had gotten even more charming, panty dropping some would even say. to say he was a stud would be an understatement.

of course you scolded yourself for even thinking of atsumu of anything more than just your best friend, but you couldn’t help but indulge yourself in the thought of being the person he held dearest to his heart. you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to cross the unspoken boundary between platonic love and romantic love. you knew you shouldn’t have these feelings, you couldn’t, but how couldn’t you whenever the man would charm you with his jokes and his antics. surely he was just acting this way because you’re his childhood best friend, that’s all it was, but you longed for it to be something more. your heart was so full of him you could hardly call it yours.

you weren’t quite sure of when the small inklings of adoration had budded into much more, but they bloomed and boy was it big. he consumed your thoughts and you ached to be something more than just friends. how you wished to be the one he buys flowers for just because, the one he gives his umbrella to because you forgot yours, the one who he spent his nights thinking about. it was wrong in so many ways. you were forbidden fruit, atsumu had always thought. he could never admit his feelings because you were his best friend above all else. the thought of losing you plagued his mind when he got the courage to tell you something, forcing him to shove his thoughts away for the sake of your friendship.

maybe you could recall the day you had fallen. maybe it was the summer of 8th grade during summer camp when atsumu had snuck out of his cabin to come see you. you had gotten homesick and the girls in your bunk were such blabbermouths, chatting loudly during lunch why you weren’t in the cafeteria. of course both the twins had over heard, but atsumu was the one to act on it. you heard a faint knock at your window, and low and behold it was those dazzling eyes you knew all too well.

quietly you lifted the window and scolded him, “tsumu, what are you doing here!”

he shushed you and smiled. “i heard you weren’t havin fun” you looked the other way and shook your head.

“cmon, i wanna show you somethin” he grabbed your hand and carefully helped you out the window.

“tsumu we’re gonna get in trouble!” you whisper shouted, your palm in his hand was getting sweaty from being anxious.

he turned and looked at you, pointing his flashlight at your face, “do ya trust me?” nibbling at your lip, you hesitantly nodded and he squeezed your hand.

you continued to let him drag you by the arm until you were standing in front of the lake. it was quiet, the july breeze had felt refreshing on your sweaty skin. the sounds of cicadas chirping was comforting and the scent of summer lingered in the air creating a soft aroma that made you feel fuzzy all the way to your toes.

“turn yer flashlight off” you switched it off and it was pitch black. your veins ran cold.

“tsumu i can’t see anything” you squeezed his hand out of fear, which he responded to by using his thumb to rub your hand, hoping to somewhat soothe you.

“just hold my hand ‘kay?” you nodded, though he couldn’t see you he knew that you had complied.

wordlessly, atsumu swayed some of the tall grass by his foot and suddenly it wasn’t dark anymore.

what seemed like a million fireflies had flown up, shimmering like a thousand stars in the pitch black night sky. instantly your eyes widened and jaw dropped, the sight in front of you was one to behold. atsumu had seen your expression and couldn’t help but smile. if you were both to be caught now, he thought that it would be totally worth it. slowly you reached your hand out to try and grab one but they all fluttered away.

“tsumu this is so pretty” you said in awe but he couldn’t help but stare. he thought you looked even prettier. it was like the sun was shining on your skin and you glimmered like a thousand universes. your eyes so bright and filled with astonishment, the way your eyelashes batted with wonderstruck. that was when he knew you were his forever girl.

a stray hair stuck out on your face, and atsumu’s muscles instantly moved to move it behind your ear. you flushed, your heart stuttered and you couldn’t help but stare in those beautiful brown eyes you’d never get used to looking at. he smiled and it felt like your stomach had done a somersault, like a billion butterflies were trying to escape your tummy. when you both returned to your bunk and said your goodnights, you couldn’t sleep, replaying that moment over and over again until the crack of dawn.

but no, that wasn’t when you had fallen. maybe it was the winter break of 9th grade. it was a week before christmas, and you and the twins were up to no good during the break. snowball fights, tracking mud in the house and letting all the cold air in by walking in and out of their home. the boys had tormented you, shoving your face in the snow, tackling you into the ground and even rolling up a big snowball just to throw it square at your face. to say your face felt like it had been frostbitten was a bit of an exaggeration, but it sure did feel like your face would melt off soon.

slowly the wind and snow had picked up, leaving you snowed in. you called your dad, wondering how you’d get home but all he said was to ask the twins mother if she would let you spend the night if the weather hadn’t calmed in an hour or two. of course she agreed, how could she say no when you’ve put up with her boys for the past 7 years, she practically considered you her daughter.

when the weather hadn’t cleared you and the twins had gotten excited, considering this would be your guys first sleepover. you guys had played board games, mario kart and played on your phones until midnight when samu fell asleep.

“tsumu i’m bored” your stomach rumbled and you looked down. “and hungry” you sheepishly smiled.

“me too” atsumu replied with a frown.

there was a beat of silence before atsumu’s head peaked up. “my mom has some cookie dough in the freezer, we can try and make those!” he grinned. your tummy rumbled again and you eagerly nodded. you couldn't help but think that this was something they did in all those romance movies you watched. your mind filled with thoughts about how they always end up kissing at the end of the scene and you couldn’t help but hope that maybe you’ll get a kiss too.

you both tippy toed downstairs to make the cookies. quietly atsumu opened the freezer and reached all the way in the back corner for the container of dough.

“what kind is it?” you whispered.

he squinted his eyes to look at the packaging. “chocolate chocolate chip” your stomach panged with hunger, eager to have that sweetness in your mouth.

atsumu paused and scratched his head, you could see the gears turning. “do ya know how to bake?”

you face palmed and took the container from his hands. “of course i know how to bake, who do you think made your birthday cake last year?” he shrugged and you continued to read the instructions.

once the oven was preheated, you asked atsumu to help you scoop the dough into little balls and place them on the cookie sheet. of course the little jokester he is he decided to smudge some on your nose. you stood there frozen and your jaw on the floor. he licked his finger of the dough and sent you a sly smile. you retaliated, grabbing a finger full and smearing it on his cheek, sending the same sly smile he sent you. he simply just rubbed it off with his finger and licked it, you made a disgusted face and rolled your eyes. boys will be boys.

once in the oven, you softly hopped on the counter, having to wait 20 minutes for the cookies to be ready.

“tsumu what do you want for christmas?” you queried. his lips turned into a thin line and he put his finger on his chin, thinking about what he wanted. truth be told he didn’t really know what he wanted. maybe some new volleyball shoes, some more video games, maybe even a new cologne he’s been wanting to try.

“i want a million dollars” he grinned and you rolled your eyes.

“tsumu i’m being serious, what do you want?”

all he could do was frown, “why is it so important to ya?” you stopped, and looked the other way.

it was quite embarrassing to say that you wanted to get him a present because you care about him a lot (not because you have a massive crush on the boy), so what would any other teenage girl do in your situation? you beat around the bush.

“just wanna give you something since we’ve been friends for so long” he didn’t believe you, but he just nodded.

“well i don’t really care what i get, i just wanna spend time with ya is all.”

there it was again. that funny feeling you got when he said something that could have been interpreted into something romantic. you bit the inside of your cheek and looked anywhere besides him. you were sure your cheeks were red, and it wasn’t just from the heat of the oven. you just nodded and continued on waiting for the cookies to be ready.

maybe he felt some kind of way about you other than just a friend.

even though you didn’t get the kiss you hoped for, you did get some sort of confirmation of where you stand with the boy, and you’ll take it.

again, that wasn’t when you had fallen. perhaps it was the beginning of 10th grade when atsumu had gotten his first car. atsumu had gotten a camaro, while osamu had gotten a nissan silvia. both were quite nice you had to admit, they were both sleek and looked luxurious. ever since atsumu had gotten his car, he didn’t let anyone near it, not even his mom. he feared someone would ruin his precious baby and he did not want that to happen. no one other than himself had been in it and he intended to keep it that way, that was until 3 weeks on a random friday.

you had been in your room folding laundry and watching tv, you didn’t really have any plans for tonight, maybe facetime the twins and do a face mask. you felt your phone buzz on your bedsheets. you ignored it for a good 5 minutes until it vibrated again. you put down the pair of pants you were folding and reached for the device, wondering who was texting you. opening your phone, you had seen that atsumu had texted you.

tsumu:

are you busy???

tsumu:

i’ll be at your place in an hour n a half, get all dolled up.

your brows drew together in confusion. what the hell was he planning on doing? nonetheless you quickly finished your laundry and hopped in the shower. since very few words were spoken, you didn’t really know the occasion and how you should dress. should you wear a blouse and a skirt? some jeans and a sweater? a dress? you decided something cute and comfy was the way to go, so you opted for flare tights, a white turtle neck with a brown crew neck on top since it was a bit chilly outside. you were feeling very minimalistic, so simple mascara and lipgloss were going to suffice. again, since you didn’t know the occasion, you did a simple blow out on your hair. the finishing touches were gold jewelry your father had gotten you for christmas last year.

you still had time left since atsumu’s last text, so you spent the last 10 minutes wondering what the now blonde was scheming. he was probably just going to take you with him to a practice volleyball match, you can’t count on one hand how many times he’s told you to get ready just to take you to one of his practice matches. you didn’t complain though, hot guys playing sports and getting sweaty was definitely a sight to see.

you heard a rumble down the street and looked outside, low and behold it was your best friend in his squeaky clean car. you ran outside to his window with your mouth open.

“tsumu what are you doing? you’re gonna get your car dirty!” he chuckled and stepped out of the vehicle.

“relax it’ll be okay, it’s only like 5 bucks to wash it” he said as he ruffled your hair. you smacked his arm away and huffed, a pout adorning your face as you tried to calm your hair down from his actions. when you finally looked up at him he felt the wind knock out of his lungs. you looked so damn pretty. your plump and pink lips pouting made him feel fuzzy inside, and the way you looked at him with your wide pretty eyes made him melt. you were the most gorgeous thing to walk the earth in his eyes.

he cleared his throat and put his arms on your shoulders, turning you the other way. “cmon, get in the car already” you paused right in front of the door.

“tsumu are you sure? i’m going to get it dirty” you said nibbling on your cheek. he let out a small laugh and nodded, opening the door for you.

“if i wasn’t sure then i wouldn’t have invited ya ya dunce” he said matter of factly as he flicked your forehead. he hadn’t told you your destination, but the ride to the location was filled with off key singing and laughter. you enjoyed moments like these, feeling each other's presence only fueled the fire in your belly that never seemed to dull. you felt as if he was the heartbeat in your body.

at one point you stopped at a red light and decided to look at him. that was a mistake.

the red glow of the light made him look ethereal. his jaw looked so sharp that it could cut the pillows he sleeps on, his face had a glow to it that made you feel like a volcano was erupting in your stomach. his eyes, shimmering like sparkling gems that had caught light at just the right angle, wide and beautiful. his face was tilted, one arm on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. his arms looked big and beefy gripping on to the wheel, the dark flannel he wore over his gray hoodie really accentuated his biceps. he looked so good, too good. he could feel your stare and turned to look at you as well. looking in your eyes, he gave you that boyish grin that never seemed to fail to give you butterflies. you sent a small one back and turned forward as the light turned green.

atsumu had taken you out to watch a movie and eat at a cute diner that had some amazing burgers. you guys may or may not have gotten kicked out for throwing fry’s at each other, but a good time is a good time right? the drive home was silent, but comfortable, both of you just soaking up each others presence. when you got to your house, you turned to thank atsumu for the night, but he had already gotten out of the car. your face contorted into one of confusion, but a few seconds later your door had opened and his hand stuck out, waiting for yours. you looked up and smiled, gently taking his hand in yours. when you had reached your front door you both faced each other and stared for a good 30 seconds.

“i had fun tonight” you finally managed to get out. he nodded and replied, “me too” then it was quiet again. a breeze picked up and moved pieces of hair in your face. swiftly, atsumu tucked them behind your ear. your cheeks warmed and you batted your eyelashes.

“i’ll see ya at school monday” you nodded and smiled. as he began to walk off your mouth spoke before your brain could process it.

“tsumu?”

he paused and turned, “yeah?”

a sudden flood of courage coursed through your veins. you softly grabbed his hand, your other one gently turned his jaw as you slowly brought your lips up to place a sweet kiss on his cheek. you could feel his cheek warm under your touch, but you didn’t mind, you thought it was cute.

“have a goodnight” you said as you looked in his eyes. he was stunned. the girl of his dreams just kissed him.

“you too” he said breathlessly, walking back to his car with wide eyes. he waited for you to get inside and wave goodbye to him before he fist bumped the air. your lipgloss had left a mark on his cheek and he took as many pictures with it as he could.

when you had walked inside your dad was on the couch watching tv. “hey sweetie, how was your day?” you hid your smile as best as you could and replied with a quick ‘it was good’ as you rushed up stairs. you quickly threw yourself on the bed and grabbed your pillow to muffle your screams of joy and giggles. you felt on top of the world. your stomach could not stop churning and your cheeks burned. you felt so giddy and couldn’t believe that happened. another small step in your book.

but it was definitely the day before spring break of sophomore year that you had fallen.

which was 2 weeks ago to be exact.

you were already having a bad day. your cat that you had gotten when you were 6 passed away, your little brother had thought it would be funny to put water in your piano which damaged the interior detrimentally and you had woken up late which caused you to have bed head. despite all that you tried to be positive, considering you had something good going on in your life.

you had gotten quite a huge crush on a basketball player from your school, and for what it seemed he had shown some interest in you back. you felt excited, you thought that maybe all the romantic things you had dreamed of would come true, maybe this was your soulmate. of course you thought about atsumu as well, but it seemed like all you and atsumu would ever be is just friends. you felt that you should move on, you deserve to find someone that can love you.

that was until the guy straight up said “how could anyone ever want to be with you? you’re annoying and clingy, you can’t even make decisions for yourself. try not to be so insufferable and then maybe we could be a thing.” you froze. you could feel your heart shatter and your face warm. all you had asked was if it was okay to sit by him. angrily you threw your lunch tray at him and rushed out of the cafeteria. hot tears rolled down your face as you walked out the building. what kind of a jerk publicly humiliates a girl all because she asked if she could sit by them. you ran to the metro and prayed that you would get home quickly. you felt like you were suffocating and needed to get home. once home, you hastily threw open the door, running up the stairs and slamming your door closed. your dad had heard you and wondered what all the ruckus was.

knocking, he asked “sweetie what’s up? why are you home early?” you screamed at him to go away and he obliged, too scared and knowing better that it was best to let you be and simmer down.

atsumu had heard about the whole thing during practice. he had already felt bad because he wasn’t at lunch today; he had gotten detention from his coach for being late to practice 3 times that week. he overheard omimi talking about how a point guard went off on a girl and she threw her tray at him. atsumu instantly perked up and butted in the conversation.

“what point guard?” he questioned with an eyebrow raised.

“think it was the one your girlfriend was talking to” suna said with a smug grin. atsumu’s face dropped, completely ignoring suna’s comment as he ran out the gym.

“where is he going?” kita questioned annoyed, the boys just shrugged.

he raced to your house, surprised he didn’t get pulled over but grateful nonetheless. if it really was you that that jerk had yelled at, then he had one thing coming. atsumu’s hand tightly gripped the wheel, angry at the fact that some douchebag had the audacity to raise his voice at you. he was already jealous of stealing your attention, taking his precious time with you away. but you looked so happy and he really didn’t want to ruin that for you. he realized that maybe that guy could give you something that he couldn’t.

but obviously that was totally wrong, and he realized that now as he pulled into your house. he had tried calling you, but to no avail you didn’t answer. he knocked on your door quite loudly, and you father had answered.

“is she here?”

your father shook his head, “no she took off somewhere awhile ago.”

atsumu nodded and thanked him, going back into his car. he stopped and thought for a while. where could you possibly be? you could literally be anywhere on the earth right now.

a thought popped into his head. he remembered that one time when you got into an argument with your dad you ran off like you did now. you had ended up at an ice cream shop by the beach. it was a long shot, but it was the only possible lead he had as to where you are right now. he quickly drove across town, searching for you somewhere in the yellow sand. he saw a couple of people, a boy and his dog, a small family and an elderly couple. just as he was about to leave, he saw a small figure at the end of the beach. it had to have been you. he parked his car and slowly walked towards you. you were sitting up with your arms wrapped around your knees, your chin resting on your forearms. he heard you sniffle and his heart ached for you. quietly, he sat next to you and patted your head.

“hey” you turn your head, red eyes rimmed and puffy. your cheeks were rosey and your hair was disheveled, but atsumu still thought you looked as beautiful as ever. you mumbled out a small hey and turned forward again. the sounds of the waves crashing had calmed you, you longed to jump in the water and never be heard from again.

but you were glad he was here.

it was nice having him right next to you, the loneliness was bearable with him by your side. having him next to you made you feel significantly smaller, in more ways than physical. atsumu held himself high and could easily pick himself back up. but you? you were just an insecure girl looking for someone to be her lifeline. maybe that guy was right. how could anyone ever love you if you can’t even love yourself. you craved validation but for what? for who? why couldn’t you just learn to be alone, what was so bad about it.

“what’s going on in that big head of yours?” you heard from beside you. you paused, you needed something from him to help you see yourself.

“do you think i’m annoying?” you asked softly and atsumu chuckled.

“you talk a lot sometimes, i could say it’s annoying, yeah” the way your eyes welled up with tears made atsumu punch himself internally, now was obviously not the right time for jokes.

“i’m kidding, i don’t think yer annoying. i think yer quite the opposite in fact. quite lovely in my opinion” you nodded but his words didn’t quite get through to you. he could obviously be lying, he is your best friend and all, he could be sparing your feelings.

“‘m serious. i love being around you. you’re such a great person to be around, you’re funny and nice, you listen, you care. you were too good for that jerk in my opinion, you deserve someone way better than that di-“

“tsumu” he smiled sheepishly, “sorry.”

you stared at him, the orange hue from the sun setting made him look stunning. he looked so handsome and you wanted to feel his lips on yours so bad.

“do you mean that?” you asked breathlessly. his eyes met yours and he nodded, something flickered in his eyes that you couldn’t quite recognize. he wrapped his arm around you, leaning your head on his shoulder. just sitting there watching the sunset, you felt at peace. he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, laying his head on top of yours. maybe you were wrong.

maybe atsumu was your soulmate.

that was what you had thought, until out of the blue little miss sunshine and rainbows popped up in the picture.

aiko nakamura.

she was a pretty girl, slim and tall with long legs. she was on the girls track team, and some would say she was one of the cliche it girls. you didn’t really know her, you went to school with her in elementary but you never really had been friends. from what you’ve heard she was nice and funny.

also atsumu’s type apparently.

you were happy for him really, you were just a little upset at the fact that he hadn’t told you anything about her at all. i mean really, what could you do? there was no way you were going to declare your unproclaimed love for him. so of course, being the best best friend you could ever possibly be, you suck it up. you wipe your tears and go on, acting like it doesn’t affect you even if you spend your nights wondering why.

after they had gotten together, your time with atsumu had been cut short significantly. your once friday tradition of hanging out had been given away to some girl atsumu had only been with for 2 weeks. obviously it hurt seeing the guy you’re in love with loving up on someone that wasn’t you, but again, there was not much you could do. watching from afar seemed best, and the once arms length of distance had become one oceans away. he felt just out of your reach and maybe this time it was entirely too late.

after a while, you stopped reaching out to atsumu. you stopped going over, you stopped eating lunch with him, you stopped calling, you stopped texting, you stopped talking. you ached to tell someone about your days because your person was just a ghost of a memory now. you still talked to osamu of course, even hanging with him every now and then. but it just wasn’t the same as your best friend.

one day when you and osamu were chilling in his room, atsumu and his girlfriend were arguing. you could hear the screams and shouts, bickering back and forth. you and osamu just looked at each other, knowing it was best to just mind your business. a few minutes later and you heard stomping down the stairs and a door slam. it was quiet for a little, then atsumu barged into the room.

he moved sluggishly and threw himself onto osamu’s bed.

“‘m guessin you guys fought?” osamu chucked.

atsumu let out a big sigh and had the biggest frown on his face. “she’s mad because i never post her or whatever.”

you decided to stay quiet, continuing to do whatever it was on your phone.

atsumu had noticed your lack of communication recently, and he was upset about it. he wondered if he made you mad or angry at him, or if he did anything wrong. he hated the radio silence and he also hated that you didn’t talk to him about it. he just wanted some type of closure. did you not want to be friends with him anymore? was he too insufferable for you now?

he threw a pillow at you.

“ow, tsumu what the heck!” you glared and all he could do was laugh. atsumu could swear there was steam coming out your ears.

“was just trynna get yer nose out that phone, sorry”

you rolled your eyes, some half assed apology that was.

you guys just sat there a few minutes, it was peaceful and quiet.

“you should go to our game tomorrow” you paused and furrowed your eyebrows.

“i thought aiko was going?” atsumu just shook his head and smiled.

“she is but i want ya to be there too y'know since yer my best friend and all”

“i’ll think about it” another pillow was flung at your head.

going to bed that night you really did think about it. you’d love to go to atsumu’s games but you knew for a fact that aiko was going to be there, and you didn’t want to witness that awkward pda shared between them; you had already walked in on them making out a week before. but of course your heart always wins against your head, and it couldn’t help but thirst about wanting to see atsumu all sweaty and tired from his game.

you had gotten there 10 minutes early and the stands were already packed. their games had always been big, everyone wanted to see the talented players in action. it was both a blessing and a curse to say that you knew those boys. you decided you’d go look for a seat after you said hi to the twins first.

“atsumu y/n is here” kita motioned his hand toward your figure standing by osamu. osamu had spotted you when you first walked in and left aran in the middle of warmups.

from afar, your cheeks looked red, and you seemed nervous. atsumu had wondered if you were sick or if something happened to you. he quickly walked over to you.

just before he had reached you, osamu had pulled you into a hug. his eyebrows drew together. since when were you and osamu that close. he decided to keep his question in the back of his head, deciding he’ll ask about it some other time. you were about to leave, but the blonde had called out for you.

“hey y/n, where ya goin?” eyebrows raised, atsumu waited for your answer.

“i was just going back up to the stands, good luck guys!” osamu patted your head and you left.

there was something brewing in atsumu’s chest, something funny. he looked at his twin with eyebrows furrowed. it was a little odd for you to just randomly hug osamu, so what the hell just happened between you two?

osamu smirked. he could see the glint of jealousy in his brother's eyes. “what?” shrugging his shoulders, he walked off.

you had found a good spot just before the game started. you could see both sides of the court and you could easily see the players. the whistle blew and the game began.

all of the players were amazing, and the rally’s that kept going on were phenomenal. it was a battle that was never ending and it kept you and your toes.

the lights and cheers going on around you really fueled the intensity of the game. it felt like you were watching an olympic game.

you were so caught up with the game that you didn’t hear someone call out your name.

“y/n! what are you doing here?” you turned and aiko stood before you. she looked all pretty and she had atsumu’s jersey on. the one that he never let you wear because it was ‘too precious and i don’t want you to get it dirty’. you felt a pang of hurt in your chest but you smiled.

“oh, hey. the boys invited me to their game and i thought i’d come and support�� she nodded and smiled.

“i didn’t think i’d see you here, atsumu always tells me how you never go see him because you’re too scared to get hit by a ball” she laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

you actually didn’t go because you had piano practice, but you didn’t want to burst her bubble.

“oh that’s so funny, he’s always making up some kind of joke” you forced a laugh and turned your attention back to the game.

“yeah he’s always saying something about you” she giggles.

“he also told me about that whole reiji thing”

you stopped.

reiji was the basketball player that you had gotten the big fat massive crush on. he was also the one that yelled at you in the cafeteria.

there’s no way he told her about something like that. something that you had been so raw and vulnerable about. you cried to atsumu about how you really liked him and how he made you feel good about yourself. about how you wish he didn’t say those things because now you feel even more unlovable than you did before.

“he told you… about that?” she nodded and looked towards the court, acting as if what she was saying didn’t affect you.

“yeah what a douche, he definitely could’ve said that over text or something. not that i think it’s true or anything but still!” you nodded and tried to let her words fly over your head.

“but i mean really, how naive were you to think that he would actually want to be with you?”

you could feel your heartbeat in all of your limbs and hear the sound of your blood rushing to your face.

“boys like that only want one thing, and unfortunately for you you don’t have it. maybe if you made yourself look pretty you’d have a boyfriend!” she smiled at you.

you stood there, dumbfounded, shocked about how you should respond. was she trying to help you or bring you down? because it definitely seems like the latter. and it was definitely working. you were embarrassed and wanted to run out of the gym but you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself.

the buzzer went off and the crowd dispersed.

“oh! that’s game, i’ll see you around!” she smirked and waved, walking towards the players.

you were still shocked from the whole ordeal. you could see her run up to atsumu and kiss his forehead. atsumu leaned in for a hug but she backed away, clearly not wanting to get sweat on her outfit.

you also walked down to talk to the boys, but you didn’t want to interrupt the couple so you told osamu good job, giving him a hug. you and atsumu had made eye contact and it was clear he wanted to talk to you, but before he could get to you you panicked and quickly walked out of the gym. you did not want to speak to him especially since he had told his girlfriend about your heartbreak.

he thought it was odd, you always told him bye so why did you run off?

“hey uh, i’ll be right back” aiko gripped his hand and atsumu was taken aback.

“where are you going?” atsumu looked down at his hand, stared at it and retracted his arm.

“just gonna do sumthin real quick” she nodded, but she obviously knew where he was going.

in a light jog, atsumu went to search for you. surely you couldn’t have gone too far, you hadn’t left that long ago.

he spotted your figure just about to exit the building.

“y/n!” you paused and turned, seeing the person you were trying to avoid the most. you could feel yourself shiver.

“where ya goin?” he questioned.

“i’m going home tsumu” he was confused and you could see that in his facial expressions.

“weren’t you gonna tell me bye?” you looked in his eyes and you could feel your anger and embarrassment melt away.

“i didn’t want to interrupt you and aiko. she seems nice by the way. hope you guys are happy” you said, forcing a smile. you walked off but atsumu could clearly see that something was up with you. he didn’t want to push so he settled for a small smile and a wave.

“call me tonight kay?” you nodded, not looking behind you.

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mulders-too-large-shirt · 1 month

Text

s3 episode 22 thoughts

this episode was SO good. it was funny, it was heartfelt, and it was entertaining. but- and i'm sure you fans who have seen the show before know- something happened that is making me cry.

yes, actual tears! boy, there must be some real serious astrology stuff going on in the world, for actual tears are down my cheeks, something that almost never happens to me in movie and film watching experiences, and this episode did it to me. i usually just get a bit misty and that's the extent of it- even in one breath! but man. apparently i have a weakness.

sigh. we shall get into it, like we do.

reading the episode description: it's loch ness monster-like creature time!! i’ve been eyeballing this episode for a while, it sounds really interesting. a lake trip!! a trip to the lake!!

we begin, and it is frog time!!! time for a frog!!! an endangered frog!!! dr. farraday is fighting for their rights. oh, he just used the term “frog holocaust” in his talk to this dr. bailey fellow, which is something. serious frog beef going down between these professors, for dr. bailey does not think that dr. farraday's research proves that humans are responsible for the fate of the frogs! how infuriating.

dr. bailey is going back to his car but lost “his beeper” so he’s looking by the lake for it. OH! his beeper meant a pager. i know what a pager is!!!! do not think i am uneducated!!! just never heard it called as such.

he finds the beeper but he is EATEN. by a BEAST!!! while a frog watches.

if only this was the fate that all people who deny the need to protect the environment met! eaten by a lake beast! how much more just this planet would be...

intro time. and the first time i watched an episode and i heard the theme i started laughing hysterically because i didn’t realize that noise was the x files theme; i had just thought it was a well-known spooky noise used in vines and stuff and then. everything clicked into place. and it was soooo funny. anyway.

road trip to georgia!!!! WITH THE DOGGY!!! mulder calls it “a thing” SO RUDE????

“you wake me up on a saturday morning, tell me to be ready in five minutes, my mother is out of town, all of the dog-sitters are booked, and you know how i feel about kennels” <- help i’m CRYINGGGGG tell him how you feel!!!!

(love that they have already had a conversation on the morality of kennels before)

((but also truly what did he expect 😭😭 and he did all this on a SATURDAY!!!! she ought to have been way meaner!!!))

so he made her leave town with the puppy on a SATURDAY for a missing person’s case… omg do they even get paid overtime???

also mulder is lost which is soooo funny because WHY is he perpetually behind the wheel... he doesn’t have any sense of direction!!!

he makes a stupid pun about the killer being “large” and she straight up asks what he’s leaving out LMAOOO

(he points to a billboard advertising “big blue, the southern serpent) <- “oh, tell me you’re not serious” LMAOOOO

so they’re going to talk to dr. farraday and i think it’s so cute that scully is in some more casual-y clothes. anyway, they’re going over the serious frog beef between him and the victim. farraday does NOT miss dr. bailey’s loser ass... ijbol!!! why should he give a damn for one man when so many species are going extinct!

farraday said “has anyone ever told you two you have a great problem coming to the point?” after mulder asks if any native species attacked humans... lmao he is rude as hell!!!

AND ASKING ABOUT BIG BLUE MADE THINGS WORSE!!! now farraday is going on about how if anything requires real thinking people turn to UFOs and whatnot which is like.... um okay rest assured that if someone is gonna think it’s gonna be mulder. he's gonna think about any and all explanations on a sliding scale of plausibility.

LMAO mulder is being sassy right back while scully screams with her eyes. farraday gets even more pissed and leaves… honestly i’m sorry about the frog population king, but you’re not really winning any friends with influence to help you lobby on behalf of the frogs. or winning any friends at all.

so mulder and scully and the doggy go to a bait and tackle shop, and the sight of them sharing an umbrella with a dog on a leash healed something in me, something i didn’t know was in need of healing but it was. and they’re reciting the different creatures that live in lakes- apparently scully read about cryptids as a kid!!!!

she says they’re folk tales and he says “well, how many folktales do you know that can eat a boy scout leader and a biologist?” and she looks soooo annoyed. but then they go in, and he is a proper gentleman and shakes off the umbrella

at the shop they see a “scale from big blue” and scully says it looks like “a carapace, something from a beetle” which again reminds us that she WAS studying bugs in bio, thank you very much!!

they’re chatting with the dude that sold mulder a map, and he’s talking about his own experience with the creature while wearing a hat that says “show us your bobbers” which is crazy, but we keep going. he claims he heard a cow get eaten by big blue as a kid. and in walks an alleged expert, ansel… whose daddy’s cow was eaten way back then!

ansel is buying more film to someday achieve his dream of catching a picture of the beast and scully looks deeply pained in the background lmaoooo i love her

someone is putting a worm on a hook in order to fish on the lake. a big one bites!!! a real big one. OH! it’s actually a human body. the fisherman goes and gets the dude from the tackle shop and by proxy our agents.

OH! there is only half a body. they’re bickering on what could have eaten half of a human body while hiding together under an umbrella, and it’s really cute but where is the dog?

the tackle shop man is out in the swampy part near the lake wearing dino-shaped boots to try and make some convincing tracks LMAO. king of the hustle. but something approached him as he gets stuck in the mud!!!! and he is dragged into the dark lake with only a dino boot left behind!

apparently his name was ted. rip ted and your bobber hat and funny boots.

mulder seems to believe that the tracks are legit and tells scully and the dog to watch where they’re walking as to not disturb them (and the dog is named queequeg i’m gonna CRY!!!)

the sheriff is OFFENDED by mulder’s suggestion to close the lake, because clearly this is just a bunch of drunk people falling overboard!! and then getting run over!! well if that happens as frequently as you seem to think it does, we need to do something regardless of if any beasts are involved.

scully is not buying that the tracks are from a real creature because they did not leave very deep impressions. but the dog yanks her away!!! he’s off investigating the dino boot! the prints may be a hoax, but the blood on the shoe is very real!

cut to some stoners on the lake talking about hallucinogenic toads. he holds a local frog and licks it. but someone interrupts his toad licking session coming back to the surface from a scuba dive?

oh no!! scuba dude is pulled by some sort of creature!!! and his head is removed from his body. well that is not good.

time to locate the head. both of our agents are in fun little jackets, and still bickering over what went down.

ansel the big blue photographer is serenading his camera, preparing for the perfect shot, which he has set up by filling an inner tube with meat. something bubbles beneath it. BUT NO!! it skips the meat on the tube and goes right for him!!!!! he snaps a picture as it gets him!! three attacks in one day!!!!

mulder asks the sheriff again to CLOSE DOWN THE LAKE and he again refuses. scully says it’s inconclusive still, which is echoing the dr. bailey saying about the fate of the frogs being inconclusive!

the sheriff falls in, and out there he brushes into something big. he immediately proclaims that the lake shall be closed down, calls state police, AND wildlife fish and game. well okay that gets results i guess.

they’re examining the photos from ansel, and mulder things that this blurry thing COULD be a tooth. it is very funny.

AWWW the dog needs to go for a walk, and mulder offers to go with her :,) she lifts up her jacket to show her gun, says she’ll be fine, and smiles. STOP I LOVE THEM SO MUCH?????

why is this episode making me emotional with their little lake visit. also something bad is definitely going to happen now. she says goodnight :,)

aww the dog is MAD and she’s talking to him in that kind of voice you reserve for a little creature... but he wants to go into the woods!!

no!!! he runs too fast!!! NO!!!!! WHERE DID HE GO???? HE ISN’T ON THE LEASH????

NO. I CAN’T BEAR TO WATCH SCULLY LOSE HER DOG….

oh my gosh, she is sitting in the chair, holding his collar in grief…. she is literally spaced out into another dimension mourning her little friend and mulder is rambling about the lake…. i want to slap him… NOOOO. she asks him to repeat himself because she was so out of it…

(if this doesn’t end with a dog reunion i will drop this dumbass show. BET.)

mulder asks if she can drive a boat. psh can she drive a boat? it’s natural to her bloodline.

she is piloting the boat and he’s telling her where to go, and she’s braver than me because if i lost my dog at this moment i think i would need two weeks to begin to even SORT of get a grasp on reality.

“i know the difference between expectation and hope. seek and ye shall find, scully” <- this is a genuinely fantastic line said by mulder, but i’m still in dog mourning so we can go analyze that later

map facts with scully :)

until the monster comes STRAIGHT AT THEM!! i like how she kept asking “what is that, mulder?” because it reminded me of when she kept asking mulder to get the bugs off of her in darkness falls… like the blind hope/faith/desperation that he would hold the answers and have a solution… ohhhgghh

big crash into the boat!!! it is leaking and she picks up the radio and calls a distress signal (another natural feature to a scully) but the boat is FILLING with water!!

mulder gets some life jackets for them and they barely get them on in time as the boat sinks. whew! a conveniently placed rock for them to perch upon is nearby!!!

but there goes the $500 deposit :(

mulder says to swim and she is GAGGED “in which direction?!” lmaoooo

mulder is unsettled by how dark it is, because you forget these things in a city… and scully says you forget a lot of things in a city; her father taught her to respect nature, because it has no respect for you. or your dog, i guess :(

they both pull out their guns as they hear splashing!!!! mulder whispers that it was big blue, but scully asks “so what if it was?” <- NOOO you took her dog and her deposit, you’ve broken her spirit!!!

mulder says he wants to know because it could revolutionize science, and so many of the things they chase are intangible, but it’s a creature within the confines of a lake, it should be right HERE- and she isn't buying it for a second

she says she saw HIS FUTURE in ansel’s photographs, a man listening only to himself and seeing nonsense; she can’t figure out his motives, and things are approaching angst levels on this rock in the middle of nowhere, but SOMETHING APPROACHES!!!!

it’s a duck. okay so it could be worse!!! he says he’s still tempted to fire and she slams into him LMAOOO

sleepover on the rock. “hey scully, do you think you could ever cannibalize someone?” <- LDHDMDNSMDNSBBDNSND I’M GENUINELY YELLING LMAOOOOOOO HOLD ON. hold on i need a minute to handle all that. (she gives a thoughtful and scientific response) <- that’s Them. that is their dynamic right there.

“you’ve lost some weight recently, haven’t you?” “yeah i have, thanks for-“ (glare of realization) LMAOOOOOOOO WHAT EVEN IS THIS EPISODE

“poor queequeg” she says, and i’m gonna CRY. but mulder has a better response now to her grief instead of just babbling on about the lake, asks why she chose that name. she shares that was the name of the harpoonist in moby dick, which her father used to read to her from.

and as she says this, she realizes how much mulder is like ahab, “so consumed by your personal vengeance against life, whether it be it’s inherent cruelties or it’s mysteries, that everything takes on a warped significance to fit your megalomaniacal cosmology” <- the words of a girl who was REALLY into a book as a kid and is also experiencing near-death levels of hypothermia and grief

LMAOOOOO HIS RESPONSE IS “scully, are you coming onto me?” yes. now kiss on the rock.

and she keeps going, talking about how his search for the Truth will take down everything he loves, just as it did for Ahab.

OH! he starts talking about how he always wished for a peg leg, even as a kid, and it first it seems like another of his many jokes but he says it’s because maybe then it’s enough to Persist despite the difficulty; without, “you’re actually expected to make something of your life- achieve something, earn a raise, wear a necktie” so perhaps he is the ANTITHESIS of ahab, for with a peg leg he may be more pleased!

woah. that got deep. i’ll be gnawing on that one for a bit.

THEY BOTH QUOTE A LINE FROM THE BOOK AT THE SAME TIME... STOP I’M GONNA SOB?????

but a splashing approaches… and they draw their guns…. CUT TO A COMMERCIAL BREAK!!!!

it’s dr. farraday??? he says he hopes he’s not INTERRUPTING anything!!! wait so was the shore right there the whole time LMAOOO (silent walk of shame to the shore) BAHAHA

so what is this dude doing out here?? obviously it’s frog science! he’s been breeding the frogs to get their numbers back up.

mulder is thinking…. if there are fewer frogs for a dinosaur to eat… it would have no choice but to turn to different food sources! (cutscene to serious arguing between mulder and dr. farraday whilst scully watches)

sheriff rolls up!!! another person had their arm bit off, and so he has thirty boats searching that area. but mulder says we have to search THIS cove, where the frogs have been going missing!! he blatantly refuses.

what if it was her little dog that bit the dude’s arm off…

scully politely asks for him to send a few men over and immediately gets results LMAOOO he quietly mumbles “thanks”

but a distant scream is heard!!! it’s dr. farraday!!! they run and find him!! something grabbed his leg and was shaking it. his leg is messed up really bad so scully is tying a tourniquet, and mulder’s running off after the mystery creature…. no self preservation instincts….

so he’s off with a gun and a flashlight chasing the human eating beast…. only to find some frogs. but something is approaching him?? quickly!!! and he’s firing his gun!!!

into a GATOR??? not a fancy lake beast!!

he’s staring out into the water… claiming to be fine. but he said he wanted the monster to be real, that he saw hope in such a possibility. she says there is still hope, that people want to believe, which is why the stories have endured for so long.

GASP! the minute they leave, we see a big sea beast…

i’m literally so torn because i was CONVINCED the dog was going to come back 😭😭😭 and this episode was so good but WHY did they have to throw that in there… like i can’t even make an objective analysis of how this went because i’m so sad. WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT?!?!

“oh juni there have been lots of human people that die in this series” which i mourned for too! but. i have felt the pain of losing a beloved and innocent creature and i do not wish for it to return and being reminded of its inevitably is not something i wish upon anyone MUCH less dana scully, who has already suffered in mythological levels.

really though, the episode was good. it was genuinely fantastic. it just clearly hit a bit of a nerve with me so i'm not going to do a thoughtful wrap up in the manner i like to think i usually do. but here are the things i liked, beyond the whole aesthetic and mood: bickering, umbrella sharing, scully at the helm, joint quoting of moby dick, deep introspection in the form of projecting onto book characters, cannibalism debates, outlandish creature as a monster of the week, rock sleepover, and fighting over frogs

#i genuinely ask for a no spoiler policy on here but i am making an exception... can you tell me if the fuzzball comes back :(#i mean it was pretty obvious what happened but in such things you can't rule out a retcon based on audiences getting upset #it's me. i'm the audience and i'm upset.#it really was good which is why i'm annoyed by how sad i am LMAOOOO.... i try to be a good journalist but the Real Me bleeds through #i would say “sorry y'all” but tbh i'm not.... i cannot apologize for my nature no matter how bizarre it may seem #you come here to see the show through a new set of eyes and you get the Juni Lore #many such cases!#not even really good proofread this one just sending it out into the world (will likely regret this!)#juni's x files liveblog #the x files #txf

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talesofadragon · 2 months

Text

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞

Chapter II - Synopsis: Steve has come to understand that beauty often arises from pain. As the echoes of Y/N's past begin to surface, he considers it nothing short of blasphemy to remain idle without extending his help.

Pairing: Professor!Steve Rogers x Student!Reader/Mum!Reader

Warnings: Age Gap (14 years. Both are adults), teacher/student dynamic, abusive relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, terrible partner, co-parenting.

Word Count: 4K Words

All Masterlists | Paint Me Midnight Blue Masterlist

𝐍𝐘𝐋𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑.

The petite child was ethereal as if both dawn and twilight had converged to create her. For the most part, she resembled Y/N. Her hair cascaded down her back in playful waves, her cheeks were rosy and bright, and her gentleness was easily discernible. But it was her enigmatic eyes that contrasted with her mother’s; her irises contoured in a rich midnight blue as dark as the night sky.

“Come here, my heart,” Y/N called mellifluously, her voice mirroring the early morning birdsong. She opened her arms wide, uncaring for the mess that marred the toddler’s attire. “There’s no need to cry, Ny. Look, mama’s dress is stained too now. We’re matching!”

Nyla kept her head tucked between Y/N’s neck and shoulder. She tilted her face upward, peeking at her mother with tearful eyes. Steve swore her lower lip trembled when she realized she had made her mother’s shirt dirty.

“I’m sorry, mama.”

Y/N shook her head, cupping her daughter’s cheeks. “You don’t need to apologize, Ny.” Her lips brushed against Nyla’s nose in a featherlight kiss, and her winsome expression coaxed a meek grin from the toddler. “Accidents like this happen. Don’t you remember how I spilled mustard all over my blouse last week? And, oh! Remember that time we went for pizza? What happened then?”

Nyla’s laughter rang out, causing Steve’s heart to jolt. The little girl and her mother held his entire attention, and they were none the wiser. “You dropped your lemonade, and your pants got really sticky!”

“They did!” Y/N squealed exaggeratedly. Nyla laughed harder. “I almost had to cut them with scissors. I thought I’d be stuck in them forever!”

The little girl kicked her feet in delight, her laughter echoing across the park and drawing smiles from passersby who were charmed by her joy. She hugged her mother tightly, small hands wrapping around Y/N’s neck and never letting go.

It was the most beautiful portrait Steve had ever seen. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he tried to memorize all of its details: the discordant stains on a lilac shirt and a taupe dress, a child’s infectious laughter, and a mother’s loving gaze.

But there was one flaw that Steve would most definitely omit from this canvas: the father.

“Great. Out of all of the women in the world, I had to be stuck with a goddamn child and her inept offspring,” Paul lamented, hands outstretched and gaze fixed on the heavens.

Steve’s nostrils flared. Bucky didn’t take the insult too lightly, either. The brunet was already rolling up his sleeves, readying himself to attack if necessary.

Y/N didn’t care.

“You’re right about the child part.” She gave Paul a knowing look, her lips curving into a wry smile. “But inept? Hardly. She’s mine too, you know.” Y/N’s eyes softened as she looked at Nyla, casually lifting her daughter in her arms and cooing at her. “And you, my beautiful girl, are the sweetest princess the world has ever seen.”

“Princess,” Paul scoffed disdainfully.

Y/N hummed. “Yes, well. Miraculously, meek and revolting little frogs can produce the most precious princesses.”

“Are you calling me a revolting frog, you hideous bi—”

“I suggest,” Steve seethed, having heard enough. A surge of anger overwhelmed his usual restraint as he marched toward Paul, the grass crunching beneath his forceful footfall. Paul instinctively recoiled, though he quickly composed himself, clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders in a feeble attempt to match Steve’s unwavering stance. “You choose your words carefully in the presence of your daughter and her mother. They don’t deserve your anger or disrespect.”

“And who are you to meddle in family matters? Shouldn’t you be managing your trust fund or tending to your sugar baby?”

“Paul! That’s enough,” Y/N interjected sharply. Her voice was calm yet commanding, leaving no room for argument.

Paul didn’t appreciate her interruption. “Shut up, Y/N.”

“Don’t talk to her that way,” Bucky interceded, his metallic irises blazing with fury. He stepped forward, muscles tense.

Paul stepped back, glaring at the two men with a mix of contempt and confusion. “Who the hell are you two, anyway? Her bodyguards or her body worshippers? Because let me save you the trouble by telling you—WHAT THE HELL, Y/N?!”

Paul clutched the side of his head protectively, wincing. You’d think he was hit by a rock from how he moaned and almost pulled out his hair when, in fact, Y/N had only splashed him with half a bottle of water.

Her disdain was unmistakable. “Leave.”

“What?” Paul asked, opening one eye, looking more cyclone than man.

“It’s a one-word statement, Paul.”

“This is a public park!”

“And you’re in my personal space. If you do not disappear from my sight in less than five seconds, I will send Nyla’s birth certificate to your bimbo, and we can both see how long it takes her before whipping your behind.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me, froggy.”

The threat snapped Paul out of his nonexistent stupor, his hand retracting from his head. He locked eyes with Y/N, sharp canines bared as he growled like a feral animal. Steve and Bucky shared a silent understanding, casually moving closer, ready to intervene.

Y/N nonchalantly raked her fingers through her daughter’s hair, smoothing it out. The toddler sucked her thumb, her gaze shifting between her parents, a small frown creasing her forehead at the difference in their demeanor.

Paul’s anger simmered, but he knew when he was outmatched. With a final glare at Y/N, he spat out, “This isn’t over.” He turned and stormed off, his anger lingering like a storm cloud over the tranquil park.

“Are you alright?” Y/N released a heavy sigh, her body turning away from Steve. When she steeled herself enough to face him, she was surprised to find her professor addressing the young girl in her arms. “I’m so sorry I ruined your milkshake with my clumsiness, sweetheart,” Steve apologized, his voice gentle and sincere.

Nyla remained quiet, though her reticence didn't last long. She studied Steve with her midnight blue eyes, a color vividly reminiscent of the hues Y/N had used in her recent painting. An involuntary smile spread across Steve's face, mirrored by the little girl.

“That’s okay,” Nyla beamed, her earlier fear and uncertainty fading away. “Accidents happen. It’s no biggie.”

Steve moved closer, crouching down to meet Nyla at eye level. “I can get you a new one,” he offered sincerely.

“No, thank you.”

“Please, let me.”

“Professor,” Y/N interjected swiftly before Nyla could reply. “Thank you for your kindness, but I should get Nyla home now to change her clothes. I wouldn’t want her catching a chill.”

Steve nodded understandingly, stepping back to give them space. "Of course," he replied warmly, missing the meaningful glance from Bucky. He kept his gaze on Nyla, offering her an encouraging smile. "But I promise to make it up to you, sweetheart. I can’t have the little princesses feeling upset!"

Nyla laughed at the remark, her tiny hands moving to her mouth as if to frame her chuckle. Y/N managed a strained smile, her uncertainty thinly veiled. She nodded briefly at Steve and Bucky, muttering about taking Nyla to the animal shelter tomorrow to make up for today.

Steve stood there, rooted in place, watching where the two had stood moments before. Bucky remained silent as Y/N left, but even if he had spoken, Steve's thoughts were consumed with his student and her daughter to notice anything else.

Blank canvases captivated Steve at first sight. Innocent and pulsing with wonder, they invited him to see beyond the ordinary, through a kaleidoscopic lens made for an artist. He disregarded the blank surface, his gaze exploring the countless possibilities etched into its contours.

Yet, alongside his love for these canvases, a creeping abhorrence lurked within their fissures. In moments when creativity eluded Steve, his mind embodied the very blankness he refused to acknowledge.

Another crumpled piece of paper marked yet another failed attempt at finding inspiration. Steve tore the sketch apart, discarding it with a mix of disappointment and resignation. Even in its abstract form, the artwork held no resonance or narrative.

He sighed heavily, his hands rubbing wearily at his eyes. Weeks had passed in pursuit of inspiration, yielding only fleeting glimpses of creativity. He couldn't help but question whether his role as an Arts Professor was contributing to this creative block. Despite having a handful of students genuinely engaged, his workload persisted. Between managing assignments, examinations, and leading jury rounds as part of the senior studies, it was no wonder he found scarce free time—only to bemoan lackluster creations.

Thankfully, a knock interrupted Steve's somber thoughts. Glancing at his clock, he was surprised to see that his office hours were nearly over. Hastily, he tidied his desk, ensuring his sketchbook and pencils were neatly stowed away in the second drawer. "Come in," he called out, rising to ensure crumpled papers found their way into the trash rather than accumulating into a rebellious heap at its edge, seeking some form of retribution.

Y/N's head appeared through the crack of the now-open door. "Professor Rogers," she greeted politely, pushing the door further and stepping into the room. "You wanted to see me?"

Steve offered her a reassuring smile, gesturing towards the seat across from his desk. "Yes, Miss Y/L/N. Please, make yourself comfortable."

She nodded, her eyes remaining downcast, focused on the tiles beneath her feet. Steve waited patiently as she settled into the chair, noticing the slight thud as she placed her heavy bag on the ground. Despite her cautious efforts, the weight of its contents made a small noise. Balancing two notebooks on her knees, Y/N adjusted herself in the seat. Steve mirrored her, clasping his hands and resting his wrists on the desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Steve began tentatively, sensing the tension thickening in the air. He watched as Y/N’s grip on her notebooks tightened, her expression guarded. "I would like to talk to you about the day at the park."

Y/N’s head shot up, her demeanor defensive. “With all due respect, Professor Rogers, I don’t believe that’s a subject I should be discussing with you.”

Steve felt a pang of discomfort, but he pressed on, trying to navigate the conversation carefully. “I… truthfully, I’m still trying to find the right approach here. I want to discuss this new information from an academic perspective.”

Y/N tilted her head, her expression skeptical. “I’m not following.”

Steve internally chided himself, feeling the weight of his inadequacy in such conversations. Glad to know I’m still as terrible at talking to a woman as I was two decades ago, he thought wryly. Even with my own students, the estrogen stands in the way of my basic speech capacity. Unbelievable.

He sighed deeply, scratching his stubble as he gathered his thoughts. His eyes briefly glanced at Y/N’s hands, noticing the absence of a ring.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Steve admitted softly.

“I didn’t know this was a piece of information worth sharing with the faculty,” Y/N replied coldly, causing Steve to wince inwardly.

“Miss Y/L/N, I… I’m not trying to patronize you or shame you if that’s what you think you’re here for.”

“What are you trying to do then, Professor? Explain the impact of my motherhood on my academic record?” Or, simply, to chit-chat about hers?”

Steve could see Y/N's frustration, and he felt a mix of concern and understanding. Unsure if he had caught her on a bad day or genuinely upset by his intervention, he decided not to prolong the conversation. Leaning back in his chair, he gave her space, silently reassuring her that he wasn't trying to intrude into her personal life. Tapping on his computer, he quickly pulled up Y/N's academic records.

Turning the screen toward Y/N, he motioned for her to come closer. "You deserved to receive an A on your last paper. So I gave you one."

Y/N gasped, her surprise evident as she leaned across the desk, her hands instinctively reaching toward the screen of Steve’s laptop. Her eyes scanned the display in disbelief.

“You’ve marked me as present,” she observed. “I’ve been absent thrice this semester. I even got a B on the last quiz, but you’ve changed it to an A!”

“I did,” Steve affirmed calmly.

“Why? Because of Nyla? If I wanted special treatment, I would’ve asked for it long ago without involving my daughter! I don’t understand what this means, Professor, but I—”

“It means,” Steve interjected, holding out his hand to stop Y/N from continuing. His features softened, gently extracting the laptop from her hold to set it aside. “You are the best student in my class, Miss Y/L/N. And you’re not even pursuing art as your major. Unlike the other students, you do not turn in your assignments late or skip classes because you feel like it. And on that note, I am terribly sorry I asked you to leave the lecture last week when you took a personal call. I understand now that—”

“You understand nothing, Professor!” Y/N snapped, cutting him off. Despite her clenched teeth and the scowl she wore, there was a hint of hesitation and disbelief in her eyes. “I appreciate you trying to help me, but many of my peers may also be enduring personal matters that they’re not comfortable sharing, and I refuse to be treated any differently from them!”

With that said, Y/N hurriedly reached for her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and clutching her notebooks tightly to her chest. Steve moved quickly, almost tripping over his own feet in his determination. He caught her wrist, gently pulling to stop her from rushing away.

“Wait!”

Y/N whirled around, smoldering red embers replacing the usual tint of her irises. Despite her average height, she stood with determination, meeting Steve’s gaze squarely.

Her pulse quickened, galloping beneath Steve’s thumb. Explicitly aware of her racing heart, Steve loosened his fingers carefully, allowing his hold on her to lapse. The faint brush of his fingers caused Y/N to jolt, viciously withdrawing her wrist from his hold.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he breathed, his fingers involuntarily clenching at his side. “I understand your frustration, and I am terribly sorry to have opened up a subject that’s clearly not mine to discuss. But I need you to know that had I not wanted to rectify your grades, in the first place, to reflect your hard work and efforts, I would’ve never offered you the chance to partake in extracurriculars. You refused due to personal reasons that solidify my belief in your dedication and your positive conduct. This is the least I could do to acknowledge your exceptional efforts.”

He thought she would relent, expecting her to see the sincerity in his words or at least recognize his genuine intention. Yet, his hope was swiftly extinguished as Y/N stepped back, her hand tightening around the handle of his office door with a determined grip.

“I will not accept being treated differently,” she asserted firmly, her gaze unwavering as it locked onto Steve's. Though there was a glimmer of misty silver in her eyes, her voice remained steady, refusing to be swayed into silence. “I don’t understand what prompted you to view me that way, Professor. But I am a student just like everyone else in your class. Unless you want this matter escalated to the Dean, my grades and attendance records should be reverted to their original state.”

With those resolute words, Y/N swiftly exited the room, the door closing behind her almost noiselessly, leaving an air thick with unresolved tension in her wake. Steve stood there, momentarily at a loss for words. Instead of rushing after her, he turned back to his computer, silently acknowledging her request and beginning the process of reverting the changes she had objected to.

“You’re a real punk, did you know that?” Steve’s hands framed his hips, his eyes narrowing at Bucky. In the three decades they had known each other, Bucky didn’t miss a chance to refer to Steve as a “punk.” The word itself packed a punch, highlighting Steve’s tendency to falter whenever he attempted to fix desperate situations.

“I was just trying to help,” Steve reiterated, emphasizing the last word. It’s not that Bucky hadn’t heard it, but he seemed to casually dismiss it as if it had no place in their conversation.

Steve sat down, pushing his course folders away from where Bucky’s feet lay on the glass table. “I’m not getting any beer on them,” Bucky tutted, raising his bottle to his mouth. “Also, you really need an assistant to help you file through all these papers.”

“I’ll manage. You know I don’t trust anyone with my material. And that’s not even the point of this conversation.”

“I mean, your idiocy left no room for the conversation to continue. Miss Y/L/N had every right to be upset.”

“I was only trying—”

“To help.” Bucky rolled his eyes, sinking deeper into the leather sofa in Steve’s living room. “Do all artists have such a limited vocabulary, repeating the same words over and over again?”

“Shut up, you punk!” Exasperated, Steve grabbed the pen from his side and threw it at Bucky. He chuckled, narrowly dodging as it flew toward his chest.

“See? This just proves my point.”

“Buck, seriously!”

Steve tapped his fingers against the rim of his beer bottle, the sound dulled by Bucky’s frivolous laughter. Truthfully, he knew he shouldn’t get too invested. Y/N was right; many of his students likely faced personal issues they kept hidden. Yet, Steve saw in her a brightness and potential he wanted to nurture, not suppress.

Almost as if Bucky could read his thoughts—scratch that, Bucky practically held a PhD in Steve Rogers Cognitive Theory and Practice—he shifted away from the sofa, edging closer to the table that separated them.

“Ever since you were a punk in goddamn suspenders, you’ve always been too kind for your own good,” Bucky confessed, leaving space for Steve to process his words. After a moment, he added, “Y/N is a good student dealt with pretty shitty cards–”

“Language,” Steve interjected involuntarily, wincing at his own interruption.

“You’re a college instructor now! Get used to it. Our students say worse. Maybe, if you expanded your dictionary—”

“Stop! Sorry, it slipped.”

“Like your overzealous attempts at saving the day,” Bucky quipped. Steve exhaled heavily, on the verge of responding, but he closed his mouth, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I know your intentions were good, but to her, it might have seemed like you were overstepping,” Bucky continued.

“You saw what I saw at the park. Her daughter’s father—Paul—that guy is terrible. He must be making her and her daughter’s life a living nightmare!”

“I saw it, Steve. But that’s her life, not yours.”

“She’s in her early twenties with a toddler in her arms,” Steve emphasized, watching for Bucky’s reaction. He earned himself an arched brow.

“Steve,” Bucky trode carefully. “Her circumstances are not ideal, but they’re hers. I know you won’t be dissuaded from helping her, but maybe altering her grades and fixing her attendance record isn’t the best approach.”

“What else can I do?”

“I don’t know, maybe something that won’t make her think you’re trying to gain her favor for something else?”

“That’s not why I was helping her, and you know it!” Steve protested defensively, his ears turning red. He didn’t entertain such thoughts about her—or anyone. She was a dedicated student and a genuinely kind person. Beautiful, articulate, with inebriating eyes that harbored a fusion of sin and ple—no! He cut off that train of thought. Curse his overactive imagination.

Bucky placed a reassuring hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know your intentions. But she doesn’t. To her, you might seem like another man trying to steer her life.”

“What should I do, then?” Steve asked earnestly. “How can I help her without crossing boundaries?”

“Offer her control. Give her a chance to decide if she wants your help or not,” Bucky replied firmly.

Steve nodded, his gaze wandering to his coursework folder, unsettled. Bucky had a point. Looking back, Steve realized he had indeed overstepped without fully realizing how it might appear from an outside perspective.

Y/N’s reluctance to accept his assistance only deepened Steve’s regret. How could he have been so foolish to impose his help on her, of all people? Any other student would have eagerly accepted his offer, singing to the heavens. But Y/N wasn’t just any student. She was herself—resilient, tenacious, fierce. And Steve, in his attempts to help, felt like an inept fool.

Bucky had gone to replace their drinks, setting two fresh bottles on the table. He gestured toward the phone tucked to his ear. "Nat," he mouthed, referring to his wife. Steve nodded, a faint smile forming as he watched Bucky retreat to the window, engaged in a light conversation.

Steve took advantage of the moment to focus on his work, retrieving the discarded pen from the floor. He opened his folder and turned to his laptop to check his notes. To his surprise, he had missed an email during his conversation with Bucky—one from none other than Y/N.

From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Attendance Record Dear Professor Rogers, I apologize for emailing you outside of working hours. Unfortunately, I will not be able to attend tomorrow’s class. As you may already know, this marks my fourth absence of the semester. Given that I have reached the limit, I would like to inquire about the next steps to be taken in this regard. Best regards, Y/N Y/L/N

Steve’s brows knitted together as he read the email twice over. If only she had accepted his help… no. He couldn’t push her into agreeing. He had overstepped in the first place. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Steve pulled his laptop closer, preparing to respond.

From: Professor Steven Rogers RE: Attendance Record Miss Y/L/N, Yes, this would indeed mark your fourth absence. If attending tomorrow’s class is not possible, I suggest you consider attending the same course at a different time slot. This may help in managing your schedule better. Please let me know if you require further assistance. Regards, Professor Steven Rogers Chairman of the Arts and Culture Department - Stark University

From: Y/N Y/L/N RE: Attendance Record Dear Professor Rogers, Thank you for your prompt response. Unfortunately, the timing is not the issue. I physically cannot attend tomorrow. Best regards, Y/N Y/L/N From: Professor Steven Rogers RE: Attendance Record Miss Y/L/N, May I ask the reason for your absence? If it’s due to illness, being out of town, or other circumstances, please let me know so we can find a solution together. I want to ensure your attendance record doesn’t negatively impact your grades. Regards, Professor Steven Rogers Chairman of the Arts and Culture Department - Stark University

Unlike her previous responses, Y/N took a while to reply this time. By the time Bucky had finished his call with Natasha, uncorked a beer, and taken a generous gulp, he tried to catch Steve's attention, but Steve was engrossed in his laptop. Eventually, the familiar notification alert chimed. Steve anticipated a lengthy response due to the delay, but all he received was a brief sentence.

From: Y/N Y/L/N RE: Attendance Record Familial matters. Thank you for understanding, Professor. Best regards, Y/N Y/L/N

With Bucky’s earlier words echoing in his mind, Steve hastily composed his response.

From: Professor Steven Roger RE: Attendance Record Thank you for letting me know. Your absence is noted. Should you change your mind, you have the option to join the class virtually tomorrow. Let me know if that is something you wish to explore. Regards, Professor Steven Rogers Chairman of the Arts and Culture Department - Stark University

He offered her a choice, hoping against all odds that she would accept his help. Steve wasn’t ready to give up on her. Not yet. But it was up to her to decide how they would move forward.

Requested by @crazyunsexycool

I'm loving this series so far! The dynamic between Steve and our reader is really something. He's going to have to pick up a nickname for her and Ny soon. Well, Ny's already there. What should Steve nickname Y/N? 🤭

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #the avengers #professor!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x single mom!reader #age gap steve rogers #girl dad!steve rogers #professor steve rogers x student reader

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taestefully-in-luv · 2 years

Text

Our Time | JJK (Five)

Summary: After an accident and being in a coma for three months, you finally wake. But the last nine years of your life have been completely erased. You rely on none other than your best friend, Jungkook, to help regain your memories and yourself. But what happens when the truth of your missing time starts unraveling and it isn’t all it’s made out to be?

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem Reader (Detective!Jk x Graphic Designer!OC) side pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: crime au, fluff, heavy angst, smut, romance, darker themes, amnesia au. Best friends to ???

Word Count: 12.2k

Warnings: swearing, frustrations of amnesia, mentions of alcohol, lots of panicking, crying from multiple characters, mentions of death, mentions of vomit multiple times, feelings of betrayal and anger and sadness, next warning is a major spoiler: confirmed kidnapping of jk & ocs c h i l d blah blah blah for those who don't want spoilers and don't need warnings lol

a/n: only one more chapter until the introduction of this story is complete. And then the true plot will begin. 🤭please let me know what you think! Send an ask if you want to be added to the taglist or just want to chat :]

Previous --- Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You remember when you and Jungkook truly became friends.

You had never struggled to make friends. You naturally lured people in with your energy, maybe even your charm as a person. But after spending a month in Seoul already, you had never felt more out of place and out of your element. Every face you came across was the face of a stranger. It was like you were sitting in front of a TV screen and watching a crowd of people who didn’t matter to the plot of the movie. Just there. Living a life that had nothing to do with you.

And you were the same to them.

You had only had maybe two conversations with your roommate in the small dorm. The first conversation was hardly even an introduction and the second one was her asking you if it was cool that she would sneak her boyfriend in every now and then. You didn’t mind. But you thought it meant you all would become friends but that proved to be untrue.

The first week of classes, you realized many of your classmates are already friends or the ones who barely spoke were focused on their studies. That leaves you, someone with no friends and someone who isn’t that focused on school the way others were, feeling completely alone.

The Friday night after the first week of classes was supposed to be a night of partying with your new friends and the new independent life as a new adult. But instead you wandered around aimlessly, lost and lonely. You didn’t really want to spend the first weekend as a college student in your dorm but where exactly were you going to go? Well, you decided to stick to campus and ended up browsing the library.

A book to demolish during the weekend didn’t sound so bad, now did it?

When you were in the library, your eyes darted around, for no particular reason but hey, maybe something would stick out to you. And something did.

Or more like someone.

Your eyes grew twice their size when you spotted someone familiar. And goodness, nothing felt better than seeing something familiar in this new world.

You walked up to a table that sat at least six people but you stared with excited eyes at the only person occupying the space.

“Frog boy?” You had blurted in pure happy rage.

The frog boy in question kept his eyes on the book in his hands, only releasing a long sigh before lifting his eyes to you and cocking a brow.

“You’ve known me almost your entire life and you don’t even know my name?”

You had seen the playful glint in his eyes when he met your gaze.

You rolled yours, “Fine. Jungkook. Or you know, Ribbit.”

You hadn’t felt this excited and relieved since moving to Seoul. (Kind of.) (It’s not like you two were ever friends.) But that was about to change. Oh yes, that was going to change.

Whether your little frog boy, Jungkook, likes it or not.

“Do you go here too?!” You had asked him.

He only sighed again, looking back down at his book before answering with an unbothered nonchalance, “Nah.” And then he raised the book up, showing it to you with a straight face. “I came all the way to Seoul because only this library has…” He looked at the cover, “A freshman course Literature book.”

“Oh.” You nodded in understanding, equally straight face.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you, “You realize I’m joking, right?”

“That would make sense.” You nodded again, pulling out a chair across from him and taking a seat. “So we both go here. That’s great. We’re friends now.”

“Friends?”

“Unless you’re still too shy.” You remember how you challenged him.

But Jungkook raised another brow, “Am I still eight years old to you?”

“Maybe.” You had laughed before mocking. “When I see your face, I keep imagining it like,” You had scrunched up your features, pretending to cry while shaking your shirt. “A…a…a…a…a…f-frog!”

You remember how he laughed.

His laugh was pure, genuine and contagious. You remember how you joined him and it’s like the past lonely month you had spent in Seoul didn’t exist anymore.

You two would start meeting up once a week at the library. Very casual. He would try to study and you would talk his head off. Jungkook never once complained. You remember looking forward to your weekly hang outs and you had hoped he felt the same.

Jungkook obviously knew you were itching for more.

He looked over a textbook that he wasn’t paying any attention to and said, “You know we can hang out more than once a week, right?”

You basically had jumped out of your chair, cleaning up around you when you said, “Perfect. Let’s go to a party that my roommate told me about but didn’t invite me to.”

“A party?”

“A party.” You nodded.

Jungkook eyed you for a moment, looking hesitant. “I didn’t intend to party though.”

“Come on. We’re in this together.” You fluttered your lashes at him, trying your best to look convincing but he only huffed out an annoyed breath before giving in.

It was your first college frat party. Jungkook’s too.

It was also the first time you got super drunk. Jungkook too.

You two had really opened up and bonded this night. You realized Jungkook definitely wasn’t the shy boy you remember as a kid—that makes sense. You told stories and ended up in your own world. It was a lot of fun and you knew college in Seoul wasn’t going to be so lonely after all.

You remember by the end of the night when you two were walking, completely intoxicated, back to the dorms when you convinced him to just crash at your place. It was risky, trying to sneak him in, but it worked. You both stumbled inside, drunk off your asses when Jungkook claimed he didn’t feel good.

“Don’t throw up.” You remember warning him. “Or I’ll throw up too.”

“If I throw up,” He gulped anxiously, “I’d hope you would too. Didn’t you say we’re in this together?”

“D-Don’t even think about it.” You swallowed down your own drunken nausea.

And then he did throw up.

And then you did too.

Naturally, you were inseparable after this.

Weekly hang outs turned almost daily. You would talk to him like any other close friend and he would do the same. It felt good and natural and like you two had been friends since the day you shoved a frog down his shirt. And that first winter break, you two traveled home to Busan together, surprising your parents because after all these years of being neighbors, you were finally friends.

You two had convinced your parents to have a joint cook out and you remember how afterwards, you and Jungkook laid on the hood of his car, looking up at the stars and talking about life. You remember how you asked him what he envisioned for his future.

He glanced at you, eyes lingering on your face for several long moments before he narrowed them, “We’re on vacation and you’re asking me to think about my future?”

You both laughed.

“I don’t know if what I’m currently in school for is something I actually want to do with my life. I’m hoping I’ll get inspired and suddenly know what it is I have to do.” He had finally answered.

You remember understanding his words, the feeling resonating with you. “Me too.”

You remember turning your body towards his and smiling, “Have I told you how glad I am to have seen you at the library and I forced my friendship on you?”

He had snorted, turning his own body towards you as well. The moonlight hitting his face, illuminating his features just right. He almost looked straight out of a dream. “You didn’t force your friendship on me.”

It was your turn to snort. “Liar.”

He stared at you for a moment, teasing smile pulling at his lips when he began drumming his fingers against the metal hood of his car. “And why would I ever lie to you?”

You remember the vibration you felt beneath your body when each of his fingers landed on the metal with a rhythmic beat. You remember the sound like a melody and his words were the lyrics.

You remember how it felt when he basically sang his silent promise to you.

“Yeah, you’d never lie to me, right?” You had teased back but there was a quiet and genuine conversation happening beneath the teasing.

“Never.” He told you. And you believed him.

And you should still believe him, right?

But Misuk’s words are repeating relentlessly in your mind, ‘Closest. She hasn’t spoken one fucking word to you in two years. But right, closest.’

You want to have confidence in Jungkook because you should. But his silence after her words feels like cold, quick spider legs are racing up your spine, creating a chilling uneasiness and a spasm of worry and discomfort crosses over your face. You’ve never liked spiders.

What does Misuk mean by that? Why would she say that? There is no way you wouldn’t talk to your husband for two years. There must be some kind of misunderstanding. But your body remains stuck to the wall like you’ve been superglued and you’re afraid the moment you peel yourself away, your skin will be ripped off your bones.

You know there has to be some kind of explanation because her words don’t directly translate to you and Jungkook not actually speaking for two years but your brain sends signals throughout your body that you have every right to be as anxious as you feel.

Because your brain knows more than it’s letting on. Your brain holds all the mysteries that it doesn’t want to show you. And your body listens to the signals it sends.

“Be worried.” They say.

But no matter if your skin separates from you and becomes a part of the wall in your kitchen…you have to go out there and get some kind of answer. Because you can’t handle for one more thing in your life to not make sense.

You tell your shaking legs to walk.

Even while you feel imprisoned by fear, they move. Your body turning the corner of the kitchen wall, water still running in the background, as you make your presence known.

Jungkook and Misuk’s heads turn towards you when they feel you. And they mirror one another’s expressions. Watching you in numbed horror.

“y/n…” Misuk says your name, blood draining from her face but you can tell she’s trying to look normal. “Hey.”

“What do you mean?” You’re surprised you have a voice. “Why did you say that?”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open, panicked eyes boring into your face. But he doesn’t speak.

They quickly glance at one another, an understanding that you’ve heard their conversation and you see how Jungkook’s expression twists into one of anger before he looks completely ashamed when he meets your eye again.

“What’s going on?” Your feet take you closer, your brain sending the signals without you telling it to. Your brain must be making fun of you. Mocking you. Wanting you to find things out when it already has the answers. Like it’s playing some game. “Why did Misuk say that? Why are you two on bad terms? Why,” You’re walking faster, getting closer as adrenaline starts running through your veins, your mouth unable to stop speaking.

“I asked what’s going on.” You stop in front of them, “Why—why did Misuk say that? Why are you both quiet now? Why can’t you answer me? Why are you looking at me like that?” You can’t stop the questions from spilling out of your mouth, eyes going frantically between Jungkook and Misuk. “W-Why aren’t you answering? Why are you doing—why are you doing this to me? Why are you making me feel this way? Why—why aren’t you—” Your heart is rapid inside your chest, thumping against your ribcage, trying to run away and hide now. “Fucking answer me because I don’t know what the fuck is going on!” Your chest heaves uncomfortably, eyes blown wide as nothing makes sense inside your mind.

Jungkook stares at you, eyes just as wide before he slowly shuts them, his lips sticking together in a tight line, nostrils flaring.

“Nothing…” You quiet your voice, slight tremble when you speak. “Nothing already feels real to me. But marrying my best friend does make sense. But not talking to said husband for two years does not.”

You concentrate on the two in front of you, watching their expressions and reactions to your words carefully. Jungkook looks pissed while Misuk blinks at you with obvious guilt on her entire face.

“Say something!” You yell at them, both of their bodies flinching and your panicked thoughts only grow more wild and out of control. Fear is bursting your veins now. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what is known. The fear that your brain is just hiding something from you that could possibly make you heart crumble and shatter.

“I…I…” Misuk looks around, eyes unable to meet yours anymore while she sets the muffins down onto the table at the front entrance. “I should—should leave.”

Jungkook is quick to throw Misuk an incredulous look, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He spits at her. “You’re the one who opened your fucking mouth and opened this can of worms. And now you want to leave?”

Misuk snaps her head towards Jungkook, glowering eyes on him. “Should I stay? Say everything?”

Jungkook swallows hard and you can see anger spiking his body. “You’re right. You’ve done enough. Just leave. I’ll walk you out.”

“I don’t need you to wa—”

“—Let’s go.” He walks forward, opening the front door as she seethes, walking past him.

You watch in disbelief, brows pinching when you try to stop them. “Where—”

“—Just stay here.” Jungkook tells you, his voice softens when directed towards you. “I’ll only be a minute.”

And just like that, Jungkook and Misuk are out of your house, front door slammed shut.

How could they? How could they leave you here with your anxiety gripping your core and making you feel more lost and estranged in this world all over again.

You stand here, blood pooling into the heels of your feet. A sudden coldness surrounds you and you feel faint. What is going on? What exactly has transpired in these last nine years?

And where the hell is your explanation?

You wish you could shut off your brain. Tell it to stop coming up with ridiculous theories when it knows the truth deep down. It’s just having fun with you at this point.

You don’t think you can master the uneasiness you feel and control it.

Your tense body twitches the moment your front door is opening again and Jungkook is slipping through with downward eyes. You wait anxiously for him to come closer to you and explain that it is not what it seems. But his body language throws you off. It throws off the confidence you’re supposed to have in him.

Jungkook’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth, his own anxiety radiating off his body like heat off a space heater. You want to read him like a book, like a book with an obvious ending. But you can’t. You can’t read him since he is in another language right now.

“Jungkook.” You call for him, trying your best to stay in one piece.

He tries to look up at you but his eyes can’t manage your eyes. Your face. Your body. He can’t manage to feel what he’s feeling but a million times worse when he sees you. He walks closer to you, stopping just a foot in front of you, tense body looking more uncomfortable than what you’re feeling.

“y/n…” He can’t even say your name without his voice cracking, a harsh breath forcing its way out of his mouth while his hands immediately go to his face, fingers rubbing into his skin with a roughness that makes you more worried than before. “Fuck.” He mutters in into his hands.

“Talk to me.” It’s not a suggestion. He knows this. You’re not asking. You’re telling him. You’re telling him to explain why the hell Misuk says that you two are not close and you haven’t spoken in two years.

Jungkook’s hands drag down his face, the color has left him, a growing paleness that makes you think he might faint or puke at any moment. He’s struggling to even look at you.

But he does.

And you see the pain in his eyes.

“I don’t…” He croaks out, breaths uneven. “I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how to—how to explain. I don’t know what to fuck—fucking say.” He finally stares at you, gaze so intense you almost wish he would go back to looking away.

You swallow your nerves, your need for answers stronger than your need for ignorant protection of your feelings. “We’re married. Yet we haven’t spoken in two years. According to Misuk, anyway. Is that true?”

He’s still staring and you’re growing more panicked. Needing an answer now but his silence is telling.

“I asked if that’s true.” You repeat with a colder tone.

Jungkook releases a shaky breath, “It’s half true.”

Your lips twist, “What does that mean? We do talk?”

“No. We aren’t married.” He tells you, voice quiet and eyes ashamed.

You take a step back, confusion growing. “But…but I saw—”

“—We were married.” He clarifies. “But we aren’t…” He closes his eyes for a moment, stopping them from growing wet. “Anymore.”

You take another step back, face hardening as the confusion only triples. “We’re…divorced?” You ask him, but you hate that you even have to ask.

He stays still in his spot, the shame and regret thick in his voice when he answers, “Yeah.”

Your posture suddenly stiffens, letting out a forceful breath but because of the tightness in your chest, breathing is suddenly the hardest task.

You try to fight for optimism but your veins that were once bursting are filling again, but with a deadly acid that poisons your body. It’s running through you, corrupting and decaying any ounce of understanding. You need to breathe but you couldn’t possibly fight for one breath when your insides are turning rotten.

Jungkook finally takes a step forward but your feet carry you away from him, several steps back until you’re against the edge of your sofa.

“y/n…” He says your name but you aren’t sure he deserves to because he…

“Y-You lied to me?” You finally manage to say the one thought that keeps pushing against your raging forehead. “You lied to me? You lied?” You blink at him, “You lied to me, Jungkook? You made me think we…?” You shakily gesture between your bodies, “You let me think…”

“I…” Jungkook’s expression grows desperate. “I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t…if I told you truth it would just…”

“The truth?” You look at him, disappointment in your killer gaze. “You lied to me. You lied—you lied. You would rather lie to me than—”

“—Yes!” He shouts, breathing heavier than before. “It’s one revelation after the other and you can’t handle the…”

Your disappointment, your shock, your betrayal are slowly turning into anger.

“You lied to me.” You say, knowing it’s a fact now. “Why?”

Jungkook’s lips are parted and you’re both waiting for his explanation but it doesn’t come.

“I asked you why, Jungkook.” You feel your body sinking. An unbearable sadness creating a space inside your chest. “Tell me why and maybe…” You want to be reasonable. Maybe he had to or maybe he…no, why would he lie? Why would he lie to you?

“It’s complicated.” Is the answer he settles for and the anger inside you finally snaps. Your body is struck with betrayal.

“Com—complicated?” You ask the word in earnest. “You’re joking, right?”

“y/n…I asked you to always trust—”

“��You’re asking me to trust you after you lied to me?” Your jaw tightens, “Just tell me and we will see if—”

“—No.” He shakes his head, growing paler by the second. “I-I can’t. I really can’t.”

“You can’t tell me? Why?”

“Because I can’t!” He grows exasperated, his eyes blown out. “I fucking can’t. I can’t. I can’t say it. I can’t do that. I c-can’t.” His body gives up on him, shoulders shaking when he falls to his knees and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t make me say—say it. I just can’t.”

You look down at him, your confusion making you turn to anger instead of anything else.

You’re hurt.

But right now, being mad feels easier.

“Please, y/n.” His entire face makes you hurt more. “Please just…”

“Leave.” You say the word quietly. His eyes shoot open and he stares up at you. They’re blood shot and teary. “Please just leave.”

Jungkook tries to stand again, his knees are weak but he tries anyway.

“y/n…”

“Just leave.” You’re the one begging now, “Please just leave. Let me…just let me be right now.” You feel your own eyes grow wet, stinging and burning. Throat tight but you manage to beg him again, “Please just leave.”

Jungkook is trying to speak to you with his eyes and your brain, deep down, seems to understand him but your brain doesn’t want to let you in on this secret. He nods, blinking his eyes when a tear falls and his anxiously wipes it away. “Okay.”

He clearly doesn’t have it in him to fight you on this. Because for whatever reason, he can’t.

~~~

You wonder if this is how you felt when you first got divorced. Or maybe just a similar feeling. Like you’ve been stranded, abandoned and left for dead. Like your body has been drained of all the blood that pumps through you and someone has scooped out your heart and other organs and you’re now just an empty shell and a sorry excuse for a human being.

You might think to yourself that it’s quite dramatic to feel that way but somehow you feel even worse than that.

You haven’t slept and you aren’t even really sure if you’ve even breathed since the news. You’re restless and anxious. You’re angry. You’re sad. And you’re heartbroken. You don’t even know what it must have felt like when you and Jungkook broke it off. What must have went wrong? So wrong that you two would go separate ways and you two wouldn’t speak to one another.

A thought crosses your mind though…Misuk is upset with Jungkook. And she said you haven’t talked to him. She could have meant that you both haven’t spoken to one another in mutual agreement but Misuk’s hostility and choice of words have you believing different.

So what exactly happened? And why does Jungkook refuse to explain it to you?

You can’t imagine a world where he would betray you so badly that you’d divorce him and never speak again. But again, it’s been nine years. People do change. But you felt it in your bones…the happiness that coursed through his body when he was with you. You could feel how much he loves you. So then, what?

You touch the screen of your phone that rests by your thigh on the sofa, the light is bright and blinding but you catch the time on the screen. It’s after 6 am already. Your mind working in overdrive to come to some sort of conclusion. But you realize you aren’t considering everything.

You cannot be blind to the world around you.

Your parents must know you’re divorced but why are they so willing to agree to your marriage? Why did they only seem happy? Why do they still love Jungkook despite that you’re divorced now? They still trust him, that is obvious.

But Misuk doesn’t. And Subin seems to be on the rocks but she doesn’t seem totally against him either. In fact, you overheard her in the café. She said they don’t know everything. You remember that being strange. Know what?

But in the end, you need to consider Jungkook the most.

You two are apparently not together. And you two aren’t on speaking terms.

Then…is his apartment really his apartment? Suddenly, you feel even more lifeless at the thought. You can’t imagine the Jungkook you’ve always known…someone warm, cozy and tidy…living in that place. The countless bottles of alcohol, the little to no food, the stale air and even a hole in the wall that resembles too closely to the size of his fist.

You also need to consider his reaction to everything as well.

You know in your heart of hearts…how off and conflicted he’s been since the beginning. You also know how hard things must have been for him as well. But you can’t help but still feel hurt, angry and bitter at the fact that he easily lied to you and kept up a façade about something you dreamed of. Making you feel like a fool for being so openly happy with him. When it wasn’t the truth.

And maybe you are a fool.

A fool because 33 year old you might have the resolve to never speak to Jungkook but you, the you that exists now, doesn’t. And your brain is calling you a fool. Because it’s just a game for your brain. Your brain that hides all the answers and the truth. While you sit here completely clueless.

Clueless…

Clue…less…

Clue…?

Have there been any clues? Clues to the truth that you’ve missed?

Think. You need to think.

You sit forward on your couch, elbows on your thighs while your head falls into your hands.

You have to think. What are you missing that could—

The attic.

Your body moves quickly, suddenly standing from the couch when your head snaps towards the direction of the hallway. The attic…he hid your life away in the attic. You returned his keys to him—obviously—but you don’t think you locked it back up. Unless Jungkook went out of your sight to make sure it was locked again…then it should be unlocked and waiting for you to reveal your life.

Your heart has seemed to return back inside your chest, racing wildly and uncontrollably, making you feel dizzy. You just have to take the first step in the attic’s direction and you could possibly uncover more.

But you don’t move. Why? Why is it that you’re desperate for answers but your feet stay glued to the wooden floors?

Fear has made you its prisoner once again.

But you need to release the shackles, break free and run out. Run far away from this thing that’s jailing you. Ignorance isn’t something you associate yourself with and you won’t start now.

Determined, though afraid, you take the first step. Then another. And another. Feet heavy with each step but you take them. You’re you. You will always walk towards the right thing. Even when others disagree…you know, the right thing is the truth. Because you will not be ignorant.

You make it inside the mostly empty guest bedroom. It’s almost hotel like, no personal touch can be seen. For the first time, you feel odd being inside here. But not odd in the way that feels uncomfortable. But odd because it’s familiar. You take a moment, hand lifted towards the bedroom wall, flipping the light switch before your fingers lightly brush against the wall.

The paint in here is newer than the painted walls in the rest of the house.

A weird feeling accompanies your touch.

But once your eyes land on the ladder you placed against the wall, you’re quick to shake off any other feelings before grabbing it, lifting it and taking it out into the hallway and setting it up underneath the attic door before you groan in realization that you don’t even need it.

If it’s unlocked then you only have to pull the string and it should open.

And hopefully that’s the case.

You slide the ladder off to the side, deciding you’ll put it away again when you’re finished. You stare up at the ceiling, eyes on the dangling string and you know what you must do. You have to fight off this hesitance, this fear and walk towards the truth that tries so desperately to hide from you. Okay. Deep breath. Any breath at this point. You reach up, fingers wrapped around the string tightly before you give it a tug.

Your eyes expand when the door cracks open, clearly not enough pull to open it fully.

It’s unlocked.

Heart still racing, blood rushing and insides twisting. You pull again. Harder. And the door opens and the wooden staircase comes down and you unfold it to its full length. All you have to do is go up these steps and search through the physical evidence of your life. The boxes.

Your breaths are bated with each step you take that take you into the hole in the ceiling. The darkness feels consuming and you feel the chill wrap around your body the moment you enter inside. Walking further, you find the light and now a soft yellow makes the room glow.

The boxes glare at you. Challenging you. ‘go ahead, open me.’ They whisper tauntingly. You glance around, feeling a chill at all the cob webs and no doubt, spider webs in the dark corners of the attic.

Fingers brush against the top of a few boxes, dust left on your fingertips, quickly wiping it off on your pants before you pry the first box open. It’s the same first box you opened last time…loose papers, notebooks, random sticky notes with words that make zero sense to you. You grab one notebook, open it and read the first page.

Jeez, your hand writing is messy.

Kim Joo Won > only Wednesdays and Fridays

Geum Jan Di > Mon-Fri

Cha Do Hyun > Tues-fri

Park Hae Yeoung > Tues and Thurs only

Lee Min Ho > Mon-fri

Park Jiyoo > Thurs and Friday was off the Friday…see where he was. Confirmed out of town since Wednesday

You keep reading over the paper but you don’t understand what you’re reading. Your confusion grows…why do you have a list of people and days of the week connected to their names?

You turn the page and there’s a list of times now. Ranging from morning to the evening. With each persons name linked somewhere with a time of…are these work hours? Clock in and clock out times?

You turn the page again but you can’t read your handwriting. Many words are scribbled out.

You decide to close the notebook and set it back inside the box. You grab another notebook, opening it to a random page when you notice different pictures of people taped to the paper. Men and women with their names written next to them. Your eyes go wide. You see the name Lee Jaesung written next to a photo of a man you’re sure you recognize.

It’s the man from the super market.

Next to his name is more scribbled words.

Lee Jaesung > Knows nothing.

And next to his picture and the words are pen scribbles that look done out of frustration.

What the hell is this? Why is the guy from the market inside this notebook with a bunch of other people?

You close the notebook, placing it inside again while you ignore this eerie feeling.

You push the box away and open another one. It’s the box with old clothes you had seen last time as well. You must have been wanting to donate them or something. You’re about to close the box when something catches your eye. On a piece of folded fabric beneath other articles of clothing, your eyes catch something that throws you off. A small patch of a cutesy koala clearly ironed onto the fabric. Your fingers go to touch it, curious about it for some odd reason. You pick at the little koala, the corners lifting off the fabric and you realize it might have been there a while and it’s starting to peel off.

It's cute, you think.

You decide to look at your shirt in whole, hands suddenly digging it out of the box, unfolding the shirt when your heart stops. Face completely focused on what you’re holding and you can’t seem to shake off the feeling that consumes you. Your confusion grows.

The shirt is small. Too small to be yours.

Suddenly, your skin feels cold and clammy. Your brows pull so close together, dropping the shirt to the ground when your hands go back inside the box. You pull out more of the clothing. Clothing you are now realizing is not fit for an adult. Tiny shirts, tiny pants. You drop all of the random articles to the ground and at the very bottom of the box…tiny shoes.

These are clothes for children.

Boys clothes.

Your fingers grab at the clothes frantically, your breaths growing heavier and heavier.

What is this? Why do you have this?

You abandon the box, heart racing even faster as you make your way towards the other side of the attic where you found the box that held your old wedding photo. You need to breathe, you remind yourself. You’re no good if you pass out from lack of oxygen filling your lungs.

But something haunting is crawling creepily over your skin.

You swallow hard, hands rubbing against your arms as if trying to brush away the spiders that must be crawling all over you with their millions of legs. But you only feel the unwanted goosebumps infecting your skin.

Once again hesitant…you stare at the box that’s half open. The box that held the photo.

You slowly reach for the left flap, lifting it and giving yourself a full view of the rest of the box. There’s more frames and you wonder if you can handle seeing more pictures of you and Jungkook living a life you don’t know of.

You gather your resolve, taking a shaky breath before reaching inside.

It’s a framed photo of you, Jungkook and your parents. You set it to the side before reaching in again. Framed photo of you and Jungkook at that park. A framed photo of you, Jungkook, Misuk, Subin and people you don’t recognize at a long dinner table. A framed photo of you and a group of people you don’t know holding up a ‘congrats on the promotion’ sign.

Your hands shake, seeing yourself in all of these scenarios you don’t recall.

Reaching the end of the box, you see one last photo of you and Jungkook wearing headbands that say ‘2017’ while sharing a kiss.

You need to breathe. No matter how overwhelming this is…you need to breathe.

You organize the photos back inside the box before pushing it away and opening another one. A really dusty one. You notice this box is taped closed and you struggle with peeling the tape back and getting it open. But once it is, you slowly open the flaps and reveal what is inside.

Again, your heart is aggressively throwing itself against your chest.

You are confused again. Slowly dipping your hands inside, you pull out a toy car. You bring it closer to you, inspecting the toy. A stabbing pain hits you relentlessly in your lower stomach. You carefully set it down before digging inside the box again, this time pulling out a zoo animals Lego set box. You don’t like this. Your brain is sending signals through your body again. You aren’t supposed to like this. Your brain is warning you.

You swallow even harder, your throat feeling tight and dry.

You reach inside the box again and pull out a plastic robot, maybe around 6 inches in height. It looks like the most used toy so far…scratches across the plastic and even a missing hand. You turn it around, twisting it to look more carefully when you notice something written on the bottom of the foot with faded marker.

Haru.

It spells the name Haru.

Who is Haru?

Your breaths won’t even out and relax. Who is Haru? You bring the toy close to your chest, gripping it tightly but your fingers are feeling weaker and weaker.

You know this toy. You think you do, anyway. It’s the first item in any box that feels familiar to you. And you aren’t sure what to feel about that.

Your lips are drying and even when you poke your tongue out to lick them, it doesn’t help. They continue to dry with an intensity that has you mistaking this cold air for the dessert.

You place the robot back into the box, closing it softly before turning towards another box.

You have to keep going.

Even though you aren’t sure how you will survive the rest of your searching.

Your chest aches. A physical pain from the pounding of your heart.

You reach for another box, sliding it towards you but it’s heavy. Heavy like the box that held photos. You get it opened and your breath hitches the moment you see this box also has photos. On top, a picture of Jungkook brushing his teeth in the bathroom mirror. His sleepy eyes and sad attempt at a peace sign. You hate that your eyes are stinging.

You grab another frame, eyes narrowing at the photo.

A picture of you and Jungkook at the park with his hand over your stomach as you both smile.

No…

Your chest rises and falls much faster.

You reach for another photo and you don’t mean to shakily gasp, eyes burning at the sight. Your stomach looks huge in the photo, Jungkook’s face pushed up against it while you’re laughing.

You aren’t capable of registering what the fuck you’re looking at. Your hands shake harder, the photo suddenly looking blurry. That can’t be you. That isn’t you. It’s not you.

“W-What…” Your voice is barely audible to your own ears.

Your entire body goes rigid and cold.

You set the photo down before reaching for another one and as soon as you look at it, your shaky hands drop it. A loud slam to the attic floor and glass shattering at your feet. You blink at nothing, tears welling as you feel the blood completely drain from your face. You’re shocked frozen. Quick breaths that make you feel like you’re dying.

You try so hard to snap out of it but how could you? How could you process the broken framed photo at your feet? How could you?

You squat down, trembling fingers wiping away the hundreds of pieces of glass. The shards are sharp but nothing feels more piercing than the image that stares back at you. You pick up the picture, eyes blinking rapidly, ridding the tears that are forming. Tears because how could you understand and accept what you’re seeing?

You in a hospital bed with Jungkook’s arms around you. You both look ecstatic, teary eyed and smiling widely while in your arms…is a baby.

A baby.

You scoff underneath your breath. A baby.

Don’t you mean…your baby?

Immediately, just at the thought, you truly begin to panic.

There is no way. No fucking way you had a child. A child with Jungkook. You can’t believe this because nothing has felt more fucking unreal than this and nothing feels scarier. You don’t remember this. This can’t be you. This isn’t you. You aren’t you.

You drop the frame again, the loud thud making you wince before you step away slowly. Your eyes anxiously dart around again. The boxes are once again taunting you. You can’t. You can’t be in here anymore. You can’t do this anymore. You don’t want this anymore. You don’t want this life anymore. You want a life you can recognize but this is too far out of your element for you. This isn’t your life. This isn’t you. This isn’t you. This isn’t you.

Your breaths grow heavier, chest getting tighter and you’re wondering what it’s like to breathe because you don’t remember the last time you did now. Not normally, anyway. Your eyes can’t blink back tears anymore. You’re too overwhelmed to stop yourself from sobbing. Sobbing hard and uncontrollably. Pathetic whines leaving your mouth as you tremble at the sight of this attic.

You need to get out of here.

You quickly turn the light off, stumble down the steps and without bothering to close the attic, you rush to the living room and collapse to the sofa.

Tears flooding your cheeks. Sobs wracking your body. Misery consuming your soul.

You are a mother?

Were a mother?

Where is this Haru?

Is Jungkook hiding an entire child? Perhaps Haru is with Jungkook’s parents?

Everyone agreed to keep a fucking child from you?

They shouldn’t have kept this from you. Sure, you’re 24 in your mind and nowhere near ready for a fucking child. But you birthed this kid and have no clue who he is. Your brain won’t even give you a piece of a memory that deals with someone you should love dearly.

Anger. Guilt. You aren’t sure what to feel right now.

But devastation for this entire thing should be a good start.

And you think you truly deserve that explanation.

You stuff your face into the cushion of the sofa you’ve grown to love and you cry. You cry hard and you cry loudly. You soak the sofa with your tears and you wonder how you could possibly accept this. Accept something that not only doesn’t feel real…but can’t be real.

You imagined marrying your best friend and that’s a place you could start. A place that was easy to accept. But this? This is hardly something you can recognize as a life of your own.

And you need Jungkook to tell you everything now.

Or you might truly go insane.

You don’t care it’s the ass crack of dawn, you feel for your phone that you know you left here on the couch and when you feel it, you bring it to your puffy face and try to find Jungkook’s name through your blurry vision. And you call him.

He must not be sleeping either because he answers before the first ring is even over.

“Hello? y/n?”

You don’t hide the fact you’re crying, “Come over. Now.” And you hang up.

Jungkook sits next to you, body turned towards you, completely stunned. You’re looking weak, unable to look at him for too long without growing emotional. He’s guilty. He lied to you. And you’re upset. But your puffy, red eyes has his heart aching dully in his chest.

“Please talk to me, y/n…yell at me, hit me, anything you want but please say something.” He quietly begs you. He doesn’t dare reach for you, though his hands yearn to. Instead, he drums his fingers against his thigh.

You’re still unable to look at him, your brain still trying to process everything. But you know you need to speak up and get real answers. Answers that are the truth. And you need to hear them from Jungkook, himself.

“I went,” You pause, trying to clear your throat but it still burns, feeling tight. “I went into the attic.”

Jungkook’s fingers come to a sudden stop. “You what?”

You finally lift your eyes to him, “I said I went into the attic.”

His face pales.

“I saw a lot of things.” Your gaze flickers down again, eyes stinging once more. “I saw that I was pregnant. I found his—Haru’s things…”

Jungkook stares at you, pain and terror flashing in his eyes, his bottom lip quivering the moment you said Haru’s name.

“We have a child and you didn’t say any—”

“—I…I…” He chokes on his words, his entire body tensing like it’s on the verge of shutting down.

“We have a son together and you didn’t mention anything?” You give him a hard stare, eyes looking cold and you see how he physically shatters under your gaze. He shatters just like the glass in the attic. He too is at your feet. At least it feels that way. “Say something Jung—“

“—Fuck!” He cries out, eyes slamming shut as his shoulders and chest begin to quake. “I can’t fucking do this.” He breathes out roughly, “I can’t do this again.”

Your head pushes back in slight shock, “Do what?”

“Go through this.” He bows his head, silent tears falling to his lap. “I can’t tell you again.”

You feel struck with something eerie, “Tell me what again?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer you right away. He isn’t able to. He chokes on his words, chokes on his breaths and chokes on his tears. He’s shattered but there is nothing sharp or piercing about him. He’s soft around all edges. He’s soft. And he’s devastated.

“I’m—I’m not r-ready.” He cries into his hands. “This ha-happened too q-quickly. You shouldn’t…you shouldn’t…I can’t…”

You feel the urge to reach for him and you do, your fingers going to the back of his head, massaging his scalp and neck. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” You suddenly feel worried.

Jungkook won’t calm down. A harsh reality suddenly all around you both.

“Where is Haru, Jungkook? Why are you crying? Is he with your parents?” You ask him question after question and he only cries harder. You’re trying to piece it together. Where is your son? The kid you gave birth to? The one you don’t remember? He’s not…he can’t be…?

“Is he…dead?” You ask the question slowly between long breaths. “Is he—”

“—No!” Jungkook finally lifts his head, swollen eyes on you. “He’s not. He isn’t. He isn’t. He-He can’t be. Haru is…” He shakes his head violently, “He isn’t. Haru is alive. He’s…”

“Jungkook…” You see the pain and terror in his eyes still. And maybe pain and terror have always lived inside his irises. And you never understood it until now. “What happened?”

Jungkook wipes his face aggressively, trying his hardest to clean himself from his sorrowful tears. He takes deep breaths, eyes falling to yours where he seeks comfort.

“A little—a little over two years ago…” Jungkook takes another deep breath. “Haru….” He pauses, struggling to say it.

“What happened…?” Your heart is racing again.

“He—He was kidnapped. He was taken from us, y/n.” Jungkook spills the truth. The words fall from him mouth like vomit. “He was abducted and he—he hasn’t been found.”

You aren’t really processing this. You can barely believe you have a child. But now you have to believe this child is missing. You aren’t understanding. How could you?

“W-What?” You drop your hand from his hair. “What are you talking about Jungkook?”

He sighs out heavily, silent tears still leaving a miserable trail down his cheeks. “Haru was taken.”

Haru…your son…was taken?

“And they closed the case. Too fucking early but they closed the case. They presume he’s…they don’t think he’s…” He can’t say it. But you hear him loud and clear. The police gave up on looking because they believe he’s dead.

You do feel sad. Maybe even heartbroken. But there is a disconnect because none of this sounds real to you.

You look down at your lap, “This…this is around the time we got divorced?”

Jungkook chokes on a silent sob, “We divorced soon after.” He admits to you, “Losing my boy, losing you…and I lost my job eventually too.”

You look back up to him, “Why?”

His expression twists, shame gracing his features. “I was a mess, y/n. I couldn’t…I couldn’t handle myself or control myself. Finding Haru was all I could focus on but it led to too many bad things and eventually…Captain Kim, he felt for me.” Jungkook wipes his face again, “But they couldn’t keep me anymore.”

Your heart sinks at his admission.

Jungkook has been suffering on his own while you are lost on all this trauma.

This was obviously hard on both of you. It was too hard on both of you. He couldn’t handle himself? Control himself? But what about you? What were you like in all of this?

Are you lucky that you don’t remember?

Or is not knowing even worse?

“Okay…it’s okay…” You whisper towards Jungkook. Your heart mending itself from all the broken pieces because it makes sense now. Why Jungkook lied. Why he’s been so careful with you finding things out. Because this is…a lot. But right now, you want to comfort him. Because no matter what 33 year old you was going through…24 year old you just wants to hug her best friend.

~~~

It's been a few days since you found out about Haru. A little boy who doesn’t feel real to you.

He was three years old when he was kidnapped.

And if he is still alive…he should be five now.

You’ve been detached and numb, unable to face anyone quite yet. Jungkook checks on you but suddenly, meeting his gaze has become harder. And you think he agrees. This is a huge shock for you and you see how repeating this news is just as hard for Jungkook. He’s burdened with something miserable that lingers in his eyes.

You finally decide to reach out to your parents today.

Needing them to know that you know everything now.

You call your mom, phone to your ear as you listen for each ring until her sweet voice is calling a melodic ‘hello!’.

“Hey.” You mumble into the phone, “Is dad with you?”

“Your dad?” Your mom sounds far from the phone, “Hold on, I’m putting away some groceries. Almost done!”

You smile a little, “Okay.”

After some shuffling in the background, you hear your moms voice in your ear now. “Okay! What’s up?”

“Is dad with you?” You repeat your question.

“Oh.” Your mom sighs out, “Nope. He’s with Jungkook’s father, they’re out playing golf.”

“Oh.”

“Why? Is everything okay? Are you trying to get a hold of him? Is he not answering?”

“No, no.” You shake your head, though she can’t see you. “I wanted to talk to both of you…but it’s okay. You can just fill him in.”

“Fill him in?”

“I know me and Jungkook are divorced.” You say the words quickly. “Why did you pretend we were married?”

It’s silent. Just soft breaths barely audible on the other line. “Well,” Your mom finally breathes out, “I think it was easier that way.” She admits. “You two love each other very much so I just didn’t see the issue.”

You scoff, “We’re divorced yet you—”

“—It’s not like he’s a bad guy. Or you’re bad, either.” She cuts in. “Things just…”

“I know about Haru.” You tell her. You hear how she inhales a sharp breath.

“H-Haru…” She repeats slowly, “You know because…?”

“I found out.” You tell her, “I don’t have my memories.”

Your mom is quiet on the other line before you hear her sniffling.

“Mom?”

She takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” Her voice is shaky. “This isn’t fair for you, honey. I’m so sorry.”

You sigh, “It’s not like I remember.”

“You know…after the abduction…” Your mom grows more and more emotional, “There were days where I wished I could take your pain and heartbreak away. But not remembering your son is also another pain and heartbreak.”

You don’t mean to get teary eyed at that. You try to keep your voice even. “I-I guess.”

“After everything…” Your mom clears her throat, “You really shut down. Of course you did. You’re a mother who lost her child. But…you just…you shut everyone out. You didn’t really talk to me or dad much anymore and we felt helpless. How couldn’t we feel that way?”

“Mom…”

“We were devastated when you filed for divorced.” She says. “You and Jungkook were both heartbroken and in a bad place…it was obviously too much for both of you. But instead of figuring it out together…you fell apart.”

You divorced…because losing Haru was too much to bear?

Your heart sinks deeper. You can’t imagine what Jungkook felt.

Or you. But you won’t understand that one until you feel it again one day when your memories return.

“The pain was too much but I wish you would have stayed together…what you needed was each other.”

“Oh.”

“And…we’re all devastated about Haru. But seeing the both of you completely broken…was another heartbreak we had to feel.”

You’ve thought about the conversation you had with your mom earlier all day. You sit here, trying to analyze her words. But they aren’t hard to understand. She claims you and Jungkook fell apart and divorced because the pain of losing your son was too unbearable. And you realize it is a solid reason.

Your foot taps against your wooden floor, anxiously waiting for Misuk and Subin to arrive. You sent them a long text explaining everything and they said they’d be over as soon as possible. But you’re anxious. Anxious that even they know about a son you gave birth to when even you don’t. Anxious because you realize you feel guilty over it. Guilty you can’t remember something that is supposed to be precious.

You sit here when your hands fly to your forehead when it suddenly starts pounding. A horrible ache pushing against your skull and you wince at the pain. Shit, you haven’t taken your medicine today. Standing from your sofa, you intend to walk to the kitchen but fists get knocked against your front door.

They’re here.

Taking a deep breath, your feet take you to them instead. And as soon as the door is opening, Subin and Misuk bring you into their arms while they whisper their apologies and sorrows. You wish you were still numb. But you aren’t. You tremble in their hold instead and let yourself cry into their arms.

After several minutes and your determination to calm yourself, you finally pull away from the girls and offer a small smile. “Sorry.” You try to laugh to ease your sadness.

Subin pouts at you, “No.”

“Don’t say sorry.” Misuk smiles at you, “I’m sorry. Sorry for everything…you overheard me and it all turned out like this…”

“Well, you aren’t wrong.” You bump her shoulder. “Let’s sit.”

You girls walk into your living room and plop down onto the sofa. “This sucks.” You try to laugh but your chest feels heavy. “How is it that my life turned out like this?”

“I know…” Misuk frowns. “I really am sorry that things spiraled and you found things out like this…I hated lying to you. I hated seeing everyone lie to you. You deserved to know the truth because I know that’s…” She bites her lip, worry written all over her face. “That’s what you’d want. But I truly don’t know what would have been worse…finding out like this or finding out because your memories returned and everything would hit you like a ton of bricks.” You glance down at your hands, trying to mull over her words. You think she’s right. But you think she’s right in a way of the you who would want it this way because you didn’t know any better.

“I just,” You sigh out, “I just can’t believe me and Jungkook’s marriage failed when we needed each other most.”

Your head snaps up when you hear Misuk scoff.

“What?” You question her while she narrows her eyes at nothing. “What is it?”

The space between her eyebrows crease, “Your marriage didn’t fail because of your mutual heartbreak over Haru’s abduction, y/n.” She finally meets your eye. “Is that what you think?”

For the millionth time, your heart beat grows faster. “What do you mean?”

“Your marriage failed because you blamed Jungkook for it.”

Your heart comes to a complete stop. “What?”

“You blamed him for the kidnapping.” She clarifies, “But I guess Jungkook conveniently left that part out.”

“What…what are you—“

“—Misuk.” Subin says her name with a harsh, cold tone. “Enough already.”

“What?!” Misuk grows frustrated, eyes on Subin now. “She already knows this much—”

“—You don’t even know everything!” Subin cuts her off, “It’s not like we even know what y/n was thinking at that time! She didn’t even…” She suddenly gets quieter, her eyes going to you now. “She…you…” She meets your surprised gaze at her outburst. “You barely even spoke to us after the incident.”

You feel cold all of the sudden.

“You…” Subin tears her gaze away, “You got so distant. And we don’t blame you, of course we don’t blame you. But,” She looks at Misuk again, “How could you blame Jungkook for that?”

“y/n had her reasons!” Misuk throws back at Subin, “She told me herself.”

“It was fucking vague.” Subin rolls her eyes.

“Yeah? Well it was hint enough.”

You look between the girls, their own tension forming between their bodies. “Wait, wait. Just hold on. What is happening?”

Subin looks at you again, “Nothing.”

“No.” You shake your head, “What is Misuk talking about?”

“Look,” Misuk takes a deep breath. “All I know is that you blame Jungkook. Before Haru was taken…it was clear your marriage was rocky even then. You didn’t talk about it though. But something was wrong.” Misuk fills you in even when Subin glares at her. “And I trust you.”

On one hand, you’re flattered Misuk is such a ride or die. But on the other hand, you’re only left feeling more and more confused.

But Jungkook’s voice is in your head now.

Him asking you to always trust him.

It doesn’t sound like Misuk has solid evidence to be so against Jungkook. She only has your word. And since you can’t trust your own self right now. You’ll believe in Jungkook.

~~~

You want to believe in Jungkook. But Misuk’s warning words remain ringing in your head. You lay here in bed, mind racing with theories that make you want to vomit. Your head still hurts and something odd keeps bothering you. Like a memory wants to push itself out of your brain but it keeps holding it back.

You toss and turn in bed. The same numbness has returned.

You don’t think you mind. You accept the numb sensation that takes over your body from the inside out, you disappear with it. You’re grateful because it provides the escape from the raw reality that you suffer.

It is a preference.

Rather than feeling overwhelmed with a million emotions chaotically colliding inside your brain…you feel nothing but guilt from escaping. And you prefer this guilt over others.

You turn your head to the right, towards the window, when you feel your phone vibrating against your mattress.

Who is calling at this hour?

Grabbing your phone and looking at the screen, you see Jungkook’s name. Is he so lucky to escape too? Or is he in the reality where he suffers?

“Hello?” You murmur into the phone.

“Hey,” Jungkook speaks quietly, “Um…I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Cute that you think I’d be able to sleep.” You half joke. “What’s up?”

Jungkook sighs into the phone, “Honestly…if you’re up for it. Want to talk? In person?”

You sit up from bed, “In person?”

“Yeah.” You suddenly hear soft, distant knocks on your front door. “I’m kind of already here.”

You lower the phone to your chest, head turned in the direction of your open bedroom door, where you know Jungkook is in the distance outside at your front door.

You quickly end the call, standing from the bed when you make your way to him. Door opening and a gust of wind enters your house with his scent carried with it, hitting your nostrils and you melt. But you shouldn’t.

“Hey.” You nod towards the inside of your home. “Come in.”

Jungkook gives you a timid smile before walking in, slipping his shoes off and going to the couch.

“I—”

“—Actually,” You cut him off before he can say anything. “I want to lay down. I feel…drained.” You admit to him with a tired smile, “Can we lay in my bed? Just to lay. And talk.”

Jungkook looks conflicted but he sees how exhausted you clearly are. “Okay.” He whispers, “We can.”

You lead him to your bedroom, for some reason you go to the side of the bed closest to the window even though you usually sleep on the side closest to the door. You lay on top of the blanket and rest your head atop the fluffy pillow.

Jungkook takes a breath before climbing into the bed as well. A small smile threatening to pull his lips apart. You notice.

“What?” You question him but he shakes his head, suppressing the smile.

“No, it’s just…this is my side of the bed. And that’s yours. It’s like your body remembered even if you don’t.” He tells you quietly, a shy expression on his face. “It’s silly to think about that, I guess.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm. Embarrassment clear on your face. “Oh.” You’re both facing one another.

“Um, it’s—” Jungkook rests his head against the pillow but he pauses because he’s sure he feels something. “What’s…” He reaches underneath and his curious gaze turns somber. “Haru’s robot…” He whispers, the toy in his hands.

You grow more fucking embarrassed.

“Oh shit.” You blurt, completely forgetting it was under that pillow. “I just…it…” It was the one item in the attic that felt even a little familiar to you so you went back up to get it. “I felt…connected to it somehow.” You admit to him.

Jungkook nods slowly, “That makes sense. Haru wouldn’t go anywhere without this thing. The bath, to daycare, to Busan, any car ride—” He laughs a little. “Even needed this friend when his stomach hurt and he had to poop.”

You crack a smile, “Thanks, that makes me feel great for having it under my pillow now.”

“Eh, I’m sure it’s clean. You always made sure everything was clean for him.” Jungkook lowers the robot to the mattress, “I know you aren’t aware. But you’re the best mom in the world.”

Heat crawls up your neck, “That feels weird to hear.”

“I know.” Jungkook frowns but he tries not to. “But you should hear it.”

“Should I?”

“Yeah.” He tells you with earnest eyes. “He reminded me all of the time that you were the best mommy in the world. He,” Jungkook breaks into a small grin, quietly chuckling when he sorts through his own memories. “I remember when I would take him to work and in front of everyone I would tell him I love him and he would respond with, ‘and I love mommy.’ Such a brat, that kid.” He laughs, keeping his emotions at bay.

You can’t help but giggle too.

“He was always changing. One minute he would be outgoing and talk to anyone and the next he was guarded and shy. And I know all kids say wild stuff but he really said the wildest stuff.” Jungkook continues to smile. “I never knew what crazy thing he would say in public that would make me look like a questionable dad. Swear he did it on purpose.”

“He sounds fun.”

“He is. Never bored around him.” Jungkook’s smile turns so soft. “He always slept through the night too. Once he was out…that was it until the morning. He might have been a pain in the ass sometimes but I really appreciated it that because,” Jungkook’s soft smile drops and his gaze darkens with something coy, “He never interrupted my time with you.”

More heat envelopes your body. “That so?”

“Heavy sleeper too.” Jungkook tells you, “Never knew what we were up to.”

He finally cracks a teasing smile and you push his chest with a small laugh. “Shush.”

Jungkook still smiles at you but it turns more serious. “I know this is all…a lot for you. But being able to talk about Haru with you feels…” He sighs before swallowing his emotions. “It makes me believe in living again.”

You pinch your brows together, “What do you mean?”

“I think I’ve only been surviving.” He admits. “I haven’t felt alive since the last time we were really together.”

Without thinking, you reach for him. Palm resting flat against his beating heart. “You feel alive to me.” You whisper.

“That’s because you’re here.” He whispers back, “This,” He taps your hand, talking about his heart. “Hasn’t made a single sound until you told me you loved me.”

You wish his words wouldn’t affect you. But 24 year old you is affected. Because 33 year old you isn’t here right now.

You aren’t sure if that’s good or bad.

“Can I ask you something?” You gaze into his eyes. His eyes are soft and might you say, full of love when he nods quickly.

“You’re working on a case with your ex-partner Jimin…is it about Haru?”

Jungkook slowly closes his eyes when he frowns, “I can’t tell you anything about it, y/n…I can’t involve you.”

You sigh, “Okay.” Then you ask him something else. Feeling direct. “Misuk doesn’t trust you. Why?”

Jungkook suddenly looks annoyed. “Because she doesn’t know anything. It’s all assumptions on her end but you trust me, right?”

You think you do. So you nod.

“When your memories return…can you still trust me?” He asks you, but it sounds like he didn’t direct the question towards you at all. And that causes an uneasiness to stir.

But still, you are choosing him right now.

You glance to his chest and notice your hand is still against him and you laugh a little, “Sorry. I’m still touching you.”

“It’s okay.”

“I swear I’m not trying to throw myself at you.” And then you scrunch up your features. “Oh no, that’s what I was doing, right? Previously…I was totally forcing myself on you.”

Jungkook can’t help but snort a little, smiling tugging at his lips. “You didn’t force yourself on me, y/n.”

Now it’s your turn to snort, “Liar.”

His fingers go to your hand again, softly drumming them across the top of your hand and you feel his heart beat harder. “And why would I ever lie to you?”

You feel the vibration against your skin when each of his fingers land with a rhythmic beat. You recall this sound like a melody and his words are the lyrics.

You notice how it feels when he basically sings his silent promise to you.

“Yeah, you’d never lie to me, right?” You ask, voice cracking. “Not really, right?”

Jungkook’s fingers come to a stop before he’s wrapping them around your hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.”

You quickly shake your head, “No, I can understand.” Your voices quivers. “I was angry. But I can understand.”

“I never lied about my feelings, you know?” He keeps holding your hand in his. “I do love you. I have for so long and I’m never going to stop.”

He’s staring so intently into your eyes and you’re wondering how you couldn’t trust this man. You can see his heart in his eyes and it’s beating so wildly for you.

~~~

The market is busy. It seems everyone is trying to do their grocery shopping today. You and Subin roam the aisles, plucking items off the shelves with giddy smiles. You’re going to bake Jungkook his favorite homemade cookies. You finally found the recipe books and wrote down all the ingredients.

Thankfully, since it will be your first time giving it a go, Subin has offered to help you. You’re both searching for vanilla but it seems that either they’re out or you’re totally missing it.

“What if we just skip the vanilla?” You say nonchalantly but Subin gasps.

“Bakers all around the world all have a tear running down their face right now not knowing the reason why all because you just said that!” She says dramatically, “Vanilla is crucial!”

You can’t but laugh, “Yeah, yeah.”

“We still need brown sugar too, right?” Subin eyes the shelves. “Is it just me or is it so unorganized?”

“You know how people are,” You shrug. “When they don’t want an item anymore they just stick it anywhere.” Then you point at something, “That explains why there’s a package of uncooked chicken on the shelf with flour.”

“That can’t be safe.” Subin shudders. “Anyway, did you already grab the chips Jungkook wanted?” She eyes your cart, “You’ll totally forget. Go grab them and I’ll finish finding the vanilla and brown sugar.” She grins at you with rosy cheeks.

“Oh I did totally forget.” You say, glancing at the cart as well. You look up at the aisle numbers and search for the word ‘chips’. “Sweet, it’s only two aisles over. Be right back!”

You walk over to aisle four, eyes browsing all of the chip options when you spot a few you ‘d like as well.

“Hmm, these ones.” You grab a bag, “And these ones.” Another bag. “Oh, yes…these ones too…” You hold three bags in your arms. “Right, I need to get Jungkook’s too.” You whisper, eyes searching for the brand he wanted. You smile when you spot them, trying your best to carry the three bags in one arm while you reach for the other bag. On your tip toes, you grab it and successfully hold all four bags. Feeling accomplished, you quickly turn around but bump into someone, dropping all of your chips.

“Ah, sorry, sorry!” You apologize to the stranger. Your eyes meet and you’re met with the familiarity like you are every time. “Oh. Nabi.” You say her name like you two are fully acquainted.

Nabi stares at you wide eyed before offering a smile. “Hi.” She says before glancing around, her kind eyes suddenly looking anxious. “How are you? Um, here…let me help—”

“—Oh no, it’s okay!” You smile. But you both bend down at the same time, bumping heads and you’re about to giggle about it but suddenly it’s like images start flashing in your mind. You try to brush it off, reaching down to grab the chips instead of focusing on whatever images you saw that don’t make sense.

You reach for a bag at the same time as Nabi and when your hands touch, you swear the world goes completely still. Your eyes meet in panic and suddenly more images are speeding around in your brain and before you know it, they aren’t just images. But full on scenarios.

And for the first time, they do make sense.

You pull your hand back quickly, eyes blinking rapidly while you try to step back.

“y/n?” Nabi’s kind eyes turn concerned. “Hey, are you okay?”

You take another step back.

Blood draining from your body.

These aren’t just scenarios.

These are memories.

You stare at her, bewildered. Your panicked breathes leaving your mouth quickly as you try to ease your nerves. “Um,” You swallow thickly. “I—I…” Your fingers begin to tremble and you’re unable to hold the chips anymore.

Nabi watches you carefully, “Are you—”

You don’t let her finish, your feet taking you far from here. Panicked, anxious and alert…you race back to Subin and the moment she sees you, the adorable smile gets wiped off her face.

“What’s wrong?” She asks immediately, her hands going to your shoulders. “Hey, talk to me.”

But you’re breathing too quickly, your eyes blown wide.

“What’s wrong?” She repeats, her worry evident. “Are you okay? Did something happen? Hey, y/n…calm down.”

Calm down?

You can’t calm down. Your breathing is harsh and heavy. Your chest is closing in on itself.

You wanted to trust Jungkook. You wanted to ignore Misuk’s words. You wanted to. Really. But with all the things you’ve just seen fly through your head, and the few new memories that sit tightly tucked inside your brain…you don’t know that you can.

Misuk might not have had any solid reason…but your own memories feel like reason enough.

You’re silently gasping for air, struggling to breathe. But you manage to say the words that make you feel like you’re fucking dying inside. “I know,” You swallow hard. “I know why I blame Jungkook.”

600 notes · View notes

raccoonspooky · 1 year

Text

Miss Piggy.

Billy Lenz x Female Reader. Rated E, 6k words.

Y/N device is not used in this fic. Second person, Billy pov.

(Femdom, dubious consent, Billy being gross. Character exploration. Full list of tags & description on ao3)

Miss Piggy is cruel.

Miss Piggy cuffed Billy to a table and spread him open like a frog to be dissected.

Stripped him naked. Secured his wrists and ankles to something out of sight. Attached to his thighs is another contraption, something with a metal bar that keeps him from closing his legs.

He’s sure that he must look like a sight. Billy would love to see Miss Piggy tied up like this. Trussed up like a Christmas ham. It’s unfair that Billy is in your position. He’s supposed to get you, not the other way around! Hasn’t anyone told you the rules? You've already been given your role. You're the whore. You're supposed to stumble over yourself running away while screaming and begging for something to save you! You're not supposed to conk him over the head with something. You don’t play fair!

It’s unfair to keep him like this. He should kill you for this. He wants to kill you for this. The only thing keeping Billy coherent is daydreaming of killing you. You’d scream and cry like aaall the other little sluts. You're not special. Miss Piggy might be clever, she might’ve won this round but she’d die like all the rest. You’ll die like all the rest. He can’t wait to see you in pieces, broken and useless in a heap. He’ll bleed you like the pig you are and you’ll feel stupid for ever thinking you were anything better than a dumb slut.

Miss Piggy treats him like meat. She treats him like a thing.

With his legs spread and secured and his arms forced still above his head, she could slice him from sternum to groin like a bullfrog in middle school science class. All of his squishy insides would spill out to stain Mrs. Piggy's hands and ruin her table. She's never done this before. Maybe she'd want to make a mess.

The phantom sensation of the cool press of a sharp knife appears at his throat. The bite of metal is ticklish, he wants to tuck his chin but he can barely move his jaw. He can do nothing as the knife begins to slice through his body without resistance. It glides like sharp scissors against crinkly wrapping paper. It makes him want to sneeze. He wants to wriggle and dance the discomfort away, but he can’t move. Miss Piggy has him tied tight. He wants to mimic the sound of sharp scissors but Miss Piggy stuck something in his mouth and he can barely move his tongue. If he contorts his wrist inward, he can just barely touch his restraints with his middle finger but he can't touch them otherwise.

His guts feel like eels, they slip and slide over each other and he wants to dig his fingers into the mess. He wants to tie them in knots, he wants to know what it's like to have nothing inside of himself. No bones. Just empty skin with his entrails strewn around himself like a red, juicy bird’s nest. All wet and dripping, he'd be nothing but a loose bag of flesh. Like the way Virgin Mary’s covered in her red robe as she stands in the middle of her halo that flutters outward, tinged with red and pink. Billy’s always thought Virgin Mary in the paintings always looked like a gaping cunt. Lying slut. She wasn’t a virgin. Whoever fucked baby Jesus into her wasn’t God. She let some dirty, nasty person violate her whore cunt that she promised to someone else and she lied to the world because that’s what whores do.

Now the world dresses up in red and green and people make up more lies in honor of the biggest lie ever told by god’s favorite whore. Little baby Jesus was brought into the world, doomed from the start because of his slut mother and now Billy has to endure the awful awful holiday songs that loop themselves over and over in his head. It's a holly jolly nothing Billy’s never even seen a partridge in a pear tree!

The twinkling lights that everyone else seems to enjoy hurt his head. Too many of them cause blade-like streaks of visual distortion to start slicing his thoughts apart. Too many smells. Too many sounds. Cinnamon is too itchy, pine is too sneezy. Eggnog smells rotten like death. Bells. Singing. Commercial jingles screaming at you to BUY BUY BUY. Too many smiling little sluts spoiled rotten by their daddies. Sit on a fat old man’s lap and you’ll get all the lipsticks and panties that a slut could ever want!

He wants to belt out a Ho Ho Ho like Santa but all he can do is let his lungs expand with the sound that’s coming alive only to suffocate, stillborn before he can let it escape. He curls his toes and shifts his shoulders but nothing he does helps the noise find a way out. Santa is stuck inside of him and he wants the chubby old pervert out.

Billy wants to open his mouth like a baby bird. He wants to squawk and squawk but the only noise he can emit is weak, wet garbling that makes his jaw ache. The gag in his mouth is secured too tightly for him to speak. He can’t open his mouth any wider and drool spills helplessly from his lips. It runs down his chin to collect in the divot between his collarbones and his bottom lip is cold and wet like a puppy dog’s nose. Is he a puppy dog right now? Is he to be neutered here on this table?

Is Miss Piggy going to chop his balls off?

He almost wishes she would.

Billy’s balls ache. On second thought, they’ve gone past ache to downright pain. He doesn’t know how long he’s been trussed up on this table but ever since he can remember he’s been here with a thing attached to his cock. A thing that sucks and pumps with a mechanical chugging whirr that accompanies the pattern. It's tighter than his fist, tighter than any cunt he’s ever forced his way inside of. With each agonizing upward suck and downward pump, Billy’s thigh muscles twitch uselessly as he endures round after round of endless sensation. Sometimes the machine will slow, and he’ll find a millisecond of clarity only for it to whirr back up again, sucking and pumping faster and faster until Billy is wheezing through his gag. He feels like he’s being milked but Miss Piggy clearly doesn’t know how to use the machine because no matter how close he gets, he can’t fucking cum.

He needs to. He needs to so fucking bad. He’ll show you, Miss Piggy. He’ll show you what a good dairy cow he can be. If you’d just let him FUCKING cum then you wouldn’t need be so mean to him would you? Is this why you’re torturing him? You want a big load for your slut mouth? Are you gonna drink it, Miss Piggy? Are you going to play with it on your tongue? It’ll be thick like his cock… thick and gooey… Sticky gloppy slop for Miss Piggy’s hungry gullet. Miss Piggy wants a mouthful, doesn’t she? He bets you do. Miss Piggy is nothing but a hungry slut after all.

Clever slut, unfortunately. Clever piggy who managed to stick him on this table and attach a torture machine to his cock.

Mean. Awful. NASTY. Fucking SLUT.

He can’t see. Maybe he isn’t Billy anymore. Maybe he is a cow. Some prized stud being milked for his oh so fancy load. Maybe Miss Piggy wants a baby? Stupid skank, she could’ve gotten one if she just spread her fucking legs like a good slut. She didn’t need to strap him to this awful table. He would’ve fucked her good. He would’ve fucked her dead.

Sound clogs in his throat and the cow moo that he wants to perform is stuck in the too tight walls of his esophagus. He needs to let the noise out into the pasture but he can’t and now the cow is angry and braying, it’s a bull with big horns and it's stuck in Billy’s windpipe. He can't breathe, not even through his nose. Sudden panic makes him release a keening whine. The machine’s movement is shallow, the toy teases the first inch of his cock, up and down, up and down, over and over until he’s grunting and trying to thrash away from it. He's been teased past the point of sensitivity. It stings. He wants more. He wants to fuck the awful fucking thing in the way he wants to. None of this is fair and he fucking hates you for this. Billy manages to whip his head to the side, causing his muzzle’s buckle to slam loudly against the metal table. It's a good solid noise and the metal scrape of the buckle against the table is almost enough to keep him from forgetting how to breathe.

Desperate to feel something besides the never-ending tease, Billy would bite his tongue off if not for the gag preventing him from doing it. Beef tongue is a delicacy in some places. Porky Miss Piggy probably loves it. She probably loves a tough mouthful of muscle. She probably loves big, beefy cows. Big studs with abs and body hair and chiseled jaws. Miss Piggy would never look twice at someone like him. You’d never want someone shorter than you. Someone scrawny and with hair that's impossible to tame one way or another. You’re not a nice girl. You wouldn’t look past something like that. You don’t want him. You’d never want him. No one looks at him. No one sees him. Especially not girls. Nice girls don’t exist anyhow. He’d know if one existed.

You don’t want him. So WHY are you keeping him? Why are you doing this to him? It’s unfair. It's pointless.

It's MEAN.

Struggling and thrashing as much as he's able to causes more slobber collect in his mouth. While unable to spit or sputter, all he can do is uselessly drool onto himself. The machine is too uniform. Too tight. Too loud. Feels good but it’s too much. Feels awful but it’s not awful enough. The machine could rip his cock clean off and at this point, he might want it to. He wants to cum more than he wants to kill you and the thought makes him want to vomit. His throat tastes acidic, his shoulders ache. His ass has gone numb and a broken whimper creeps past his gag to get tangled up in the netting of his muzzle.

“Awww, does Billy need a break?”

For a moment your taunt sounds like his own voice and Billy’s stomach flips. He can’t remember the last time he's heard his name from anyone’s lips besides his own. In the near distance, footsteps come closer and closer. The sort of shoes you’re wearing clack against the floor. Soon, you’re close enough that he curls his fingers into fists as if to prepare to deck you right in the face even though he can't move his arms. Pretty piggy wouldn’t be so pretty with her face swollen and her nose bloody. He wants to cave your teeth in. He wants you to beg him to stop.

He wants your begging to turn weak and squelchy until you’re not speaking anymore.

He wants to beg you to let him go.

He wants to demand that you let him fucking cum.

Maybe he spoke his demand out loud because the machine stops abruptly and the vacuum suction loosens. It pops off of his prick and the immediate lack of stimuli feels like a slap to the face. It leaves him gasping and his dick throbs angrily, upset with its newfound freedom. Stupid thing. It wants back in. His balls hurt, they're heavy and pulled tight, the end of the sucking thing has been mashing into them for hours now and he feels as if his balls have been battered black and blue. Despite this, he jolts his hips upward with a whine, as he mindlessly seeks out the machine of his nightmares. Billy flexes his cock, making it bob in the air. He’s harder than he’s ever been in his fucking life and awful, awful Miss Piggy won’t do a thing about it.

Without warning, fingers are suddenly stroking through his sweaty hair. Miss Piggy pets him like a kitty cat. He’s not a kitty cat. He’s not yours to touch either. Your other hand settles on the side of his face, right where the muzzle covers his cheek and your thumb traces his jaw slowly. You coo at him, annoying and sharp. The insert wound is precise, its an icepick to the brain that nails in a heavy reminder of how much he hates you.

Completely overwhelmed and caught off guard, a deep growl begins to swell in his lungs to claw its way up past his lips. He coughs, choking on it and his dry throat convulses in protest. Unphased, you pet him through his coughing fit, offering false tones of sympathy as he struggles to breathe.

“Does Billy need some water?” You ask gently, still running your fingers through his hair.

Hearing his name is abrasive as sandpaper. He doesn’t like the way it sounds. It reminds him that he’s Billy. Sometimes he’s Billy, sometimes he forgets what he is. It’s not fair for you to remind him. His name isn't yours. It’s his. It's the only thing he has. He frantically shakes his head from side to side as best he can, trying to shake the sound of his name out of his ears.

“No?” You chuckle, sounding far away even though you’re uncomfortably close. “You don’t need anything at all? I guess I should leave then."

“No.” is spit from behind his gag and it comes out clearer than he thought possible. He tries again and again, further distorting the word with manic excitement in hearing himself speak. He repeats the word no until he doesn’t even know what he’s disagreeing with anymore.

When he inevitably quiets to take in a gasping haggard breath, you lift his head by pulling on his hair. His muzzle is loosened and you slide it from behind his ears to settle around his neck like a collar. The leather saturates in his drool and Billy thoughtlessly thrashes, fighting you even though he doesn’t know what he’s fighting against. He wants to be released from all the tight things that keep him from moving but your touch feels like a live wire. It's burning hot and he imagines his skin bubbling up pus-filled blisters. You’re branding him with your touch and pigs shouldn’t be allowed to do something like that.

He’s not cattle. He’s Billy. You’re not a rancher with a hot iron. You’re not even a person. You’re a stupid little whore who thinks she’s caught herself a stray to domesticate. You’re just the same as a shitty little girl whose parents condemned a hamster to die by giving it to her for Christmas. She’ll kill the thing in a few weeks. She’ll dress it up like a princess, feed it food that it shouldn’t eat, and then she’ll get bored of it and end up letting her pet kitty cat eat it as a snack. Maybe it’ll escape her chubby little fingers, but the stupid little thing is doomed nonetheless. It might as well get a few bites in. It might as well do its best to punish the mean little bitch and make fat tears roll down her stupid piggy face.

As soon as the gag is removed from his mouth, Billy snaps his teeth hard and takes a big bite of the air. The proceeding rattle in his skull has a deranged laugh tickling past his sore throat. The first chortle stretches and elongates into loud, heaving noises that grow deeper and closer to animal grunts. Just as he prepares to let out the loudest scream he’d ever attempted, you dig your thumb into the spongy meat of his cockhead, causing his scream to mangle itself into a groan.

His outrage falls apart and it flits weakly back into himself like broken tinsel pulled off a tree. The bullshit has the nerve to look pretty even as it becomes trash on the ground. You trail a fingertip down his overheated shaft and Billy forgets that he was previously trying to destroy your ear drums. Impulse takes over and he attempts bucking against your touch, trying to fuck himself against the barely there press of your fingertip.

Billy's molars sink into his cheek, but trying to shut himself up is useless. It’s never been something he figured out how to do. He’s not in control of the noises that want to come out of him. He’s only the vessel. He’s not to be blamed for the mewling moan that dances excitedly into the room when you wrap your fingers around his stiff prick. That wasn’t his noise. Billy didn’t do it. If anything his cock is at fault. Stupid, stupid thing.

Stupid Miss Piggy’s somehow convinced his dick that a loose fist is all he needs to feel better. His eyes feel as if they’re going to roll back into his head and Billy shivers, overstimulated and under stimulated at the same time. The relief that he doesn’t want makes him wish he could peel his skin off. He wants it coiled up into tightly wound ribbons because you like pretty things like that. Maybe you’d clap your hands together and squeal like a piggy pig in excitement as you gush over the mess you’ve made of him.

You’ve ruined him. Used him like a cheap slut and none of it is fair.

You’re supposed to be dead. You’re not supposed to be doing this.

Wrong. Wrong. WRONG.

Billy barks out the acid that’s coagulated in his throat. He spits aimlessly in random directions and your claws subsequently sink into the meat of his cock which causes him to yelp in shock. With his senses all twisted up and tied together, the pain feels dangerously close to good.

“Touch it.” Billy croaks a strange tinny voice, sounding similar to an old radio broadcaster. “Right on the money there ma’am. Hole in one!" He clicks his tongue a few times, "Touch it. Touch it. Tt-TOUCH IT!” The borrowed voice clips into another’s abruptly. The sportscaster fades into the loudmouthed news anchor that’s always complaining and bitching about some prowler out and about, someone called the moaner who goes around butchering pretty girls after tormenting them on the phone for weeks.

Your phone number displays itself digit by digit in his mind. Yes yes. You. He knows you. Miss mouthy cunt bitch. Miss Piggy’s got a big mouth. Miss Piggy is a tease. He'd hate you less if you learned how to suck cock rather than play at pretending you're something that you're not. He told you to put your pussy on the phone. He remembers that. At least he thinks he does.

It’s hard to think while he’s busy demanding for you to touch him in as many voices and accents as he can possibly recite.

The demands wind down down into a series of hiccups, he mimics the watery voice of some other whore. “It hurts. Please.” He whimpers high-pitched and feminine before belting out a pained wail. “It fucking HURTS.” His fingers twitch and he does his best to rotate his wrist in a way that his joints refuse to go, causing his wrist to pop and crack unnaturally. It hurts but he wants OUT. He wants to fucking cum. He wants to kill you in a thousand ways for this. You deserve it. You deserve something awful awful.

The loose grip around his dick lifts away and he mumbles the same plea from before. Mimicking the crying girl. This time, it comes out just a smidgen closer to his own inflection and tone. His voice no longer sounds so feminine. The whine he gives isn’t all the way a mimicry.

Footsteps. Footsteps. You stand at the head of the table, and Billy tries to tilt his chin up, he squints even though it's impossible to see through the blindfold. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, swallowing dryly he chews on his it and decides that his tongue is now a wad of mashed potatoes.

You’re going to make his dick fall off. You’re going to polish it and keep it above your fireplace. You’re going to use it to hang coats off of. He’s so fucking hard that he’ll probably stay like this forever. You’ll be dead. An unrecognizable pulpy puddle of broken bones and hair and the only thing left of him will be his dick standing up proud above your fireplace. You’ve doomed him just as you might as well have scrawled your fate in golden ink over the ending of one of those old fairy tales thats supposed to scare children into behaving.

It’s your fault. All your fault. Stupid, stupid PIG.

His blindfold is removed quickly enough that it pulls on a few strands of his hair and he grunts in surprise, grumbling wordlessly about the pinch. Billy blinks against the harsh overhead lighting with an accompanying hiss as the sudden assault of brightness burns his retinas. The ceiling light behind you frames your head like a halo, and looking at you hurts. Everything is too much, he can barely crinkle his eyes open and one of the only things he can register is the cruel smile on your lips.

He feels exposed. He wants to find somewhere cold and dark. He’s not meant to be here. You’ve done something wrong and you’ve stolen him from wherever he was supposed to be. The room feels too big and Billy chirps his discomfort out with cat like yowling. He wants to bash his head against the table but he can’t fucking MOVE.

Disinterested, you don’t react to his tantrum. You’ve gotten good at that. Billy’s short-term memory has always been shoddily stuck together with spit and dried cum, but he remembers bits and pieces about you. Sort of. It’s been a long time since you’ve been afraid of him as you should be.

You walk away from his field of view, your shoes clack their way into the distance and you return a few minutes later with a tray that you set gently on a nearby table. A faucet begins to run and the water reminds him of bashing cymbals and storm sirens. A crunched up slice of a memory trickles back into his consciousness and he’s wordless as he recalls something going in him. You stuck something in him! You shot water into him with a nozzle! You did! Pervert! Disgusting! You don’t DO that to people. Something is WRONG with you.

You’re a bad bad boy Billy! You’ve done bad bad things!

"Filthy Billy!" A memory whispers, "Billy, I know what you DID."

“We’re not cleaning you again.” You answer his increasing panic without being asked. The snap of latex gloves bites through the air and Billy’s lungs feel small like a bird’s. He's breathing too hard for the tiny amount of air that’s in his little bird body.

“I like it when you’re quiet. You can be cute when you shut the fuck up.” Your words are poison. They strike him individually with stinging tails.

As you re-approach the table, Billy feels as if his eyes are shaking in his skull. They're going to pop right out and deflate like old balloons. He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel scared, but right now he feels like a mouse caught in a glue trap. He feels small. His bones are hollow and brittle. The incoming waves of dread are almost enough to convince his cock to calm down. Almost. It flags down, curved toward his hip but it's still heavy with blood. Billy wonders if he could maybe flop it from side to side well enough to get himself off. Probably not, but he could try.

Already, he forgets what he’s worried about and he plays with his dick with the limited movement that he has, staring with empty eyes up at the ceiling. The light above him looks like a titty. It’s got a light pull and he thinks that the house is a slut for having pierced nipples. Of course you'd live in a slutty house. He’s never seen pierced tits before. He’s seen a lot of tits. But not decorated ones.

Your approach is ignored as Billy giggles over his mental dialogue, a chair scrapes against the floor and it isn’t until your glove-covered hand sets on his thigh that he falls back down into his body. He was off somewhere else, testing the way that the word titty felt in his mouth. The harsh T was a spitty sound. Makes sense for what the word meant, but then Miss Piggy rudely stole his attention. He looks down his nose, glaring while scrunching his lips up into a pout.

Ignoring him or just disinterested in his frustration, you pump something clear from a bottle into your other hand and Billy doesn’t have a moment to consider what it is before you hold his thigh once again and he’s reminded of the awful bar that spreads his legs. He twists, trying to invert his knees as if that would somehow stop you from pressing your slimy fingertips against his twitching hole.

“Pervert!” Billy screeches, using a stern old woman’s voice. It’s familiar and it makes him want to break something. It's a voice that reminds him of the true definition of hate. Perfecting her voice makes his eyes bug and goosebumps erupt over his skin. You tease the rim of his ass with a finger and Billy shudders. The sheer wrongness of the situation has his dick perking up to attention and Billy grumbles in annoyance at his traitor of a prick.

He’s always liked things he shouldn't. Dirty things. Naughty things.

Violent things.

But this was too far, wasn’t it? An affirmative, almost excited hum answers his question. It is wrong. It's definitely wrong. Billy wonders where the sound came from because he didn’t make it. No. You did. His stupid dick did. Something did and it wasn’t him. No. No. No.

“I get it now.” You laugh, “The only time you learn how to shut the fuck up is when you’re wanting something in your ass. Is that it Billy? You want me to fuck you you there?”

“No.” He finds his own voice and it's completely flat. Devoid of emotion. Devoid of tone. It sounds like a recording and he barely registers that he spoke. Straining his neck, he does his best to look only at the ceiling and the light above him.

“I don’t think I believe that.” You continue as you prod at his cock with your other hand. Stupid thing is stabbing into the air proudly, back at attention and Billy sucks in a breath through his teeth, stubbornly saying nothing. He’s not here. He’s not. This isn’t right. He’s somewhere else. He’s on the TV. He’s on the phone. He’s a recording of a disembodied voice and he’s anywhere but here.

Wordless chitters and vocalizations twist and tangle in his mind, they filter from his lips in broken pieces that end up sounding guttural and ragged. Your touch leaves him only for a moment and then you wrap a gloved hand tightly around his shaft. The gooey stuff on your glove is cold, but your upward stroke forces his eyes shut. The moan he gives is needy, and he hates the sobering reality of it. The mental clarity that he weakly tries to stitch himself to is quickly stolen and he doesn’t have time to light up the neon vacancy sign in his head before sick curiosity comes and settles itself into the groove of which coherence left.

Distracted by your hand on his cock, he barely reacts to your fingertip pressing into him. His lips and tongue test the shape of a word that he’s not sure he’s ever spoken earnestly before. It comes out in clipped bursts that barely sound like a word at all. He hopes that you can't decipher anything of what he’s saying because they mean nothing. The word please ends up translating into a harsh “Ghgh…” sounding noise but the tone is pleading nonetheless.

Slowly, you ease more of your finger inside of him and his brain feels as if he’s plugged too many strings of lights into the same outlet. His body feels like a tightly compressed implosion of bursting sparks that skitter onto the carpet in search of something flammable to consume. Hate and discomfort mutate themselves into consuming want and a greedy desire for more. You give him exactly that by stretching him open on another finger.

Billy’s always been greedy. Nothing is ever enough. Never enough hurt. Never enough shame. Never enough hate. He’s always cold. He’s never happy with staying in one place for too long. The only thing that pulls him from place to place is the need for more blood on his hands. He can never get enough of anything because it's impossible to get his fill of something that feels so fucking good. Nothing else gets him hard. The only release that feels right comes with destroying something nice. Breaking something pretty. Addicted to pleasure, he seeks it out through terror. He’s addicted to want and right now he feels the closest he’s ever been to full.

“Good boy,” You whisper, and the praise lifts to wrap tightly around his throat. He’s short of breath but the dizzying discomfort feels so good. Maybe dying feels good too. Maybe he’s doing all the little whores a favor by doing what he does to them. Lucky sluts. They didn’t even need to beg for it. He hunts them down like vermin, like rats and Billy didn’t even brag about getting rid of them! He’s not LIKE you. He doesn’t feel the need to gloat. He doesn’t feel the need to tease or draw things out so that they’ll fold into a neat little box in just the way you want. He likes a fucking mess. He likes the way that fear feels when it smells like iron and it squelches wetly between his fingers.

The auditory squelch of your hand pumping his cock feels makes him want to spit the noise back at you, he blows a raspberry with his lips only for his mouth to fall slack when you change the angle of your fingers in his ass. You brush up against somewhere that has bubbling pleasure spitting from his cock and drooling from his mouth. He wants to rock back against your fingers, wants to ride your touch like a whore. Useless noises float into the room, and Billy finally relaxes fully, releasing his white-knuckled fist and the tension in his shoulders.

His eyes are open but he can’t see. He’s not even sure if he’s still breathing. He’s drowning in everything you’re giving to him and suffocating never felt so good. His head is a mess of static and chopped-up beginnings of words and memories. The only thing anchoring him to his body is the sound your fist makes as you pump him up and down, almost as mechanical as the machine but the pressure is everything he needs. You’re taking this from him, and therefore he's not wrong for being helpless. You’re the one who’s being a pervert. You’re the one who’s doing something wrong.

“You’re doing such a good job, such a good little whore aren’t you Billy?”

He doesn’t hear your words but they brush up against him ticklishly, like a cat rubbing up against his legs. Your tone is comforting and he wants to rub his face against your words to better understand them.

“You’ve been fighting so hard… isn’t it easier to be a good slut for me? I like you better like this. Cum dumb and quiet.”

Billy grunts affirmatively without listening to you at all and you giggle in response. He doesn’t hate the sound of it. The bubbling laughter is soft and chewy like popcorn. His senses have given up trying to differentiate themselves from each other. Thought and feeling, touch and sound are all the same. His body's been replaced and all he has left is needy cock and a slutty fuck hole. He’s just the same as all the dead piggies who he left in similar states. Unmoving heaps. Messy puddles of what used to be a person. He’s just like them. Dead. Ruined. Used just like them. This is what he’s good for. Feels good to stop fighting. He doesn’t need to stumble around near blind and confused while he hunts down something new to terrorize. He's not starving now. He doesn't have anywhere to go. He's not lost in his head and unsure where he is. Maybe he doesn’t need to drag himself from place to place in the cold. He can stay here. He’s dead anyway. He’ll stay here and and let stupid Miss Piggy touch his cock until he's a rotted husk.

“Fuck drunk slut.” You hum, clearly giddy with the state you’ve put him in. Drool spills from the corner of his mouth to puddle onto the table and Billy bubbles spit between his lips once realizing the mess that he’s making.

“So loud all the time, who knew that stretching your ass would get you to shut up. Maybe I should find something bigger than my fingers? Maybe Billy needs a plug. Do you want more baby?”

Maybe you meant to call him by his name, but the word baby makes him groan. He’s never liked babies. Crying, stupid things. It's an insult to call someone a baby but he feels like one right now. Helpless and barely in control of himself. The word doesn't make him something that he's not. He likes the way that the two syllables settle heavily over his body, pinning him down like an insect. No one’s ever called him baby before. He repeats the word, playing with the feel of it on his tongue. It’s is all smooth edges, it’s cold when he says it but warm in his thoughts. He repeats it in your voice and your resulting laugh doesn't sting.

Like this, he's not able to get lost between notes of sound. He’s not able to forget where he is. Each thrust of your fingers comes with a punch of pleasure that has him whimpering for more. The word please isn't swallowed, he openly begs because please is the only word he can perfect right now.

He’s not even aware of the fact that he’s coming until he feels bubbling hot spunk dribble from his slit. The rise and fall of his orgasm blends into the general wave of pleasure that he’s been asphyxiating on. No relief or finality comes even after his balls are drained and his cum is beginning to cool on his stomach. The weak notes of an overstimulated complaint manage past his lips as you stroke his softening cock firmly as if to make sure that you’ve milked him for all he was worth.

The retreat of your fingers feels strange, but he can’t do anything but whine about it. Billy’s head feels as if it’s full of concrete. There’s no room for thoughts. His limbs are heavy, he couldn’t struggle even if he wanted to. His head flops limply to his side and his cheek settles in a puddle of cold drool. Feels nice. Billy forgets to fight as you secure his muzzle back into place. You leave out the gag this time.

Good boys, behaved ones get presents right? Was this a reward?

Billy’s only ever gotten coal, but earning something feels okay. He looks at you with surprisingly wet eyes and the expression on your face is unreadable. He’s never been good at understanding people but he’d be proud if he was you. He always feels the best after standing amongst the mess of a fresh kill, the twisting delirium always simmers low once he can see and feel what he’d done. He can't always pinpoint where he is or what he’s doing, but touch and smell were things he could depend on. It's easiest to focus when there's no noise to be distracted by and there's no impulse left to wildly drag him from place to place.

Maybe he isn't himself right now. Maybe you’re on the table. Not him. That would make more sense anyway. Maybe he’s you. Maybe you’re him? Maybe Billy is somewhere else entirely and you’ve already done away with his remains.

Feels good to finally die. Feels good to remember what quiet sounds like.

Your fingers find their place in his hair and Billy shudders, eyes closing as he relaxes against your touch. He doesn’t need to be Billy right now and you don’t need to be Miss Piggy. You’re you and he’s whatever he is.

Feels good to understand something for once.

Thanks so much for reading! This is my comeback piece after a few months of writers block lol. Comments keep me inspired, I need your thoughts on the FUCKNASTY that went down here.

Also! Here's my masterlist with my other slasher x reader works.

#Billy Lenz x Reader #Billy Lenz #Horror fandom #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #x reader #Slashers #black christmas 1974 #Black christmas #poki writing #i forgot to make a nice post abt this and upload it to tumble lol

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