#⌖ If I ever DIE shove me in a GLASS CASKET! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halcyonstorm · 4 years ago

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The Breeze from an Airplane

MAJOR SPOILER WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER 138/139 AOT MANGA

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: death, graphic images

Read on AO3

Pairing: Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoe

Summary: Levi never thought the day would come where he had to relive the one of the most tragic moments of his life. He had finally begun to recover from Hange Zoe's tragic, sacrificial death. Now, two men stand at his door."We found Commander Hange's body."

Words: 4955

Levi received the worst news that evening. It was an inconvenient time to bear bad news, around 7pm. That was the time for Levi’s tea. It was usually a time for him to relax and unwind, but not tonight. The kettle was whistling; the tea was finished brewing. Levi had come out of the study and into the kitchen to retrieve the boiling water. Then, there was a knock at the door. It was strange. Usually, no one would come this late at night to bother him. He assumed it would be Armin coming to check up on him. He usually wrote to him as to when he would be stopping by. He hobbled to the door, feeling more apprehensive than he probably should’ve felt. He looked through the peephole in the door. Two men were dressed in suits. One wore round glasses, the other none. They must’ve had the wrong house.

“Mr. Ackerman,” The one with the glasses called out, knocking loudly again. Levi groaned, opening the door.

“What do you want?” Levi said, leaning against the door for support and crossed his arms. He forgot to bring his cane. The one with no glasses held a manila folder under his arm. The one with glasses wore a frown on his face. Levi’s eyes darted between the two of the mens’ faces.

“Mr. Ackerman. Good evening. We have some news for you.” The tone of his voice was neutral, as if they weren’t sure if it was good or bad news. His heart sank into his stomach, making him sick. What was it now? Haven’t I been through enough?

“We found Commander Hange’s body.”

It felt like two strong hands were slowly and steadily ripping his heart apart, every muscle, every nerve, every artery and vein came apart, leaking blood into each individual body cavity. His body began to feel heavy, blood leaking and drowning his body to its maximum. He had finally, finally, began to recover from losing her. Now, he was back to square one. He was brought back to that day on Odiha.

“And that’s that. I’ll see you guys later,” Hange said firmly, turning around to walk away. She called out to Armin.

“Oh, right. Levi’s your subordinate now, so work him to the bone. Okay?” Armin and the other’s faces read horror. Hange began to walk away from the group. As her decision began to settle with her, she felt herself begin to panic. She walked a bit before finding Levi. She didn’t intend to find him. She was scared to face him. She was scared to go. She didn’t let that show to Armin and the others, of course. She allowed her forced neutral expression transition into a deep frown. She felt her heart ache in her chest, and adrenaline began to pulse through her veins. As Hange forced her legs towards Levi, he called out.

“Hey, four-eyes.” She swallowed, feeling a lump form in her throat. He hadn’t called her that since she became Commander. She walked up to him, her shoulders in line with his. Hange wasn’t sure if she could look him in the eye, for her resolve could’ve broken at any time.

“You understand…” Hange began. He did understand, but he couldn’t accept what was doomed to happen, though. “It’s finally here. You know? ...It’s my turn.” Levi felt his heart ache. It seemed like all his senses shut down. The world had stopped around them. He wished to go back in time to the forest. Why couldn’t they have more time? Why did they have to meet in such unfortunate circumstances? It was pointless getting attached; He fell for Hange regardless, even though falling in love was suicide in the Survey Corps. Comrades, friends, and family died left and right. They were so close to freedom, to a peaceful life together that it physically pained him. He wished him and Hange forgot about the cruel world, even just for a little while. He was drowning in his pain at that time, but Hange helped him up to the surface. She was gentle when she sewed his face. Determined when she swam away with him to safety. Caring when she told him he didn’t need to get up. She protected him; this would be the third time he was saved by her. She was breaking his heart, well… whatever was left of it. He felt as if Hange herself shoved her hand into his chest, tearing his heart out.

“I want to look as cool as I possibly can right now. So please let me go.”

He thought it was very like Hange to say something like that. She wanted to look cool. She was still, even at this treacherous moment, trying to make light of the situation. But Levi could tell Hange was petrified. He couldn’t hold her back. He knew he could’ve easily changed her mind or broken her resolve, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He knew she had to go. He knew this day would come... but never did he believe it’d be so soon.

‘Please let me go.’ Those would haunt him for the restless nights to come.

He couldn’t think of what to say. He wanted to confess to her. To the person who has been by his side since day one. They have been there for each other no matter what. Levi fell for Hange every time he saw her.

I love you, he wanted to say.

I need you, he wanted to say.

Please, don’t go, he wanted to say.

But that would’ve been selfish. He couldn’t be selfish now. He had to be strong for her.

He raised his left hand and formed a fist. He struck it against her chest. Against her heart.

I dedicate my heart to you.

“Dedicate your heart,” He said, as strong as he could manage. He heard her breath hitch for a moment. Hange’s lips trembled. She knew what he meant. I love you, I need you. I dedicate my heart to you. Take my heart with you. Before her resolve was dissipated, she mustered up a laugh.

“Haha! That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that,” She said aloud. Her ODM gear zipped, and she was gone. There was a breeze that passed as she flew away. She took his heart with her. His chest was hollow. What she said was true: It’s the first time she heard him say it, but it’s also the first time he said it ever.

He had tried to reach Hange telepathically. She must’ve been too focused on the task at hand to respond. He saw her killing Colossal titans left and right as she flew through the sky. He was so proud of her. “You know I love you, right?” He told her as he hobbled onto the plane. “I will be forever in debt to you.” Deep down, he knew she heard him.

The plane took off. Levi couldn’t bring himself to look out the window like his comrades. They were screaming Hange’s name, crying, wishing it didn’t have to end like this. He didn’t want to remember Hange as she died. He remembered her as the strong, intelligent, brave Commander she had always been. He remembered her gentle touch when she wrapped his hands. He squeezed his bandaged hands together, reminiscing of his Hange.

“See you, Hange. Keep watching us.”

Levi passively allowed the two men into his house and shut the door behind them. The two men sat down at his dining table. Levi used his cane to assist him to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of his favorite evening tea. It steeped too long; however, and it had turned sour. His lips puckered, pouring out the tea into the sink. He walked to the table and sat down. He stared blankly into the white linen table cloth.

“It’s up to you, Mr. Ackerman, whether or not you’d like an open casket. The body isn’t in good shape, I’ll be honest with you.” The body. That’s all it was to them. Hange’s dead body. She is a person one minute, a body the next. The two men must’ve delivered this news a thousand times to other distraught family members. Their tone expressed no sympathy whatsoever. All they cared about was business. “We will escort you to the morgue so you can see for yourself.” The morgue. He forced himself to nod, even though agreeing to see her body was asking for torture.

“If you choose, you’d have to hold the wake soon. The preservation chemicals can only hold for a few days before the body begins to --”

“I get it,” Levi interrupted with a shaky voice. He couldn’t let them finish that sentence. He would’ve broken down right there. He used his cane to push himself onto his two feet. “I’ll get Onyankapon.” He slowly hobbled into the back room where Onyankapon was. He was very torn up about Hange, too. Levi knew they were close. He was in his desk chair, reading. He saw Levi right as he entered, his presence altering the mood of the room from calm to anguish.

“Two men are here. They found Hange’s body,” Levi muttered, unable to make eye contact with his roommate. Onyankapon’s face turned sour and he stood up. “They’re gonna take us to see her.”

The ride to the morgue was quiet. Quiet was an understatement. It was mute, void of any sound. No one spoke. No one dared to put the music on in the vehicle. The streets were quiet. It was late in the evening when the bearers of bad news arrived at their place. It was cold. No one was walking about the town. The morgue, as it turns out, wasn’t far away. This made Levi shudder. Her body was so close to him in proximity. Her dead body.

They arrived at the morgue, Onyankapon got out of the vehicle first to help Levi. He submissively accepted his help following the two men inside. As they neared her room, Levi felt his heart begin to pump faster. He didn’t know what she would look like. How did she really die? Was she trampled? Burned alive? Both? He was starting to ask himself why he agreed to this. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t think he could handle seeing her again. Seeing her body again, after all this time had passed. He stopped dead in his tracks. The two men continued walking and reached the room, but Onyankapon stopped.

“Levi,” he said. He tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. “We should do this.” Levi could tell he was anxious too. That comforted him, in a strange way.

Levi kept telling his legs to move, and finally they listened.

“The body was in bad shape when we found it. We were able to reconstruct what we can, but without knowing what she looked like prior to the incident, she may not look the same.” Reconstruct? Just how bad was it? One of the two men held the door open. Onyankapon allowed Levi to see her first. He wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or not once he walked into the room. Levi and the man with glasses entered the room. It was a shabby room with peeling grey wallpaper. The overhead light buzzed annoyingly. The room was very cold. In the center of the room was the body, covered with a light blue drape. At the foot of the bed, it read “Hange Zoe.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said monotonously, holding the edge of the drape. Levi could always sense when Hange was around. She was right there, yet he couldn’t sense her presence. Levi took a deep, quivering inhale. He would never be ready, but he nodded anyways. It seemed like the man pulled the drape off her face in slow motion. He was shaking. Horrified of what could be. Once the drape was off, the man left the room, closing the door. Levi's eyes were fixated in the corner of the dim, grey room. He couldn’t bring himself to look at first. He didn’t want to look, but he wanted to look so bad. He wanted her to be alive.

It was worse. Much, much worse than he thought.

Now he knew what they meant by reconstruct. Her body was extremely flat. Her skull must’ve been crushed in, but whoever fixed her up must’ve reconstructed her skull so her face was somewhat normal again. The oxygen seemed to be sucked out of the room; He felt himself desperately gasping for air once he saw her face. His knees buckled underneath him, and he fell at the bedside, his head resting on the tops of his hands, hot tears gushing uncontrollably from his eyes. A strangled sound escaped from his lips. When he managed to look at her face through glassy eyes, he was taken aback. Right away he noticed her nose was different. From the side, it looked reconstructed to be turned-up, which did not suit Hange at all. It looked nothing like Hange, yet so much like her at the same time. Her skin was dark red and brown, charred from the steam of the colossal titans. It was dry and peeling around her eyes, nose, cheeks, and chin. There were multiple blisters scattered over her head and neck. Her eyes were closed, but her eyelashes and eyebrows were fried off. The hair on her head, the hair he loved so much, was thin, sparse, and ratty. Most of it had burnt off too. Her eyepatch must’ve been lost, exposing the scar tissue of her left eye. She must have suffered. No doubt about it. He hated the thought of her suffering. It made the tears flow harder. This was the woman he loved; Now a dead, lifeless corpse.

He moved the drape out of the way to look at her hands. They were burnt, too. Skin and muscle burnt, bones broken. He was almost positive every bone in Hange’s body was broken. Her body was frail. So still. It seemed so strange for her to be so still. It was so unlike her. Usually, she could never stay still. She was never quiet, always being the brightest and loudest in the room. He enjoyed it; it was strangely comforting. He never knew how much he loved it until it was gone. The humming of the overhead light fills the room. She was dead, and that was for certain.

“Hange,” He whimpered, looking in his lap. Tears wet his lap. “You weren’t able to stay out of the action after all.” He was so proud of his Commander. She sacrificed herself for him and their comrades without hesitation. She sacrificed her life for his. His life was worth so damn much to her that she would die for him. She did die for him.

Levi wiped his eyes and cheeks with his shirt, causing his sleeve to dampen. He stood up. He gently placed his left fist against her broken chest.

“My heart is yours.”

He was still bugged by how still Hange’s body was. He wanted to tell her to wake up. Join me. Live with me. Be with me. He allowed his selfish thoughts to take over for just a brief moment. Onyankapon knocked on then opened the door slowly, checking in on Levi. His eyes quickly jolted from Levi to the corpse on the table. Tears welled up in his eyes instantaneously as he rushed to the other side of her.

“God, Hange,” He sighed, his voice shaking. “What happened to you…” He wasn’t able to drown himself in his feelings after she was left on the island. He had to man the plane. He had to shift the plane into motion and into the air, leaving his close friend behind to die. All the suppressed emotions came flowing out of him when he saw her burnt body.

After a few minutes passed, the two distraught men came out of the room.

“We decided on a closed casket,” Levi muttered. He couldn’t let the other’s see her like this.

“Okay. There is a funeral home just down the block which--”

“That’s fine.”

“Okay…” One of the men scowled. “How is two days from now?”

“That’s fine.”

One of the men smiled insincerely with a nod. “It’s settled. 5pm.”

Two days was more than enough time to contact the 104. Everyone was quick to accept the invite. Levi didn’t know if he could do it. If he could go through all this pain again. He had laid his suit out neatly on his bed.

Today’s the day you are put to rest, Commander.

He picked up his white button-down, sliding his arms through the sleeve holes. He remembered how Hange used to get ready with him from time to time.

“Hange,” Levi called out, storming over to her. “Your shirt isn’t even buttoned right. I know you can barely see as it is but damn, I didn’t think your eyesight was this bad.”

He started to unbutton her top. He noticed Hange’s cheeks flush a bit. Once he got to the top, he began to button it correctly.

“Sorry. I am in a rush to get to a meeting,” she would say.

Levi shook his head. “You can’t go like this.”

“What would I do without you?” Hange would say, laughing.

What would I do without you? he now asked himself.

His shirt was buttoned up to the top. He grabbed his cravat, tucking it into his collar. He sat down to put his trousers on. He took a deep breath. Putting pants on was always a struggle each morning. His legs barely worked on their own anymore. Onyankapon suggested a wheelchair, maybe he should finally submit to the offer.

He leaned down to put his socks and dress shoes on. For the most part, the only time he wore a suit was to funerals or memorials. He disliked the suit, but now he hated it. He hated the reason he had to wear it.

He went to grab his suit jacket when he paused. He turned to his closet, deciding to wear the black jacket him and Hange shared. She had worn it last. He had tried not to wear it so the scent wouldn’t dissipate. He held it to his face, taking a sentimental whiff of her scent. It smelt of fresh soil and a hint of sweat. There was a special scent he couldn’t quite place, but it was Hange’s signature scent. Maybe it was the detergent she used or the soap she used (or didn’t use) in the shower, but it was her. He hadn’t smelt the jacket since she died, but he couldn’t help himself anymore. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he felt as if he could sob right then and there. He slid the jacket on him, the jacket being slightly too big for him but he didn’t care. He put his thumb and fingers to the lateral part of his eyes, squeezing inward. He silently sobbed. He was allowed to; no one was around.

After a few moments passed, he took a sharp inhale and closed his eyes slowly. He was starting to question why he had agreed to hold a funeral for her. It was for them, the 104. He patted his eyes with a tissue, took another deep breath, and then went to the living room. Onyankapon was shuffling through a box.

“Ready?” He asked. Levi nodded.

“What’s with the box?” Levi asked, turning the door knob and opening the door.

“Some of Hange-san’s belongings from the accident. Those two men dropped this off last night.”

“I see.”

He decided he shouldn’t go through it now. He would get too worked up. Besides, her clothes were probably burnt and unsalvageable anyways. Onyankapon popped open a wheelchair, gesturing for Levi to sit down. Levi could barely walk, let alone stand, anymore. He hobbled over and slowly sat down, groaning slightly. Onyankapon wheeled him outside, shutting the door. Outside were the same two men, ready to escort Levi and Onyankopon to the funeral home. They were standing in front of a long, black limousine. One of the back doors was opened. As he was wheeled to the car, Levi glanced to his left and saw the hearse. It was black and had small, purple, velvet curtains behind the windows. She was in there. Levi couldn’t look away even though he wanted to. Levi felt tears start to pool in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. He stood up, getting into the black vehicle. Onyankapon folded up the wheelchair and got in beside him.

Like the ride a few days ago, no one spoke. It was mute. Levi’s stomach churned each time he thought about having to see the 104 again, talking about their lost Commander. Within 10 minutes, they arrived at the funeral home. There were a ton of people standing outside the funeral home, chatting amongst themselves and waiting to get inside. Levi stopped frowning. All these people were here to see Hange. It made his heart swell. The car stopped and was parked. The man with the glasses opened the door on Levi’s side, helping him out. The wheelchair was already propped open for him. Levi sat and he was wheeled to Onyankapon. He saw familiar faces: Mikasa, Armin, Gabi, Falco, Jean, Connie, Annie, Reiner… These people really cared about her, he thought. His stomach wasn’t hurting anymore.

Onyankapon and Levi were allowed into the funeral home first with the two men. It reeked of stale flowers. There was a beautiful gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the entryway that glistened when the sun shone on it. The carpet had a red and burgundy checkered pattern. He stared at it as he was pushed to Hange’s service room. They finally arrived. There were rows and rows of metal chairs lined up, facing right, to the casket. Casket. That word right there almost made Levi lose it. There were beautiful flowers of all colors surrounding the casket. Yellow, red, pink, purple. Hange loved flowers, especially bright ones. It was very fitting. The casket was a rich dark mahogany color with a thick golden railing on either side. It was tragically beautiful. There was a small red velvet cushion on the floor in front of the casket for people to pray. There was a black and white banner that hung above the casket. “14th Commander of the Survey Corps,” It said in small text towards the top. “Hange Zoe,” it said in big text underneath. Levi admired it for a while. He was curious who set all this up. Could it have been Onyankapon? The 104? He made a mental note to find out and thank them. Levi was facing the casket now. Levi pushed off the armrests and kneeled on the semi-hard cushion. Onyankapon kneeled next to him. Levi wasn’t one to pray, but figured now may be a good time to start. He laced his fingers together, pressing his forehead against his thumbs and closed his eyes.

Dear Hange, thank you for saving my shitty life. Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I am so proud of you... I miss you every day. Are you still watching me? At that moment, someone must’ve opened a window because he felt a gentle breeze pass by him, caressing his face as it wooshed by. This caused Levi to open his eyes and look behind him. There was one big window, but it was locked shut. Levi took a deep breath, smiling. Rest easy, four-eyes.

He pushed himself to stand, then sitting back in the wheelchair. Onyankapon finished his prayer, a tear streaming down his face. The two men recognized they were done and allowed the rest of the visitors inside. The doors to her room opened, people started flooding in. Levi took this time to wheel himself over to the brown cork board that hung on the left side of the room. It contained photos of Hange. For the most part, he recognized the photos. There was one in specific he never saw before though, and it wasn’t on the board either. It was a large portrait of Hange in a dark wood frame that sat on an easel. He admired this photo the longest. It must’ve been painted of her when she had just become Commander. She had her beautiful chestnut hair up in her typical ponytail (which was neater than usual), her black eyepatch on, her thin oval glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, and she wore her olive green Survey Corps jacket. She wore the oval green stone around her neck, which sat at the top of her chest. There was a hint of a smile in the photo, even though the painter insisted she kept a straight face. Hange persuaded him to make her smile in the portrait, though. Levi thought she looked breathtaking.

He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. He tensed slightly, turning around. He saw Armin and Annie together. They were both dressed well and teary-eyed.

“It’s good to see you Levi. We are sorry for your loss,” Armin said, shaking Levi’s hand and placing his other hand on top of his. Afterwards, Armin stuck a hand in his pocket.

“You, too. Thanks,” Levi replied.

“Hange-san handed me this after she made her decision to stay behind,” Armin explained, handing Levi an envelope which was folded in half. “It was addressed to you.” Levi took it from the new Commander, turning it to see the envelope addressed to “Levi” in Hange’s handwriting.

“Thank you, Armin,” Levi nodded at him.

“What do you think of the flowers?” Annie asked, sitting down in the front row of metal chairs. Levi looked towards the flowers again.

“Hange would’ve loved them,” he replied. Annie smiled sadly. “She would have.”

Mikasa came up behind Armin, giving a small wave to Levi. Armin stepped out of the way, allowing Mikasa to pass. She took both his hands into hers, looking into his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Levi,” She whimpered, her eyes tearing up. She felt at fault for Hange’s death. She thought maybe she could’ve saved her, but didn’t. The truth is, Levi didn’t blame anyone specifically for her death. “If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Deep down, he knew usually no one actually reached out for help from others. He appreciated the offer, though.

“Thank you, Mikasa,” he replied.

As the lot of people passed by to visit Hange, Levi grew sick of the apologies. He appreciated them, but he couldn’t bear seeing everyone’s sad faces anymore. It made him feel worse. He told Onyankapon he was going outside for some air. The stale flower stench was starting to sink into his clothes and skin. He wheeled himself out of the room, down the hall, and through the doors. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, shining beautiful shades of pink and red throughout the city. He took the envelope out of his pocket, slowly but surely unfolding the letter. He began to read.

Dear Levi,

You will receive this for one of two reasons: one, I am dead; or two, I worked up the courage to personally hand it to you. I hope it’s the latter. I know I am being selfish when I say this, but I wish we stayed in the forest together a little while longer. I began to write this after that day.Currently, you are asleep in the carriage I built. I stopped to make dinner for us. I barely had time, but I had to get my thoughts in writing.

I think I am going to die soon. So, I had to tell you how I felt before I go. I know my time is coming up very fast, and I am not afraid to die. That is what we signed up for when we joined the Survey Corps, after all. What is bothering me is when. I wish it’d be peaceful in a warm, comfortable bed. I doubt that, though. If it’s true, maybe we would be living together. Isn’t it true that if you live with someone for a long time, you’re considered married by common law? I wouldn’t mind being married to you, Levi. I wouldn’t mind waking up every morning and you’re nearby. I wouldn’t mind spending every day with you. We could explore the world together. Leave these walls in the past and be free, together. I can study vegetation, you can open the tea shop you’ve always dreamt about. Maybe I’d discover new plants and food for us to try. Or maybe I’d work to create inventions. Maybe I’d create a new type of food or plant. Maybe I’d invent a more efficient flying boat. Well… whatever I do, I hope it’s with you. Even if I am gone when you read this, live your life. Explore the world. I’ll be right by your side. I promise.

Always yours,

Hange Zoe

Levi held the letter close to his heart. His heart was throbbing and felt like it would burst out of his chest. Tears were flowing uncontrollably down his cheeks and into his lap. He folded up the letter, careful not to rip it. He slid it into the envelope, sticking it in the inside pocket of his, their, jacket. He looked up to the beautiful pink sky and saw a flying boat pass by, buzzing in the air.

I’ll be right by your side. I promise.

#levihan #levihan fic #levihan fanfiction #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levi x hange #levi x hanji #AoT #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levihan one shot #levihan oneshot #rivahan

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themfchase · 4 years ago

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endings & beginnings | jjk (m)

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

‒ ending and beginnings. (m) one-shot. ✎ [14k words]

genre: supernatural!au, childhood friends!au.

warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), slight dirty talk, slight choking, (jk has a massive dong), an absurd amount of scoffing and eye rolling, lowkey pining, angst, hhh angst again, mentions of blood, mentions of car accident, mentions of death and grief. physics or spiritual physics mean nothing here, don’t judge me. After the sad passing of your grandmother, you take on the task to pack up her things so you can sell the house, but you’re interrupted by someone you haven’t seen in years, and oh, he’s hurt. N/A: This is based on a movie plot, but I don’t wanna say the movie because I don’t want to give it away, but, I decided to write a little supernatural type au for the spooky season, and of course, I’m a lover of angst, so, I’m giving you all this. I really hope you like it, and if you do, please remember to press that heart and reblog button! It helps a lot. And please, never hesitate to send me messages! I really love receiving them!

Death. It was truly a mysterious thing. The concept of death. Humans gave it a meaning, as if life was only but a preparation for what was to come in the afterlife. Heaven, Hell, Oblivion. It didn’t really matter to you. And no matter how many years you spent in Sunday school, learning about sin and how it was a currency that either allowed you to enter the peaceful realms of the afterlife or the eternal suffering of the underworld, it still meant nothing to you. But still, you prayed for forgiveness as a child, your grandmother right there beside you clutching her rosemary tightly in her fists with screwed shut eyes and mumbling apologies in hopes for redemption. You wonder if she found what she was looking for, and it was almost a bittersweet thought as you looked down at her lifeless body, neatly resting in the casket. She looked peaceful, at least. Maybe that meant something. And even if death for some reason meant nothing to you, you still couldn’t hold back the quiet tears that rolled down your cheeks. This woman raised you. She raised you into the strong woman you were today. With your own business, no longer struggling to put food on the table, but now able to send her money every week, to give her the life she deserved. Because she was one hell of a woman, that you can say, from the years she raised you. Resilient, strong, and all by herself when your parents suffered a terrible fate in a car accident when you were only a toddler. Come to think of it, you were quite familiar with death. It had visited you one too many times. Maybe that was why you didn’t care for it. For what was to come, because, in the end, death would be everyone’s end. And some may say it’s a sad life, to not really think there is anything at all once you die. That your brain simply shuts and then there is a lot of nothing. No, you weren’t skeptical; you believed in... Something. Science, nature perhaps. You believed that it didn’t matter if our subconscious continued to echo through the air giving us a fake sense of the afterlife or if in fact; we were reborn in another life. Because death was death. And for you, and everyone else, it was inevitable. Just as inevitable as having to come back to this town, back down to the old farmhouse where you were raised, three hours from the city you lived in, to clean out your grandmother’s things. Ever since she was sent to the hospital, a buyer was interested in the large land, offering a good price on it once she passed. And people called you cold, that you’d even negotiate with a man while your grandmother was in her deathbed, but the reality was that you hadn’t been to this town in almost ten years, and you and the doctors knew she wasn’t going to make it. You loved her, you truly did. You were grateful for everything she had done for you. But what were you supposed to do? Keep the house there, gathering dust while you went back to your penthouse in a busy city and forgot about it altogether? No, that wouldn’t be fair to your grandmother. If you weren’t going to take care of the house, you could at least put it to good use. And you thought about maybe renovating it, putting it on Airbnb for some backpackers that would eventually stop by the town. You were still pondering on that idea even while you drove into the driveway, coming from the small meek motel just three blocks from the funeral home where everyone mourned the town’s loss. And even looking at it as you parked, one single bagel from Cindy’s Diner hanging in your mouth and a cup of Iced coffee you had to explain to Cindy’s daughter how to make, it looked... Exactly as it did ten years ago when you left. Three floors, with hard oak walls and, resin painted wood on the outside, vines that crept upwards midway past the second floor, but never too close to the windows, a vast wooden front porch with two swings on each side of the door and the large tainted glass windows from the living room and kitchen, reminding you of the same ones you saw in Sunday school. It was almost a smaller wooden castle, too many bedrooms for just the two of you as you grew up, but enough that you became really good at hide and seek. It was still the same, and you sighed. You had some amazing memories here, that was true. Bonfires with your grandmother as she told you scary stories, your neighbors coming down to play with the hose when it was really hot. You even remembered trying to build a treehouse with your grandma, but you never finished because rain season started. And the sky looked just like it looked right now, dark rumbling clouds closing in, nothing but the vast field behind the house and the faraway mountains on the horizon. Before the thick raindrops began its descent you rushed out of the car, chewing on the piece of bagel as you rushed to the back seat to grab your bags, deciding to leave the unfolded cardboard boxes there and maybe get them later once the rain calmed down. Rushing up the driveway with your large bag of clothes in your hand, the rain began to pour just a few feet away from the porch, and you let out a little shriek at the cold drops hitting your skin, making you run a little faster. Finally, under the protection of the front porch, you dug into your pockets for the keys, rummaging through both front pockets and the single pack pocket. You were sure they were there, and you huffed in annoyance, a little wet already as you put two and two together and remembered the iced coffee in your cupholder and the keys right beside it. You grunted, throwing your head back and gazing towards your black car. The rain was pouring down hard and from what you remembered, chances were it wouldn’t stop soon, so placing your bag right beside the door you took in a deep breath and ran for your car as raindrops soaked right through your clothes. Opening the car door and quickly reaching for the keys, you made your way back to the porch now dripping wet from the unforgiving rain that had started. Finally opening the thick wooden door, it screeched open, showing that it hadn't been used in the six months that your grandmother made the hospital her permanent home. You shoved your bag in with your feet before finally closing the door behind you. It was quiet. Well, other than the harsh rain that hit against the windows and wood, the house was dark and quiet, a little gruesome too. You rested your back against the door, head falling back as you took in a deep breath. You opened your eyes and let them roam through the house, the open kitchen, and the large living room. No television. Quickly taking out your phone, you huffed once again, no service either. You were thankful that you left your catering business in good hands with Jimin, your partner, back in town, so even without service, you knew there was really no good reason for him to reach out other than to chat. Finally, pulling away from the door, you flick on the lights, the old yellow lamps flickering before it illuminated the space, and it suddenly felt normal again, just like it did when you were a kid. It almost felt like home. Sighing, you picked up your bag and placed it right beside the couch, walking towards the laundry room to retrieve a dry and clean towel you knew your grandmother always had in case she had any visitors and you began to dry your hair already walking back to the living room to open your bag for a fresh pair of clothes to change into. Maybe you’d take a shower before you made something to eat. The sun would be setting soon anyway, so there was really no point in starting to pack anything today and the rain really didn’t seem like it would stop anytime soon. If you remembered correctly, sometimes it rained like this for days on end, the roads rather dangerous, some even closing down. You remembered how on days like these, school was canceled, and you could stay home and play all day, have tea parties, bake and cook with your grandma. You smiled fondly at the memory as you found a white shirt and some sweat pants from your bag, and just as you were standing up to strip from your wet clothes, three loud knocks to the door startled you. With your heart now beating in your throat and a hand lifted to your chest, you looked at the door. Who could it be? Eyes moving to the clock just above the kitchen sink, it read seven pm. When did time pass so fast? You had just― Three more loud knocks. Blinking at the door, you finally decided to walk towards it, not even thinking before you unlocked and opened. In reality, the town had always been safe, and maybe it was your big city fears creeping up on you but the sight of a wet man with his head down and hands resting on each side of the door had you startled, eyes bulging slightly as you couldn’t make out his face in the dark, your hand blindly reached out to the light switch beside the door, the one that turned on the porch lights and you flicked it on, the man lifting his face to you. Oh. He seemed familiar, and he was young, about your age. Black, wet shirt hugging his strong and muscular frame tightly, making your eyes move to the bulge of his biceps and veins that dripped with water, then your eyes moved to his strong shoulders and up to his thick neck before landing on his defined jaw that also dripped with water and blood― Wait, blood! “Oh my god, are you ok?!” You asked, one hand coming to cover your mouth in your loud surprised reaction as you noticed he had a small cut right above his thick eyebrow. He smiled, well, smirked almost as he let out an airy chuckle. And oof, if that wasn’t the most charming smile you have ever seen, despite the blood dripping down the side of his face. “I, well― I need some help, is your grandmother home?” He asked looking into the house, now standing fully, towering over you. The mention of your grandmother had your mouth closing. Who was this guy and how did he know who lived here? And well, if he did, it was unfortunate that he didn’t know that she had passed the day before. “I’m sorry, who are you?” You asked, and even if you tried not to sound condescending, you did, and he lifted the brow that wasn’t hurt. “You seriously don’t recognize me, Y/N?” He asked and crossed his strong arms over his chest. He knew your name, and yeah, he did look familiar, but he seemed to remember you a lot better than you remembered him. At your silence, he chuckled again. “Jungkook.” He said, and the name had memories rushing back like a tidal wave. “We used to make mud pies together, I’m offended that you don’t remember, you ate them with vigor.” He joked, and you laughed, pursing your lips right after. “Shit, I’m sorry, you look so...” Hot. “Different.” He smiled wide, now letting his hands down, moving into his front pockets. “So do you, it’s been what... Fifteen? Sixteen years?” He asked, and you nodded, crossed your arms, and resting your shoulder on the door frame. In a perfect world, you would be able to gawk at his wet body without being caught, but in this world. He tilts his head to the side and flicks his tongue out once he notices your eyes roaming, giving you a quick once over himself. “So uh... Is your grandmother home, I lost control of my car down on the secluded road somewhere...” He trailed off as if unable to remember exactly where. “...and it won’t start back up. I cut my eyebrow, I was wondering if she could take a look at it for me.” He took you out of your thoughts and you blinked a few times, leaning away from the door frame. “Oh... My grandma... passed away yesterday.” Your voice was a lot lower than you expected and Jungkook’s eyes bulged slightly, lips parting as if he wanted to say something but he didn’t know what to say. “I uh, I’m here to pack her things.” You nibbled on your lower lip, nodding before you cleared your throat. “Would you like to come in, though? I can take a look at it for you.” You made way, and he just nodded, coming inside. Closing the door behind you, you watched Jungkook take a few steps inside, his back to you as his eyes roamed the house. Memories of his own coming to play. “You can take a seat at the kitchen table, I’ll get the first aid kit.” You said making your way to the cabinet under the kitchen sink. You could barely hear him move, but once you grabbed the small white box, he was there seated quietly, looking at you. How could you forget Jungkook, anyway? You spent most of your childhood with him, playing in the backyard, sometimes going to his house for sleepovers, even if it was far from the farmhouse. You both were inseparable before his parents divorced and his mother moved to the city, taking him along with her, and you never saw him again. Not until now. As you took out the gauze, antiseptic, and some surgical tape you watched him look almost uncomfortable, looking around the empty house before looking at you. You knew what he wanted to say, he had that look in his eyes, the “shit, you lost someone and I’m really uncomfortable because I have no idea what that’s like, but I still want to show you some sympathy” look, and you took in a deep breath. “You don’t have to say it, you know, I heard it at least fifty times yesterday.” You spoke softly as you took one cotton ball and swiped gently at the cut. “Say what?” He asked, looking up at you, not even flinching as you cleaned his wound. “You know... I’m sorry for your loss and stuff.” You shrugged, taking another cotton ball and soaking it in antiseptic. “Oh...” He said, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “I am though... I loved your grandmother.” He sighed, and you smiled softly, looking at a now clean wound. It didn’t look deep, but you were no expert. It did seem as if he had bled a lot, so you decided to wrap it before it started to bleed again. “Well, thanks, everyone loved my grandma, she was amazing.” You said softly as you began to tape the gauze to his cut, never once did he complain of pain. With the close proximity and the uncomfortable silence, you cleared your throat. “So... Did you move back here?” You asked, and he shook his head. “No... My father is getting too old to come down to the city now and then, so I decided to come here for a change, I’m only in town for a little while.” He answered, looking out the kitchen window to the rain still pouring out. “How is life here, anyway? I haven’t been here since forever.” He shook his head as you slowly ― tried to ― tape the gauze in place. “I wouldn’t know, haven’t been here for the last ten years. Left for college at 17, didn’t come back.” You shrugged, reaching for another piece of tape before leaning back into him. “Where did you go?” He asked, and you leaned back, blinking at his question. “Oh, you mean for school? McKenzie Brown.” You said and his eyes bulged. “No fucking way. So did I! How did we not cross each other on campus?” He seemed excited, and it just showed his boyish ways, a contrast to the very manly muscles on his body and that smirk he had given you earlier. Chuckling, you were also surprised that you had both gone to the same college, but yet, never crossed paths. It wasn’t really that hard to believe, given the university you were accepted to was very, very big, with a lot of students and up to 100 per class. “Guess life didn’t want us to.” You shrugged, and he shook his head. “Fucking coincidence. I was kinda famous back in school.” He said, looking down at his lap and you lifted a brow, making him look up at you and chuckle. “All I’m saying is that I had some fun, had a reputation.” Your smile widened, and you squinted your eyes, even if you both haven’t seen each other in sixteen years, somehow it didn’t really feel like you were strangers. “Are you telling me, that Jeon Jungkook, the cute, bunny teeth kid that made me mud pies and held my hand when we crossed the street, was a fuckboy?” You laughed as you finally finished wrapping him up. His mouth opened almost to protest, but instead of that, he shrugged, and a smirk spread on his lips. “Who said anything about was?” A loud scoff left your lips as you rolled your eyes at him. Truly, it was hot. He was hot, that was undeniable. But to imagine this man that was here in your kitchen as a fuckboy was truly something you weren’t ready to let your mind wander off. Wonder off to how many people he’s slept with, how much experience he must have. You cleared your throat. “All done.” Was all you said as you got up. With his clothes still wet and yours too, you threw the soiled cotton balls away and directed him to the bathroom where he could wash the blood that had dripped down his face. Once he made his way back, you stood by the door with the pair of fresh clothes in your hands, ready to bid him goodbye, but instead, he walked mid way and sat on the handrest of the couch. “You said you were packing her things, why?” He crossed his arms again, your eyes shot to his very wet clothes against the couch and you blinked at his question. “I’m selling the house.” You said and started making your way towards the door, still hearing the rain rumble aggressively outside. “Wait, what? You can’t sell the house!” He stood up, a look of outrage in his eyes. You turned around and looked back at him with an incredulous look on your face. “Excuse me?” You questioned, blinking in disbelief. “You can’t sell the house! This house has... Has a shit ton of memories and it’s a place where you can raise your kids! You’re just going to sell it to some stranger who’s probably going to turn it into another cellphone tower?” He sounded annoyed, irritated even. “This is my house, and if I want to sell it to someone who wants to turn it into a fucking strip club or whatever, I will.” You crossed your arms, and he furrowed his brows. Truly, you wouldn’t, not that you had anything against strip clubs, but you wouldn’t want your grandmother’s holy name to go to dust in a conservative town like this. “And if anything, this town could use a freaking cellphone tower, since there is no service here!” You shrugged as if it was obvious. “Wow, didn’t take you for a heartless bitch.” Now that was the last straw. It was almost as if the funny, charming Jungkook from before had vanished in a blink of an eye and all you could see right now was a condescending, nosy ― but hot ― stranger making demands and offending you. “Get out.” You said calmly, crossing your arms. Jungkook gave you a pointed look, a scoff leaving him. “You’re going to kick me out in this rain?” He raised a brow. “Well, you somehow made your way here in this rain, I’m sure you can make your way back.” Maybe you were a heartless bitch. And your ex-boyfriends might agree, but the truth was, you didn’t like anyone making decisions for you, if anything, you didn’t like��men making decisions for you. “Oh, don’t worry your spoiled little ass, I’ll leave in a second, just gotta remember where...” He began walking towards the door and stopped midway, his voice slurring. He stumbled a little, one hand moving up to the wrapped cut. “Remember where my... my car...” He shook his head, as if unable to see straight, and even if you were irritated, your mind and body quickly went into action, walking towards him to keep him steady. “Jungkook?” You called softly, and he leaned against your hand, unfocused eyes looking for you. He didn’t look good, the once white gauze now with a bright red spot where the blood seeped through. “Hey, why don’t you sit down a little, you might have hit your head a little harder than you thought.” You continue to speak softly, slowly maneuvering him towards the couch. You sat him down with a thud, a huff leaving him as his head lolled in his hand. From the few medical documentaries you’ve watched in the past, you knew that if he had a concussion, sleeping right now wasn’t the best idea. “I’m going to get you some dry clothes and make us some coffee, I think you better stay here tonight.” You look out the window, he surely wouldn’t have made it back to his car. A minute ago you were ready to kick him out into the rain because of your irritation, now you would have regretted it if anything had happened to him, had you done so. Sighing, you quickly made your way to your grandmother’s closet where she still kept a few of your father’s clothes and you took a large shirt and some sweats, just like your own. Making your way back down, Jungkook still sat there with his head between his hands. He looked up at you once you made your way to him and reached out for the clothes. “Feeling a little better?” You asked, pursing your lips. “Yeah, just... Dizzy.” He admitted, not looking at you. “I’m... Sorry. I’m sorry. That was way out of line.” He blurted out, looking up at you as he took in a deep breath. You pondered on it for a few seconds, you both were friends once, even if you were children, he wasn’t a complete stranger and that meant that you still nurtured some type of fondness over him ― and no, it wasn’t only because he glowed up. “We’re cool. Just don’t call me a bitch again, or a brat, otherwise, I’ll probably give you another concussion” That made him chuckle, and you laughed back. “Anyway, get dressed, we’re going to end up sick if we stay in these clothes.” Jungkook nodded, immediately reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head, and you didn’t have time to turn around before his bare torso ― and abs― came into view. Oh, he was truly a sight to see, wet locks falling down his face, damp, glowing skin in the dim yellow lights of the house, ripples of his abs and thin waist so well defined, if your mouth wasn’t agape before, it was now and you caught yourself, turning around to give him some privacy. “Please, as if I didn’t catch you checking me out at the door.” He scoffed, you couldn’t see him, only hear the sound of ruffling clothes. “I wasn’t checking you out!” You defended yourself, not looking at him and not sounding convincing at all. “You were totally checking me out, I was checking you out too.” Yeah, you were checking him out, but him checking you out? That was new information. Not that you weren’t worthy of being checked out, in fact, you were very confident in yourself, not because of your looks, but because you knew that success was written all over your face and that was enough reason for men to find you attractive. “Figures.” You smirked, arms crossing over your chest. Jungkook rolled his eyes, even though you couldn’t see it and you could hear him standing up, probably changing out of his wet pants. You waited patiently, very tempted to peek, see what he was hiding behind those pants. You had noticed how firm and thick his thighs looked in those dark, wet pants. “You can turn around now.” He informed, and you quickly turned, seeing him in the cozy clothes you had picked out. It wasn’t that you remembered because you didn’t, but seeing Jungkook in your father’s clothes made it all very... Domestic. You quickly swallowed as you looked him down and grinned. “Ok, I’m... I’m going to go change and make us some coffee, don’t fall asleep.” You informed, and he sat back down, folding his wet clothes. You were glad that there was at least coffee in the pantry, because food? Other than some crackers and powdered eggs, none of that. You made a mental note to go get some tomorrow if you were meant to spend the week here. You picked up the two mugs and made your way to the living room where Jungkook sat quietly, looking around. Handing him his mug, he took it with a quiet “thank you” before you sat on the armchair right in front of him. It was awkward now. Both of you quiet as you sipped on the hot coffee in your now dry clothes and looked around, it was uncomfortably quiet until― “I can’t believe you’re selling this house.” He shook his head and you rolled your eyes. “Well, what do you expect me to do? It’s not like I live here, I haven’t lived here in ten years!” Jungkook sat closer to the edge of the couch. “Maybe not now, but what about in, like, a couple of years when you get married and have kids, wouldn’t you want to settle down in a peaceful place like this?” He stated as if it was obvious. “What makes you think I want kids? What makes you think I even want to get married?” You gave him a pointed look. And he was quiet, thinking for a while. “Well, I assumed you were the type...” His voice was more hesitant. “You assume a lot of things about me, apparently. Besides, if you’re so into the whole traditional family thing, why don’t you move back to town and all that jazz?” With that, Jungkook rested back against the couch, laughing bitterly and shaking his head. “Me? No, no. I don’t believe in marriage.” It was your turn to scoff. “And yet you were expecting me to believe in it?” You took a sip of your coffee. “No, I have no plans of getting married, my business is thriving and I’m making a shit load of money, I have no need for a man.” You looked down at your mug and Jungkook went quiet. You flicked your gaze to him, confused at his silence, and you were met with an intense look right back at you. “What?” You asked. “Are you straight?” He asked, and you almost choked on your own spit. “Why does it matter?!” You were appalled by his question. “Well, are you attracted to men?” He continued. “Yes!” You answered right back. “So you don’t need men for anything?” He lifted a brow. “I can’t seem to find your point here, Jungkook.” You argued. “I’m saying if you’re attracted to men only, and I don’t want to assume, sexually speaking, you maybe can get by with a toy, maybe a very realistic dildo or a vibrator, but I take that it’s not like the real thing, so you’re not fully satisfied, therefore... You kinda do need men. Even if it’s just to get off.” He finished with the calmest expression ever and you were left with your eyes bulged and a slightly parted mouth. You were speechless, not only because of how nonchalantly he said those things but because he had a point. Sure, you got yourself off pretty well here and there with toys, but a real, live human was irreplaceable to you. With your mouth opening and closing a few times, you blinked. “If we’re talking about sex and sex only, then maybe, yes, I do need a man, but 90% of the time they don’t do it right anyway, so I rather resort to my toys. They’re also pretty quiet.” You rested your mug on the center table, lifting your legs and folding them besides you. “You met the wrong kind of men.” He cockily says, and you notice then that he’s flirting. This was something you enjoyed. Flirting. You were pretty good at it too. “And I assume you’re the right kind?” You teased back, and the lazy smirk that spread on him was devastatingly attractive. “Would you like to find out?” He rests his mug right beside yours, sitting back again, and your eyes fell to the swell of his thighs. Surely they would feel delicious under your palms, or perhaps your heat, fuck, all of him would probably feel delicious, his large strong hands, his bulging muscles and you were pretty sure he wouldn’t disappoint in the downstairs department. “I would like to know how you’re feeling.” You change the subject, watching him purse his lips and nod in understanding before he answers. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about sleeping with him, in fact, you had since the moment you laid eyes on him. But he was hurt, maybe still a little confused, and you surely didn’t want to take advantage of that. “Feeling better, yeah. I don’t think I can walk back to my car, though.” He admits, eyes falling to the window to see the rain still resilient outside. “We have spare rooms, you can stay the night, and tomorrow we can find a way to call for a repair or something like that to get your car from wherever you left it.” He nodded, getting up and picking up the mugs before making his way to the kitchen where he left them both in the sink. You showed him the way to the guest bedrooms, making sure you left him in one that was close enough to your old bedroom in case he felt sick during the night, and you being a night owl, would make sure to check on him during the night. You gave him a fresh change of sheets and a towel in case he wanted to shower and said goodnight before moving to your room. It had been a while since you stepped foot in there, and it was all still exactly the same. Your dark purple walls with posters, the pictures of your friends from high school hanging on the vanity mirror, you smiled fondly at one of you and Jungkook, maybe you were ten, nine, you couldn’t remember, but his large bunny-like teeth peeked out, one single hole showcasing his loss of one tooth. You sat down on the bed with a huff, a picture from the vanity flying off with the wind it caused, and you reached down to the floor to pick it up. It was one of you and your grandmother. Her large smile, so bright and powerful as it always was, leaning down with white gloves as she planted a flower right in the front garden of the house. You were right there beside her, wide smile as well, just as happy, as thrilled as you both planted new flowers to adorn the house. The same was in the background, full of life and so many memories that you felt a light tug at your heart. Maybe Jungkook was right... Maybe selling a hose as memorable as this one was a heartless act. But you brushed that thought away, placing the picture on the vanity counter and getting ready for bed. You were hyper-aware of the man in the other room, one that had insinuated that he wanted to sleep with you only but a few minutes ago, but not because of that. You were hyper-aware of him in the other room as you finally felt a hard sob rip through your throat. Crying everything you hadn’t cried in the last three days. You tried muffling your cry, but it was too painful to do so. You would miss her and you regretted not visiting. You regretted how annoyed you seemed when she showed up to your apartment unannounced with her bags saying she “missed you and was spending the weekend” detouring whatever stupid plan you had. You regretted so much, but now it was too late to regret anything at all. She was gone. You were completely alone in this world. No parents, no family at all, not even a cousin, a boyfriend. Not even a real friend. You fell asleep with silent sobs that night, and unknown to you, a very wide awake and hazy Jungkook hearing every moment of it with a weird feeling in his chest and body. It wasn’t only because you were crying. But because he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything about his accident or anything before he knocked on your door. Pancakes. Or maybe waffles, perhaps eggs. Yes, eggs and bacon. That’s what you smelled. And coffee, fresh-brewed coffee. Your eyes gently fluttered open, the soft light seeping through the curtains in the room quickly reminding you where you were, and yet the smell of breakfast was all you could think of. You rubbed your eyes, slipping on your flip-flops before slowly making your way out of your room, you quickly passed the room Jungkook had slept in, looking in to see it was as if no one had slept there at all and as you made your way downstairs slowly, the smell intensified. You went around the kitchen wall only to be met by a shirtless Jungkook, the shirt you had given him hanging on his shoulders as he whistled to a song on your grandmother’s old radio and stirred some eggs on the frying pan. The low slide of your flip-flops against the hardwood floor had him turning his head towards you. “Good morning!” He beamed with a bright smile. Your eyes moved to the kitchen table, eggs, bacon, coffee, and... Pancakes? You were confused, very confused. “Someone’s not a morning person.” Jungkook chuckled as he turned off the oven and pushed more eggs onto a plate in the center of the kitchen table. “Come on, sit down, have some coffee so you can function like a normal human being.” You didn’t know what was more startling, the sight of pancakes when you clearly saw there was no food or the sight of a shirtless Jungkook cooking you breakfast as if you two had just slept together the night before. You didn’t say anything, still confused and drowsy with sleep as you sat down, eyes flicking to Jungkook as he put his shirt back on to sit right beside you and start pouring you a cup of coffee. “I’m...” You began, watching him pour himself some before reaching for the really well-done pancakes. “How did you...” “The pancakes?” He asked, and you nodded. “They’re vegan. I found some flour that wasn’t expired in the cabinet and some vanilla extract, made them with water and some oatmeal powder, oh and sugar!” He shrugged. “I actually work with vegan and vegetarian food. Not that I am either of those myself, but there is a huge place in the market for it. I make easily affordable meals for people who don’t have time to cook for themselves.” You rubbed your eyes slowly, reaching for the coffee mug and bringing it to your lips, taking a large sip before you sighed. “That’s pretty useful, I’ve lost some clients in the past because my menus don’t offer them Vegetarian or Vegan options.” Your raspy voice spoke out. “Menus?” He asked, brows furrowing. “Yeah... I have a catering business. Weddings, parties, companies, even movie productions.” You began to explain. “I started with culinary school, wanted to become a chef, I kind of did, but I didn’t want to work at a restaurant where you have these really straight forward menus, I wanted to do something different, even fun.” You reached for a single piece of bacon. “So, my menu also caters to children, we have gourmet corn dogs, sweet popcorn, some over the top hamburgers.” You smiled, bringing the food to your mouth and taking a bite of it. “Just like your grandma, huh?” He said and your eyes moved to him. You had never made that connection before. But now that he pointed it out, he was right. You remember you and your grandmother cooking several fun meals all day. Baking cakes, pies, making savory snacks for when your friends came over. And your birthday parties always had a little something different, and it was all your grandmother’s doing. “Yeah, I guess...” You chewed, reaching for the vegan pancake, not really trusting it would taste good with the ingredients he had mentioned. But to your surprise, as soon as you cut a piece and put it in your mouth, the loud moan you let out would have been lewd if not for Jungkook’s loud chuckle as he watched you eat his cooking. “What the fuck, this is delicious!” You almost screamed, digging in more. “And it’s healthy too.” He lifted his cup. “Fuck, fuck... So fucking good.” You continued the moans of gastronomical pleasure. “Not going to lie, it’s kind of hot watching you lose your shit over my cooking.” He chuckled, and you gave him a pointed look, rolling your eyes before going back to the pancake. “Jesus fuck, Jungkook, this is amazing, we should totally work together sometime, I have so many clients that would pay big fucking bucks for healthy, vegan meals like this.” You offered, already finishing the pancake. “Yeah? I could use the cash, business is good but it could be better.” You smiled at him, still chewing, and just as you were about to speak the radio beamed with what you recognized as a hurricane alert. “Seems like we have a hurricane heading towards the town in about one day or two, all main roads are closed for the time being, we advise everyone to stay in their homes, stock on food and water. Do not go outside under any circumstances, I repeat, do not go outside under any circumstances.“ You and Jungkook shared a concerned look, and he pursed his lips. “I should probably find a way to get to town...” And just as he said that a bright flash of lighting had you bulging your eyes and a loud rumble of thunder shook the house, heavy, aggressive rain pouring outside in a matter of seconds. Jungkook looked at you and you pursed your lips. “Or maybe not.” You said right before the lights flickered and you heard the refrigerator turn off. “Great.” You chuckled and Jungkook shook his head. “I’m really out of luck, I bet my car is already fucked by now.” He sighed, resting his head in his hands. “If you have insurance your car will be fine.” You said standing up to test the lights before confirming the power was off and heading for the kitchen drawers, looking for candles. “We don’t have any more food or water,” Jungkook interjected, watching you bring two packs of candles and leave them on the table. It was still pretty illuminated in the house, despite the dark clouds making it seem like the sun was already setting. “I, well, we do, actually, my grandmother has a bunker I guess, she has a lot of canned foods and stuff like that, also a shit load of water, we should be good.” You informed, walking back to the table, noticing that Jungkook’s hair was wet. “Did you take a shower?” You asked, and Jungkook furrowed his brows in confusion. “Your hair is wet.” You said as you sat down. His hand moves up to his hair, running his fingers through the damp locks. “Oh... I guess they just take a long time to dry.” He shrugged, and you gave him a look of confusion before finishing your breakfast. “You don’t mind me staying?” He asked after you both finished eating, you were at the sink, washing the dishes as he sat on the kitchen counter right beside you, watching. “Honestly, what’s a couple more days gonna do. Besides, I would probably shit my pants if I had to go through a hurricane in the dark by myself.” Jungkook lifted his brow at that. “So... Another thing you need a man for other than getting off?” He gave you a smug look. You rolled your eyes at him, spraying some water onto him. “No! Company doesn’t necessarily require a man, Jungkook.” You answered, finally finishing the dishes, placing them to dry. “And you seem to be obsessed with the idea of me getting off.” You dried your hands and looked at him, leaning on your hands on the counter. There it was. That lazy, charming smirk of his. One that honestly had your panties twisting. “You want me to lie?” He cocked his head. “You’re outrageous.” You chuckled, turning your back to him and taking a few steps before you were stopped by a cold hand on your upper arm. It wasn’t a tight grip, if anything, it was a gentle one. He was already on his feet, tugging you back to him, and the little huff you let out once your body fell flush against his had him smiling wider, your hands resting on his chest. “You know what’s outrageous?” His hands slipped down your arms gently to rest on your hips, it was almost as if he was hesitant to touch you, waiting for consent, as his silky voice spoke, his back rested against the counter, legs slightly parted for you to slot yourself in the middle. “The fact that I know I can make you cum so hard and good that your legs stop working and you’re here pretending you don’t know.” That had a blush spreading on your cheeks, a loud swallow almost inaudible because of the hard rain hitting the window just behind him. “How would I really know, though? You seem like a teller, not a shower.” You teased back, already feeling heat cripple down your body. You could feel his firm body against yours, even if you weren’t exactly pressed to him and his hands rested gently on your hips. You moved your gaze up. Even a little slouched down he towered over you, eyes glossy and full of intention, and that smirk. That freaking smirk. His pink tongue came out to flicker over his bottom lip, your gaze following it before moving back to his dark eyes. “May I?” His gaze moved to the hands on your hips and you blinked slowly up at him, nodding once. What was once a hesitant touch to your hips became a hard, deliciously painful grip. Thumbs digging into the dip of your hip bone and pulling your hips into him, your middle gently rubbing against his. Your lips parted as you gently let your head fall back, giving him an opening even you weren’t aware of in your clouded judgement. And soon, lips were on the expanse of your neck. Soft, damp lips, grazing your skin and sending ripples of goosebumps down your body, eliciting soft whimpers from your parted lips. “The things I’ll do to you...” He whispered against your skin, parting his lips to gently nip at the curve of your neck and jawline. It was as if you were entranced, truly. His body, words, touch was like a magnet to you, unable to even think properly as he littered his way up with gentle kisses, sucking softly at your skin once you whimpered at a rather sensitive spot. “Jungkook...” You whimpered out and he rolled his hips into you at the sound of his name, clearly pleased with how it sounded coming from you. Your arms quickly moved to wrap around his neck as he made his way up, more and more, lips tracing your jawline all the way to your chin before he hovered right against your lips, eyes almost shut as he looked at the ultimate surrendering look on your face. Your eyes opened into slits, looking back at the intense gaze he was giving you, lips almost aching with the want to be kissed, you wanted to kiss him so bad, no... You needed to kiss him. It was almost as if you were desperate. “Do you want me to kiss you, sweetheart?” His breath fanned against your lips, warm and smelling of coffee. Just as you were about to answer, another bright flash of lightning blinded you for a second before the violent rumble of thunder shook the house. You squealed, it was so close and Jungkook, despite his manly frame also had bulging eyes as he looked around, watching the lamps shake slightly. “Shit, that was a close one.” He let out under his breath. You could feel something poking against the edge of your stomach and suddenly you didn’t feel in the mood to make out with him, but rather protect yourself. “You think we should go to the bunker?” You asked, looking back at him with wide eyes and a slight pout on your lips. He was so endeared. You looked just like you did when you were a child, scared of whatever it was, and he sighed, despite the arousal still very clear in his eyes. “Yeah, we can go to the bunker. Can you grab some blankets and pillows? I’ll grab your bag and the candles.” He informed and you nodded, quickly making your way up the stairs. The “bunker” was actually the basement, with concrete walls and with shelves filled with canned foods and gallons of water along with medicine. There were two sleeping bags, one that was meant for you and another that was meant for your grandmother, and as you laid them down, placing the pillows and blankets on them, Jungkook was strategically placing the candles around the room, using a lighter he found in a drawer to light them. When he was done, he went up the little stairs to close the door, the strong lock making a loud nose. He made his way back to the candlelit room, you were already seated, with crossed legs on one of the sleeping bags, eyes a little wide as you heard rumble after rumble of thunder. “It’s really pouring out there.” He said as he sat down beside you, trying to ease you a little. “I don’t remember going into this bunker since... I don’t even remember.” You admitted, taking in a deep breath. “It’s... Scary.” “What is, the bunker?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. You pursed your lips. “No... I guess... It’s scary not knowing what’s going to happen. We can be here and think we’re safe, but the whole house can fall on us and then poof... We’re gone. That’s scary.” You swallowed at the thought. Jungkook nodded, understanding what you meant. “I think... Death isn’t meant to be scary. It’s the not knowing that is scary.” He said, and you looked at him, watching him look ahead as if rearranging his thoughts. “Some believe in heaven and hell, others believe in reincarnation, I think it’s all in an effort to give them some peace, fear death a little less.” He nodded, and you brought your knees to your chest. “What do you believe in?” You asked, resting your cheek on your knees, looking at him. He thought for a few seconds, nibbling on his lower lip. “I don’t know. I want to believe that when we die... We go to a place where all our loved ones are waiting for us, where we find peace and we can choose to either live in peace or go back and do it all over again.” He looked at you. “But I can’t really believe in that when I’m just as terrified of dying as I am of being alive.” His brows furrowed and so did yours. “Like... What if I die alone? What if I die forgotten somewhere, in the cold, all by myself? What if I die knowing that I accomplished so many financial things in life but not... Emotional? No one to love, no one to be loved by. That terrifies me.” “Not being loved?” You asked, and he shook his head. “Dying as alone as I lived.” And that hit you like a ton of bricks. You and Jungkook were so alike it was really frightening. You were also alone, having conquered so many things in life. With your own business, money, success. But at the end of a busy day, you went home and you were alone. Alone with yourself and your silence. And you didn’t notice until now how lonely you were. “At least here... If anything happens, I know I won’t die alone. I’ll die with my childhood best friend and honestly, someone I really want to get to know better.” He looked at you again with a smile and you never felt so comforted. Your grandmother didn’t die alone. Even if you had spent most of your years away from her, even if you had only come back to this town to hold her hand one last time before she took her final breath. You were there, and so were her friends. She wasn’t alone. And even if you didn’t know what happened after, you’d like to believe that she was with your father and mother, hugging each other again, your grandmother filling them in on how well you had grown up. Smiling fondly back at him you both were quiet for a while, still hearing the thunder outside, but now it was less scary to you. “I think we have some cards here somewhere.” You said standing up and rummaging through a drawer, Jungkook threw his head back with a grunt. “Ugh, thank god, I was already starting to think we were going to die of boredom down here.” He chuckled, and you scoffed. “Good to know my company bores you, Jungkook.” You found the pack of cards making your way back to the pile of blankets you had made. “Please, you’re far from boring. If anything you’re really fucking interesting. Really proud of who you grew up to be, even if you can be a heartless bitch that wants to sell her childhood home so it can become a strip club.” He quirked a brow with a teasing grin and you slapped his arm. “Oh, shut up. I’m not sure I’m going to sell the house anymore, I might have other plans.” You said without looking at him, taking the cards out. “Do you know how to play poker?” You asked flashing him a grin. He raised a brow. “Can we make it interesting?” And you squinted at him with his lazy smirk that made you tingle. “Is it something kinky?” You asked with a tilt of your head. “Definitely.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes before giving in. “Fine, whatever, you pervert.” If you had known Jungkook was this good at poker, you probably wouldn’t have agreed on making it strip poker, because now you were in your bra and panties, no socks on and he was only but socks and shirt down. You want to blame your loss on his exposed chest, your eyes unable to focus on anything other than his ripped abs, but in reality, Jungkook was just really good at poker and his annoying cocky smirk and those strong arms draped over his legs only made you more annoyed ― and turned on. “Royal flush. Lose the bra.” He set his cards down giving you a very pointed look. Your mouth fell agape because you really weren’t expecting this at all. For a second, you thought about ending the game, but the way his eyes roamed down your half-naked body really made heatwaves rush down your spine. Placing your cards down, you let your tongue flick over your lower lip, his eyes didn’t miss that as he watched your hands move to your back to unclasp your bra. There was a look of anticipation in his eyes, glossy lids focused on your chest as you let the straps fall down your shoulders, your eyes focused on him before you slowly peel the undergarment off, exposing your perked nipples. His jaw clenched at the sight of your exposed breasts, eyes moving all over to take them in, and there was a slow almost shaky exhale coming from him, making you pant slightly. The sexual tension in the air was as thick as the rumbling clouds in the sky. You were almost bare for him, and he loved that. Loved that he was getting the chance to see you, all for himself. You leaned back on your hands, your breasts arching forward, bouncing slightly and there was almost an animalistic growl bubbling in him. “Take off your panties.” He breathed out, commanded, asked, you really didn’t care. There was no game anymore, that you knew for sure, and one single hand moved down to tug at the side of your underwear gently, pushing it down before you pushed the other side, sliding it down your legs. You let the fabric rest along with your bra, your heat still covered by your thighs before you bent your knees up to your chest, looking at him with lust-filled eyes. You loved the way he was looking at you, with so much want and so much desire it almost clogged your lungs. And he waited patiently, his own chest slightly heaving up and down before you slowly parted your legs for him to see all of you. Fully bare and spread for him. “Fuck.” He cursed out, and you knew that if he didn’t swallow thickly, his mouth would have pooled with drool. You could feel his heavy gaze fixed on your heat and you knew he could see it glisten as the candles flickered. “Fuck, please, please can I touch you?” He breathed out, one hand already placed on the blankets in front of him, ready to crawl to you. The desperation in his voice almost made your hands falter. “Yes, yes, do anything you want with me.” You spoke out just as breathless. And before you even had a chance to breathe back in, he was on you. Slotted right between your legs and hungry, desperate mouth on yours, you whimpered into his mouth, tongue flicking out to find his. He tasted so divine, so heavenly and you let yourself lay back on the blankets as he kissed you like it was the last time. Passionate, tender even, but messy and wet. He grunted against your lips as his hips rolled into your slit, you could feel the outline of his hardened length against your bare heat and your eyes rolled back at the delicious rub. Your hands moved to his hair, fingers tangling in between his locks. They were still wet. But you were less focused on that, and rather focused on his hot breath against your lips, sweet taste on your tongue, and the way his body rolled into you so expertly. He pulled away only to latch them onto your neck, kissing and sucking harshly at your skin, probably leaving bruises in his path down your body. He didn’t relent when he met your breasts, sucking one perked nipple into his mouth with a deep vibrating groan that rippled down your body, sending shivers down your spine. You arched into his mouth, whimpering softly as little shocks of pleasure shot straight to your core. “Jungkook.” You whimpered out and his brows furrowed, hips rolling into you harder as he let your nipple go with a lewd pop. “Fuck, I love it when you say my name like that, sounds so perfect.” He whispered against your skin, moving his lips down your middle, kissing just below your navel and you know where he’s headed, already parting your legs further for him. “Good girl.” You barely catch the whispered praise, but as you do, you feel your cheeks blushing furiously, heart picking up in rate. A loud moan rips right out of you, fingers gripping at the blankets once you feel his mouth wrap around your nub. He sucks it into his mouth softly, tongue swirling around and under it, making you choke out whimpers and moans at the intense pleasure. If anything, he seemed like a fucking pro, letting your nub free only to flatten his tongue, dipping the tip into your aching entrance before lapping up your slit to suck your clit right back into his mouth with a deep groan in his chest. Your arousal was all over him, lips, chin, tongue. And you loved how messy it looked, how completely hungry he seemed to be buried in your cunt. The soft sucks to your clit became more frequent, tongue swirling it around inside his mouth and you let out a high pitched whimper, signaling he was at the perfect spot. Jungkook was a good listener, and he was adamant in making you cum, more than once. He sucked harder and harder, both hands moving to spread your legs wider, thumbs so close to the edges of your entrance as he spread it open, the ache becoming more unbearable as it stretched slightly. With just a few more sucks you let your head fall back and back arch off the blankets, legs shaking violently before a hard wave of pleasure washed down your body. Vision flashing white and extremities tingling, you couldn’t feel your legs. Your empty core clenched around nothing and he could feel it with the edge of his thumbs so close to your entrance. He sucked softly again, riding your orgasm before he pulled away completely, only peppering small kisses over your swollen clit, watching you flinch slightly in overstimulation. You finally relaxed, back meeting the blankets once again and droopy eyes searching for him as you felt him crawl up over your body. The lazy smirk accompanied by cum coated lips and chin was way more than you were prepared for and you whined at the sight, tilting your head up to capture his lips. He only chuckled, pulling away to tease you. “You taste like fucking heaven.” He whispered, still pulling away every time you tried to catch his lips. “Would you like to taste yourself, sweetheart?” You nodded with a pout and he leaned in, tongue breaching your lips as he kissed you slowly, sensually, letting your cum coat your tongue as well, and you whimpered at your taste, making him pull away with a groan. “Fuck, I want to taste you more, please?” He asked, brows furrowed and your hand moved down in between your bodies to cup his hard bulge. Palm rubbing at it back and forth. His eyes fluttered as he let his head fall at the delicious rub of your palm. “I want your cock.” You whispered, and he took in a deep breathe, exhaling shakily. “Please? Please, Jungkook, please?” You begged, breathy voice, a little hoarse from your loud moans, and who the fuck was he to deny you of anything at this point. He was completely under whatever spell you had on him. He pushed his sweats down along with the black brief boxers he had under and his cock sprung up to hit against his stomach. You were right. He surely didn’t disappoint in the downstairs department. If anything, he was impressive. Thick and long, large veins adorning his hard length, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He was massive. You even questioned if you could take him at all, and the slight doubt on your face had him chuckling. “We’ll go slow, I promise.” He said in reassurance before he positioned himself at your entrance. He pushed slowly, and you felt your entrance stretch around him just as slow, the first inches were the hardest part, and once you felt that “pop” from his tip it was smooth sailing from there, your core stretching around his thick girth with a slight burn, he grunted as he slowly bottomed out, stilling as he panted, resting his forehead on yours, being careful not to press his wound onto you. “Can I move, sweetheart?” He asked softly, clearly strained, his hands moving to find yours, interlocking his fingers with yours right beside your head. You nodded at him, feeling so full your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Good girl.” He said a little louder this time, pulling out only to roll his hips into you with a breathless groan. The praise along with the thrust had your core clenching around him, making him hiss at the tight fit. “Fuck, so good.” He breathed out, starting a slow, steady grind of his hips in and out of you, cock twitching so deep inside, you could feel him in your cervix. “H-harder.” You whispered and Jungkook snapped his hips into you without warning, eliciting a loud, high-pitched moan from you. “Like that, baby?” He questioned, moving his lips to the shell of your ear. You whined and he let out an airy chuckle, biting down on his lower lip as he pulled back only to snap them forward harder this time. Your body bucked with each hard snap of his hips, his hands moving from yours to rest beside your head, hold himself up as the other moved to wrap gently around your neck, your entrance clenched harder at it. “Oh, what a surprise.” He breathlessly teased. “The heartless bitch likes to be fucked like a whore.” And you wish you were mad at it, but truly, you did. You liked it rough and dirty just as much as you liked it slow and passionate. “Good thing I’m a pro at it.” He gave you that cocky smirk before he started a relentless pace into you, hips snapping so hard your breasts bounced with each powerful thrust, feeling him hit deep into your core over and over. “Such a sweet girl...” He spoke as he fucked you, grip tightening around your throat. “Making mud pies, playing hide and seek and getting fucked by her childhood friend in the basement of her childhood home, full fucking circle.” He snapped them hard with a grunt, making you reach out to latch your nails to his shoulders. “That’s it, baby, feel my cock deep inside of you, feel it drag in and out of that sweet, tight cunt. Feel every ridge, every vein, make yourself cum all over it like you do with those pathetic toys.” He growled out. You already expected Jungkook to be a dirty talker, you just didn’t expect him to be this fucking good at it. “Just like that, yeah? Fuck, if it were for me you’d never use a fucking toy again, only my cock, I’d fill you up every fucking second of the day, creaming this tight pussy over and over as if it was made for me.” You clenched tight as his grip tightened, feeling your second high already creeping in on you. God, he was so good. “Fuck, scratch that, this little pussy was made for me, you’re all mine, all fucking mine.” He closed his eyes, getting lost in the sensations of your tight, hot walls hugging his length, deliciously rubbing against his cock as he fucked into you again and again. “Say it.” His strained out breathy voice blurted out, and you didn’t need him to explain to know. “I-I’m y-yours, Jungkook, all y-yours.” You were sure you had broken skin by now, your nail digging and scratching as you felt your high approach you at an unforgiving speed. “That’s a good fucking girl.” And there it was, the praise again. And that alone seemed to send your high ripping through your body aggressively. Choked out sobs and shaking body making you unable to think and even Jungkook was surprised when you came, holding you in place as you let it wash over you, blinding your vision and making the slide of his cock even more smooth. The choked out broken whimpers and moans were music to his ears as he felt you clench over and over around his length, his brows furrowing as he concentrated on the feeling while helping you ride your second high. He slowed his unforgiving pace back down to a slow grind of his cock, the hand around your throat moving to interlock your fingers again as the other one gently soothed you, clearing the wild locks away from your face, he shushed your quiet sobs as he leaned down to kiss the tears― even you didn’t know you let fall down ― away. It was so tender, so gentle, you weren’t used to that from someone that was only but a one time lover. But was Jungkook only but a lover? He was your childhood friend. And sure, it had been a long time since you had seen him, and to some people that would make you strangers, but you weren’t strangers, in fact, you knew each other very well. He knew that you chewed on your lower lip when you were nervous. You knew that his eyes went wide and dear-like when he was surprised. He knew that you hated storms and the rain. And you knew that he had always protected you since you were kids. His brows were furrowed as he rested his forehead against yours again, you could tell he was close, could tell he was only savoring the pleasure as his lips parted to let out a low, deep whimper of his own. His eyes opened to look straight at you, it was so personal. So intimate. And right when he was there at the edge, he leaned down to capture your lips in a messy, uncoordinated kiss as you felt his cock twitching inside of you, spilling his hot cum deep within. His breath was so harsh an aggressive coming from of his nose and he couldn’t kiss you for long as groan after groan left him and he came. Fuck, he was even hotter when he came. You were doomed. It took him a few minutes before he finally stopped. Breathing harshly before he rolled off of you, laying beside you. You both went quiet for a few minutes, only catching your breaths before he turned his head to you, a lazy smile spread on it. “Told you so.” He let out a cocky smirk. “You’re outrageous.” You scoffed at him and he reached out, pulling you flush against his side. You rested your head on his damp chest, both of you flushed and fucked out. There was a quiet moment where you both just looked at it each other, it was as if time stops, as if everything made sense right there, right at that moment. It felt like home. He felt like home. Just like this house. Peaceful. And if death was anything like this, you’d gladly die. “I know this is really weird... But I really feel like telling you I love you right now.” He admitted with a loud swallow, Adam’s apple bopping. Your heart did something you weren’t aware it could do. “Maybe it’s the after-sex haze, but I really feel like saying it back.” You said too, cheeks blushing slightly at your admittance. “I love you.” He whispered out. And you were surprised by how it didn't feel weird, by how it didn’t sound foreign. It was as if you heard it a thousand times before, but also as if it were the first time and truly, it was. But it felt... Real. “I love you.” You said it back and his lips spread into a wide smile. Maybe he felt it too, felt how familiar it sounded, how... Fitting it was. And maybe it wasn’t love at all, maybe it was just the afterglow of sex and that was ok, you’d both deal with it later. Right now you just wanted to bask in this feeling, nothing outside really mattered. Not even the rumbling of the thunder still roaring in the sky. “God, I suddenly feel really fucking tired.” He huffed out, and you chuckled. “You can sleep if you want.” You said but Jungkook’s brows furrowed, his once damp skin suddenly turned ice cold against you and you gasped. “Jungkook?” You called, but he still had his brows furrowed, his lips suddenly changing shades. You sat up, looking down at his naked body, he was shaking, trembling so violently it felt like he was possessed. His skin had turned pale even under the yellow glow of the candles. And you watched the gauze on his head turn crimson red, taking over the whole thing. “Jungkook!” You called louder, but the boy only moaned as if in pain. Reaching out for the gauze, your fingers brush his hair. They were soaked, dripping onto the blankets as if he was right under pouring water. Your eyes bulged, so confused at what was happening. “Y-Y/N?” He called out your name and your trembling hands cupped his ice-cold face. “Jungkook? I’m here, I’m right here, tell me what’s happening!” You desperately asked. His eyes opened slightly, and you felt like you were breaking into a million pieces at the pure sadness in them. “Please... Find me. I don’t want to die alone.” He whispered out, and you were even more confused at his statement. Desperately trying to understand but not wanting to stay still, turning your back to him, you hurridly got dressed, looking through the drawers desperatly for something to clean his wound, and just as you turned back to him there was no one there. Your eyes bulged, your heart racing. What was happening? What was going on? You looked at the door, it was still sealed shut, there was no way he could have gotten up and opened it in the state he was. There was no way you wouldn’t have heard him! “Jungkook?!” You called for him as you made your way up the stairs and out of the basement. You roamed the house, desperation laced in your voice, on your face in the tears that― unknown to you ― streamed down your face. You looked for his clothes that you put to dry in the laundry, there was nothing there. But the food was there, you ran to the mirror and his marks were there. Please... Find me. I don’t want to die alone. That was what he had said. And even if nothing made sense right now, even if reason and logic weren’t on your side, your brain worked at full capacity, head aching, throbbing, knees falling to the floor as your hands came in between your hair. You wanted to scream. What was happening, what was happening, what did he mean? I lost control of my car down on the secluded road somewhere... Your eyes bulged at the memory, maybe... Just maybe that’s where Jungkook was. Maybe he had gone back for his car, maybe... Just maybe you weren’t going insane. The storm roared outside, the hurricane now at its peak, but something inside you roared louder, no matter how crazy you felt. You didn’t even bother to put on your shoes, grabbing your car keys and going out in the absolute havoc of a storm, soaking wet and shivering cold you got in your car with a struggle as the wind was strong against you. Turning the engine on, it took a few turns and a few punches to your wheel for it to finally come to life. You were a good driver, but in these conditions, even the most skilled driver could die. You didn’t care, something deep inside of you screamed that you were running out of time. You drove in the pouring rain and wild aggressive wind unable to properly see as you sobbed uncontrollably trying to remember where the secluded road was. It was a shortcut people always took when they wanted to get from the farms back to town quicker instead of taking the highway. It was also up a mountain with a lot of trees. Bumpy roads and slippery, muddy tracks. You drove regardless, making your way up the mountain road, mud making your tires turn falsely here and there, but you relented, and you drove, cursing out loudly. “Where the fuck are you?!” You screamed before you saw on the horizon a black car, clumped down the hill a little, the front smashed straight into a tree, you drove until you were close enough, sprinting out of your car as you ran to his. “Jungkook!” You screamed as you reached the driver’s door. The windows were shattered, rain falling into the car and there he was, unconscious, the cut still very much there, unattended in the same clothes you had met him in. You tried opening the door, but it seemed jammed. And you screamed in frustration as you hit the car a few times before trying again, pulling as hard as you could, kicking the sides to try to make it budge. Your free hand moved to grip at the edge of the shattered window, broken glass digging into your flesh, but you were filled with adrenaline and dread, pure dread. Jungkook was dying. You gave all you had until you finally felt the door budge, swinging open and almost throwing you back. You stumbled in the hard rain, the wind blowing so hard against you, you felt like you could fly away as you reached into the car, undoing his seat belt before wrapping your arms around his middle. You were small compared to Jungkook. And even if now you were questioning if anything that had happened in the last day was real or just some sort of feverish dream, you knew he was heavy, you pulled him out of the car with a lot of effort, grunting as he flopped down on the muddy floor. You leaned over him, seeing his lips blue, his cut still very much bleeding. Your shaking hands reached for his pressure point, searching for a pulse and you concentrated, feeling it so faint against your fingers. He didn’t have much time. You dragged him to your car, slipping as you used all your force to get him there, but somehow you did, somehow you were able to open your back seat and push him inside. You didn’t even know you had it in you. And fuck did you drive. You drove fast, knowing it took at least ten to twenty minutes from the secluded road to the town hospital, and in this weather, it was harder to drive up the mountain, but you did, you drove fast and relentless and once you made it to the hospital it all happened too fast. The nurses and doctors rushing to pull Jungkook out of the car, lay him on the stretcher. Your bloody hand wiping your hair out of your face as you followed them in. But you couldn’t hear anything. You couldn’t hear the questions, you couldn’t hear the shouts. All you could see was Jungkooks’ almost lifeless body, so pale and fragile. Fuck... You... You kissed him. You touched him, didn’t you? You... You said you loved him. Was it your imagination? How... How would you imagine this, how would you imagine where he was, that he was hurt? It didn’t make sense to you. “Miss! How long has he been unconscious?!” The nurse yelled, taking you out of your racing thoughts. “Since... Around seven pm yesterday.” You mumbled out, still walking with them, watching them put wires, tubes, oxygen on him. That’s all you could really think, that Jungkook was never really there, that he had been unconscious in his car since the moment he knocked on your door. “Are you his wife, family?” She asked, and you shook your head. “I’m... I’m his childhood friend.” You almost couldn’t speak. “I’m going to have someone take a look at your hand, you’re going to have to stay here.” And just like that, he was gone. Past the double doors. You waited. Even after someone had come and sutured your hand, you waited, soaked, cold. You waited, even after you saw Jungkook’s father storm in between the hospital doors. Even after he had spoken to you, thanked you for saving his son after all these years. You waited until the storm was gone, nothing but a light breeze and scattered leaves outside on the wet asphalt. You waited until he woke up and the nurse had told you he didn’t remember you. You waited until his father said that he didn’t feel comfortable having someone he hadn’t seen in sixteen years wait for him at the hospital. He didn’t remember. Of course, he didn’t remember. Jungkook was stuck unconscious in a car for 24 hours and you? You were visited by someone, something urging you to save his life. And you didn’t really spend any more time wondering if it was really him, perhaps his spirit, perhaps his consciousness. You didn’t even waste your time wondering why you. Wondering why put you through something so painful, no matter what it was. In the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Jungkook was safe, alive. And whatever supernatural thing had happened that allowed you to save him... You were thankful. Two weeks had gone by since everything. The house extremely quiet as you packed your grandmother’s things slowly, not one drop of rain to keep you from doing anything at all. In the end, you had moved all of her things to the attic, deciding to maybe spend some time here, take a break from work. You didn’t allow yourself to think about Jungkook or try to explain what had happened. You had spent the first few nights crying yourself to sleep as nothing made sense, but the excruciating pain still haunted you. It hurt that he didn’t remember. Sighing as you looked at the rough drawing of the renovations you wanted to make to the house in front of you, you reached for your mug of coffee. The afternoon sun coming through the windows and making the whole place seem cozy. You were also baking some cookies, deciding to keep the house as you remembered it. Something always in the oven. And you had tried a new recipe, vegan. Testing out to see if they worked, if they would taste as good as... You brushed the thought away, focusing on the paper in front of you. It was three loud knocks that brought you out of your thought. You wondered if it were perhaps a neighbor, or maybe even the delivery boy coming to bring you the groceries you had called earlier for. But you gasped once you opened the door. “Jungkook.” You whispered out, surprise and dread written all over your face. He looked just a good as he did that day. The cut on his head now almost healed completely. “Uh, hey. Y/N, right?” He sounded shy, hesitant. One hand coming to rub the back of his neck. But the way he had said it only made your heart break, he really didn’t remember. “I was heading back to town, but... My dad told me that you were the one that saved my life so... I wanted to stop by to thank you, I guess. This is really awkward for me.” He nervously said. “Y-you’re Y/N, right?” “You seriously don’t recognize me, Jungkook?” You swallowed the lump in your throat, repeating the same words he had said to you that day. “I’m sorry, it’s... It’s been a really long time. You look really different.” He pursed his lips. “Y-yeah, that’s me... And... There r-really is no need to thank me. I’m glad you’re s-safe and ok.” You swallowed harder, nodding at him. Jungkook swallowed before he took in a deep breath, brows furrowing right after as his nostrils flared. “Are you baking cookies?” He smiled, hands coming into his pockets. He was more relaxed now it seemed. You pursed your lips, a soft smile spreading on them. “Would you like to come in and try them? They’re vegan.” The end. N/a: Now that you read it, yes, it’s based of Charlie St. Cloud. I freaking LOVE that movie. I hope you enjoyed this fic! <3

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p-artsypants · 3 years ago

Text

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (6)

St. James Infirmary

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Relationships:

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe

Characters:

Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alya Césaire, Nino Lahiffe, Nathalie Sancoeur, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth

Additional Tags:

Temporary Character Death, Murder Mystery, off screen murder, Ghosts, Supernatural - Freeform, Haunting, Horror, Psychological Thriller, Eventual Happy Ending, I promise, Song fic, Halloween Flavored, Identity Reveal, Aged Up, Canon Universe, Mabel Voice: He's Resting, SPOOOKKKYYYYYY

Ao3 | FF.net

The night of the visitation, it rained. Like a kick to the gut, a painful reminder of what it was like to fall in love…now was only a soothing presence to losing love.

The old umbrella in her hand didn’t help either. It was his. Adrien’s. The very same he gave her that day over ten years ago.

Marinette had agonized over what to wear for too long. It was a wake, so black, right? She had this outfit picked out and everything. A sharp blazer over her little black cocktail dress, with black pumps. Even though it was a wake, it was a wake for her boss, one of the most influential fashion moguls in the world, and she would be taking his place. She had to look her best.

But then, she changed her mind. It was a social event, yes, and she would be in the public eye and representing the brand, true!

But it felt gross.

The cocktail dress was too sexy for a wake, and wearing that much black made her look goth.

It just wasn’t right.

Then she saw the dress. A rose pink, knee length dress that flared out as it went down. It had little black polka dots on it.

And it was Adrien’s favorite. He said so every time she wore it.

Too peppy for a wake. Too casual, too fun and flirty. But a black cardigan over it, and she felt perfect.

She could almost hear his voice as she posed in the mirror.

“I love that dress on you. You look so cute, Marinette.”

It made tears spring to her eyes.

So no makeup then. Because she knew she would be crying a lot more tonight.

“Don’t forget to pack tissues,” Tikki reminded, helpfully.

“Right, thank you, Tikki.” She tucked the little package in her purse.

With one last pass of the brush through her hair, she was ready.

So now she stood outside of the manor, the gate open.

Well folks, I'm goin' down to St. James Infirmary

See my little baby there

She's stretched out on a long, white table

Well she looks so good, so cold, so fair

The paparazzi stood nearby with their cameras, ready to swoop in like vultures.

She must have paused for too long, because they descended on her quickly, shoving mics in her face and asking questions.

Didn’t they know why she was here? Didn’t they know what she was going through?

An arm reached around her shoulders and started leading her forward. “Alright everyone, that’s enough! Can’t you see she’s not in the mood?” Her rescuer shouted.

The reporters didn’t pass through the gate, as that would have been trespassing. So thankfully, the crowd was left behind as they moved forward.

“Thank you,” she said to the unfamiliar man.

“Of course, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” He nodded.

“You know me?”

“I know of you. Head intern to Gabriel Agreste himself, if I’m not mistaken. I’m from Harper’s Bazaar.”

“Oh...a reporter.”

“Yes, but I really was just here as a guest to pay my respects. I’ve interviewed both Gabriel and Adrien a few times.”

“I see.”

He led her into the house.

Let her go, let her go, God bless her,

Wherever she may be,

She will search this wide world over,

But she'll never find another sweet man like me.

She was early, as Nathalie had instructed. No other guests were here. Just funeral staff, some family, and two steel caskets.

Two steel closed caskets.

Might make retrieving Adrien’s ring a bit of a problem, but not seeing his face…cold, motionless, and waxy would keep her somewhat sane.

The man walked with her right up to the casket, the one with Adrien’s picture next to it.

“It’s a shame. That much skill, the absolute genius spread between the two of them. The world as a whole will never be the same.”

“Yeah.”

“Any idea what’s going to happen next? Not that this is an interview, I’m just curious.”

She shrugged, “well, I’ve been offered the position, and everyone wants me to take it...but it’s so…”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yes.” She rested her hand on the casket. “I wish I could have a moment alone with him.”

“Let me see what I can do.” He smiled, then he called louder, to the room. “The lady would like a few minutes alone, if possible.”

“Is she family?” A staff member asked.

“This is Madam Dupain-Cheng, she’s the successor to Gabriel’s empire. She’s practically family!”

There was no arguing with that, and the group of staff members filed out into the adjacent dining room.

“Thank you,” Marinette called to the man, still not getting his name.

“Don’t worry about it darling.” And he followed them out.

Marinette glanced around the room, just to make sure she was alone. “Tikki?”

“I’m here!”

“I need you to keep watch.” The casket had two doors, one on top that would have been open if this was a regular visitation, and one over the legs. She slid the flower arrangement on top over to the bottom section and ran her hand over the edge. She pulled up slightly, and as she feared, it was sealed.

“It’s locked,” she lamented.

“Let me try!” Tikki zipped around the casket, and a moment later, it clicked and the cap opened ever so slightly.

Marinette took a deep breath as her fingers curled under the lip.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Just…I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to see what he looks like. I don’t want to…” but she put her reservations on hold, and pushed the lid up.

She choked out a startled gasp. “Oh no…”

Now, when I die, bury me in my straight-leg britches,

Put on a box-back coat and a stetson hat,

Put a twenty-dollar gold piece on my watch chain,

So you can let all the boys know I died standing pat.

Instead of the mangled body of her true love, there was only a pile of sandbags.

Tikki, also horrified, went over to Gabriel’s casket and phased inside. Then she popped out, “this one is the same!”

Marinette closed the lid and moved the flowers back into place, her mind moving at a mile a minute. Vaguely, she heard the click of the casket as Tikki put it to rights.

Marinette was panicking, but quickly calmed herself down. This didn’t mean anything malicious, not yet. Maybe they were cremated and the family wanted to keep it a secret. Or because there’s no graveside service, their bodies had already been buried.

Who was she kidding, something was definitely going on.

A mystery that was just aching to be solved, but her first priority was to retrieve Adrien’s ring.

“--A moment alone!” A voice shouted from the dining room.

Marinette whirled around in time to see Felix storming towards her. Did he know? Was she caught?

He brushed past her, “move.” And went directly to the casket, grabbing the lip like she had.

“Please sir! You’ll damage the casket!” One of the funeral home staff rushed and grasped Felix by the shoulder. “It’s shut and locked, it can’t be opened again.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye!” Felix snarled. “Look at him!” He pointed at the photo on display next to the casket. “He has my face! I deserve to see him one last time!”

“Sir...he doesn’t look like that anymore. It would be very disturbing to see his remains.”

Disturbing indeed, considering Adrien wasn’t in there at all.

Amelie was quick to join the group and she consoled her son. “We talked about this. You knew it was going to be a closed casket.”

“They said the family had time alone. I just...wanted to say goodbye, face to face.” He shook his head and scowled. “He deserved that, at least.”

Marinette made herself small, feeling like an intruder in this family crisis. But Amelie still saw her and brought her in for a hug.

“How are you holding up, dear?” She asked, pulling away slightly.

“I’m…I’ve been better.”

“Of course, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Marinette had met Amelie and Felix more than a few times working at Gabriel. As the years went on, they came to visit more and more often. Amelie was always insistent that she call her ‘Aunt Amelie’ like Adrien. It felt weird to break the habit now.

“Isn’t pink a little too festive for the occasion?” Felix bit. The red from anger in his cheeks had faded. Now he just sounded bitter.

It was Adrien’s voice…but not. It was a shame Felix sounded so much like him.

He looked just like him too, minus the slicked back hair and glasses.

“Adrien really loved this dress,” Marinette whispered. “I know it’s not—I just—“

His face softened slightly, relieved that she had Adrien in mind, and not fashion. “Sounds fine to me.”

Even after the disastrous first encounter they had, Felix and Marinette never became friends. He and Adrien certainly got along, or at least appeared to, but Felix and Marinette were only ever cordial.

It was a wake, after all. He should be nice. He gave her a small smile, one that looked eerily similar to Adrien’s.

Before she could stop herself, she was hugging him.

He didn’t smell like Adrien at all. He smelled like clean cat litter and laundry detergent, not spicy cologne and the smallest hint of cheese. Belatedly, she realized the cheese smell was probably Plagg’s doing.

“Uh…” He said awkwardly, before sighing and patting her on the back.

“I’m sorry,” she pulled away. “Even though…” she trailed off with a blush, embarrassed with what she had done. “You just look like him.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “I worried about coming. I’m prepared for people to see me and burst into tears. Or hug me, like you did. I get it. As much as I would like otherwise, I’m willing to tolerate it for today.”

“That’s kind of you.”

His face softened further. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

Amelie gasped. “Felix! You can’t just ask things like that!”

“It’s okay,” Marinette assured, hugging herself. “You’re right. I was—am. I still love him, even though he’s gone.”

“And…you know what happened?”

She nodded. “It sucks. And I really wish I could allow one terrible action to wipe everything away…but I knew him. These last two weeks he wasn’t himself. He was cruel to me in a way I had never seen. It just…it wasn’t Adrien.”

Felix gave her a critical look. “I always assumed my cousin couldn’t hurt a fly. It’s…bizarre, what happened.”

“It’s not public knowledge,” Amelie reminded. “And it should stay that way.”

“Who are we protecting by lying about it? The ‘Brand’? The family? Adrien himself?”

“What are they saying, anyway?” Asked Marinette.

“They’re saying both Adrien and Gabriel died from an in-home accident.”

“Vague,” said Felix. “Suspicious.”

“But better than ‘unknown causes’ at least,” said Marinette. “Maybe it’s selfish, but I want Adrien to be remembered for all the good he did…” As Chat Noir, her brain added, “and not the demons he faced in the end.”

“Still, I can’t help but wonder what made him snap,” he mused, looking at Marinette. “Do you have any idea what may have caused it?”

Her mind went back to two weeks, when he had asked her to dinner. He was nervous, and told her he had something to tell her.

And then that phone call a few nights ago. What had he said? Something about the basement?

“I’m…not sure. I’d have to think about it.”

“Perhaps you two could consider this mystery another day? Not during the visitation?” Amelie urged.

“Sorry mom, you’re right.” He glanced back at Marinette. “If you have anything on this, I’d love to hear it. I care deeply for Adrien, and honestly, I’m highly suspicious of these circumstances.”

Amelie huffed. “Darling, you heard Nathalie, what she saw, what the police found, it’s pretty cut and dry…”

“People don’t just murder their father’s for no reason! Especially with supposedly flawless mental health!”

The room grew quiet, as Felix’s outburst was louder than intended. Thankfully, guests had yet to arrive.

“Sorry. This whole thing…I’ve had enough of death in this lifetime.” He cleared his throat. “I need some water.”

When he left, Amelie squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t let Felix get to you. It’s just hard for him. He has so much in common with Adrien, it’s a little scary for him.”

Oh. That made sense. Fear he’d snap too?

“It was sudden for everyone. We’re all going through it.”

“They said you were having a moment alone with Adrien. I'll let you get back to it.” She squeezed her shoulder and left her in peace.

So now Marinette was left to wonder what she could possibly do. Where to even start? She didn’t need anymore time with an empty casket.

An' give me six crap shooting pall bearers,

Let a chorus girl sing me a song.

Put a red hot jazz band at the top of my head

So we can raise Hallelujah as we go along.

There were a few more guests now, but it was still a little early. She saw a man in a suit arranging flowers. He had a name tag on his lapel.

As casual as she could, she snuck over to him. “Excuse me, are you the funeral director by chance?”

“Oh? Yes I am. Bill Hunkerson, at your service. How can I help?”

She had to phrase this very carefully, to not be suspicious. “I’m a very close friend of Adrien’s. He was wearing a silver ring when he died. It doesn’t actually belong to him, and I was wondering if I could have it back.”

The man turned pale, but plastered on a smile. “Well, he’s probably wearing it now. Unfortunately, after we close the casket, we can’t open it again.”

She knew that was a big fat lie. And Marinette hated liars.

She lowered her voice. “Well, since his body isn’t actually in the casket, it shouldn’t be that hard, should it?”

The man stared at her, wide eyed, no longer smiling. “How did you—“ He frowned. “Look miss, I’m just doing what I’m paid for. I don’t know anything. That ring is probably gone forever, and I’d stop this search now.” He straightened his tie and bowed his head slightly. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Marinette opened her purse when she was alone. “I don’t know about you, Tikki, but I’ve got a bunch of red flags and alarm bells going off inside my head.”

“This isn’t good! We need to get that ring!”

“We need to find out what happened to Adrien’s body!”

“Yes, of course, that too!”

Marinette gnawed at the inside of her cheek. “Hey, no offense to Plagg, but wouldn’t he know to bring the ring back to me? If he can’t remove it, then wouldn’t he come tell me about it?”

Tikki’s eyes widened. “You’re right! If he died under normal circumstances, yes…but if he was transformed when he died…”

“Then what?”

“Plagg probably would be forced back into the ring. That’s probably why he didn’t come!”

“Now I’m even more worried and confused.” Marinette crossed her arms. “What if Adrien isn’t actually dead?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if…he ran away? And Gabriel made it out like he died? What if Gabriel’s still alive too?”

“It’s a theory, but I don’t know how well it will hold water.”

She studied the room again, trying not to draw attention to herself. She was supposed to be grieving after all.

Felix sat in the chairs over by the stairs, his back to the growing crowd.

Even if they didn’t really get along, two skeptics working together would be better than each on their own.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asked.

“I suppose not.” He sighed.

Marinette sat in the chair next to him, and sat quietly for a moment, trying to decide how to proceed. She didn’t want to reveal her whole hand, but maybe playing a few cards would be to her advantage.

Felix beat her to it. He let out a weak chuckle. “I hate this family.”

What an awful thing to say at wake. “Why’s that?” She asked calmly.

“They die too quickly. It sounds so awful, I know. But it’s just my mother and I now. Grandparents are long gone, then my Aunt Emilie, then my father, and now them. It sucks and I’m sick of stupid funerals.”

“It must be hard. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well...I’m a pro at it now.” He was resting his cheek on his hand, and was staring at the corner of a wall, just pointedly avoiding eye contact. Still, she could see he had red in his eyes. Though she chose to ignore it. Felix seemed to be the type to hide his tears.

“You know...the last time I talked to Adrien, he told me to check the basement.”

This piqued Felix’s curiosity enough for him to look at her. “Basement? What basement?”

“I suppose here, but I haven’t had the chance to, since you know…all this going on.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I used to come to this house all the time. It doesn’t have a basement.”

“So…maybe at the company?”

“Could be. I wouldn’t know.”

“Okay, I just wondered...since you were family…”

He growled. “Yeah, some family.”

“Do you...want to talk about it?” She offered, really hoping he would take the bait.

He chuckled again, no humor in his tone. “Might as well, no one around left to hide things from.” He leaned back in the chair. “Gabriel is...was a very private person. I tried to love him, since he was my uncle, but he did a very good job at keeping us at a distance. Adrien was the opposite. We talked often, even when his mom and my dad died and things got rough. Sometimes, it didn’t feel like we were welcomed here. But Adrien so wanted a connection. I could feel it in his hugs when we visited. He was starving, Marinette.”

Marinette willed herself not to start crying.

“Mom and I were told by Nathalie that Adrien and Gabriel were caught in a murder-suicide, as enacted by Adrien, early in the morning on the 23rd.”

“Did she tell you where the murder-suicide happened?”

“Nope, just that it happened in this house. As the only living relatives, she asked if we could come and help with the funeral arrangements.”

“Were you involved in all of it?”

“I thought mom and I did all of it together, but there was one thing that Nathalie insisted on and wouldn’t budge.”

“What’s that?”

“Gabriel is going to be interred in the Agreste family mausoleum, but Adrien…” he sighed with disgust. “As punishment, he’s getting an unmarked grave.”

“What!?”

“That was the compromise. The truth about the murder-suicide, which I am believing less and less, would be withheld from the public as long as Adrien was…effectively erased from the family line.”

She couldn’t help the tears that burst forth. “But that’s not fair! He didn’t do anything wrong! He couldn’t’ve!”

“Yeah kid, I know. I agree.” He scowled. “It makes me sick. I hate it. Adrien was suffering in life, and now he’s going to suffer in death.”

“You don’t think he did it?”

“Do you?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I know what’s been said, and what people saw...but it just can’t be true.” And she had evidence to prove it, in the form of that empty casket.

“You won’t mention I said any of this to my mom, right? She’s also having a hard time, but she tells me I’m in denial.”

“I won’t say a word.”

Folks, now that you have heard my story,

Say, boy, hand me another shot of that booze;

If anyone should ask you,

Tell 'em I've got those St. James Infirmary blues.

I’m not sure about next week’s update. I’m going camping and I don't know what the wifi will be like. Fingers crossed!

#ml #miraculous ladybug #the ghost of Smokey Joe #fanfiction #adrienette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste

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statticscribbles · 4 years ago

Text

Response

Summary: Malachai/Reader; When hiding your crush goes too far

“Hey Malachai. You busy?” You peer around the doorway of the office in his house and he peers over the reading glasses he has grinning. “Not for you; what’s up?” “I just wanted to tell you something; kinda of big.” “Oh? Got some words about some score?” “No, uhh, Lance proposed.” “Oh, you said yes right?” You try not to frown when Malachai forces a laugh. “Yeah I did.” You find yourself forcing a smile right back at Malachai and try your best not to voice the chorus of please stop me, please tell me you love me that repeats in your head as Malachai turns back to the paper work. “Let me know when the wedding is; I’ll save the date and all that.” He waves his hand and you sulk off, lingering in the hallway but far enough away you miss the way he hisses in anger shoving the paper work to the floor trying his best to snarl but it just ending up as sobbing.

The same is said for him; his imprisonment in his office results in him not seeing your eyes track the pictures of the Ghoulies hanging on the hallway; most of them some variation of you and him together, the other Ghoulies filtering in and out, Lance missing in all of them. He misses how you curl into yourself walking down the hall feeling more and more like a mistake; you make it to the living room, your eye catching onto the shelf that holds all the skulls and other knick-knacks; a sinking pit in your stomach that crawls up into your chest when you realize half of the items are things you’d bought on trips Malachai had sent you out on.

You’re not planning on avoiding him but James appears mumbling about you needing to show up to the next meeting or else; and you roll your eyes only a little shocked you’d managed to successfully avoid three meetings so far. You wonder why Malachai is so intent on letting your slacking go unpunished; maybe he just assumed you’re busy with wedding things. You’d been avoiding Lance if you’re honest as well; you’d gone to the first meeting after announcing the wedding to everyone; most of the Ghoulies congratulating you and making sly jokes about you trying to climb ranks; everyone switches it up claiming Lance is using you to climb ranks. You ignore the way Jenny’s hands linger on Lance and how he doesn’t seem to look towards you besides when someone almost shoves his head towards you. James keeps his voice steady as he repeats that Malacahi needs to see you now. He hisses and goads you towards the House of the Dead and you follow like the lamb you know you are, wondering how fast the slaughter will be.

You’re almost nervous when he calls you into the back of his house; it’s his bedroom, and area Ghoulies only go into when they don’t come out the same, either physically or emotionally injured. You hate how you hope it’s just a physically injury. You’re not sure what he’s upset about, missing meetings with a valid reason was never a problem; you couldn’t count the number of times the other Ghoulies had missed months of meetings just because they’d slept in or been in different cities unknown to the rest of the members.

“Y/N. Sit.” He gestures to the edge of the bed and you’re about to say something when he shoves a crumbled piece of paper into your face, almost pushing you back on the bed from the force of it. You’ve never seen him this upset and you hastily pull at the paper smoothing it to scan over the familiar rsvp and save the date letter you’d packed fifty of a week ago. You’re about to question it, but instead note the check mark that had been crossed out and redone at least four time. You finish smoothing it out and fold it nicely.

“Oh come on Y/N, you can’t be serious right? This is the most overly honeyed sryup-y fake love sounding wedding invitation I’ve ever read! Yeah sure till death do you part; uh-huh we’re all gonna believe that.” He snarls pulling the letter back towards him; you release it nervous about him ripping it. “Malachai please stop; please just-“ “You’re gonna die at 12:45 on May 17th; don’t worry I RSVP’d you’ll see me there, I’ll be in the back; waiting. You’ll be up at the altar minus the casket.” He snaps throwing the letter to the floor.

“Why are you so hung up on me marrying him? It was fine when he proposed; when we were dating but as soon as he wants to marry me? As soon as I want to be happy; there’s a problem? Why can’t you just let me be happy?” You scowl at him and watch as he recoils. “IF YOU THINK I DON’T WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY YOU NEED TO THINK ABOUT WHO INTRODUCED YOU; WHO SPENT ALL THAT TIME WITH YOU TRYING TO FIND YOUR DREAM GUY AND LETTING YOU SETTLE CAUSE WHOEVER YOU HAD IN MIND WANTED NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. COME ON Y/N; HOW CAN I MAKE IT MORE OBVIOUS I’VE BEEN IN LOVE WITH YOU THIS ENTIRE TIME.” “YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME WHEN I ASKED ABOUT GUYS WHO WERE INTERESTED IN ME!” You match his volume voice wavering only slightly and biting your tongue to scream how much you want to forget the whole wedding unless it’s with him.

“YOU NEVER WANTED ME!!” “I ONLY EVER WANTED YOU” You jerk back half panting form anger half sobbing when Malachai hesitantly tries to reach towards you. “Y/N.” “It’s fine Malachai; we’ve moved past it.” “Can’t move past something that never happened.” “Why does it hurt then?” You offer, your voice cracking and half hidden behind the tears starting.

“Y/N, baby come here.” He offers his arms out and you let yourself fold into him. You sit in silence trying your best not to memorize his face and his tattoo’s, or how his arms tighten around you and he sighs body relaxing slightly when you press yourself closer to him. “I caught Lance with Jenny; twice.” “I caught him three times, once with James, and twice more with Jenny.” Malachai speaks softly and you nod, not caring if he’s lying.

“And how many people have you been with?” You ask, not trying to justify anything, he just shakes his head and sighs. “None, not since we didn’t have anything happen.” You try your best to laugh but just end up crying for a moment. “Come on Y/N. It-“ “Didn’t matter.” You sigh resting your forehead on his shoulder. “Lance doesn’t even care.” Malachai hums in agreement and you try to nod but he leans back so you’re both lying on the bed. “Just relax, just sleep okay.” You don’t nod, keeping silent as you try your best to not think of anything that happened in the past twenty minutes.

You wake up alone, under the covers; you can hear people moving father towards the front of the house and you can’t hear much of anything beyond what sounds like casual chatter. You slide out of bed shaking off the sleep that remains and cringing when you can hear someone drop something expecting shouting; nothing comes and you try your best to keep your mind off of everything before your impromptu nap. “Mal’s? How long was I asleep?” You call out getting no response and sigh. “Malachai?” You continue to call as you walk into the living and main meeting room.

“Oh, hey Damien.” You nod to the Ghoulie sitting in the armchair. “Hey Y/N. Mal’s went out to get a drink. And food; he’s getting Pop’s I put in your usual order.” “Thanks Damien.” He nods and you can see the way his eyes flicker back to you that he knows. “He’s not getting Pop’s is he?” “Oh he is; he just had to-“ Damien doesn’t finish as Malachai comes back in holding pops in one hand and trying to hide something in his other hand as he see’s you in the room.

“Boss she’s-“ “I can see that Damien.” “I was gonna text you but-“ “It’s okay; go get your burger kid.” “I’m older than both of you.” “Then go get your burger gramps.” Malachai grins and Damien smirks. “What did you do?” You glare and Malachai rolls his eyes hold a bunch of flowers he’d tucked behind himself.

“You got me flowers?” “You always said flowers helped when you were sad.” “I said that like a year ago.” Malachai shrugs and hands them to you. You’re sitting next to Damien across from Malachai when theres a banging on the door. “Ignore it.” Damien shrugs and takes the distraction to steal two of your fries. “Hey those were mine!” You laugh and he grins Malachai’s eyes stray from the door only slightly. “Excuse me.” He huffs getting up and vanishing to the entrance way to answer the continued banging.

“So please tell me he didn’t plan some horrible surprise for me?” “Oh no; he’s making you make up for the missed meetings.” “Wait there’s a Ghoul meeting right now? I can’t; I have to-“ You’re trying to come up with an excuse and Damien shakes his head, nodding back to the seat you’d scrambled out of. “So. I’m glad we all responded in a decent time; as we all know. Y/N and Lance are getting married in May. Any objections? I have a feeling we’re not going to be let in the church; hell I think some of us might combust.” He wink and a couple of the Ghoulies laugh. “Well?” “This is dumb.” You speak up and a couple of the members grin shaking their heads.

“It’s not, not when it comes to you.” They chorus different iterations of this and you can feel annoyance prickling behind your eyes. “WHY? What the fuck does everyone suddenly care about me!!??” “We don’t; Malachai is in love with you so we gotta keep you happy.” The room goes silent and you turn to look at Malachai. “Malachai is what?” Malachai shakes his head. “Like you didn’t know that.” “You said you wanted me back, not that you were in love with me! That’s a whole different playing field Mals!” Malachai shakes his head.

“Not really, when it comes to you it doesn’t matter how I feel. I just need you to be happy, no matter who it’s with. Lance makes you happy we go with Lance; if it’s Damien or Sasha, hell even FP; whoever makes you happy, whatever makes you happy; is what my goal is. No matter what.” “So if I said I wanted you to kill someone.” “Name them. You mean everything to me Y/N.” “Then why were you letting me get away! Why did you never say anything?”

Malachai chews him lip and looks away from you towards the rest of the Ghoulies before nodding at them to leave. You sit, waiting as they leave, as the quiet settles on the house of the dead once more. You swear you can’t even hear the two of you breathing. “Y/N.” You’re not even sure where it came form or if he even opened his mouth but you nod waiting for an explanation. He nods back towards the back rooms; and you idly wonder what is going to happen in his bedroom this time.

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zukofenty · 4 years ago

Text

always be my maybe

➜ Summary: The one where Zuko and Katara could never quite get their timing right. Especially when the universe throws a lost condom, thousands of miles, and a baby in their way.

“I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me.”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Celebrity Chef!Katara, Doctor!Zuko, Love, Rosie!AU

AO3 @zutaraweek

“Go a couple rounds, leave Zuko’s dick up in a casket!” Toph screams into the microphone, undeterred by the various guests who stare up at her, mouth open and half-chewed, dry-as-fuck chicken spilling out. It wasn’t her fault, really! As soon as Zuko handed the mic off to her, he basically gave her free reign to spit a Megan Thee Stallion verse in his honor. “Sing with me, bitches! Look up the lyrics on Genius.com, Cheryl!”

“Sit down !” Katara squeezes out from clenched teeth, ripping the device out from the girl’s grip.

“I didn’t even get to the chorus, you fucking whore .” A bridesmaid nervously plucks the mic from their table and avoids eye contact with both of them. “What’s going on with you, bitch?” Toph asks quietly. She could tell Katara’s been doing her fake smile for the last twenty minutes. The girl was practically going to break her face open with how hard she was grinding her teeth.

“Just thinking.” Katara wants to smack herself in the face, pinch a nipple and bring herself to reality. Everything felt too real, and Toph could sense it. She’s the type to somehow sense when Katara shifts in her seat a certain way to covertly satisfy a cooch itch, and then buys her Monistat the same day.

She hates that she could never hide any emotion from her. Toph could always figure out the puzzle pieces that were Katara. One of the few to know the real her, besides Zuko.

Sometimes Katara thinks the younger girl knows her better than him. At least now. Especially now.

“About?” Toph takes an experimental sip from the wine glass, and gags. The juice tasted like Gatorade and cum. “Why the fuck would anyone want a dry wedding? Weddings are the only time you get to see your alcoholic uncle vomit all over the bride’s shoes, and then your closeted aunt has to wipe up the puke and her reputation from the floor while thinking of her secret girlfriend at home watching Tiger King .”

“That example was extremely specific and extremely unnecessary.” Katara brushes a crunchy curl, doused in hairspray, from her eyes.

“Sorry, I got distracted. I had dick on the brain, or whatever Rihanna said,” Toph mumbles, risking a bite of the chicken.

Katara turns to see him at the couple’s table in the center of the extravagant wedding, and sighs. “And for your information, I was just thinking when will he penetrate my esophagus? You know, just girly things.”

Toph has the gall to slap the girl on the cheek.

Katara holds her stinging face, eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat for fucking up the parts of her face she didn’t set with powder (she was going for a dewy look, sue her). “Not fair! You were the one who called my throat the baby chute earlier today!”

“Ok, throat goat. One, he’s getting married. Two, you’re sick.”

“My therapist will most likely cosign that,” Katara sighs. Toph holds Katara’s hand and leans her head on her shoulder as they watch Zuko mingle with guests.

This is the happiest day of his life.

Her best friend of twenty odd years was getting married. He looked so handsome, so happy. A suit that looked like it would cost someone’s rent and a half casually hugging his muscular frame. A blinding smile on his face, cheeks flushed from champagne and excitement.

When he turns her way, his smile grows impossibly wider. Toph clinks on a champagne glass with a fork, breaking it a la Princess Diaries , and Katara could feel the stares of nearly everyone in the room, ready for her speech.

It should be the happiest day of my life, too.

Right?

Katara thinks she wants to cry.

Now, how come none of those Judy Blume, coming-of-age books have a chapter on how to write a Best Woman speech for your best friend getting married to another woman, even when you were struggling with the fact that you might have been in love with him for the past two decades?

Bitch, what the fuck do you even start that Google Doc with?

Does she start at 4 years old? When Katara thinks Zuko is an annoying piece of shit?

But, you know, he’s her piece of shit.

Guys have hepatitis, or cooties, or whatever Sokka said, she couldn’t exactly remember. All she remembered was Zuko sucked. He stole her crayons and made fun of her Hello Kitty backpack on the first day of school. He was the stupid one, not Hello Kitty . Never Hello Kitty . She’d shoved his face into the playground’s wood chips, threatened to cut off his peepee for breathing down her neck with his retainer breath, and even stuck his head in between two slices of white bread and lovingly referring to him as an ‘idiot sandwich’ (Sokka let her watch too many Gordon Ramsey hosted shows while their dad was working late).

Zuko and Katara were practically inseparable ever since.

Or 10, when you were asking for trouble if you fucked with Zuko.

He was a tiny kid, glasses too big for his head. Hair shaggy, clothes too oversized for him (just the way he liked it). His dad had tried beating it into him that it showed weakness by not making waves, not being loud and proud. But, he was quiet by nature. For him, it was just easier.

Not stirring the pot, being the observer, looking in from the outside. He was just Zuko , he liked Wonder Woman comics and figuring out what other words besides BOOBIES he could spell with his calculator instead of actually doing his math homework, because he was bad at math. Bad at everything, really. Everything but band class. Even if he did hate that stupid fucking tsungi horn.

His mom would hide his report cards from his dad, especially the ones noting how shy he was (Mrs. Kim had used the exact words ‘very antisocial, very easy to bully’). Even when Ursa would ask him to try, try to make friends outside of Katara, he was always a stubborn little thing. Something you got from your father , she would say, the smile slipping off her face just the slightest.

It was just more fun being by himself, the only exception he made was Katara. He spent his recess scribbling down a plot for a Love Amongst the Dragons Fanfiction and listening to Katara’s iPod he’d steal from her, just because he could , after she snuck it out from her backpack for the 10 minute break they had. It was the iPod she spent the last two Christmases saving up with Sokka for. Zuko insisted he could master Ludacris’s rap in Usher’s “Yeah!” and practiced the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she had custody of the device.

Some days, Katara would sit beside him in her signature puffy blue jacket, struggling to fold herself to fit on the blacktop beside Zuko. The patented jacket her grandmother forced her to wear every single day obstructing her abilities. He snickers, but keeps quiet, content with plotting out a story that he would hopefully get to type out on the school library’s computers if his mom picked him up late again. She usually did, much to the dismay of the ladies at the front office. They typically hissed at him (which made him cry, to which they would have to offer him a cherry Otter pop so they wouldn’t face a lawsuit) and called his mom words he couldn’t repeat without getting in trouble (“Whore”).

Katara would babble on about her day, sometimes thinking of ways for his characters to die a painful death, or cooking up Fanfic plots for Beyoncé and Britney Spears to find love among the chaos of a zombie infestation. She always insisted she brought the creative range to their friendship. Some days though, Katara forgets all about him and plays handball with all the most popular girls in school.

Zuko’s jealous.

(Sometimes.)

She’s my best friend! He wants to scream in their faces. At the end of the day, he thinks he’s going to lose her. The day she realized she was too good, too cool for the likes of him.

“Chan, stop it!” Zuko squeaked, his notebook snatched from underneath his nose. The boy was always picking a fight. Your dad buys you a Motorola flip phone and suddenly you think you’re the shit.

The boy sneers at Zuko, flipping through the pages. “What do we have here? Are you drawing Shrek with boobies? You’re gonna jack off to that later, freak?”

Before Zuko could get a word in and defend his honor, Chan’s entire body was shoved to the ground, a dainty foot cased in a light up, white Skechers sneaker pressing into his face. Zuko couldn’t help his glee as Katara could barely be peeled off and stopped from repeatedly slamming Chan’s face into the hopscotch chalk court. “It’s all ogre now, bitch!”

She made sure to pin her detention slip to her Bratz backpack with pride. Zuko buys two treats that day from the student store before he walks her home.

“You’re my best friend, forever and ever,” Katara declares, head held up high. Zuko saw through it, though. He knows she’s scared of what Hakoda has to say, what Gran Gran has to say. So, he holds her hand tight, trying to relay his gratitude in the touch.

He licks at his Spongebob popsicle. The eyes had melted off and looked more like someone’s worst nightmare than an icy treat. Katara had wanted his cherry Otter pop, and he happily handed it over. “Pinky promise?” He holds out his finger.

Katara hooks her finger around his, dwarfing his tiny digit. Her outstretched smile stained orange. “I’ll break yours if you ever forget.”

At 15, Katara came to the realization that men have the emotional intelligence of a Souplantation crouton (may Souplantation rest in peace).

Growing up, with their dad and grandma always at work at their store, Katara was always in charge of cooking. No matter how many times she’d try to get Sokka to do it, he always insisted he was far too busy with taking out the trash, killing bugs, hating women. So, she was stuck with it, and honest-to-Rihanna, really liked it. Not that she’d ever let Sokka ever get the satisfaction of knowing it. It was her time to be alone, gave her the space to pop in a Cheetah Girls CD and pretend she won Masterchef with the struggle meal straight out of a Spam can she had to pound on a few times to get it to squeeze out from its gelatinous casing, or a whitewashed recipe she tried replicating whenever she catches a Rachael Ray rerun.

Though, Katara’s favorite time was chopping up the green onions under Ursa’s careful eyes, a hand always just there in realign the knife just in case she’d carelessly cut the green onions too big to garnish. Then, Ursa would then take out scissors because nobody had time for that. When his dad wasn’t home, Zuko’s mom opened up their doors across the street to the siblings, rambling about the next big painting she was planning as they scarfed down a home cooked meal.

Zuko was similar to his mom in that regard. They were the type of people who managed to make everyday moments larger-than-life, made it infectious, too. When it’s nighttime and he’s snuck into and snug in Katara’s room, he’d tell her dreams too big for anyone’s comprehension. Sometimes he dreamed he had tits that would leak chunky chicken noodle soup. Sometimes he’d ramble until her eyes are flitting shut and he’s left talking to himself and measuring his hand with hers, securing the leg she instantly throws over his waist. He’d like to think he was her only exception in the Souplantation crouton narrative.

Her bed is starting to smell like him, too. His favorite Costco brand shampoo and conditioner that he leaves in her bathroom, permeating her nostrils when she pulled him close. She even let him put up a Drake poster right next to her plethora of Rihanna ones, but only after he let her draw a penis on both his and Drake’s face. What he didn’t account for was her using a permanent marker, or the fact he couldn’t scrub it away from his cheeks for the next two days.

It was easy like this, just the two of them.

He’s there for all the birthdays and Halloweens and Christmases that left her not quite feeling whole. When things were hard, when things fucking sucked, when she wanted nothing more but to die. He was there, (stupidly) holding out his hand and willing to be the eye to her hurricane.

At 15, Zuko decides Katara feels home.

At 18, Zuko had already been Katara’s many firsts.

He was her first buffet partner, and brought back his Justin Bieber haircut just to pretend he was 12 so they could qualify for children's rates and a complimentary Oreo cheesecake because they were always celebrating his “birthday.”

Her first clubbing partner the second she turned 18, rubbing her back when any Beyoncé song with a Jay-Z feature came on because the second he cheated on Beyoncé, he cheated on everyone in the Beyhive. The first one to have to hold her as she hurled on his shoes, the first one to have to take her to get her stomach pumped.

The first person she tried to roll a joint with.

“I don’t need to learn that.”

Katara purses her lips. “And why not?”

He gestures to his face. “I’m too pretty. Only ugly bitches know how to do that . ”

Sokka thinks he needs to intervene when he hears Zuko’s tsungi horn case being chucked across the room .

The first person she (almost) fucked.

His family life was, for lack of a better word, fucked up. Katara had been witness to the drinking, the drugs, the crying. The nights where she sometimes didn’t know if the person standing in front of her was Zuko. She just wanted one night away from it all, just one night out on the town.

“That was kind of terrible,” Katara admits easily, wincing because she was sure he spilled Papa John’s garlic dipping sauce in his shitty Corolla’s air filter last Tuesday. He tried positioning his arm naturally underneath her head while their half naked bodies were pressed together, but he ended up smacking off her glasses. He even had the audacity to contently sigh as though he accomplished something, rather than just tangle her hair and give her a tension headache.

She felt lied to! Cheated! Bamboozled! Hoodwinked! All the Shrek and Y/N stories on FF.net could not prepare her for the fact that there weren’t any tongues fighting for dominance, or any mouths that tasted like cinnamon or musk or shit like that. It was just retainer to retainer and smelled distinctly of her awkward friend (cheese). It was sweaty and a lot of weird humping and felt like a visit to the gyno.

“Hey! I thought it was pleasantly average.” He clears his throat. “You know, besides the fact you farted mid-insertion and I started crying after 20 seconds.”

“You mean right after you came, right?” She says matter-of-factly.

He glared. “Is it my fault you have a gorilla grip pussy? Is it?”

“Zuko, you’re so fucking — ”

“What happens when you put a hot dog in the microwave for 2 minutes?” He crosses his hands and folds them over his lap like a professor waiting for a volunteer to answer the equation on the board.

“So in this metaphor, are you calling my pussy a microwave?”

But in true Zuko and Katara fashion, it was clumsy and a mess and could be erased with an emergency Burger King outing where they ate in silence and pinky promised never to speak of it again.

She wonders if Zuko should’ve been her first date to prom, too.

She wants to stop feeling so bothered . She couldn’t quite pin it, but lately everything he did frustrated the shit out of her. How he was taller than her now. How he didn’t need her to fight his battles because he goes to the gym now and wears a fake Gucci belt because he’s just so cool (brooding Asian guy is the trend, and Zuko thinks he’s the blueprint). How he said yes to going to prom with Mai, the prettiest girl in their grade.

“Don’t look in there!” Katara yelps, a blush creeping on her cheeks.

“Why?” Zuko questions, taken aback. He was entirely too comfortable in her room.

“Um. Maybe I don’t want a freak going through my dirty underwear pile!” Her eyebrows are halfway done, and she only has one eyelash glued on. She was stressed, scared her dress might not fit with how many of Sokka’s cookies she stress-ate because she just wanted the night to be perfect .

“Relax, what are a few discharge stains going to do to me, huh? If anything, it gives your pussy some much-needed personality.” Zuko wasn’t going to stop until he found his fake Gucci belt in Katara’s closet.

“Zuko!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs.

“Do I have to remind you about the time you broke our friendship bracelet while masturbating and I dug the bead out of your vagina like the good friend I am?”

She shoves him back from the closet, crowding in his space. That belt was going to remain in its rightful place. “Oh, fuck you! I took the fall for you when you opened your laptop in history class and forgot to exit from your “VIBRATING PANTIES” porn tab!” She pushes him before plopping on her bed.

Katara buries her face in her pillow at that point, too entirely embarrassed and body too hot to continue to look at his nonchalant face. He doesn’t quite remember when exactly Katara became so cute .

Pretty? Definitely. Fearless? For sure.

But blushing Katara, embarrassed Katara, cute Katara?

He thinks it’s because they rarely saw each other now, despite his patented place in her bed. His band, Hello Zuko, was aiming for at least a few dive bar performances to build a reputation, especially with their new title track “Tennis Ball.” Katara was a familiar face at their town’s soup kitchens.

“Where are you going?” he would sleepily mumble as he tried taking his midday nap before late night performances.

Katara’s hands are full with ingredients, swaying side to side and eyes red and drowsy. “Trying to temper chocolate. Why? What’s up?”

She never misses a performance, though. Comes to them with a sparkly poster doused in glitter, and t-shirts with his face on them and everything. He never misses a fundraising event, making sure to bring a steaming thermos filled with tea because Katara was never the type to remember to take care of herself, and always buys out her fundraising goodies (even her overbaked brownies.)

He pulls her up by her ponytail, cupping her face in between his hands.

“You look cute.”

“You look like the human equivalent of toeless socks,” Katara mumbles, face squished in between Zuko’s hands. “Why are you giving my clit piercing a kiss kiss right now? What do you want?”

Zuko shakes her head in between his hands. “Pinky promise me you’ll drop all penises to dance with me if they play any Usher song?” It was like he was in fifth grade all over again. “Call me a Nissan because I just want you Altima-self.”

She lets out a cackle, the sound nearly deafening. “Don’t worry, the DJ will get us falling in love again in no time.”

“Do you have to go with Jet?” He asks, pouting. He lays his head in her lap, too entirely preoccupied with picking at her pilling sweatpants to look at her questioning eyes. They promised they were going to be each others’ dates at the beginning of the school year. It was more fun going to dances with Katara. She knew how to do the worm and every lyric to every Rihanna song out there (but she refuses to sing any with Chris Brown parts).

“What? You know I like my men stupid.” She runs her hands through his locks, undoing the crunchy gel job that Iroh had painstakingly spent time on. Zuko didn’t have the heart to tell him it made him look like a youth pastor.

“You do like your communal meat thermometers.” He wants to keep the hurt out of his voice.

She shoves him off her, getting up to put on the dress hanging off her closet’s door handle. “You’re going with Mai, remember?” She yells through the closed closet door.

“But the thing is, I’m not planning to fuck her afterwards at the shitty hotel like it’s some type of CW show with some old bitches playing teenagers!”

“Just say XOXO, Gossip Girl .”

He still resents her for getting him invested in Blair Waldorf’s headband collection. “It’s not my fault Jet looks old. He looks like he’s at least 27 for fuck’s sake!” His face grows more distressed as he spits out each word. He only said yes to going with Mai after finding out Jet asked Katara using some shitty poster that said “my heart is always running when I see you” with a box of Nike outlet sneakers after English class.

“I think you’re just jealous that I emptied my intestines for someone who is about to be in it within the next three hours. When have I ever done that for you?”

Zuko’s about to retort something until Katara slams open the door, flooding his eyes with a dusty blue, curve hugging dress that did weird things to him. Like make his heart beat out of his chest, and his throat all dry when he’s searching for the words to say. Looking for the right words that say he thinks it’s impossible someone’s smile could make sunsets brighter, make the stars twinkle even more, make the unthinkable just a fingertip’s grasp away.

“Can you see the outline of my underwear and/or desperation from the back?” Her spin has him bumbling like an idiot.

He wishes it was Katara that night. Letting him shyly press his sweaty fingers into her waist as Katy Perry’s “E.T.” pierced their eardrums. He knows she would have pinched his nipples as punishment, all things considered. But the fluorescent lights of the disco ball would’ve highlighted how her pretty flush would dust her cheeks, and he would hold her close to his beating heart despite her complaining her foundation would stain his Target dress shirt, and everything would make sense.

“Did you cum?” Jet was absolutely pretty with an oh-so fat horse cock. Too bad he was like the Justin Timberlakes of the world, and always spoke unprovoked.

Katara scoffs. “Yeah, I came to my senses.” She flicked his forehead. “How would I do that? Tell me. How the fuck would a few thrusts and you panting your Sweet and Sour sauce breath in my ear get me off?” She shoves the sweating boy off her. “Can I say jk and will it make me a virgin again?” The hotel room had scratchy sheets and smelled like a waterpark bathroom.

He groaned. “I’m sorry .” He’s completely unremorseful. “Your tits smell like Cinnabon’s cinnamon rolls and I couldn’t help myself!” Katara is about to cut his dick off for breathing in the same vicinity as her, before a gasp stops her entire world.

“Zuko!” she screeches, opening the hotel door with the same devastation as when Britney Spears discovered Ryan Seacrest wasn’t gay painting her features.

“You know what they say.” Zuko’s smirking, entirely ignoring Katara fuming. “Chlamydia is the powerhouse of the cell.”

“You’re. A. Dick!” She says in between smacks to his head. Jet makes a speedy exit, still pantsless and clutching his suit to his chest, while Zuko mouths a ‘ call me’ to Mai, who amusedly waves goodbye to Katara.

“Oh god, this is exactly like the bead incident all over again.”

“ You’re not helping! ”

“Maybe we’ll find Atlantis up there too,” Zuko murmurs, concentrating on positioning the hotel’s mirror under her legs.

“Please, Rihanna. Have mercy on me.” Katara’s hands are in prayer mode as Zuko turns on his phone’s flashlight. “I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me. All those times I took an extra gummy vitamin were a joke . I never wanted to die, I just wanted to feel a little thrill in my life. Please—”

Zuko screams when the squelch of the condom splatters onto the mirror.

“You’re wearing underwear under there right?” He likes the look of his blazer draping over her, buttoned to look like a chic, oversized dress and not because it was the easiest thing to throw over Katara to run and grab Plan B.

“No, because I would obviously let my fat cooter out, cute and bare and vulnerable in a Walmart.”

“A simple yes would have sufficed.”

She’s reaching for the box and wincing at the price when she feels a gentle nudge on her arm. “Ma’am, your entire pussy is out in a Walmart,” the employee breathes out pathetically.

“I am well aware.” She ekes out.

The employee eyes her up and down with a gaze that practically calls her a whore . “Please put her away.” Zuko’s face grows beet red as he tries holding back a laugh.

It was always easy like this. When the world was just Zuko and Katara, holding hands in her driveway while they watched the sun rise in his shitty Corolla. She’s still wrapped up in his blazer, he’s since loosened his cheap tie and his hair is sticking every which way. She likes his smile, especially now that it comes so easy.

He’s smiling a lot more now that his father is gone. Ozai essentially told Azula and Zuko to fuck off , and ran off to some big city to steer a hospital with too many controversies and too many white guys at the helm. Iroh came back from his meditation sabbatical, enthusiastic to take care of the siblings. Zuko seems a lot happier with Iroh around, and even spends nights sleeping in his actual bed. (Katara’s a little hurt, but keeps that to herself).

She wishes she could bottle up these moments with Zuko up and just hold them in her hands. Moments when they were still young and curious and still had time to wait for life to figure itself out. She wants to find a way to make these a permanent fixture, instead of memories that would fade with age. “Let’s get out of here,” he offers up, eyes starry.

“Yeah?” She folds her knees up to her chest, and he taps her under her chin to level their gazes.

“ Republic City . We can make something out of lives. Medical school, culinary school. Get out of this shithole. Get away from our past.” His smile is contagious. “Best friends, forever and ever, right?”

She’s so pretty, her wide eyes sparkling as they take in the rays of sun. She returns his smile. “Best friends, forever and ever.”

Katara remembers how Ursa would say Zuko always dreamt too big, his heart always wanting so, so much .

“It’s a blessing, but more of a curse,” she would note, with the wisdom only mothers are capable of possessing. Sometimes, Katara selfishly thinks the day Ursa left hurt her more than it hurt Zuko. They were impossibly close, to the point where Zuko even had to intervene when Ursa started siding with Katara during their arguments (he knows in his heart his Mother’s Day macaroni portrait of her was better).

She would wonder how the world could let her live like this, dangling something she’s always wanted right in front of her face, only to snatch it away. Wonder if it was easier to die, than live with a hole in her heart that seemingly doubled in size overnight.

“Zuko, please look at me.”

He’s mad, she could tell. With his pout and the way he was forcibly trying to squeeze his eyes in a glare. He’s been sitting in the same spot in her bed, eyes trained on tutorials on how to convincingly persuade your doctor to give you an adderall prescription and “who bit Beyonce” conspiracy videos.

“Well, what if I just wanted you to respect my privacy! For the first time in 15 years! Maybe I needed space!” She yelps after twenty minutes of the silent treatment.

Zuko sends her a look that has her freezing up on the spot. “Katara, you had a whole baby .”

She felt thoroughly scolded, but she was stubborn. “And? What about it?”

“You had an entire one, and didn’t even bother to tell the godfather? When was I supposed to find out?”

Katara didn’t think that one through, to be honest. It was easy to forget, in between diapers that smelled like a fish sauce and an expired Vagisil smoothie, and balancing work. She lays down beside him, thoroughly exhausted after putting her little girl, Yue, down for a nap. “One, who made you the godfather? And two, I guess we’re just not close like that.”

“Look, I literally have your social security number memorized, and have practically given you a Pap smear. You really want to say ‘ we’re not close like that ?” He sends her a look that has her resolve faltering the slightest. “You did your pregnancy announcement like a Sailor Moon transformation sequence with before and after pictures of you being pregnant, and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?”

Katara gasps. “I had you blocked !”

“Azula’s a snitch!” He also got a glimpse of the photo of Katara in her hoe time dress that barely fit over her belly with the caption: how the mighty have fallen . He pauses, sucking in a breath of air for strength. The hurt flashes in his eyes and the only thing she could think to do was wrap him up in a familiar embrace.

At 19, Katara is so incredibly lost, and just wants her best friend by her side.

He’s busy, the summer before everything Republic City. Everytime she tries their house, Azula answers, rolling her eyes while clad in a Harry Styles shirt, because it’s a girl’s rite of passage to go through a One Direction phase and wear badly made merchandise from Hot Topic. He’s usually busy packing, or fucking Mai until she sounds like a car alarm during Fourth of July fireworks.

“Azula, no . You cannot kidnap Mai’s younger brother and trade him in for concert tickets to send a message.”

“Not even for floor ones?” Katara’s glare summed up her answer. “I used to look up to you,” Azula retorts, returning to her stan Twitter.

She waits, waits, waits. The moans keep coming and she just rolls her eyes. Her stomach churns, mainly because she thinks Mai called Zuko’s dick The Pussy Penetrator every time he hit her g spot (you know what, good for her). But also because her scholarship to the university was less than she expected, and Hakoda didn’t want to cosign on a loan. She just wanted her best friend to be there for her.

She feels sick, sick enough to vomit in one of Iroh’s plants, while Azula rubs small circles into her back.

“You should’ve swallowed,” Toph reminds, bundling Katara’s thick hair into a ponytail as the girl hurled up her California roll. She’s so exhausted, she even leans her head against the Walmart toilet bowl, five positive pregnancy tests tossed carelessly beside her.

“Think it’s too late for that,” Katara grits out. “What are you doing?”

The last thing she expected was Toph’s hands gathering together in prayer formation. “Praying to Rihanna your period comes.”

Like many people her age, having a mental breakdown during a pregnancy scare and praying for a miracle in a public restroom was normal. But for the first time in her life, besides the time Rihanna willingly twerked on Drake at the 2011 Grammys, Ms. Robyn Fenty herself failed her.

“Fetus deletus that bitch! Fuck them kids !” She brings herself eye-level to Katara’s stomach. “Read the womb, bitch!”

“Did you just call my unborn baby a bitch?” Katara’s eyes are bleary from the smell of vomit and her future going down the drain.

“You should’ve kept that bitch-baby in the drafts,” Toph sweeps the stray hairs from Katara’s watery eyes. “My cousin saved up for her abortion by running a pyramid scheme. I can get you her number.”

Katara wanted to die. “I think I’m just going to crawl in this toilet and die. Call my brother if I don’t get flushed down all the way.”

“Again, I’m just a Walmart employee,” Toph snickers, helping the girl up. She’s rarely left her side since then. Their friendship just works, a pair of fuckups. The girl with the accident baby, and the Walmart security guard trying to figure out her own shit after running away from home.

“I should’ve been there!” Zuko reminds, tone heavy with betrayal.

Katara remembered the few moments before he boarded the plane to Republic City. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to tell him to not get on the flight, to keep holding her like he did at the entrance of the gate. She had a kiss ready on her lips that he wasn’t ready to give, backing away when their faces were too close, when she was too close. He just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving with regrets.

“I should’ve been there holding your hand, letting you call me names, and fighting nurses if they breathed too close to this precious angel,” Yue holds his pinky with her little fingers, almost as though it was a natural reaction. His heart simply seizes up at the gesture, and he holds her tighter to his body. She was wailing after waking from her nap, colic crackling her throat for the last three months and causing her middle of the night wakeups to be painful and frequent. But with Zuko, she’s all calm and perfect and polite and beautiful and angelic.

“Didn’t know you liked kids this much,” Katara shrugs. She leans in, and Zuko throws his free arm around her.

“I’ll have you know I am the resident expert in telling children’s stories,” Zuko insists.

“Like?” Katara quirks up her brow.

“Like Rumpleforeskin, the mythical man who can weave majestic golden fleece from the ends of his pubic hair.”

She smacks him upside the head. “You’re disgusting .” She curls in deeper into his embrace. He had that twinkle in his eye that could mean he was going to masturbate to this moment in the shower later, or he was in love. It renders her breathless every time

She hopes when he looks at her he doesn’t see the eye bags, or the titty milk leaking everywhere, or the permanent crease in her brow. She hopes he could still see her, underneath it all. When she was just Katara .

“I guess, not telling you was just my way of keeping our dream alive.” She pauses, stroking Yue’s barely there hair. “I keep thinking that one day I could find the time to go to Republic City, and I don’t know. Get a chance to just be me .”

“Do you regret it?” Zuko’s rubbing circles into her back until she gets sleepy and her heart feels too full.

“I don’t know.” She tries, quiet, almost ashamed. “I don’t know.”

At 21, Katara feels like she’s at the top of the world.

Not only did she get promoted from girl wearing a dumpling costume outside handing out 15% off coupons that only worked if you left a Yelp review, to a server in a shitty dim sum restaurant, she was also accepted in the culinary program at the local university. It wasn’t Republic City per say, but Yue could attend the nearby preschool and go to the university-run childcare program afterwards while Katara was working.

She even got a hold of Jet, who refused to disclose his location or job. But judging by the copious child support mandated by some judge who hated men as much as Katara did, he was doing well. He sometimes Venmos Katara a few extra dollars on Yue’s birthdays.

Sokka and Hakoda, while hesitant to the little girl’s presence early on, spoil her absolutely rotten. When they think Katara’s passed out after her 14 hour days, they’re red in the face, screaming at Zuko over the phone about who was going to get Yue the Peppa Pig Playhouse (complete with flashing lights) she always talks about.

Hakoda even tries at therapy, wanting to be there for the apple of his eye. Sometimes, Katara’s hurt he never tried for her, tried in her childhood. She’s happy for him, nonetheless.

(Mostly) everything was working out.

“How are both my girls doing?” Zuko would always sing-song during his nightly Facetime calls. Yue would scream and snatch the phone from Katara’s hands, delighted at the sound of her one and only Uncle Zuzu. He’s an extravagant gift giver, regularly sending Yue glittery Hello Kitty and Wonder Woman backpacks. He even buys her a whole iPad for her fourth birthday, already coming with child safe settings on and YouTube loaded with her favorites (namely, Barbie: Fairytopia ). He’s guilty he couldn’t come home, but then again, he rarely ever did. Too consumed with work, grad school applications.

Katara can’t help but feel her heart pulse the slightest bit faster during those calls, even if she shuts it down as quickly as it comes.

He’s so good to her .

She used to cherish those moments he used to tell her secrets, dreams, everything in those hours early in the morning before high school would start. With approximately 3,209 miles between the two of them, she wakes up to texts instead.

Zuko: I dreamed that I was being held at gunpoint by one of those thicc caterpillars from A Bug’s Life , and if I didn’t finish the MCAT in approximately 20 minutes, they would shoot me in the face. The dump truck ass of those ants were the bullets

Katara: Please block my number

Zuko: No. <3

He’s all gentle smiles and eyes squeezing into little half moons just like Yue’s after he plays a game of Facetime patty cake and messes up on the beat just to hear the little girl laugh.

The next month, Zuko had decided enough was enough . He missed his girl.

His hospital, for the first time in a year, was letting him have the weekend off. So he books Katara a ticket straight away, because he thinks he’s going to die if he has to be around people who don’t know who Megan Thee Stallion is.

“Boys only speak two languages. English and emotional manipulation,” Toph reprimands, hugging Katara so tight she could barely get in a word. “Please remember that.”

It was her first time leaving her hometown in her life, her first time on an airplane for God’s sake. She’s jittery though, the cushioned seats Toph somehow upgraded her ticket to (after covertly whispering with the gate attendant) doing nothing to alleviate her nerves.

When she jumps in his arms in baggage claim, he breathes in deep. Her hugs have always warmed his insides, and he didn’t realize how much he craved it until he was greedy, pressing into her and refusing to let go despite her many protests.

“Come here often?” he mumbles, smiling into her shoulder.

Her cheeks grew hot at his touch. “Occasionally.” She whispers back.

He decided there and then in front of Gate 3 they needed to make up for lost time as quickly as possible.

The college party is entirely too sticky, entirely too messy for a proper (extremely) late 21st birthday celebration. Her crop top and big earrings and glittery eyeshadow and endless curves has Zuko wondering how much he’s missed in the last few years. When she hugs him close to her and screams out Nicki Minaj lyrics, he doesn’t remember her being so soft and even prettier. Beautiful. Breathtaking, knocking the wind out his lungs if she as so much blinked.

She looks like any 21 year old, without a care in the world, just figuring out their life. He wonders what this version of Zuko and Katara was.

Maybe they got to go to Republic City together. Maybe they work in the same building, and are just letting steam off from work. Maybe they loved each other. It was dangerous though. He feels as though she’s caging him in, that grip on his heart sparking up again without his permission. Her fake lashes he saw her glue on in the airport bathroom flutter about, hands coming up to accentuate her words every time she tries to scream something in his ear over the pulsating music. He just grips her waist harder between his hands, holding her tight.

In a perfect world, all she saw was him. She wishes it was him. She sometimes thinks she sees Zuko’s eyes in Yue. She sees his smile. She sees his heart.

While they’d spent the entire night stumbling through the city, his girlfriend was home. Barefoot, pregnant. Looking like the cover of some women’s lifestyle magazine, stray curls escaping her bun to frame her face in all its angelic glory. Glowy and flawless and every bit beautiful. Different from the girl Katara caught crying in the kitchen. “You can hate me all you want, you can talk shit about me all you want. But I love him,” Jin insists. “I’m his girlfriend , for fuck’s sake.

Katara has to stop herself from recoiling. She had a specific vision of their future. One that included doing taxes together and matching sweaters and teaching him her new macaroon recipe and Yue balanced on his lap.

But one look at Jin, and it becomes glaringly obvious how little she fit in with his new life.

“I don’t hate you, Jin.” It’s every bit sincere, but the girl doesn’t look convinced.

Jin rolls her eyes. A pointed look freezing Katara in her place.

“Ok, I might’ve complained once or twice about your VSCO filter choice.”

“Yeah, Zuko sent a screenshot of your texts to me instead of you by accident.”

“God, you know he always fucking does that? To be fair though, M05 is too orange and is not a good look on anyone. You can do better, I know you can.” The two girls laugh. It was devoid of any genuine emotion, just meant as an attempt to fill the empty space between them. “If I had known. Fuck, if I had just known, I’m sorry, Jin.” She had no idea Zuko had a kid on the way, that they were still living together and determined to co-parent while their relationship was in a weird limbo. If she was Jin, she would’ve kicked someone’s pussy and made a scene and set something on fire. But Jin wasn’t that type of girl. Jin was soft and pretty and looked like she smelled like an interior designer's perfectly bleached asshole.

“Do you love him?” Jin seemed to shrink into herself, small enough Katara might miss her in a blink of an eye.

Katara couldn’t quite decipher the meaning behind the question. She thinks she’s too scared to.

Katara doesn’t know how to respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak. This Zuko wasn’t the Zuko she knew. She loved the Zuko who would steal people’s Netflix passwords off of 4chan, and cosplay as Todoroki at Anime Con to make a few bucks. Not the one who can afford sky rises in the big city.

He didn’t even tell her that his big internship in the city was for his father’s hospital, and he was next in line to running it. “You’re a lawyer with health insurance and your own Netflix account! You’re good for him, Jin.” Katara falters the slightest. “I just want to see Zuko happy.”

“Me too.” Jin says quietly.

“Whatever, fuck Zuko !” She tries at extending the olive branch. “I can’t believe you’re preggers!” She puts a gentle hand on Jin's belly, and her vagina immediately winces. “You know, your vag will never look the same, and you might grow a third boob in your armpit.”

“You’re lying .”

“Yeah, a lump of breast milk can form there, too!” Katara is about to scroll to the photo in her phone when Jin laughter breaks through the night.

“I hope your dick gets bitten off mid-blowjob!” She whisper-screams, struggling with her suitcase until it smacks all at nearly every corner and edge. She was just making noise for the sake of making noise, but it made her feel better.

He didn’t expect waking up to a charge on his card for a flight booked in the last ten minutes, or Katara shoving his good mixer in her suitcase.

“You hate it don’t you?” He always loved it when Katara went into Hulk mode anytime a bully dared test her protective nature. While it was never entirely directed at him, he now understands exactly why Chan peed his pants. Katara was terrifying .

“What?” Zuko’s confused, rubbing an eye booger away.

“You loved it when I’m crying over Jet, crying over something, fucking something up in my life. Being mad at the world. You hate that I’m better, and making something of myself now!” She’s angry and grasping at straws.

Zuko furrows his brows, not sure where to progress from here. “Ok, run that by me again?”

The air vanishes when her stare cools over to absolutely icy. “There’s nothing else I can give. So what the fuck do you want from me?”

He laughs, all hollow and almost mocking . “You know, I was afraid of you coming here.” He lies.

She stops in her tracks. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I thought...I thought you wouldn’t get this new me, because it’s different!” He protests. “See, this is exactly the reason why! You’re mad I can afford real Gucci !”

Katara recoils, looking embarrassed for him. God, were men so fucking stupid, and so proud of it, too. “Are you fucking serious.”

Zuko’s frustrated, running his hands through his hair. “What the fuck are we doing, Katara?”

“You tell me!” She demands. “I’m not that kind of girl, Zuko! I’m not that kind of girl that is going to break up a fucking engagement, or whatever the fuck you weirdos are doing!”

He throws up his hands. “I’m not happy! We’re not happy.”

“What? You think now that you’ve sold your soul to your piece of shit dad and you can buy jewelry that won’t turn your fingers green that I’m going to fuck you?”

“No! I’m not saying that—”

Katara scoffs. “Then what the fuck are you saying? Grow up, Zuko. Grow the fuck up and just leave me the fuck alone .”

“You’re still Katara.” He throws his hands up in the air, trying to stop her. Even if he felt like his entire world was falling apart, there was one thing he would always be certain about. “I’m still Zuko. The same Zuko who loves you .”

Katara turns her head, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. “The thing is, this isn’t you, Zuko.” Katara says with finality. “It isn’t you .”

When she gets home, she spots it right away. On their dining table, white paper folded neatly, Yue was the type of little girl who looked to both sides of the street before crossing, repeating it two more times to be safe. She always took extra care to make everything even, never a wrinkle in sight on her homework.

The Crayola family portrait that brought to life everything she’d imagined and more. Katara doesn’t have the heart to look for longer than a second.

At 27, Katara’s pretending that it’s the happiest day of her life.

She didn’t think he would listen to her, you know, men rarely did anything right. Zuko, though, heeds her warning and only calls exactly two hours before Yue’s bedtime like clockwork. There weren’t any surprise texts to wake up to anymore, no more evidence of Zuko in her life. She doesn’t even find out about Jin’s affair with one of those Axe commercial guys until months later.

When she goes to unblock his number and text him, to try and talk to him, she gasps. She sees those grey iMessage bubbles, and she’s ashamed her heart splutters, awakening a feeling she thought she’s dampened. She puts her phone down for milliseconds, before checking it again and again and again. She finally threw the damn thing across the room when a week passed.

She thinks it’s for the better, especially when she was sure she finally got things right with Jet.

“ We’ll make this shit work together.” Jet reassures, gathering her close to him she could see every little detail of him. “Like Kanye said, ‘you’re a MILF, and I’m a mother-fucker.”

She covers her ears, pushing him into the restaurant’s glass door. “No thank you. No more non consensual reciting of Kanye verses.”

“Yeezy, breezy, beautiful, baby. Get into it.” Jet winks, and Katara feels herself gagging again.

Then again, Katara always had a thing for stupid. And for three easy payments of $Penis.99, he had an all access experience to her pussy and her trauma.

“And he bought me those carrot cake cupcakes I always look at when we go to the supermarket but I never want to chance it because it could have raisins instead of nuts and I think I hate raisins more than I hate white men named Nathaniel.”

Toph jabs Katara in the forehead. “Wow, he spared $5 on some dry pastries, and your pussy was suddenly screaming pick me, pick me !”

“They were gluten free, too,” she points out. “Plus, my pussy doesn’t scream!”

“Oh right, my bad! It whispers!”

“ Toph !”

“Last night I heard it go wash me! Wash me!”

It felt good with him, though. It felt good to see him help Yue with math homework, making dinner in their little kitchen, pressing kisses to her in the morning despite her breath smelling like Khloe Kardashian’s earring backing pussy. Someone to come home to.

“Piece of shit, I’ll fucking kill you!” She was punching him over and over again until her knuckles were ripped raw, sitting straight on his throat. Beating him stupid in the middle of her shift. He thought he could get away with it. With Katara now stuck in the kitchen as one of the head cooks, and the fact he had a reservation in one of the private rooms for him and his secretary to go over...numbers, he didn’t think much of it.

Too bad Toph was too invested, and had a friends-to-lovers storyline to live vicariously through.

“Scram, fuglies!” Toph screamed to other customers who had already started chanting “WorldStar!”

Katara lost her job, lost her mans, lost a section of her eyebrow because Toph accidentally tried helping and swung the wrong direction.

“Catch me outside, how ‘bout that!” She yelps triumphantly, despite the fact Katara was cradling her own bloodied face.

And here she was, about to lose her best friend, too.

She accidentally Facetimed his old number, and spent the last hour mulling over her feelings with an executive of a porn studio who picked up mid-shoot. “Just tell him you love him!” The balding man is exhausted.

“What do I even say? Do I tell him, ‘I think I’ve always loved you?’ Is that too cheesy? You know that feeling when your heart just—Oh my fucking god! Is that Sandy Cheeks from Spongebob ?!” She screams, slamming her hands over her eyes. The squirrel’s melons-for-tits would never be erased from her memory.

He only has fear in his eyes when he looks at her. “You didn’t see anything.” Robert bites out, promptly hanging up.

In her post-Jet purge, she realized she wasn’t the type of ex dead set on destroying his things. After all, she was selling his light-up keyboard to pay for Toph’s birthday boob job. Her residual anger was instead, spent hacking away at the drawer he always kept locked. Until she found it.

A letter from him.

“ I’ve always been afraid that our friendship would’ve spilled over until all I could do is categorize it with four simple letters .” Katara whispers, eyes frantically scanning the paper. “And I’m done being afraid .”

“The four letters he’s talking about is D-U-M-B B-I-C-T-H . Dumb bitch. The ‘bitch’ is silent.” Toph insists. “I can’t believe you let a balding bum, whose credit score tanked because he invested his entire savings in Shake Weight Milkshake making machines, knock you up instead of Zuko.”

“It was innovative at the time,” she whispers.

“Fill the void in your heart, not your pussy.”

She's whipping out her shitty MacBook Air, and praying his email still worked. But when she calls all she sees is her.

“You told me to come to Republic City and find him!” Mai exclaims, holding up her hand where a big ring blinding the fuck out of her.

She feels her heart crumble at the same time she crushes the letter in her hand.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Katara winces. The time the model stopped by in their hometown, Katara was still happy and getting her pussy pounded regularly and let that shit get to her head. She thought it would be a blessing in disguise, and wanted to help Zuko out, too.

"Fuck."

Their wedding looked ripped out of a 2014 Basic Bitch Pinterest board, and she’s definitely sure she couldn’t be happier.

“Why is her name spelled like ‘Mai’ and pronounced ‘May?’ Like, shouldn’t it be spelled like ‘Mei?’”

“Katara, you’re just being a bitch,” Toph reminds while Katara stares at the sign with their wedding hashtag in front of the photobooth with all the ‘YOLO’ signs and 2013 mustaches.

“I am well aware!” She asserts, chin jutting out.

Mai’s New York Fashion Week ready body was gorgeous, perfect in Zuko’s hold.

Katara wished life was like a rom-com. Where she could burst through the doors, declare her love, piss on him in her ugly, big bridesmaid dress and mark her territory once and for all.

But life wasn’t a movie. Life was just this shitty piece of dumpster fire shit and was always fucking her over like the Target self-checkout line camera.

What could she do? Deliver some long-winded speech about how she would go to realign the stars in the heavens if it meant a chance to rewrite their fate? That she hoped she visits his dreams before his mind could settle into reality, the same way he visited hers and overstayed his welcome every single time? Make everyone uncomfortable and wonder if they boned?

Then again, she was never going to be the one to block her best friend’s blessings. Not on the happiest day of his life.

“I think this is the happiest day of my life.” Katara says seamlessly.

Zuko sees it though, sees right through her and has to stop himself from reaching out to her.

“It wasn’t ever easy being Zuko’s best friend. I mean look at him now, getting married to someone perfect . He’s not even in the same ballpark, league, or hell, stadium porta potty as her!”

Zuko ducks his head with a brief pout that breaks Katara’s heart. Everyone laughs in spite of him, until he joins in, too. “You know, it’s easy to pretend that finding love is easy. You could find love in all the little things in your life. All the people, all the details. It’s easy to say you always, completely, truly love someone. Because that’s what we want love to be, right? At the surface, sure.” She folds the flimsy paper she had on hand, nothing was written on it anyways. “You want it to be perfect.”

“But the love everyone works so hard to get, is the love that’s hard . It’s the love that isn’t safe. The love that challenges, excites you, the love that will never have limits. The love that’s messy and beautiful all at the same time.” She looks at him, truly looks at him for the first time in years and all she could do was smile.

“It’s easy to find love, but it’s near impossible to find a soulmate.” She raises her glass. “Join me in a toast to the bride and groom. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.”

And while everyone is gathered out on the dance floor, she’s sobbing pathetically and smearing the winged eyeliner she worked so hard to perfect on the car ride there. Trying to stop any of the pain from consuming her.

She’s out on the rooftop of the venue, the cold air whipping her face as she tries lighting up a blunt.

“Are you getting high at my wedding !” Zuko is incredulous, and shocks Katara enough to drop the joint off the roof.

“On all things Fenty Beauty, bitch what the fuck?” Katara wipes the tears from the corner of her eyes.

“The flower girl wanted to see her mommy.” But Katara sees right through Yue’s little act. Pretending to sleep so she could be held by Zuko (me too, girl. Me too).

It felt dangerous, the way she could toy with his heart, his own personal defibrillator shocking it back to life. She’s pretty even with red-rimmed eyes, with the fake smiles he knew was trying to appease him to leave her alone. If anything, all it does is make him want to kiss her until her troubles are gone.

He wanted to do a lot of things at that moment. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, tell her that above all else, he missed his girl the most. But, he had everything on his plate and then some.

“The chicken was dry as fuck.” He blurts, wiping the sweat from his face. Only Katara could send him back a few decades. “I wish you could’ve catered it.”

“Yeah?” She laughs and wants to call him out for stalking her company’s Facebook page. “Remember you tried my new recipe and you vomited all over the front row at your fourth ever Hello Zuko performance?” She misses his messy hair, when he didn’t look so clean cut and rich bitchy.

“I didn’t know you weren’t done cooking it!”

She shoves his head, and he joins her, dangling his feet precariously off the roof.

When she’s here with him, when he has her in his hold for the first time in years, he sees his whole life with just a glimpse in her eyes. And all he wants to do is build a machine and reverse all the time that’s passed them by.

“I made a mistake.” Zuko breathes out, eyes nervously darting around.

As sure as he was that Nicki Minaj deserved a Grammy, he was sure he loved her.

“W-What?” Katara blinks at him.

“I made a mistake, Katara.” He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, carding his hand through his hair. Looking every bit devastatingly handsome. “I realized something. After the speech, after just, everything.”

“I realized I just can’t have my cake and eat it, too.”

Just like that, just with the way he built her up, it comes tumbling down.

“So what are you saying?” Her heart was on the verge of cracking in half and he didn’t even know it. Because all he could pin her with a look she couldn’t read, and she thinks if he was a smarter man he would’ve at least pretended that it hurt him to hurt her.

But it did.

It broke him, ripped him in half to see her face turn to steel right before his eyes.

“What I’m saying is, after all these years.” He doesn’t have it in him to face her. “I think I have to finally let you go, Katara.”

#Zutara #Zuko #Katara #Zutara Week #atla #zutara fanfiction #avatar the last airbender #zutara week 2020

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iwakurodai · 5 years ago

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Angel || Richie Tozier

hello! if this one isn’t good then you can leave me. I haven’t had a good streak with writing in so long. The ending is probably really bad but be gentle, I didn’t know how to continue this let alone end it so the ending seems a bit rushed/way too short! Anyways! I hope you enjoy this imagine to kick off my return to eggytozier

soulmate au where you feel the pain of your destined lover but dont get the wounds/bruises.

requested? nah, just had an idea

warnings? suicide, car wrecks, knives, cursing, death, dead parents, pain, blood, soulmates, bad endings, homophobic slur, and missing children

pairing? Richie Tozier x reader, and a bit of platonic!bill x reader

You met your soulmate when you were only five.

Walking into preschool--hand gripped so very tightly onto your parent’s finger--you stopped at the door way as they spoke to your new teacher. Looking around, your eyes watch the kids chasing each other and knocking stuff over. Your eyes met a small boy that was playing alone, pretending to make food at the play kitchen way across the room. You were about to leave your parents when the teacher kneeled in front of you, distracting you and you forgot about the boy as she introduced herself to you.

Farther along in the day, at recess, you were about to join the boy from before on the swing set until he jumped off and landed wrong. You felt nothing but searing pain in your ankle and you fell to the ground, sobbing, unaware of the boy screeching just a couple yards from you. You found out who he was when you both were carried to the nurses office by the teachers monitoring you.

His name was Taylor James. He was a little blonde boy who spoke a little too quiet and laughed a little too loud. He had a strong interest in cooking after growing up with a chef as a father. He had a stutter and a lisp but you didn’t see the problem.

You two were only five, but since that point of meeting, you two were inseparable.

As years went by, your parents and his became best friends. Taking mementos of you two to look back on when you got married. You two grew up together, not hiding a single thing. Well, it was hard to hide something when you both could feel something was wrong.

Taylor was as quiet as he was in preschool and he was just as sensitive. Which caused him to become an easy target for bullying. You despised the bullies. Every time you saw them you couldn’t help but shout insults and jokes, hoping that they would feel what they did to Taylor. You knew that it wasn’t right but you didn’t care. All that mattered was Taylor being happy.

But, you would never have been prepared for when the accident happened.

You were 10, only five years were spent with Taylor. He was on his way to your house for Easter. You were helping your mother color some eggs when you suddenly dropped to the floor, screaming as if you were being murdered. Tears came out of your eyes like a river, you were barely breathing. A screech coming out of your mouth whenever you could get it out until nothing would come out.

You felt as if your soul had been ripped in two, holding onto each other with thin strings. Your body was cold, freezing to the touch. Your nails digging into your arms but you didn’t feel a single thing. Your whole mind and body were numb, other than the feeling of your whole being, being put through a paper shredder.

It wasn’t until you were sitting against your mother chest, still sobbing, that your dad came home. He had tears in his eyes, his hands were shaking.

Your dad was coming home from buying some candy for you and Taylor when he saw a familiar car fly, headfirst, into a semi truck. He pulled over and ran to the scene, pulling out a phone and calling 911. He was telling the operator where he was when he was stopped cold at the sight of Mr. and Mrs. James, barely even recognizable. Your dad checked the back and was horrified to see little Taylor with a piece of shrapnel lodged into his chest.

Your dad fled, rushing to you as he realized what would happen. He had only read about soulmates dying, but never did he think he--or anyone he knew--would witness it himself. You didn’t feel a thing of the crash. Taylor died on impact. But the feeling of your other half being ripped from life had scarred you to the core.

You went silent, your mouth never opened other than to eat and drink. The trauma of losing someone so close to you had scraped your ability to find the use in talking. Your parents became scared, signing you up for a therapist.

You were only with that therapist for barely half a year before they decided that a change of scenery was better for your health. With that suggestion, you and your family packed up and left your hometown. Driving as far as the family’s minivan could take you.

Which was the small, secluded town of Derry, Maine.

You didn’t go to school until the next year, your parents making sure that all the teachers knew of your problem and wouldn’t force you to do anything.

You weren’t mad or sad or even happy that you had moved. You were just... surviving. You didn’t feel like you needed to feel anything, so you didn’t. In the short year of learning at Derry Middle School, you didn’t make any friends and only gained the attention of Greta Bowie. She took advantage of every time you were alone to bully you. She wanted to tip you over the edge and cause a breakdown. She had found out about your soulmate dying and was making up different scenarios of what could have happened.

“Your little soulmate killed himself because you’re such a fucking disgrace of a human he didn’t want to be with you, didn’t he?”

You pretended to not hear it.

You also gained the attention of a kid named Bill Denbrough. He had a stutter and it reminded you, almost too much, of Taylor. He tried his best to make you comfortable: helping you with work when you seemed to not understand, giving you tips about avoiding Greta and Henry Bowers (who you hadn’t met but made a note of staying away from), and even inviting you to hang out with his friends. You always denied, you didn’t wanna damper their fun.

Bill always shrugged, though, promising to make plans to hang out alone. You always gave him a small smile in response and a pat on the shoulder. You were scared of getting close to him.

It was only a month after meeting Bill that you felt something strange.

You were walking down the hallway, being called to the counselor’s office for your daily meeting, when you felt a strong sense of pain in your stomach. As if you’d been punched. You froze in the middle of the hallway, your mind racing with possibilities.

Taylor? No, you thought, he’s definitely dead. You saw his body in the morgue, in the open casket with his family. He was gone.

Was there a chance that you had gotten a new one? You hadn’t seen anything about gaining a new soulmate after the death of another, but it also wasn’t common to find yours at such a young age, like you.

You got knocked out of your thoughts--literally--when you felt a punch to your face. You dipped your head down, covering your left eye as you head starts to pound fiercely against your eye. Your vision started to blur with tears, a ringing in your ears. You clench your eyes shut, forcing yourself to take a breath and get to the counselor’s office before you started to investigate more.

You asked the counselor about having a new soulmate when you met with her again, of course by writing it down. She pulled out a dirty notebook and flipped a couple pages before reaching her desired spot.

She read to you that soulmates who lose their other half so suddenly and unexpectedly have a chance to gain a new one. It happens so rarely that there had been only two ever cases about it. The universe had a plan, they always planned ahead of time. The universe had a backup when they knew a soulmate was going to die unexpectedly. Meaning that in rare cases, people would be born without a soulmate until they were needed.

When she asked about the sudden curiosity, the bell rang. You ran out of the office and into the crowded halls, to the cafeteria--which you commonly avoided. But, today, you wanted to see Bill. You could see how much mysteries sparked the kid’s interest and you needed help.

You found him pretty easily, he was with his friends. You knew them from Bill pointing them out in the yearbook when he was showing you Henry Bowers. You barely knew their names but that was the least of your concerns. You scrambled in your backpack, finding a piece of paper and a pen. You scrawled the words “I need your help” on it before throwing the pen in your bag and striding up to Bill, confidently.

Ignoring his friends that were silenced with confusion, you shoved the paper in Bill’s face. He grabbed it carefully, reading it slowly.

“Damn Bill, since when did you know the hot new girl?” A kid with glasses exclaimed, smiling at your determined face. “Hi, hotstuff, I’m Richie Tozier, but you can call me your boyfriend!” Richie shoves his hand in your direction. You glance at his hand and then at his face, scrunching your brows together and tilting your head.

“C-c’mon, (Y/N), we-we can go to th-the libr-library,” Bill says, cutting off your introduction to Richie. “I’ll see you-you guys af-after school!” He exclaims, grabbing your wrist and leading you away from his friends.

“What the fuck?”

“Why can’t we go?”

“What just happened?”

Bill ignores the three and you two make it out of the loud cafeteria and through the halls until you both finally get to the small school library.

“So, what di-did you need h-hel-help with?” Bill asks, sitting down on a chair. You sit next to him, opening your bag and scrambling for a random notebook. You find one and hurry, rushing out an explanation. When you finish, Bill slides towards him and scans it quickly, mouthing the words as he reads. He looks back to you once he finishes, he was shocked.

He’s never heard of the whole gaining new soulmates thing and he didn’t know what to do. But he wanted to help his friend. “Wh-What do you wa-want me to do? How can I-how c-can I help?” You smile in relief, reaching over and hugging him tightly.

Bill grins widely, hugging you back. It was only the start to a whole new adventure and he was excited to help you figure it out.

You back up from him, blushing in embarrassment before turning back to your notebook and writing something more.

‘Do you have any ideas? All I’ve got is asking around if there’s been a fight.’

Bill hums, racking his brain for ideas. Biting his lip, he looks over at you to see you tapping your pencil on the notebook. “M-Maybe we can my friends i-if they’ve heard of-of any fights re-recently? R-Richie surely knows, i-i-if not then we can ask the r-r-redhead, Beverly, from History c-class.” You nod, accepting the idea.

“Okay, I-I have to go. I’ll meet-meet up with you by the b-bike rack and w-we-we can b-brainst-storm more on the w-way home. Y-You live near the sy-synag-synagogue, right?” After seeing you nod, he smiles. “O-Okay, I’ll w-wa-walk you home. R-R-Remember, by the b-bike rack!” Bill says, leaving you to think to yourself.

I’m scared that if we don’t find my soulmate, I’ll lose them before I could get to know them. You thought to yourself, playing with your pencil. I don’t wanna know that they’re going through pain and I’m not doing anything to help.

But, you didn’t know you were going to have to halt the investigation because less than a month later, Bill’s little brother ended up missing.

You became close to Bill throughout his grieving. You related to him in a way. You both lost someone close to you, for you it might’ve been more painful in the sense of your soul ripping in two, but he lost his little brother. And he thought it was his own fault.

Bill came to you to vent about Georgie. He went through all the stages of grief in front of you. And you were there to help him through it all.

Being close to Bill also meant you became good friends with his. Stan Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak, and Richie Tozier became a constant in your routine. They didn’t pressure you to speak but they made light hearted jokes about it. You weren’t ever offended, you laughed with them. Richie made the most jokes though. He couldn’t go an hour without shooting a flirty comment at you with a wink. You found it adorably annoying.

Eddie and you became close too. After a freakout with Eddie not trusting any other boys with his extra inhaler, you stepped up and held it for him. You keep it in your bag at all times and when you didn't have your bag, you had it tucked in your pocket. He had a respect for you for putting up with Richie and not managing to smack him. You always shook your head and chuckled at his disbelief.

Stan and you only became close after you found him crying with bruises up and down his arms. You helped him up and led him into your home, holding an ice pack to the worst of them all. Stan had been beaten by Henry Bowers and you caught him after he had ran far enough away to lose them. He gained the smallest crush on you after that, but you didn’t have know that.

You didn’t ever bring up the possibility of having another soulmate to the boys. You didn’t want to stress Bill with his search for Georgie and you didn’t want the other three to ask questions about your first. Though, Richie loved to pester you.

Richie loved to make jokes about being your soulmate, about how you never bring up soulmates because he was already in front of you. You always brushed it off and rolled your eyes at him. But, one day, the jokes seemed to be a reality.

You were walking home from your therapist appointment when you felt something hit the back of your head. You reached up and rubbed at it, groaning about how your soulmate must be in wrestling club with how much fighting he did. As you came across Mr. Keene’s pharmacy to pick up your prescription, you glance down the alleyway.

You almost didn’t catch it but you did a double take and saw Richie struggling against the brick wall as a platinum blonde boy holds him there.

“Let go of me, bleach bottle! I got shit to do!” Richie exclaims, groaning as he tries to pull away from the kid holding him down. You step closer, hiding behind the wall as you watch. You knew you should help, but something was stopping you.

“No, you don’t, trashmouth, not anymore.” You watch as a kid with a blonde mullet stalks towards Richie with something in his hand. “I’m gonna teach you to keep your mouth shut, faggot,” He snarls, clicking a button and showing off the glint of the knife. You gasp quietly, slipping away from the wall to try and stop him. You recognized the mullet from Bill pointing it out in the yearbook. Henry Bowers.

Richie, for once, was shocked silent. His eyes watching as the knife practically glared at him. He swallows thickly as Henry brings the knife close to his face. “You better be happy to welcome a new stamp, Buck Teeth,” Henry mutters, poking the tip of the knife into Richie’s cheek and dragging it slowly across his skin. Richie’s eyes screw shut, gritting his teeth to stop himself from yelling.

You gasp loudly, eyes widening as you spin to press your back to the brick wall. Your hand reaching to press against your cheek, feeling the knife dig into you but not showing any wound. Heat seemed to lick at your cheek, stinging and causing your eyes to water. Taking a couple deep breaths, you press a hand to your chest to calm your heart beat.

“What the fuck was that?” Henry whispers to Victor who shrugs. “Well go fucking check, dipshit!” Victor jumps, letting go to Richie, who falls to the ground. He didn’t dare to get up, knowing that if he did Henry would just find a way to injure him more brutally.

You tense, glancing around before rushing into the store you were hiding in front of. You watched at the bleach blonde looked everywhere before freezing and rushing back to the alleyway. You waited a couple seconds before leaving the store and glancing back where Richie was.

Richie was pushing himself up, holding his cheek with a frown on his face. Henry and the other one, nowhere to be seen. You deem it safe enough to bolt into the alleyway and to Richie who looked up with fright in his eyes before relaxing at the sight of you.

“Hey, dollface! What’s up?” He exclaims, smiling at you while still holding his cheek. He acted like nothing had happened. You stop in front of him and look at him incredulously. Blood was starting to drip from his fingers. “What? Oh, you mean this?” Richie asks, noting your shock. “It’s just a scratch, my dear, no need to worry!” You shake your head, grabbing Richie’s wrist and taking it from his face.

He sucks in a breath, not liking how the cold air felt in his new wound. He didn’t notice how you winced as well. “Yea, okay. Might need a band aid, maybe? Say, where you headed?” Richie asks, suddenly losing interest in the still burning wound. You roll your eyes, pulling him along with you to Keene’s to pick up some supplies.

“Do you think Mama (L/N) will freak about me bleeding out on your kitchen table?” You scoff at Richie’s words, dabbing a wet washcloth on his cheek to clean the blood from around the fresh band aid. “What? You don’t think so? You know your mom loves me, angel!” You freeze at the nickname.

It was new—different from the other pet names he’s given you. You roll your eyes, brushing it off as him just finding a magazine that mentioned it.

“You like that one? I made it up on my own!” Richie exclaims, smiling brightly at your reddening face. “Yea, cause you are like an angel. Maybe that’s why you don’t talk, cause if you do then none of us will be able to handle your beautiful voice and we’d all die because our heart burst from it!” Richie over exaggerates, springing up from the kitchen chair and laughing at your little jump. You chuckle a bit before turning around and cleaning up the mess you made.

“Hey, (y/n)?” Richie asks, suddenly quiet and serious. You raise an eyebrow, turning on your heel and tilting your head at him in question. “Have you found your soulmate yet?” He mumbles, shocking you.

You didn’t know if you should tell him. Yea, you were very happy you found your second soulmate but you didn’t know if you should tell him or let him figure it out himself.

“You don’t have to answer, I was just wondering. Because, I’m scared I don’t have one,” Richie confesses. You sit down next to him, slowly, growing confused. “That or my soulmate is extremely careful because the last time I felt pain from them was…” Richie stops to think. “Have I ever felt pain from them before?” You sigh, looking down and grinding your teeth.

You’ve been overly cautious about hurting yourself over things. You didn’t want to put your soulmate through something painful, it hurt you to see that you were the cause. But you needed to do something. You knew Richie was your soulmate, you just had to find the courage to show him.

“It’s whatever. I can deal with not having one! It’s not like I need one or something!” Richie laughs, pushing away his true feelings. He stands up, rubbing his hands over pants before starting towards the door. You start to panic, not wanting him to leave on a sad note. You rack your brain, filing through the things you could do to make him stay. But there was really only one choice as there was nothing around you to help you.. “I should probably go, I was supposed to meet Eddie at the park—“

“W-Wait.”

Richie freezes, a hand reaching towards the door. He spins on his heel slowly, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped. “Did you just—“ He cuts himself off as you start to walk closer to him. You nod. Your voice was hoarse, as it hadn't been used in more than a year. And you stuttered, you weren’t exactly used to talking anymore.

“I—“

“Y-Your soulmate,” You confess, biting the inside of your cheek and watching him carefully. Richie’s face drops. He chuckles lowly, sounding betrayed.

“Don’t try, angel. I don’t want you to fake being my soulmate just to make me happy,” You roll your eyes as Richie looks up at you with sad eyes. “You deserve to be with your actual soul—“ As Richie talks, you lift your arm and grab a lump of your skin in between two fingers, and squeeze.

“Oh, fuc—“ Richie exclaims, jerking his arm to his chest quickly. He looks at you with confusion, his face screwed with disbelief.

“You’re—“ He didn’t have to finish his words as you nod in confirmation. Richie laughs, relief seeping through. “Shit,” He breathes, bringing you in for a tight hug. “You’re actually my soulmate. Holy fuck!” Richie rambles, a grin gracing his features.

You giggle, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close. You got a second chance, you didn’t wanna screw it up. You decided to put off telling him about Taylor. Richie’s smiling face was way too precious to be put down by your past.

“Wait! I gotta tell Stan! He’s gonna shit himself!”

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stattic-writes · 5 years ago

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themoonandotherslikeit · 5 years ago

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The Hand That Reaches for God - Chapter 11

Warnings: graphic parental abuse, normal zombie/apocalypse violence, blood, gore, language.

Chapter Eleven

“My only relief is to sleep. When I’m sleeping, I’m not sad, I’m not angry, I’m not lonely, I’m nothing.” – Jillian Medoff

-18 Days After-

What does it mean to be alive? Was it the sweaty feeling of Emerson Maklen’s fingers inside of Deans? Was it the ache in his leg from war, which still hurt after a long drive, or before the rain fell? Was it the sound of Pheli and Sam’s rapid fire guesses on twenty questions? Was it the fresh air and blood that pumped through Dean Winchester that kept him moving? What did it mean? The questions were the same that plagued him his whole life.

Why was his father so cruel? Why wasn’t Dean the smart one? Why couldn’t he ever be fucking good enough, no matter how hard he tried? He glanced at Emerson who was laughing at something that Ophelia had said. Emerson Maklen, the girl that he never thought he would deserve.

He remembered watching her, curled up on the porch swing working on her homework. She looked studious. She worked hard. She was beautiful with her study glasses sliding down her nose and her blonde hair falling into her face. She was effortless, unlike her sister who put in endless effort in her style and makeup. Emerson was unlike anyone he had ever met.

“Do I have something on my face? Dean I swear to god...”

“Nah, nothin like that.” He said with a shrug. If he hadn’t been staring at her mouth he may have missed her statement all together.

He didn’t want to introduce her to his war buddies. His memories of them were all dirt, dicks, and filthy jokes. “Got a girl back home, Winchester?” He would shake his head, no, because he didn’t. But more than anything he said no, because he saw the way the guys dug into Garth about his lady. Asked how fuckable she was. Asked to borrow a photo. He couldn’t imagine them getting their cum covered hands all over one of Emerson. No fucking way, he was keeping that to himself. Not that he had one to show, anyway.

“That’s reassuring.” She said, wiping at her face anyway.

Growing up, their father always said that life was war. There was always something to fight for and someone to fight against. Dean just didn’t think John got the message that he wasn’t supposed to fight against his children. That beating his own pain out of his fists wouldn’t solve any of his problems, just create new ones. It was easier to blame John for all of his issues. There was no way around the fact that John was ten shades of fucked up. His time in the marines had done him over. More so than just making him a yes sir, no sir kind of man. He was jumpy. He was cruel, and he was paranoid.

-15 Years Before-

One night Dean woke up to John shaking him. His strong hands were on Dean’s shoulders. “Wake up son, wake up!”

“What? What’s goin on? Dad?”

John’s eyes were bloodshot. “Get up.” He grabbed the comforter in his hands and threw it off the side of his bed. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Dean asked, rubbing his eyes.

John grabbed ahold of his sons arm and pulled him along with him. He pulled his son down the stairs and out into the back yard. There was madness in his eyes, and Dean noticed for the first time that John’s feet and hands were covered in dirt. He was holding a garden shovel. “What is this?”

They loomed over a large hole in the ground. It was the length of the shovel and only a few feet wide, not much wider than John’s shoulders. “Get in.” He said hurriedly.

“What?”

“Get in the fucking hole, son!”

“Dad I…”

“That’s an order!”

“Yes sir.” Dean squeaked. John gripped the shovel in his hands again. He was white knuckled against the wood, and as Dean talked back he watched the shovel rise higher in the air. John would kill him if he hit Dean with the shovel. Dean knew that, so he complied, and climbed into the hole. He sat at the edge of the hole and dropped himself into it. His bare feet hit wood at the bottom of the hole. There was a box. It was crudely put together, and when Dean turned his foot caught a loose nail causing him.

“Sit down boy.”

“Yes sir.” He followed instructions, lowering himself to a seated position.

“This is important soldier so listen… listen… do you hear me?” He was rambling, pacing back and forth. He held the shovel like a gun.

Dean felt blood trickle out of his foot and his palms started to sweat. He couldn’t call out for his mother without being reprimanded or injured. Plus, there was a huge risk that John would shove his wife into the hole right next to their son. Or Sammy. Dean couldn’t risk it. He swallowed hard and tried to keep his hands from shaking. He had to be strong.

“They could come for you. They will come for you at some point. Who knows what kind of torture they’ll put you through. Bamboo under your nails, cuts, or they could bury you alive. I can’t have you tellin secrets to the enemy. Do you understand? I need you to be able to get yourself out. To not be afraid. Lay down.”

His back scraped against the wood, against the nails and he bit down on his tongue so he wouldn’t cry out in pain. He couldn’t make John angrier.

“Shut the lid.”

He couldn’t make his arms move, they were made of concrete, stones, they were heavy and stuck to his sides. He was shaking more now despite the sticky humidity of the Summer night air. “I won’t be able to get out.” He whispered.

“If you have the will to live you will. It is amazing what the human body can do. You’ll see. I made the boards loose. I won’t pack down the dirt. It will be easy the first time.” The first time.

Dean couldn’t do it. He started to cry. He knew that John always hit him for that. Men don’t cry. But he wasn’t a man, he was a twelve year old boy who needed to not die alone in a damp fucking hole.

“Shut the fucking lid!” John’s voice was enough to startle Dean out of his tears. He grabbed the lid and allowed it to fall shut above him. Everything was dark. All he could hear was his heavy breathing and the pitter patter of dirt falling on top of the make shift casket.

He was going to die before he ever made it to high school. He was going to suffocate before he ever kissed a girl. He couldn’t remember the last thing he said to his Mom or Sammy. Sammy. Who would protect his brother if he was dead? He started to scream, finding his voice again. He could take whatever John threw at him, but damn it, he had to be alive to take the punishment. He clawed at the lid, trying to break through, but his fingers were weak from fear and sleep. His nails broke and blood ran down his fingers. He kicked at the lid and screamed louder. It felt disjointed, like he was watching himself from above. Maybe he was dead already, just replaying the moments before his lung filled with dirt, and the worms buried deep into his skin. “Help!”

More dirt. More blackness. Pieces of dirt and rock fell between the cracks of the pieces of wood. He felt around for the nail that cut him down by his feet. It caught his already bloodied fingers and he pulled. He pulled and yanked. Maybe if he could get it out of its place and break through the lid. His fingers were wet from blood. The nail kept slipping out of his grip. He couldn’t get it. Tears soaked his face. Dirt fell into his open mouth as he screamed for help. He coughed at the dirt in his throat. He screamed and screamed, his arms finally giving up. He had no more in him. Nothing left. No more energy to claw at the lid of the box. He was a shell. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I am so sorry.”

It felt like an eternity before the lid opened again. His mother leaned over the box in her white nightgown, covered in dirt. “Oh Dean!” She screamed, pulling him out of the box and against her. She was sobbing and he could faintly hear his father murmuring in the background.

“I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t… Dean is okay. He is okay. I’m sorry.” He was crying, as if the motherfucker deserved to cry. As if he deserved the sympathy. As if he was the one hurt.

It was the last straw. At least for a little while.

-18 Days After-

Dean never intended to be like his father. John had court mandated therapy after the incident, and they never spoke of it again. Dean didn’t sleep for a week until he started sneaking his father’s whiskey. It would knock him right out. Just a few sips and he was sleeping, dreamless. They never told Sam. Deans many wounds from being inside the box were blamed on a fight at school. It was easier than explaining the truth. Dean was always getting into trouble, after all.

He didn’t want Afghanistan to fuck him up, but he didn’t always get what he wanted. Frankly, he rarely did. It just wasn’t in the cards for a guy like him.

“Is it a giraffe?” Sam asked Ophelia, looking serious.

“No! Try again!”

“Damn it. You’re cheating, you have to be.”

“I’m not!”

“Dean are you okay?” Emerson whispered to him as his fingers tightened around hers. “You seem like you’re somewhere else.”

“I’d like to be somewhere else.” He said quietly. He didn’t mean her. Of course he didn’t, but she looked away nonetheless. He didn’t tug her hand back, because his mind was still swimming. He was walking toward that past that he worked so hard to put behind him. The past that Lisa helped bury, and this time she wasn’t there to do the heavy lifting. He couldn’t expect Emerson to do that for him. it would be too much. It was too much the first time, and this time he knew better.

“I think,” Pheli said, hopping up on the median that separated the two highways. They were close to the city at that point, within a quick sprint of down town. “That you’re really bad at this. Maybe you don’t know me at all Sam… maybe.”

She slipped. At least that’s what it looked like at first. The others didn’t see the red blistering fingers reach up from the other side of the median. They wrapped around her ankle and yanked hard, sending her falling over the median to the other side of the highway. “Phel you klutz.” Sam laughed, shaking his head.

“Sam!” She screamed in response. It wasn’t out of anger, or pain. It was fear.

“Phel?” Sam called, hopping up on the median. “Shit, Dean!” He shouted before jumping down.

There was a creature. Once a man, but now he looked more like what he would expect a man that went through a garbage disposal to look like. Its skin was red and limp, falling off of its face as Pheli scratched at him, screaming at the top of her lungs. Its black teeth were biting lazily at her, its white eyes were hazy with no life left in them. Its legs were broken in an awful way that kept it from standing, like maybe it had been ran over by a car. That didn’t stop it from crawling and grabbing at Ophelia with its bony, fleshless fingers.

She kicked at it, her boots slushing in the wet skin. It peeled away with the lightest touch. Both of her hands were on its shoulders holding it at bay, just out of biting distance. They didn’t know if the bites would do anything worse than a normal bite, but it wasn’t worth the risk.

Sam’s feet landed on the asphalt. He grabbed the creature by the shirt and yanked it away from Pheli. He pulled out his gun as quickly as he could and pressed it to the back of the creatures head. He pulled the trigger. The sound of the bullet echoed, cutting through the still air.

Ophelia didn’t stop screaming until Sam pulled her into his arms, the body of the creature was disposed in a crumple on the ground, its face blown away. Ophelia’s face and clothes were splattered with the dark blood of the creature.

“Hey, I’ve got you.” Sam promised.

It was all so fast. By the time Emerson got over the median it was over. She ran and crouched to her sisters side. Ophelia turned to Emerson and hugged her. “I thought I was going to die.” She cried into Emerson’s shoulder.

She held her sister tight. “I won’t let you die. Not like this. We die together, remember? It’ll just be you and me. We will die on the same day. Today isn’t that day.”

“Today isn’t that day.” Ophelia was slowing down on her tears, matching her twins breathing.

“That’s right. Today isn’t that day.” Emerson repeated, pulling back so she could wipe the blood away from her sisters mouth and eyes. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” She repeated. “We are okay.”

But they weren’t okay.

“Ladies, not to break this up but we need to go.” Dean said, his thumb gesturing toward the city.

The gun shot must have alerted them. “Shit, Phel get up.”

“What?” Her eyes were still full of tears.

“Get up now, we have to run!” Emerson said as her eyes caught a hoard of creatures making their way through the cars. She couldn’t count, there were so many they were pushing together and climbing over the cars.

Emerson pulled up her sister and Pheli cried out in pain when she pressed on the ankle that the creature had grabbed. “Shit, you good?” Dean asked.

“No... I...”

“Come on.” Sam said crouching so Pheli could climb into his back. Sam gripped her legs, while Dean and Em grabbed their bags. “We need to go.”

They ran. Thankfully Sam had long legs so he was able to keep up. Emerson knew that Dean was going slower on her account. He was always a good runner. She remembered him jogging around the neighborhood before he deployed. He would make effortless laps through the streets for a good hour or two.

The group ran on the emptier side of the highway, the creatures noticing the rapid slaps of their feet on the concrete. They drug themselves toward the median, up and over. Their groans and screams filled the empty air, the sound of flesh sloshing off of skin, and the sound of shoes gaining on them. Dozens of feet hitting the asphalt. The group didn’t have advantage this time. They weren’t on high ground. They were surrounded.

“Toward the city!” Dean instructed. “We need to get inside, out of view.”

They pushed forward, Emerson felt a pair of fingers brush her back and she pushed forward faster. The creatures climbed over to her right, falling over the median, some falling right at her feet. She jumped over them, and fuck she didn’t even know she could jump like that. They bit at her like the plants from the old Super Mario game. She jumped, and they reached for her. One slip up and she was down. The brothers couldn’t stop for her if she fucked up. They’d have to go on, and leave her to be dinner, or whatever the creatures wanted from her.

Entering the city felt like jumping over a line into another world. The tall buildings hovered over down town. It looked so much worse close up. The doors were boarded up. Spray paint covered the windows and walls. Cars were abandoned, trash everywhere, and bodies feasted upon in the streets.

Dean turned for a place to hide and in the pivot his knee twisted. “Fuck.” He said automatically as he fell to the ground. Pain burned and shot up through his leg. Sam didn’t notice his brother fall and he and Pheli were at doors, trying to bust them down.

“Shit, are you okay?” Emerson immediately crouched next to Dean.

“No I...”

More groans. The squish of hurried flesh. They were close.

“Come on, get up.” Emerson reached through his arm and tried to help him up. He got steady, but the moment he put any pressure on his bad knee he collapsed back into a ball at her feet. “Dean...”

“I can’t. Fuck.” He reached for his thigh and unholstered his gun. He tossed it to her and she caught it easily. “Go.”

“Yeah right.” She frowned, and stood over him, clicking the safety off the gun. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Yeah, back atcha.”

“I’m hurt. I’m a liability.” Dean insisted. He knew how bad his knee was. He would just slow them down. It wasn’t just that. The wall he built in his head was quickly crumbling around him. “Go, Em. Come on.” He hissed.

“Pheli is hurt too, and we aren’t leaving her.”

“Because Sam can carry her, and unless you’ve gotten stronger lately I don’t think you can piggy back me.”

“Well, then I guess we die together.”

Dean frowned, his eyebrows coming together. “You don’t mean that. You’re supposed to die with Phel. In a long time. Remember?”

“She has Sam. She will be okay.”

Sammy.

Dean tried to lift himself up, his body crying out in response. Black peppered his vision as he tried to keep from blacking out. He ran on the leg before. He had to. He thought back to the creature on the ground with its two broken legs. He couldn’t be that sad son of a bitch. He couldn’t lay there and die if Emerson refused to leave him. He couldn’t let her die, too. He couldn’t leave Sammy with the responsibility of taking care of things alone.

“Hey I’ve got you.” She said, quickly grabbing his arm. He was heavy, but her feet were apart and her legs were steady. She put her arm under his like a crutch. “Don’t put pressure. Let’s go.”

It was too late. They took too long. The mob came around the corner to their left. “Fuck, let’s go!” Emerson said, dragging him to their right. Sam had turned then, they were quite a bit forward, still pushing on doors. He finally must have found one that wasn’t locked, because he stood there with his mouth hanging open and his hand on the handle. Between them, another group came around a corner. Another dozen or more.

They were surrounded.

“Dean..” Emerson gasped, her grip tightening on his waist. “We can fight them all. There aren’t enough bullets.”

They shuffled closer. The moans white noise. They were a buzzing in the air like coming up on a bee hive. The air was palpable, moving. She could smell them, the burning, rotting out flesh. It stung her nose. Bile rose in the back of her throat, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the smell or that it may be the end. It was all about to be over. There was no way out. No last stitch effort that either Emerson nor Dean could see.

She pulled him against the building. They couldn’t run, but with Deans wounded leg they couldn’t run anyway. At least now they couldn’t be attacked from behind. She quickly pressed his back against the building. With her hands pressed to his chest she opened her mouth to let out the words she was swallowing all those years, but her breath hitched in her throat. She couldn’t. No matter how much she wanted to. So she turned away, with her back pressed to his front. Her arms were extended, holding her weapon. Despite the terror growing inside of her, her arms didn’t shake one bit.

Dean wrapped his arms around her to help her aim. They were able to take out a hand full as they came closer. One head shot. Another missed. In the throat, then again in the head. They didn’t have enough ammo. How many monsters were out there? They’d never have enough. Dean glanced around for something long and blunt to hit them with. In the middle of a city they were falling short of sticks or rocks.

She pulled the trigger and it just clicked in quiet response. She kept pulling and it continued to click back at her, empty. Dean sucked in his breath and held her by her hips, flipping them as quickly as he could manage on his bum knee. He hovered over her, his hands on either side of her head, shielding her from the hoard. “Should’ve left a bullet for me.” He mumbled, his breath close to her lips. “You shouldn’t have stayed, Em. Really fuckin dumb move.”

“You would’ve stayed for me.”

“I’m dumb.” He shrugged, forcing a smile. He could feel the heat on his back from the creatures behind him. They radiated like he was standing too close to the oven.

“You’re not.” She promised, touching his cheek. “That night Dean, on the roof... I’m...”

“Hey.” He stopped her with a shake of his head. “We ain’t doin that, okay? No chick flick moments. No need to go out like that.”

She sucked in her breath, but nothing could stop the tears that were steaming down her cheeks. He held her cheeks and kissed her as softly as he could manage. They had enough things that hurt. Enough harshness. Things with Em always made him feel light, and fucking hell if he had to die he could go out kissing her like that.

There was a noise behind them, a rumble, crushing bones, and screams from the creatures. He braced around her only moments before a hand curled around his shoulder. He sucked his breath in, and turned slightly out of instinct to look.

“Em.” He whispered, his mouth open.

It was a Jeep. A dark green Jeep had plowed through the hoard, some still reaching out, broken, from under its tires. A person was inside, dressed in layers, a black canvas jacket, dark jeans, boots, a scarf, a rimmed hat, and a gas mask. The person reached out a gloved hand for them. So much for no last stitch efforts.

—————

Chapter Twelve

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