#'17 notebook series

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (16/17)

Part Summary: You and Leigh cling to each other, counting down the days until she leaves next year for Matt's book tour.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.300+ | Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strap-on usage (r receiving), oral (r receiving), sex in public | Author's note: Just R and Leigh being all over each other before we wrap up this series :)

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV I Part XV

-

Your internal clock kicks in at five in the morning, even though it feels like you and Leigh only just fell asleep, exhausted after hours of chasing each other to the brink and back. You’ve long since stopped counting the times you’ve brought each other over the edge, a relentless pursuit of pleasure that left both of you gasping, spent, yet craving more. 

Was it possible to share an orgasm that stretched into what felt like hours? If so, how were you not just a tangle of bliss-wrecked limbs, dead to the world?

You vaguely remember a drowsy conversation as you were both drifting off, your sweaty bodies tangled in the sheets. You’d managed a murmured question about the future, about what happens when Leigh hits the road for the comic tour. But she’d just pressed a lazy, silencing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “What if tomorrow an asteroid hits Los Angeles?” she’d teased, nosing the length of your jaw, pressing a kiss here and there.

You tried to frown, your mind foggy with sleep. “Be serious,” you muttered.

“I am,” she whispered back, her lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’m dead serious about sucking every drop of now, not wasting a second on what-ifs.”

You’re not entirely sure what happened next, only that when Leigh said the word suck, you felt a tingling sensation that surged down to your core. Before you knew it, you were on your back again, with Leigh skillfully coaxing out the final, shattering orgasm of the night from you.

Stretching your back, you hear a few satisfying pop, reminding you how sex with Leigh was nothing short of a workout, your muscles pleasantly sore from it. The first pale light finds Leigh beside you, her back turned, skin bare, and just a whisper of the sheets covering her. You realize you’ve monopolized the covers throughout the night. 

You carefully pull the sheet over her, tucking it around her exposed shoulder. She’s still out, peaceful, her breathing even and deep. You can’t help but slide closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, her skin so soft and warm. You kiss the back of her neck lightly, her scent—a mix of sweet sweat and the faint floral of her shampoo—fills you up.

Soon enough, the gentle rhythm of Leigh's breathing lulls you back into sleep.

-

When you wake up again, hours later, the bed beside you is empty. The covers are tucked around you, forming a comforting cocoon, undoubtedly Leigh’s thoughtful doing. 

There’s no rush to throw on clothes; you relish the comfort of the sheets against your bare skin as you slide out of bed. It's not your first time being in Leigh’s room, but the last time you were here, you barely made it a foot inside before being overtaken by the fight you were having. Last night was different. In the darkness, nothing mattered except Leigh’s cries of pleasure, the slick heat between her thighs, and the taste of her lips, completely consumed by the wonders of her body. With the slow start to your morning, you realize you now have all the time in the world to explore Leigh’s room.

Though, quite literally, there’s not much to unpack here.

In one corner near the windows, stacks of cardboard boxes are still wrapped in tape. They are remnants, you guess, of her life with Matt. Drifting over to Leigh’s desk, you notice a notebook sitting there, its pages shut tight. The temptation to peek is there, but you respect her privacy, leaving it untouched. Above the desk, a small shelf is lined with books—classics you recognize and, surprisingly, a few romance novels by Emily Henry. You're not usually into romance, but you make a mental note to check out this author on your next visit to a bookstore.

Exploring Leigh’s room reveals a charming minefield. Clothes are draped over chairs, pooled on the floor, or spilling from drawers. The dresser is a jumble of lotion bottles, perfume, earrings, and hair ties. It's all quintessentially Leigh—somewhat untamed. Your self-guided tour brings you inevitably back to the doorway. Just as you’re turning to give one last look over the room, the door bursts open. It's Jules, and the moment she sees you, her eyes widen in horror.

“Jesus, Y/N!” Jules shrieks, throwing her hands up to shield her eyes. “What the hell?”

Scrambling, you grab a throw pillow off Leigh’s bed and hold it in front of you. “Jules! I, uh, didn't think anyone would be coming in,” you stammer, cheeks heating up.

“Why are you naked in my sister's room?” Jules demands, her voice muffled by her hands, still covering her face. The question sounds ridiculous even to her ears—everyone knew you and Leigh had a date last night.

Of course, you're naked in her sister's bedroom the next morning. Where else?

“I—We were just—” Every explanation sounds more absurd as you try to find the words.

“Just—don't. Please, just get dressed,” Jules interrupts, still not looking at you.

Nodding, you quickly grab the first clothes you can find, not bothering to check if they’re yours or if they’re clean. Within seconds, you're awkwardly pulling on a white shirt featuring a pickle wearing aviators, captioned Dill With It, and squeezing into lime shorts that are definitely a bit too snug and short for your taste.

“I'm decent,” you announce, hoping your voice doesn’t betray how flustered you feel.

Right then, Leigh emerges from downstairs, looking bewildered by the commotion. “What’s going on?” she asks, eyes darting between her flustered sister and you in your bizarre outfit.

Jules lowers her hands slowly, peeking out with one eye before fully facing you. Her irritation is palpable as she glares at Leigh. 

“You said I could borrow your charger from your bedroom!” Jules exclaims, her finger quivering slightly as she points it at her sister.

Leigh blinks, her lips twitching as she fights the urge to laugh. She sneaks a glance at you, your face now resembling a ripe tomato from embarrassment, and mutters almost absentmindedly, “I assumed she'd still be asleep.”

Jules huffs, “Whatever.” She strides over to Leigh's desk, grabbing the charger with a dramatic flourish. You stand frozen, barely breathing. As Jules heads for the door, she pauses, crinkling her nose as if a new thought has just occurred to her. She turns, eyes narrowed slightly in disgust. 

“And open a window, would you? It smells like a brothel in here. Gross.” With that parting shot, she's gone.

Leigh lets out a breath and shakes her head. She steps closer and wraps her arms around you, her laughter bubbling up. “Well, that was something,” she says, coming over to wrap you in a hug. She gives your shirt a playful tug. “You kind of rock the pickle look, though.”

“It's a new trend,” you joke, pulling her a little closer. As you do, you lean in to kiss her cheek softly, whispering, “Good morning.”

Leigh smiles and leans in to kiss you on the lips, but you instinctively bring up your fingers to your mouth, mumbling, “I haven’t brushed yet.”

Unfazed, Leigh simply pries your fingers away and presses her lips firmly against yours. It's a quick but solid peck, leaving you both smiling.

“Morning breath doesn't scare me,” she murmurs, tracing a finger down your throat to your clavicle. “Besides, after last night, I think a little morning breath is nothing we can't handle.”

Grinning, you dive back in for another kiss, deeper this time, as Leigh starts steering you backward towards the bed. Just as the back of your knees hit the mattress, a rumble from your stomach interrupts the moment—loud, untimely, and embarrassingly intolerant.

Leigh chuckles, her forehead resting against yours as she catches her breath. “Guess that's my cue to feed you something other than kisses,” she says with a smirk, pulling back and offering her hand to help you up. “Come on, Jules made breakfast.”

Gratefully, you take her hand, letting her lead you out of the bedroom.

-

“Forget that research gig, I'm heading straight to America's Got Talent,” Suzie jokes, staggering back to the table after a spirited, if slightly wobbly, rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart. She's already half-drunk but radiates happiness, her performance having drawn cheers and hearty sing-alongs from the crowd at the karaoke bar.

She flops down in her chair, cheeks flushed and grinning, as your group erupts in cheers and claps. Tomorrow is Suzie's last day, and you had her pick the venue for her farewell party. Knowing how much she loves to sing during downtime at the clinic, a karaoke bar was an obvious choice.

“Here's to Suzie!” you shout, trying to be heard over the sound of a couple belting out a ballad on stage. “For the longest time, you've been the clinic's backbone and heartbeat. We never would've made it without you. You'll be terribly missed, but remember, our door is always open for you.”

The table erupts in cheers before everyone empties the glasses they're holding up. You drop back into your seat, feeling a little dizzy after that round. It's a small group—just you, Suzie, Foreman, Sara, and your maintenance guys, Joey and Mike.

Suzie suddenly leaps to her feet, glass raised high. “And a huge shout-out to the hottest boss I've ever had the pleasure of working ‘under’!” she yells, punctuating her words with a devious wink. Your team bursts into laughter, their uproar drawing whistles and applause from some folks at nearby tables. Sara chimes in with a spirited “Hear, hear!”, while Foreman simply rolls his eyes, a hint of envy in his expression—he's already made a pass at Sara and was swiftly rejected.

You wave your hands dismissively. “Alright, alright, let's not give everyone the wrong idea,” you say, your cheeks reddening a bit from both the attention and the alcohol. Just as you're about to retake your seat, feeling the room sway slightly with your tipsiness, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fumble it out to see Leigh's name lighting up the screen. You’d texted her this morning inviting her to join the farewell, but her busy schedule had made her confirmation uncertain.

You excuse yourself and stumble slightly as you rise, steadying your hand on the back of your chair. Weaving through the tables, you find a quieter spot near the entrance of the bar to answer the call.

“Hey,” you say, pressing the phone to your ear, your voice dropping as you move away from all the ruckus. “Everything okay?”

“Hey,” Leigh's voice cuts in, a bit choppy and barely audible over the blaring speakers. “I'm outside of the... Brass Gibbon? Am I at the right place?”

You miss the last part of her sentence. “Sorry? Can you say that again?”

Strangely, you catch Leigh's deep sigh perfectly. “I said I'm outside,” she repeats.

“Oh! Hang on, I'm coming out.”

You dash out of the restaurant and spot Leigh leaning against the wall. You can’t help but rush over and wrap her in a tight bear hug. It’s only been two days since you woke up in her bed, but you’ve already missed seeing her, smelling her, feeling her in your arms.

She laughs and returns the hug. As she tries to pull away, you tighten your grip, holding her for a few more precious seconds. She relents with a soft chuckle, patting you lightly on the back. When you finally let go, her eyes roam fondly over your face, taking in your slightly flushed cheeks and dreamy stare. Seeing this, her smile only widens.

“Someone's had a few too many,” she teases.

You hiccup and try to defend yourself, “I’ve just had three—no, four!”

Leigh smirks and shakes her head. “Four, huh? Must've been some party,” she says, taking your hand. As Leigh leads you back toward the bar, you find yourself gazing down at your intertwined hands, a goofy grin spreading across your face. You giggle softly to yourself, slightly buzzed and thoroughly enchanted by the simple act of holding her hand.

Upon reaching your table, Suzie waves enthusiastically to get Leigh's attention. Leigh responds with a bright, “Hello, everyone!” as you both approach the group. There’s a moment where everyone looks expectantly at you, waiting for an introduction. Momentarily distracted by Leigh's presence, you get a nudge and a whisper from Suzie sitting next to you, “Introduce her, you goof!”

Quickly regaining your composure, you turn slightly, still holding Leigh’s hand. “Everyone, this is Leigh,” you announce, proud and slightly nervous. Everyone takes turns shaking her hand and introducing themselves. You watch anxiously as Sara stands up to greet Leigh, but Leigh's smile never fades, and a wave of calm washes over you as you observe your team warmly interacting with your—

“Is she your girlfriend?” Foreman asks overtly. The room goes quiet. Everyone's eyes swing between you and Leigh, waiting.

You're stuck, words lodged somewhere in your chest, not sure what to say or how to say it.

And then Leigh beats you to it.

“Yes.”

You blink, staring at Leigh, flooded with relief and suddenly feeling very, very horny.  When Leigh notices your dazed look, her face switches to concern. “You okay?” she asks. Before you can answer, she’s already grabbing your hand, turning to everyone, “Excuse us, Y/N's not feeling great.”

You're still reeling from her bold affirmation and too captivated by Leigh to piece together a coherent thought. The next thing you know, you're being guided—rather roughly—into one of the bathroom stalls, your back pressed against the door as Leigh locks it behind you.

Leigh leans in close, her breath hot against your ear. “You shouldn't be wearing your white doctor's coat out like this,” she murmurs.

You open your mouth to explain—it was chilly, and beneath the coat, all you had on was a skimpy black strappy dress. But as Leigh slides the coat from your shoulders, her lips find your earlobe, gently nibbling. The words die in your throat, replaced by a sharp intake of breath. Leigh pushes you harder against the door, her body pinning yours with surprising force. That's when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness of a strap beneath her pants. A deep, needy moan spills from you as she starts grinding against you.

How did you miss the pronounced bulge in the tight jeans she wore to meet everyone? Was this part of her plan? The nerve of it—meeting everyone, introducing herself so confidently and casually, all while planning to take you here, in a public bathroom. It's almost as if she was silently bragging to your team, “Yeah, I’m about to fuck your boss in a public bathroom. Nice to meet you.”

The thought alone makes you soak your panties. Despite the thrill, the risk of getting caught in public makes you hesitate. “Leigh, they’re waiting for us,” you protest weakly.

Leigh just grins against your skin. “But I'm not done making you feel better,” she whispers slowly, making you clench your thighs together from how hoarse her voice has gotten. Her hands are deft as she bunches your dress around your waist and begins to unzip her pants. All the while, she deposits open-mouthed kisses along your neck, leaving a trail of saliva in their wake. 

“Leigh…” you whine, unsure if you're trying to make her stop or urging her on out of impatience. She just smirks, that knowing look in her eyes telling you she’s got you right where she wants you. Before you can protest again, she pulls you into a deep, toe-curling kiss that melts your doubts away.

Then, you see it. Leigh pulls out a seven-inch strap-on, its girth substantial. Her hand barely fits around it as she spits into her palm and coats the silicone with deliberate strokes, preparing it. 

You're teetering on the edge, mind spinning, when Leigh switches things up on you. Suddenly, she’s on her knees, and before you know what’s happening, she’s tugged your panties down. You’re about to react when her tongue hits you, slick and warm, tracing up your pussy.

“Oh my god!” you cry out.

Leigh’s tongue works magic, and she hums against you. “You taste sweeter every time,” she murmurs, just before her tongue dives back in for more. You can only moan in response, words failing you completely as pleasure builds. Just when you’re about to peak, Leigh pulls away, leaving you hanging on the brink. She stands quickly, grabs the strap-on, and steps closer. Her grin is wicked as she rubs the toy against your slick folds, coating it with your arousal. When the thick head nudges your clit, you can’t help but curse out loud.

“Leigh! Fuck!”

Leigh clamps a hand over your mouth, her eyes widening slightly as she hears someone enter the bathroom. She gives you a quick, commanding look, silently instructing you to wrap your legs around her. As you comply, the toy squeezes tighter in your folds, making you shudder.

“Put your arms around my shoulders, hold tight,” she murmurs, breathless from the effort she’s exerting to hold you up. She guides the tip of the cock to your entrance. “Ready?” she asks softly. You nod, pressing your face into the crook of her neck to drown out any sounds. Without another word, Leigh thrusts into you in one swift motion. The size is a shock, and you bite down on her neck to stifle a cry, the slight pain mingling with deep pleasure. Sensing your need to adjust, Leigh holds back, her body taut yet patient, giving you a moment. Once you give a slight nod against her neck, Leigh starts moving again, slowly at first. 

She continues thrusting into you, speeding up just a little, her lips just inches from your ear. “I've been thinking about this, fucking you like this,” she whispers.

Dumb with pleasure, you gasp out, “H-Here?”

“Not here, silly,” she breathes out, her rhythm faltering slightly as a particular thrust grazes her clit just right. The strap-on drags tantalizingly against your walls as she pulls out, then sinks back in deep, hitting spots that light you up from the inside. Leigh’s fucking you like the strap is a true extension of hers. For a second there, you wish it were. 

“Ideally, I'd have you in your bed, where you can scream your l-lungs out,” Leigh whimpers as her movements grow more and more out of control. She drives into you relentlessly, each stroke making you slicker, drawing moans from deep within you. “S-Seeing you tonight... I couldn’t w-wait.”

You've never been so wet, so ready, and every time she pulls back, you feel the absence of her deeply, desperately not wanting this to end.

Leigh changes her approach, drawing back slowly until only the head of her cock remains inside you, before surging forward, slamming into you. Each powerful thrust pins you harder against the door, the sound of your bodies smacking together rocking you into a lust-filled haze. The sheer strength of her movements turns you on even more, making you more slippery, and soon you can practically hear the sound of her fucking you—wet, squelching noises that you're sure anyone nearby can hear.

True enough, you catch the sound of hurried footsteps and the door slamming shut as someone rushes out, likely realizing what's happening. 

With the coast clear, she carefully lowers your legs from her waist, sensing that you’re close but knowing you need more. Just when you think you might lose it, she suddenly pulls out. You barely have time to gasp, ready to curse her for stopping, when she swiftly turns you around and positions you over the toilet, making you brace yourself on the seat.

Without warning, she enters you from behind, the angle allowing her to go deeper. Leigh drags your dress further up your body, her hands roaming over your smooth back before digging into your hips. Your breathing becomes shallower as she continues her unforgiving pace, but you crave more.

Sensing your need, Leigh sneaks a hand in front of you, her fingers finding your swollen clit. She circles it tightly with three fingers, massaging the engorged nub. “Look how big it's grown,” she whispers huskily in your ear. “You're so ready. Practically dripping everywhere.”

You whimper helplessly, tears forming behind your eyelids from the amount of pleasure you’re receiving. 

“I wish I could come in you, fill you up.”

That does it. Your body tenses, and a powerful orgasm crashes over you, making you cry out. Leigh tries to hold you up, supporting your weight as you lose all sensation in your legs.

“Fuck, Leigh!" you moan, trembling. “That was... oh god…”

Leigh doesn't stop, her own need for release driving her forward. Despite your pleas about how sensitive you are, she continues relentlessly, her fingers expertly working your clit again. “Leigh, please,” you whimper, your body overstimulated and trembling. “I can’t—”

“Just one more, baby,” she groans. “I-I’m close.”

At Leigh’s plea, your body, still reeling from the first orgasm, starts building up again. “Oh god, Leigh,” you gasp, feeling the pressure mount once more, your body trembling uncontrollably. Within seconds, you're hurtling toward another peak, your legs shaking as she drives you over the edge. A second, even more intense orgasm rips through you, your cries echoing in the small stall. Leigh finally lets out a low, guttural moan, her own release hitting as she keeps you bent over, her fingers never stopping their assault on your clit until every last wave of pleasure has wracked your body. 

Shortly thereafter, Leigh finally slows, her thrusts easing until she stops completely, still buried deep inside you. She pinches your ass appreciatively, then tests how sensitive you are with a small thrust that has you hissing. She chuckles at your reaction, taking pity on you. Bending over, she kisses your cheek and whispers, “I'm gonna pull out now, okay?”

You nod weakly, still catching your breath. Leigh begins to withdraw slowly, her eyes fixed on the junction of your bodies. She watches, fascinated, as she draws back, the wet tendrils stretching and finally snapping from your pussy to her cock. 

“Look at you,” she murmurs in awe, half to herself, as she finally frees herself completely and tucks the strap back inside her pants.

“Are you okay?” she asks, noticing you’ve been in the same position longer than usual.

“Yeah, just give me a minute... or five,” you reply with a breathless laugh.

She laughs softly too, then helps you pull your panties up from your ankles. Once you're somewhat decent, she sits on the toilet lid and pulls you into her lap, resting her forehead on your chest, eyes closed, her breath steady on your sternum. You weave your fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp gently. Leigh sighs contentedly, but then her voice turns apologetic. 

“I'm sorry for… I literally lost control. It's just... I keep seeing you and thinking of February, when I have to go and I—”

“I know what you mean,” you interrupt softly, tilting her head towards you with fingers under her chin. “I don't want to waste a single moment.”

Leigh nods, then quickly buries her face in your chest to hide her watery eyes, her head nestled comfortably against your breast.

For a while, you just hold each other without saying anything, content even in the cramped space of the stall. After a while, you gently suggest, “We should get back. Don’t want to give the staff any ideas.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Leigh says, lifting her head to meet your eyes. 

She helps you to your feet, both of you adjusting your clothes, sharing a quiet, knowing smile. With one last kiss, you step out of the stall together.

When you and Leigh return to the group, it's clear they're more inebriated than when you left. Except Suzie. The smirk that spreads across her face as soon as she sees you gives away that she's pieced together what happened between you and Leigh. Your cheeks flush immediately, providing Suzie all the confirmation she needs. Without missing a beat, she guides you both back to the booth and strategically sits between you and Leigh, still smirking.

“Thanks for coming, Leigh,” Suzie says, offering Leigh a beer.

Leigh accepts the drink, taking a large gulp before saying, “Sorry for crashing your party.”

“No, you’re not,” Suzie says with an impish grin. “I told Y/N to invite you. I wanted to meet you properly before I go.”

“Oh?” Leigh looks up from her drink. “Why’s that?”

“Suzie—” you try to interject.

Suzie holds up a finger to shush you. Leigh's eyebrow arches at the gesture, clearly feeling provoked by your former receptionist's antics. You tense up for a moment, worried Suzie might say something offensive to Leigh.

Instead, she grins and says, “I wanted to meet the reason my boss stares into space half the time.”

You shoot Suzie a deathly glare, but she just laughs. 

“Really?” Leigh asks, amused. “That bad, huh?”

Suzie nods, enjoying every second. “Oh, yeah. It’s been fun watching her daydream.”

The rest of the group laughs and then Foreman accidentally spills his drink down his shirt, drawing everyone’s attention. Taking advantage of the distraction, Suzie leans in closer to Leigh, her expression becoming earnest.

“I might not be Y/N’s best friend,” she tells her, “but consider this a friendly warning from someone who cares about her just as much. Don’t break her heart, okay?”

Leigh meets her gaze head on and says, “I don’t plan on it.”

“Good,” Suzie says, rising from her seat. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to kick off the second set of my concert tonight.”

-

Leigh doesn’t mention Suzie’s little warning to you, choosing to keep it to herself. Yet, as she spends more time with you, those words linger in the back of her mind, subtly coloring her perceptions and the way she observes your interactions. It’s not something she dwells on openly, but it’s there, quietly guiding her along the way. 

You don’t tell Leigh how she’s been everything you could ever ask for these past few weeks, but you've noticed. You see her thoughtfulness in the small things—like how she always brings you your favorite coffee just the way you like it, or the way she listens, really listens, giving you her undivided attention when you talk about your day, no matter how trivial the details. And it's clear she's not holding back; she's refreshingly candid. Leigh shares everything that's on her mind, effortlessly expressing how your words or actions impact her, for better or worse—a true companionship.

The sex gradually tapered off, but your longing for Leigh has only grown—not just in a sexual sense. You miss her in the mornings when she's makeup-free, leaving a small mark of drool on your pillow. During the day, you wish you could grab lunch with her or talk about the new book you spotted in a shop window, especially after deep discussions about its author. You long to share every detail of your day with her, to hear her take on the little things, to see her in your dreams.

Simply put, you find yourself wanting her around all the time.

It's risky to find yourself wanting her even more than you already do, but you've long since surrendered control over your own heart. It feels like being a prisoner on death row, helplessly waiting for the inevitable moment she leaves LA for her tour.

-

One evening, Leigh surprises you with a picnic dinner at the park. She finds the perfect spot under a massive oak tree and lays down a cozy blanket. From her basket, she pulls out a homemade lasagna that’s still warm and a grazing box loaded with your favorite cheeses and cold cuts. 

As you settle down, Leigh pulls out a bottle of wine and two glasses. She winks, assuring you she definitely got permission to take it from her mom’s cellar.

You smile, watching her pour the wine. “So.. what’s the occasion?”

Leigh shrugs as she hands you a glass of wine, her smile easy. “I just wanted to do something nice for you,” she says simply.

You take a sip, enjoying the flavor, but there’s a nagging feeling you just can’t seem to shake off. 

“You've been going all out for me lately,” you quip, keeping your tone light. “What's this really about?”

Leigh’s smile fades just a touch, though her eyes remain hopeful. She takes a deep breath.

“I spoke with Matt's publisher,” she starts cautiously. “I’ve officially agreed to go on the tour. They've sorted out all the details—the itinerary, the places, everything.”

The news doesn't surprise you. You've been expecting this; neither you nor Leigh can keep avoiding the inevitable, hiding behind the rush of desire you have for each other, the comfortable days that are, you both know, numbered.

You fall silent for a while, simply lying down with your head in Leigh's lap. She seems taken aback at first, but quickly adjusts to make you more comfortable. You look up at her, smiling, finding her face and the night sky an unbelievably stunning match.

Leigh gives you a funny look, her brow furrowing slightly. “Did you hear what I said?” she asks.

“Yeah, I heard you,” you mumble, still distracted by her face. Then, as an afterthought, you whisper, “You were always going to go.”

She nods, looking upward, her eyes glistening as she tries to blink back tears.

“Are you going alone?” you ask.

Leigh takes a moment, then shakes her head slightly. “Danny might come too,” she admits. “But with his new job in Vegas, I doubt he’ll be able to.”

As you absorb her words, you realize why you asked. Maybe part of you had sensed it, maybe you needed the confirmation. Regardless, you know you have no say in the matter. If Danny is there, at least someone can look out for Leigh.

You hadn't noticed you'd voiced your thoughts about Danny possibly joining her until Leigh says, “I can handle myself just fine, you know.”

“Of course, you can,” you reply quickly, “but that won’t stop me from worrying.”

She gives you a soft smile and starts toying with your hair, gently pulling strands and braiding them. The slight tugs as she twists your hair into braids lull you into an almost sleepy state. You're drifting on the edge of dozing off when her voice, soft and tender, pulls you back. 

“I love you.”

Your eyes snap open. Leigh’s refrained from saying it during sex, and not that you’ve been counting, but it’s the third time. It takes you a few seconds to process, your heart catching up with your mind, and then you notice Leigh's amused smile. 

“I love you, too,” you whisper back. You can sense that your statement simultaneously makes her both happy and sad. You wish you could make it all joy, all the time.

But that’s not how life works.

Leigh bends down, her lips brushing softly against yours before she pulls away, her breath warm on your face. “Do you think this would be easier if we hadn't said those three words to each other?” she whispers, her eyes searching yours for an answer.

You sigh, mulling over her question. “I honestly don't know,” you say, voice soft but certain. “But I couldn’t have kept it to myself, not with how I feel about you. All I know is I love you, whether you’re leaving or staying.”

Leigh's eyes well up again, but this time she lets the tears fall. She leans in, her forehead resting against yours. “Thank you,” she murmurs. 

“For what?” you ask curiously, sitting up.

Leigh wipes her tear with a dainty finger, then traces the line of your jaw before pecking you on the lips.

“For being you,” she whispers. “And for showing me that life can go on in any number of ways.”

[wasawattpadkid]

Housewife

Part - 1

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

"Do you have anything you'd like to tell us about yourself?" You hated this. First days were known to be horrible for a reason. Why on earth would you want to tell a room full of strangers some random fact about you? They don't care if you have a pet nor do they want to know why you're here. The room was dead silent waiting for you to hurry up and sit down. "Umm-"

"What's your cup size?" A boy asked making the other kids in the class snicker. The dark-haired boy next to him smiled shaking his head in disapproval. "Steven I'm not doing this with you today, out." Steven groaned already grabbing his books. "But miss-" With a stern point of the finger she spoke again. "Out!" The class once again fell silent and you couldn't possibly feel more uncomfortable. You've done nothing wrong yet within 5 minutes you feel everyone staring at you with disdain.

Once the door closed behind Steven the teacher spoke again. "I'm terribly sorry Y/n. Just take Steven's spot for today and we'll figure the rest out tomorrow." A simple nod was all you could muster. All you had was a pencil in your hand and a bright yellow notebook sitting on top of your new desk. You closed your eyes trying to fast-forward time. This was the last class of the day and it could honestly not be worse. "Don't worry about him he's a dick." The note on your desk read. The boy to your left looked at you then the paper wanting you to send the note back.

With a quick scribble, you handed him the paper. A huffed laugh left his lips as he read "You are what you eat." The note was then crumpled and shoved into his pocket. That seemed to be the end of your conversation with the stranger but you pushed further. Leaning to the side you whisper, "What's your name?" Instead of saying anything he opened up his notebook. The black and white cover was scuffed showing obvious signs of use. He lifted the book showing you the inside. With a single word written in big letters. 'Billy.'

The class went on, no more pleasantries being exchanged. The bell rang signaling the tiring day was over. You were going to say something else to Billy but he was up and gone by the time you looked up. "So much for that." You mumbled as you got up. The movies always showed the new girl getting all the attention. Everyone tries to quickly mold her into their cult-like clique. Maybe it was the dress you were wearing or the way you wore your hair that made you look like a prude. Growing up with your grandparents sets you up for a life of social isolation.

The parking lot was crowded but not crowded enough to not see your bright red car. Just as visible was the short-haired boy sitting on the hood. "Get off my car." You scolded flatly. "Holy shit this is yours!? How'd you get it?" He asked bouncing with joy. "It's my dad's so I don't want you sitting on it. Thanks." You tossed your bags in the car as he continued talking. Just a second ago you were praying Billy would keep up some conversation. Now you're wanting nothing more than to get home. "Man look it's Christine!" He shouted as the girl next to him covered her ears. "Is he always this loud?" She laughed at the question shaking her head up and down. "Unfortunately. I'm Tatum, so you're the new girl everyone's talking about?"

A puzzled look fell over your features. "Who's talking about me?" Before she could answer Billy walks up to the car. "This is nice." His blabbering friend seems disappointed with that answer. "Nice? It's fucking awesome! Can we ride in it?" He turns to beg you. Billy looked over at you raising his eyebrows in silent confusion. "I don't even know you." What part of 'dads' car did he not understand? "I'm Stu, this is Billy."

"We've met." Billy says gesturing towards you. "it's nice to meet you Stu but I don't give rides to strangers." He walks over throwing his arm over your shoulder. Way too much physical contact from someone you don't know. "Well you know my friend Billy and now you know me. I'd say we're all friends here." Tatum rolls her eyes at her friend's antics. "If you two are going to harass this poor woman I'm leaving. I've got to catch up with Sydney. See ya, babe." She blew a kiss at Stu which he caught.

"Pleaseeeee." He begged. Just as Billy was about to intervene you agreed. "Fine but no food, drink, cigarettes, or really anything that could mess up this car. Got it?" You laid out the rules as you climbed into the driver's seat. Stu bit his lip nodding his head. "Yes ma'am. Come on man." Stu said as he jumped in the car. Billy stood awkwardly looking down at his feet. His eyes nervously looked around almost like he was late for something. "Go without me I've got some errands to run." Stu stuck his head out of the window. You tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Come on man Christine is like your favorite movie." At this, Billy laughed.

"No, I think you're confusing things. A murderous car is definitely more your speed." At this point, you regretted saying yes to Stu. "Please come with us I don't trust him." Stu covered his heart in fake hurt. "If you should be worried about anybody you should worry about Billy." You seriously doubted that. Sure he was quiet and a little unnerving but he might just be shy. "Fuck it." His hands smack his thighs in defeat. Stu loudly rejoices at his friend's surrender. "Get in the back."

You figured Stu would put up a fight considering he was there first. Yet he opened the door with sad eyes and quietly got into the back. It was strange. You weren't sure how long these two had been friends but it was an odd dynamic. "Why do you get to sit next to her?" Stu whined from the back seat. "Because she doesn't trust you." A laugh forced its way from your throat. "Who said I trusted you? According to him, I should be careful around you." You pointed to the man in the back who gladly smiled. Billy propped his arm on the window shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry but dressed like that you need to be careful with everyone."

"Gotta agree with him on that. You look like Betty Crocker." Stu leaned his head on the seat between you and Billy. "Don't get me wrong it's kinda sexy but still very grandma." With a roll of your eyes, you started the car, hearing the engine purr to life. The boy next to you cracked such a small smile you'd have to catch it on camera for proof that it happened. "This is amazing! I fucking love you, Betty Crocker." Stu kissed you on the cheek making your nose crinkle. At that, Billy actually laughed. Nothing too dramatic though. "Ew can you not touch me at all? Jesus Christ." With one hand on the wheel, you took the other to wipe your cheek.

"Now you see what I put up with," Billy adds. "Oh, so you kiss him too huh?" You drove out of the parking lot heading to the main road. "Only on weekends." Stu shrugged. You giggled but Billy didn't seem to find anything funny. "So what brings you to this hell hole?" He asks still keeping his eyes out the window. "Me and my moved into my grandparent's house after they passed. He found a good job here too so ta-da here I am" Stu leaned forward to press buttons on the dash which you promptly swatted his hand away. "What is your deal with this car?"

Stu seemed shocked you had to even ask. "It's Christine baby! The man-eating car." You blinked a few times a little confused. "You know the John Carpenter film? Came out in 1983. Same guy that directed Halloween with Michael Myers." Billy seemed interested in this conversation more so than others. His whole body seem to turn towards you actively listening to anything you had to say. "Of course, I know Halloween I've just not seen Christine." It was Billy's turn to pick at you. "You're telling me you've never seen Christine but you've got the car?"

He must be brain-dead to think you got a car based on a movie. "This is a 58' Plymouth. It is way older than the Christine movie. I've got the original if you ask me." Stu looked like he was adding numbers to fact-check your math. Billy on the other hand had the same stoic expression on his face. His eyes dragged up and down you seemingly trying to figure out something. "Say where do you two live?" Stu gave out directions to his house without hesitation. "You can just drop me off at his place." You nod in Billy's direction as you focus on the road.

"Why do you dress like this?" Billy picks at the fabric of your dress. It seems no one in this town knows what personal boundaries are. But you guess it beats the awkwardness of a new friendship. With these two it's like you jumped ahead. "I like it." Plain and simple. Billy wasn't buying it either was Stu. "It's more than just that. You know people look at you differently do you get off on that sort of thing?" The question was rude. If you had a backbone of any sort you throw him out of the moving car. Being a people pleaser however made you give him an honest answer. "Maybe. Do I notice when people look at me hatefully? Duh. But at the end of the day, I'm happy they looked at me at all. I mean you both look like every other teenage boy out there. You don't want to stand out?"

Stu liked your answer it was honestly one he could relate to. "No, we like to blend in." That was all Billy said. It was a change from the chattiness before. "Well, what about you Stu?" Billy turned to look back at the boy. Meanwhile he was happy at being included. When it was just him with some girls he could say whatever he felt like. When Billy was around things were different. Just with his eyes he could tell Stu what and what not to say. He didn't mind of course he loved Billy more than he would ever know really. Plus he knew his personality could be a lot for new people. It was nice to have someone to let him know when enough was enough.

"Like he said we like to blend in. We're not big attention whores." He laughed. You don't think the comment was aimed at you but you couldn't help but feel a little hurt by it. "What's your name?" Stu asked while he lay down in the back seat. "Y/n." Billy once again needed more of an answer. "Y/n what?" He was looking for a last name. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Stu's eyes shot back and forth between you two. "I would. That's why I asked."

"Well, you ask too many questions. Unless you're looking to change my last name I don't know why you'd need to know." Billy wasn't mad. Aggravated sure but not mad. You were smart. Not smart enough to tell two psychos to fuck off but smart enough to not hand out personal information easily. He'd have to work for it which he loved to do. "Is your place down this road Stu?" The boy perked up. A little sad that the ride was over. "Yeah just go on down."

"What are you doing this weekend?" Billy asked seeing his window of opportunity was closing. "Nothing much why?" More boring and cryptic answers. "We should come over to your place this weekend seeing as nothing's going on." Billy looked at his friend for backup. "Absolutely! I could bring a copy of Christine and we could get mad wasted!" Billy closed his eyes regretting asking him for anything. "I don't drink. Never had a reason to."

"Well, Ms. Crocker I'm giving you one." Unfortunately for these two you had self-preservation skills. Getting drunk with two men you don't know at your house is not smart. They act like you haven't seen any scary movies. "I'm not getting drunk with you two. I'll think about hanging out this weekend but no drinking. My dad would kill me if he knew I had two dudes in the house let alone drunk dudes." Billy could work with that. Stu was practically jumping at the idea to hang with you. For once he didn't have ulterior motives. He couldn't say the same for his friend who had that gleam in his eye he's seen before.

You pulled into the driveway saying goodbye to your new friends. "See you at school tomorrow?" Billy asked knowing the seat you occupied today would be permanently vacant so you could stay next to him. "Unfortunately. Bye, losers." You waved at the guys ready to get the hell home. The boys watched as you pulled away, the bright red car was easy to follow down the road. "What do you think about her?" Billy asked his friend. "She's alright man. Needs better taste in movies but I can fix that." Billy agreed but something just wasn't sitting right with him. In one day you managed to weasel your way into their lives. He wasn't sure if he wanted to watch movies with you or make you the star of one.

Part 2

A/N: I've been writing for about 5 years now but I'm new to the Scream fandom. I just recently watched the first movie and I can't seem to get these two out of my head so feedback is greatly appreciated! See ya lovelies 💞

[horrorhot-line]

eunoia

(n.) beautiful thinking; a well mind.

➵ pairing: saiki kusuo/reader

➵ word count: 4.8k

➵ genre: slight angst? fluff

➵ warnings: none

➵ summary: teruhashi and mikoto swap looks and all it does is annoy saiki, he asks you for help once again. alternatively, teruhashi and mikoto compete to figure out saiki’s type, you try not to get involved but get dragged into things anyway.

➵ masterlist  (requests are open)

➵previous post -  rame

I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING POSTED BY ANYONE ELSE ON ANY PLATFORM

before you read:

‘saiki telepathically communicating with reader’ ‘reader thinking or interacting with saiki through thoughts.’ “saiki talking without moving his mouth.” “saiki talking using his mouth.”

notes: this was a request, found here, finally i’ve managed to update the series and i hope you all like the newest rendition. this one’s based off of season 2 episode 17. enjoy!!!

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Sitting across from Kokomi, you took down notes from her book. You had asked her beforehand for help since you didn't understand the class material. Of course, like the 'angel' she was, she didn't refuse. After grabbing a chair from another desk, you had parked yourself in front of her. Though, it proved hard to focus when everyone around you gushed about her perfect she was.

You leaned back in place, picking up Kokomi's notebook to take a closer look at it, squinting your eyes at it. Almost as if the action itself would help it magically make sense. The words written on the pages were elegant- even her handwriting was perfect. You sighed, yet again realising that if anyone ended up with Saiki- it would be her.

'Stop thinking useless things.' You nearly jumped in surprise. Would you ever get used to him randomly talking to you telepathically? Probably not. You furrowed your eyebrows and closed your eyes in slight frustration. 'I swear I told you to stop that.' You thought back at Saiki, recognising his voice in your head.

You shoved down the thought of how nice he sounded, regardless of whether he talked to you with his mouth or not. 'Stop what?' He retorted. You were grateful Teruhashi was too busy feeling proud of the attention she was getting from the guys in the class to pay attention to your expressions. 'Checking into my thoughts like I'm some radio station.' You huffed mentally.

'I can't help hearing you.' You exhaled through your nose, slumping in your seat. You knew he was right, but still! He didn't have to reply to you- he could ignore it. 'It's not like I'm wrong, she's perfec-' He cut off your thought before you could continue. 'Don't care.' Typical Saiki, always having to be in the right. 'Why not?'

'Because I don't... besides, she's not my type.' That made you raise an eyebrow to yourself. You looked over your shoulder to Saiki, still sitting at his desk, before you turned around to face in front of you. 'Why not?' You hoped you didn't sound too curious, aiming for indifference. It didn't work. 'She's not my type,' He reiterated.

That made you wonder, who was then? You shook your head, going back to pretending you were paying attention to Teruhashi's notebook- or trying to, at least. It was none of your business, to begin with, so it's not like you'd pry. Part of you didn't want to know so you wouldn't go around unconsciously changing your appearance.

What good would it do finding out anyway? It's not like you would fit his expectations. Knowing him meant being aware of the fact that he didn't have a single bone for romance in his body. That didn't stop the pang of pain you felt in your gut. You chose to halt your thought process before you got upset. There was no point souring your mood over something like that.

You would've started focusing on the school work you had left had it not been for Mikoto calling out Saiki's name. "Kusuo!" Turned out, you weren't the only one paying attention- Teruhashi had whipped her head to look in their direction. If you hadn't moved back in time, her perfect hair would have slapped you in the face.

"Let's go get cake later!" Mikoto announced, and you ignored the bitter taste in your mouth. Was this feeling... jealousy? No way. It was, but it's not like you would admit it to yourself. You watched Teruhashi's expression darken, and you moved back. She had a piece of her hair in her mouth, and she ground her teeth in anger. She looked creepy, and you had no intention of setting her off, even by accident. She was giving off Sadako (girl from the ring) vibes. You shivered involuntarily.

You didn’t need the power of mind reading to know what she was thinking. ‘Acting so friendly with Saiki, darn that b!tch!’

You said nothing when Teruhashi got up abruptly and excused herself to you, knowing full well she was going after Mikoto and the psychic. Saiki was popular- he had two of the prettiest girls in the school chasing after him. You exhaled deeply, shaking your head to yourself.

So much for not putting yourself in a sour mood. You quietly returned to your desk, deciding to sleep the rest of the day away instead. Education be damned.

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Your jaw dropped to the floor when you came to school the next day, only to find Teruhashi had copied Mikoto's style. The rest of the guys in the classroom shared your sentiment. "Oh, my!" and "No way!!" was all they could muster. One of them asked what had happened to her directly. "A makeover," She answered, a faint blush lining her cheeks. You cringed.

The boys in the class ogled at her telling her how great she looked. Personally, you thought the change didn't suit her, but to each their own. Did miss perfect think the fortune teller in question was Saiki's type? Oh, dear lord.

You were sat across Saiki this time when she showed up to school. 'What is she doing?' Saiki thought at you, and you replied, still staring at Teruhashi- dumbfounded. 'I think you already know.' He deadpanned, sighing at her behaviour. 'She thinks I'm going to gasp.' 

‘Who knows, maybe you will.’ You teased, only for him to turn to you with his face void of emotion. ‘Stop it.’ You wanted to snort because Saiki would do that when pigs fly. Disclaimer: never gonna happen. Not on your watch. 'Fat chance.' Knowing him, he'd just sigh at her behaviour. She had the wrong idea about the pink-haired boy, that was for sure.

You hadn't noticed Mikoto standing behind you until Saiki raised his head to look at her, and she spoke. "Wah! Terukoko, that look fits you!" She complimented, before presenting herself to Saiki. 'And this one, what has she done?' You raised your head back to look at her before you rushed to turn around in your chair when you caught a glimpse of her. 'Oh, no...' You thought back at Saiki. 'Oh, no indeed, good grief.' What a disaster.

She had straightened her hair and dyed it brown- though her iconic clip remained. Her jewellery and acrylic nails were nowhere to be seen. "What do you think? I'm mainstream, now," Mikoto questioned. Had the two- had they switched their looks for the day? Of course, they had. But why? Ah, it was because they were trying to be Saiki's type, each one confusing something fundamental. The boy didn't have one- a type. 

He did, but what you weren’t aware of that.

Not waiting for an answer from Saiki, she turned to Teruhashi, going back to gushing over her with a smile. "Terukoko, you looked really cute, so I tried a more conventional look like yours." At least she was honest, you had to commend her for that. 'Terukoko?' Saiki commented, questioning the nickname. You were too shell shocked to reply.

"It's a wig, though," Mikoto clarified, and you sighed in relief. She hadn't done any permanent damage. 'What are they trading looks for?' Of course, he didn't know- the boy was dense as a rock. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Exactly what I said. It means you can't even tell when they change their styles to impress you.' You shot back. You felt Teruhashi staring at the two of you, but refused to look her way- in fear of incurring the anger of a jealous high school girl in love. 'Great, now Teruhashi thinks I like girls for their boobs.'

You turned to look back at him, your back hurting from twisting to observe Mikoto. 'Why would she think that?' You questioned Saiki. He sighed, lowering his head. 'That's the difference between the two.' You brought your hand up to cover your mouth. He wasn't wrong, Teruhashi's chest was small compared to the fortune teller. A cup vs Double Ds.

It was clear the psychic had had enough of the whole fiasco. Mikoto left after Saiki told her off, apologising as she did. You exhaled. Something about the two of them switching styles to catch Saiki's attention didn't sit well with you. You ignored the feeling, refusing to dwell on it further. Instead, you focused on Saiki. A mistake, if you were being honest.

The moment you got lost in admiring his features, the world faded away. A horrible sign, because it meant this boy had a hold on you and he wouldn't do a damn thing about it. You wanted to reach out and touch his hair, it looked soft to the touch and you wanted to feel it. To feel him. You restrained yourself, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

Saiki would let you touch his hair if you asked, but you didn't- so it's not like he'd offer himself. You didn't need to know that, though.

His lips looked soft too, they were light pink, a few shades dimmer compared to his hair. When the thought of kissing him crossed your mind, you clenched your jaw. No. You would never go there, you wouldn't allow yourself to even imagine it.

He was your friend for god's sake! You had to keep yourself in line. Lest you destroy the relationship you had with him. When his eyes met yours, stoic and devoid of emotion, you felt your heart stop. The butterflies erupted in your stomach and you cursed at yourself for letting something that simple get to you.

You didn't even realise he was calling, your mind hadn't even registered his lips moving, calling out your name. Only when he softly touched your hand, the one on his desk did you snap out of it. You flushed red- the colour, you were sure had enveloped your entire being.

"Y/n. Pay attention. You'll fail the upcoming mock test otherwise." No witty response came from you, too dazed to fire back. "Ye-yeah." You said meekly, failing to notice the look of slight worry Saiki shot at you. The feeling of his fingers on the back of your hand, made the tips of your ears burn. You tried not to think about how nice his touch felt. 

His hands were warm. He was warm.

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You decided by the end of the school day that you weren't going to get involved with the non-existent love triangle Mikoto and Teruhashi were convinced existed. You made quick work of packing your bags, noting how Saiki had come to the same conclusion as you, excluding himself from the situation.

Saiki had gone to the toilet right before the last period concluded, his typical escape route when he wanted to avoid people. Truth be told, you were surprised that neither female had followed him.

Before you had the chance to put your pencil case away, the girls in question had walked up to your desk. You reluctantly looked up, your hand in your bag as you shot them a tense smile. You had spoken too soon. Looked like not getting involved wouldn't be an option.

Mikoto brushed her wig behind her shoulder before folding her arms in front of her chest. You tried not to pay attention to the way her boobs looked bigger because of the action, looking at the desk next to you as if it was interesting.

'Y/n, don't say a word. Walk away.' Saiki's voice reverberated inside your skull.

You tried to control your expression of surprise, had you not done so, your eyebrows would've disappeared past your hairline. Trying not to think about how much you missed his honey-like voice, you zipped up your bag quietly.

Traitor. If he was going to escape, knowing what was to come, he should've taken you with him. A fair warning, at least, would've been nice. You didn't have the braincells for this. The remaining three just screamed 'Hungry, angry, hangry!'

"Need something?" You asked absent-mindedly as you checked the time on your phone. "What's Saiki's type?" You sighed inwardly. Of course, Mikoto would be direct. Your eyes met Teruhashi's, who immediately looked away as if she was embarrassed. No surprise there, she would never ask, lest she gives away the name of her 'secret' crush.

'Don't say anything, Y/n. I'm warning you.' Saiki affirmed, and you groaned internally. 'I got it, I got it. Wasn't planning on it anyways, I don't know your type to begin wit- wait, are you still in the bathroom?'

Silence passed for a few seconds before he said something again. '...Yes.' The corners of your mouth twitched. You stopped yourself from laughing, the idea of Saiki squatting on a closed toilet bowl trying to talk to you flashed through your head. 'I'm not squatting. Good grief. Just get rid of them.'

You rolled your eyes mentally, before looking at Mikoto, who was still waiting for your response. "You're asking the wrong person- I don't know." You hoped that would get them to leave you alone. You didn't even get the chance to grab your school bag before she spoke up again. "How could you not? You're close with him!" You sighed, audibly this time.

"So, what? Doesn't mean I have an answer to your question." Forget being polite, you did not have the mental capacity for a conversation like that today. You turned to leave the classroom only to find Mikoto was still following you, Teruhashi on her heels. "Wai- Wait up! Stop trying to keep him to yourself, Y/n! I got a right to know." Her voice still as cheery as always.

That pissed you off. Keep him- to yourself? What a joke. You had no intention of making a move on Saiki. You turned around abruptly, stopping her in her tracks. "I am not. He's my friend, and I have no interest in the guy. Do you get that? F-R-I-E-N-D-S. I don't know his type, he's never told me or shown a liking for the female gender for that matter." You clenched your jaw.

Did they have any idea how much it hurt watching them try so hard for him? Knowing you could never act as freely as they did? Watching them chase after him any chance they got? You didn't mind their feelings for him- after all, it wasn't your place to decide who could go after him and who couldn't. That didn't mean you wouldn't feel jealous of it, though. ‘F^ck this.’

"Why don't you ask him, yourself?" You huffed before you turned on your heel. You half-heartedly accepted the sorry Mikoto shot your way, waving your hand before you walked down the hallway to the stairs that would get you out of the stupid school building. 

When Saiki teleported from the bathroom to the shoe lockers near the exit, joining you in walking home, you stayed silent.

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The next day wasn't any better. Mikoto showed up with the same wig from the day before, and glasses this time. You assumed she hadn't taken your advice and asked him. When Teruhashi entered the classroom, you sighed for the 1000th time that week.

Teruhashi had dyed her hair blonde and had a bow resting in it. Not to mention the fact that it was curled just like Mikoto's. 'It gets worse,' you thought to yourself, shaking your head. Like clockwork, the boys in the class crowded around her, telling her how cute she looked. Some wondered why she had changed. What was she? Some kind of zoo animal?

"Te-Teruhashi, what did you do?" One of them asked. 'She really did it,' Saiki thought at you, and you glanced to your left to observe him. His glasses hid his eyes, but you knew he wasn't pleased. Teruhashi put her hand up next to her eyes like Mikoto would and answered the boy, "I just felt like it." Like hell she did. "So edgy!" The boy who had queried, exclaimed. 'A personality makeover, too?'

Teruhashi passed in front of your desk, heading to Saiki's. You would have bet money that she was trying to get him to gasp. "Good morning, Saiki." When Saiki nodded at her, acknowledging her existence, she turned her head 180°, like some owl. She was clearly shocked he hadn't reacted.

'What's wrong with her brain?' Saiki questioned, and you answered, of course. 'It's because she went to so much effort for you.' The two of you watched as the girl in question ran out of the classroom.

'She's still fixated on boobs?' You snickered quietly to yourself at Saiki's comment. 'Good grief, I don't want her to fall deeper into this,' He stated before he turned to you, 'If she asks for love advice from you, tell her to go back to her normal self.'

'Before I agree, I have to tell you something.' You thought back at him, before completely clearing your mind. A skill you developed, knowing how to stop the psychic from seeing it coming. 'What is it?' There was a pause, you continued to look in front of you. 'You should never fart in an apple store.' You heard him audibly sigh, '...Why?' You tried not to laugh. 'Because they don't have windows.'

'I will kill you.'

'No, you won't.'

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Truth be told, you weren't sure why the school turned to you for advice on relationships when they had Mikoto to just point them in the direction of their soulmate. It was a good revenue to make money though, nothing in this world came for free, after all. That's how you found yourself sitting across from Mikoto, a 100 yen coin in her hand. She had decided to turn to you the right way this time. With money.

"I need advice." She claimed, and you nodded looking around the empty classroom. Mostly empty, since Saiki was still there, just existing. You were next to the seats near the lockers since everyone else had left to go on their break and the chairs were free. "I know." You rubbed your temple, ignoring the headache that emerged.

Trying not to pay attention to the dull pain behind your right eye socket, you gestured with your hand for her to continue before folding your arms in front of your chest. "I changed my style to fit Teruhashi's looks and it's not working, I don't understand what I have to do to get his attention."

When you stayed silent, she continued, and you pretended her talking about Saiki didn't affect you. Nope. Not one bit... Okay, maybe it did a little. Your job as the designated love guru came first, though. You needed the 100 yen to buy coffee jelly for Saiki. "I'm gonna be honest with you. You're my rival." That caught you off guard, and you furrowed your eyebrows at her.

"Heh, why?" You questioned, not understanding what she meant. Why would you be her love rival when you had no intention of acting on the stupid crush you had? She sighed, looking out the window of the classroom. "I looked into your fortune like I did with Saiki. I just want you to know I'm not going to stop competing with you." Mikoto turned back to look at you, and you were left even more confused.

Your head reeled. What the hell was she on about? You liked Mikoto, she was nice, and headstrong, not taking shit from anyone, but she was cryptic. Something you didn't enjoy much, since she spoke in riddles at times. Like now. "Why would you compete-" You didn't get a chance to finish as Mikoto cut you off. "You're his absolute future, his absolute soulma-"

Teruhashi walked in before she could finish, and you coughed into your hand and moved back in your seat, pretending you hadn't been at the edge of it. She still had Mikoto's style, and you had to say, it was growing on you. You wouldn't lie, she was still pretty. She took a chair and placed it beside Mikoto.

"I need your advice." Of course, she did as well. You dragged your hands down your face, already done with the day. You weren't a fan of talking about love with them when you knew that they were trying to pine for Saiki. Regardless, you'd give it, because the boy in question had asked you to.

"Payment first, both of you." When they gave it to you, you put the 200 yen on your side of the desk before you looked at them expectantly. "The guy I like doesn't care no matter how much I change myself for him." Teruhashi piped up first, and Mikoto agreed with her, saying she had the same issue.

You leaned back in your chair and it creaked slightly due to the shift in weight. "The issue isn't whether he cares or not. Ask yourselves this, why are you changing into someone that isn't true to yourself? Why do that for a guy? There isn't any point in it, because if he doesn't like you for you, then what use is he to you?"

Both of them looked at each other before turning to you. "So, what are you saying? Give up on him?" Mikoto spoke first this time, and Teruhashi agreed. You sighed, they still didn't get it. "No- I'm saying go back to your original styles, then try again. Copying each other won't help you." When they stayed silent, thinking on your words, you knew your work was done. With that, you took the 200 yen and returned to your desk next to Saiki.

The day after, the both of them had returned to normal and you sighed with relief.

'You owe me.'

'I know.'

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵       ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

bonus: 

"I need your help, again." Of course, Saiki did. It was a regular occurrence. Whenever he didn't want to be bothered, he'd use you as some sort of human shield against 'nuisances', i.e, his friends. Now it was your turn to deadpan at the pink-haired boy.

You raised your eyebrows to mock him, your eyelids lowered as you nodded your head with a knowing look. "What is it this time?" As your eyes trailed from his to stare at the hand on your arm, a feeling of deja vu washed over you. This situation was eerily similar to when Saiki had asked you to third wheel when he didn't want to hang out with Teruhashi alone. "Mikoto wants to get cake with me after school."

The only difference this time was that it was break time and he had caught you on the roof of the school. You tried not to think how pretty he looked with the sunlight bathing him in its glow. You ran a hand through your hair, "I can't refuse, Can I?" You turned from looking at the school field to Saiki. When your eyes met the place he was holding you, he didn't let go.

"It wasn't a question." He stated bluntly. You let out a huff of amusement, of course, it wasn't. The same predicament as the last time this had happened came up, to help or to not help. You could try ducking under him to escape, but you knew it wouldn't work. As much as you didn't want to roll over and let Saiki have his way, you knew you'd let it happen.

Then, making him work for it, wouldn't hurt right? "I don't think so. I'm not helping." Despite Saiki's expression not changing, the twitch of his eyebrow told you he was peeved. "You're coming with me." You huffed in annoyance. Always so damn stubborn. "Why don't you just go with her? You love sweet stuff." You tried not to pay attention to how his touch was doing things to your heart. You felt the breeze of the afternoon on your skin, thankful for it since it helped cool you down.

Saiki had yet to break eye contact with you, and you didn't like the feeling of your insides being squeezed, not one bit. You broke the stare first. "Because it's bothersome." You looked at him incredulously, why was it your job to help him, just because he thought of it as a chore?

"You already owe me, Kusuo." You stated.

"I know." He replied almost immediately.

"I will come to collect a favour." You confirmed.

"I know." He shot back.

You sighed, "Fine! I'll come with- see you after class." You agreed as much as you didn't want to. Seeing Mikoto try to get Saiki to like her didn't sound appealing in the slightest. You expected him to leave, he had gotten what he came for.

To your surprise, he stayed put. "...What?" You asked, unsure what he wanted. "I'm waiting for you. Class is about to start and we're going to be late." You gave him a soft smile at that. The small act of consideration was enough to remind you that this boy owned your heart. Out of all the people in the world, Saiki Kusuo just had to be the one you fell for. When you didn't move, too lost in your thoughts, he spoke.

"For your first favour, I'll let you touch my hair. Once." You nearly choked on the spit in your mouth, did you hear him right??? When you stayed silent, too shocked to say a word, Saiki elaborated, "You were thinking about it two days ago." You flushed with embarrassment. He had heard you?!

Of course, he had- he had telepathy after all. Curse you for letting your thoughts run wild in a 200-metre radius of him. You wanted to combust, praying to any higher power to just let the ground beneath you swallow you up. Anything would be better than having to be in this situation.

"Stop reading my mind, will you?" You said meekly, hoping that was all he heard. "I can't help it when you're that loud. Now hurry up before I change my mind." You forced your mind to not go at a hundred miles per hour. No such luck. Act cool, Y/n, please. You begged internally.

You moved closer to him, trying not to pay attention to his eyes following your every move. Why did this man have to make you so nervous? You could feel your face burning, and when he finally let go of your arm, you reached forward. You tentatively placed your fingers over his pink locks, exhaling nervously.

The moment your hand came into contact with his hair, your mind went blank. Why did it all feel so natural to you? You were surprised at how soft his hair was, it was like a fluffy carpet, the ones you'd draw designs into just because of how nice it felt on your hands. You let your fingers move to feel more, experimentally.

Saiki's expression had yet to change, the only thing that did was the fact that he was no longer looking at you, staring off to the side. You licked your lips, letting yourself enjoy the moment, knowing you'd never get a chance like this again. You would.

'Why does it feel so soft? What conditioner does he use?'

You sighed in contentment, absentmindedly running your hands through his pink hair as you thought back to when Mikoto and Teruhashi had cornered you to try and find out Saiki's type. What was his type? Did he even have one? If you had to guess, you'd reckon it was someone who loved themselves.

You had a feeling that Saiki didn't like those who tried too hard or who changed just for him. That much was obvious from how he reacted to the two girl's switching styles. So, someone who remained true to themselves, no matter what? That had to be it. 

“Oh, Wow.”

You froze, what f^ck was that? You looked to Saiki, questioning if you had misheard him. It was his voice, but there was no way the robot of a human was capable of saying those two words. The only thing that changed was that his hand now covered his mouth. You watched him, and when he refused to meet your gaze, you became suspicious.

"Kusuo...?" Your words trailed off when you noticed his ears, moving your hand to the side to take a better look. Were they... were they pink? Compared to his normal ivory skin, they looked flushed. Again, what the f^ck?

When you realised the same colour was creeping up to his neck from the collar of his school shirt, you wondered if you were hallucinating. Then, like it had been a trick of the light, it disappeared. He turned to you, finally looking you in the eyes. "What?" He tried to act nonchalant, but you saw through it. If you weren't so shocked you would have teased him.

You knew it! You had heard right! You had managed to do what even Teruhashi couldn't after months of effort. You had gotten the boy to say, "Oh, wow!" You were never going to forget this, mentally patting yourself on the back. You didn't care this time when your ears burnt as if they were on fire.

With one final rub to his hair, you retracted your hand. You wanted to say it. Right then and there. 'I like you. I've liked you since the moment we met, I don't know how it happened but I like you, you idiot.'

You stayed silent, swallowing your words, and biting your tongue. "Your hair is soft." Was all that you could muster. Saiki sighed, "Good grief. Now that you're done, we need to go. We're going to be late if we don't leave, Now." When he turned and started to speed walk, you shouted, "Wait up, Kusuo." Before following him.

The smile on your face didn't leave, not once.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵       ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

next part - kilig

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[finnsbubblegum]

First Birthday (Joel Miller X Reader)

Pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, sweet joel, domestic joel, rom-com

Summary (Series): reader as Joel’s neighbor. Joel’s wife left him so Joel asked his neighbor for help in babysitting Sarah. 

Summary: Pov: You and Joel prepared to celebrate baby Sarah’s first birthday together.

Words count: 1.5k

A/N: I’m trying to make this as a rom-com, hope you like my new series! This is part 6 of Where It All Starts. But it can also be read as a standalone. I'm beyond happy that many of you liked it so I hope you enjoy the next parts. Stay tuned and love you!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Thank God Joel still treated you the same way before he confessed his love to you that night. You acted like nothing happened and he did the same. 

“Thank you for walking me home, Joel.” Joel always walked you home even though your house was exactly next to his.

“Anytime, darlin’.” This was the second time he called you darling. Your heart jumped.

“I-uh-I forgot to tell you. Sarah’s birthday is coming. I was wondering if we could celebrate together.” He put his hand behind his neck.

“Oh really? It’s her first birthday! We should hold a party!” You jumped excitedly.

“A party? I don’t know (y/n). I mean-I don’t have anyone to invite beside my brother.” Joel put his hands in his pocket.

“I can invite my friends from the cafe. Let’s give Sarah the best first birthday ever. She deserves it.” You bumped Joel on the upper arm.

“Yeah, she deserves the best.” Joel nodded.

“So, what should we do?” He crossed his arms.

“I’ll think about it and we can talk about it again tomorrow.” 

“Okay. Thanks. Good night, darlin’.” Joel kissed your cheek.

“Good night, Joel.” You kissed him back.

You shrieked as you closed the door. Joel Miller just called you darling. After what you said to him and he still called you darling? His words made you sway. And the kiss on the cheek felt different. Joel kissed your cheek every night but today definitely felt different. It felt more loving if you had to describe it. Was it because he called you darling? Was it because he was still nice to you even though you broke his heart? Then you remembered you told him that you weren’t ready for a relationship. You were the one who asked him not to fall in love with you but why were you swayed now? You hit your head to get a grip of yourself. You spent your night thinking about how you could make Sarah’s birthday special. You took out your notebook and wrote your ideas about the cake design, colors, decorations and everything. Trying to neglect your thoughts about how perfect Joel was.

It was another day and you prepared dinner at Joel’s house just like usual. You and Joel had dinner together almost every night since you babysat Sarah. Either you cooked for the two of you, ordered deliveries, Joel brought takeouts, or ate out. But tonight you decided to cook. 

“You’re home early.” You turned to look at Joel who just got home from work.

“Today was peaceful.” He chuckled.

“Dinner will be ready in 10. So you can take a shower first, sir.” You bowed, acting like a maid.

“I’ll be back.” Joel chuckled as he shook his head at your joke.

*10 minutes later*

Joel went down the stairs looking fresh after a shower.

“Smells good.” Joel sniffed.

“You always said that.” You scoffed.

“I’m being honest.” Joel glared at you.

“Well, thank you.” You smiled.

You and Joel dug in and ate the meal you cooked.

“So, I’ve got some ideas for Sarah’s first birthday party.” You took out your notebook.

“Uh-huh. What do you got?” 

“I was thinking of a pink themed kind of birthday party. What do you think?” You squinted your eyes.

“Hmm, how about purple? I’m seeing Sarah as a purple girl.” Joel voted purple.

“Yes sir. Purple it is.” You wrote purple on your notebook.

“About the cake, I have talked to my baker and he has this amazing design in mind. You’ll love it.” 

“I’ll leave it to you, miss.” 

Sarah’s Birthday D-1

You and Joel decorated the house with purple flowers and purple balloons. You used helium for the balloon so it could fly to the ceilings. 

"Never meant to cause you any sorrow~"

Joel sang as he held the balloon pumper as a microphone near his mouth. 

You turned your head right away as you heard a high-pitched voice singing. 

"Seriously?" You put your hands to your waist staring at him. 

"Never meant to cause you any pain" Joel closed his eyes and continued singing.

You inhaled some of the helium and jumped to the couch. 

"I only wanted to one time to see you laughing.."  

You sang and Joel stopped because he was impressed by you.

"I only wanted to see you in the purple rain" 

You started to sing like a real singer on the stage but you were just on Joel's couch. 

"Purple rain

Purple rain" 

Joel inhaled another helium and sang with you together. The two of you burst into laughter. You couldn't stop laughing, your stomach hurts.

"Okay, okay. Stop it. My stomach hurts from laughing." You pressed your stomach. 

"I didn't know you like Prince." You bumped Joel's arm.

"Purple rain is like my jam." Joel squinted his eyes.

"Wait, did you choose purple because of the song? Purple as in purple rain?" You furrowed your brows confused as you joined the dots. He shrugged.

"I..may have chosen purple because of purple rain." He admitted. 

"You're sooo predictable." You shook your head and poked his chest with your index finger.

D-day

The birthday cake was big and purple. It was a two tier cake with pearls and sparkly butterflies around it. You thanked your baker for making Sarah a beautiful birthday cake. 

Sarah wore a purple dress with a purple bow tie bandana headband around her head. You and Joel had bought them a few days ago at the mall. 

"Happy birthday, you cute little girl!" One of your employees from the cafe shook her little hand gently. 

"Whoaa, who is this pretty little girl here?" Another friend from your cafe came to her while baby Sarah was in Joel's arms. 

"Happy birthday, purple girl." Flo came and stroked her head. 

"Say thank you, babygirl." Joel bounced Sarah and she babbled. 

"You're welcome." Flo gave you a gift box for Sarah and you put it on the table piled with presents. 

Everyone was happy to celebrate Sarah's birthday. They were like a second family to her. She spent every day with them and you at the cafe. And they loved her too. 

“Hey, you old fucker. And hey there you, babygirl. Happy birthday, my sweet little niece.” An unfamiliar man approached the two of you and kissed baby Sarah’s head.

“Tommy!” Joel hugged his younger brother.

“(y/n), this is Tommy, my younger brother. Tommy this is (y/n). She’s uh-she’s my neighbor. She’s the one who came up with all of these.” Joel introduced you to Tommy and pointed around the house.

“Hi, Tommy. I’m (y/n). Nice to meet you. Joel helped a lot too.” You shook Tommy’s hand.

“So you guys-uh-together?” Tommy asked.

“We’re neighbors.” You answered and Joel nodded.

“Okay. If you want to say it that way. I’m sure you guys are more than that anyways.” Tommy raised both of his opened palms in the air. 

“Okay, now I’m gonna mingle and see if I can talk to that pretty girl.” Tommy walked away and talked to a girl, who was apparently to be Flo. 

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” You chuckled.

“Well, you know about it now.” Joel kissed Sarah’s cheek.

“He seems..” You pouted as you were looking for the right word.

“Friendly. Very much friendly.” You smirked.

“Yep, he is.” 

“Why don’t we gather everyone and sing happy birthday?” You rested your hand at Joel’s shoulder then to Sarah’s head.

"Everyone! Joel here has something to say." You gathered everyone's attention.

"What? I thought you were the one who-" Joel whispered to you and bumped your arm.

"Shh.. come on do the speech." You whispered back to him. 

"I didn't prepare anythin'." He panicked.

"You can do it. Come on." You patted his back. 

"Hi-uh-I'm Joel. I'm sure you all know Sarah. She's turning one today. Thank you for takin' care of her every day at the cafe. I really appreciate it. You are all a second family to her. Why don't we-uh-sing happy birthday to my little girl?" Joel was sweating. You could see it dripping to the back of his neck but you just chuckled. You found him cute this way.

*Everyone started to sing*

Joel sang half way and he stopped singing so you turned to him. His eyes were locked to a woman who just came into the house. She was his ex-wife and her current boyfriend. 

"Joel.." You stroked his upper arm. 

"Hold Sarah for me?" He passed Sarah to your arms. 

"Okay." You took her from his arms and held her, bouncing her a bit. 

Joel sighed as he walked towards his ex-wife. He didn't let her see Sarah. He dragged her outside the house avoiding everyone to see the drama that would happen. 

"Everything's gonna be okay, baby. Your dad got this. Let's just be happy and celebrate your birthday. Today's your special day." You talked to baby Sarah and kissed her forehead.

To be continued…

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[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 16

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 16: Famous Last Words

Chapter Summary: Revelations.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal

Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨

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The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears. 

The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you. 

You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen. 

You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it. 

You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick. 

You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover. 

You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another. 

You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it? 

When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along? 

All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why? 

Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there. 

Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home. 

There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes. 

But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit. 

He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you. 

A week before he died, he gifted you a journal. 

He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious. 

“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.” 

“Is it edible?”

“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”

You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion. 

So fucking high. 

Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins. 

“A notebook?” 

“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”

You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking. 

“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.” 

You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him. 

Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”

The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.

You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you. 

The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning. 

At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future. 

Weeks went by before you wrote inside. 

It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.

There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages. 

The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through. 

And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot. 

When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own. 

With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee. 

Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast. 

—

The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.

One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures. 

A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs. 

He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.

Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search. 

He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him. 

In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day. 

Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be. 

While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key. 

It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender. 

Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing. 

Intuition tells him he’s running out of time. 

He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that. 

He prays that’s enough time for a miracle. 

—

You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size. 

A keeper. 

You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so. 

That should do just fine. 

The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.

After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.

—

“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.” 

She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it. 

“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”

“To bribe an elected official.” 

She blinks, “Try again.” 

“I thought she went home.” 

“And why did you go to the opera?” 

“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—” 

“Who texted you?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Do you have a copy of the text message?” 

“I, um—”

“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.” 

“Parker told me to.” 

“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him. 

“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.” 

“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”

“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.” 

“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?” 

“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“ 

“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”

“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.” 

“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?” 

“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.” 

“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘

He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?” 

“It’s her journal.” 

His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable. 

“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”

Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase. 

“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”

As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.

I am the haunted house 

He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?” 

“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.” 

Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable. 

“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.” 

He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

—

The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum. 

It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy. 

This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet. 

After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect. 

Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath. 

Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though. 

You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum. 

About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever. 

The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.

All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic. 

You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore. 

It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.

In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door. 

If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again. 

For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it. 

Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts. 

You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between. 

Then you hear it. 

A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching. 

It sneaks. 

Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last. 

Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time. 

“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.” 

—

I am the haunted house  Full of ghosts  Myself and others 

Living in the past  I cannot escape Neither can they 

Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover. 

This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so. 

His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages. 

I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed. 

Warmth and affection flood his veins. 

You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.

He remembers how tedious it was at first. 

Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.

Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.

He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did. 

As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice. 

He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name. 

It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune. 

The glass patio door slides open, then shut. 

Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar. 

“You boys have fun shopping?”

Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.” 

“Oh fuck off, really?” 

“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!” 

Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift. 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I know.” 

He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract. 

“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.” 

Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.

“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.” 

“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”

Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?” 

With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it. 

“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.” 

Parker frowns, “Can I see it?” 

Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him. 

He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips. 

“What?”

“I think I see something.”

“Something like what?”

“I need a pencil.”

Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page. 

A phone number. 

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number. 

—

The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip. 

Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps. 

Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper. 

I cried myself to sleep that night. 

Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome. 

Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me. 

It didn’t seem real when I woke up. 

He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm. 

Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.

You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands. 

Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest. 

This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass. 

It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it. 

You pick up the pen and keep going. 

He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course. 

I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention. 

The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out. 

He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black. 

When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again. 

Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out. 

This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal. 

This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting. 

This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time. 

Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum. 

__

Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead. 

“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.” 

Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90. 

If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch. 

His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt. 

He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time. 

Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity. 

Then the voicemail picked up.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.” 

BEEP

“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.” 

He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”

Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”

“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”

“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs. 

“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”

His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call. 

“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.” 

“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.” 

“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?” 

When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted. 

“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”

“What do you mean?”

He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack. 

“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.” 

“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.” 

“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”

It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts. 

“Take the exit.”

He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging. 

“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.” 

—

Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract. 

Then you wait. 

After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself. 

“Ethan, I need to talk to you.” 

Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation. 

Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.

You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed. 

The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment. 

You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object. 

An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light. 

It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers. 

The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.

In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely. 

It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread. 

The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles. 

You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”

He huffs a little chuckle, “No.” 

You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?” 

“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?” 

“I came here to yell at you.” 

“Then yell at me.” 

He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window. 

“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”

You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.” 

“If I ask you something, will you lie?”

“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”

You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none. 

“Were there other women?”

“Do you really wanna know?” 

You nod. 

He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.” 

“How many?”

“Three.”

It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit. 

“Were they serious? Did you love them?”

“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze. 

“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.” 

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts. 

“Please say something else.” 

“What do you want me to say, Lou?”

A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.” 

“What’re you so scared of?” 

“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?” 

You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika. 

You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him. 

It all seems so fragile.

“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”

“Is it worth it?” 

“Don’t you think?”

You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love. 

He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”

“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.” 

“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?” 

You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken. 

If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan. 

If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter. 

Dieter. 

Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever. 

Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.

Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him. 

Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you. 

Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before. 

You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side. 

You shake your head.

“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”

—

When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat. 

"The destination is on your right. Arrived." 

He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest. 

“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”

Thunk 

One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path. 

Goddamnit, not now. 

If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness. 

A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward. 

It has to be a porch light, that has to be it. 

Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him. 

The trees open up into a clearing.

As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio. 

He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”

His voice is garbled and frantic. 

Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”

Dead silence. 

White hot panic spikes his blood. 

He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house. 

There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms. 

On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense. 

The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around. 

—

Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water. 

Ker-plunk!

Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile. 

The next one is heavier. 

You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash. 

Delight shivers up your spine. 

You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath. 

Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet. 

You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite. 

It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him. 

For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok. 

The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door. 

“LOUELLA!” 

You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”

Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin. 

When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him. 

“Dee?”

[ Next Chapter ]

[femdomlieeh]

Notebook of a fool ✧ Xiaojun

BFF!Xiaojun ✧ Crush!Fem!Reader

WC—3.8 ✧ k

WARNING—anxiety ✧ heartbreak ✧ crying ✧ pet names

THEMES—sfw ✧ light angst ✧ future fluff (?) ✧ best friend au ✧ crush au

NOW PLAYING—OTT ✧ IVE

A/N. 누나 (nuna) = older sister

psst! Next update is a Beomgyu smut… probably my fav smut I’ve ever written

M.LISTS—wayv ✧ latest updates ✧ read on wp

All rights reserved © femdomlieeh

✧ ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ✧ ੈ ✧

Today was one of those bad fucking days. One of those days when you can't find any positivity in anything. One of those days when you don't feel like talking to the people you love the most. One of those days when you just want to give up.

The first thing you saw in the morning was a notification of a text from your boyfriend. Looking at the white speech bubble is something you usually look forward to when you see Wonwoo's name bright up your screen, knowing he always has something entertaining to tell.

But this particular morning he said something you wish were a joke.

Wonwoo Boo💞

[ive been thinking lately and _____ i think we need a break]

Mommy🤠💦

[You're not going to tell me why?]

Seen 10:17

You asked him the first thing that came to your mind. He couldn't possibly just expect you to be OK with having a break without a reason, right?

After an hour you accepted the fact that he had left you on read and that he wasn't going to reply anytime soon.

Maybe it was because he called you _____.

He never called you by your name. Only your friends called you that. He was supposed to call you weird or cheesy pet names and nothing else! 

He left you with a headache. He left you with your bad thoughts and theories. Damn you, Wonwoo.

It was very human-like of you to be in a bad mood. Only a robot would feel nothing in this situation. The day wouldn't get any worse. You were going to make sure of it! Your mood may have been bad, but you weren't going to let anyone else get affected by it. Lashing out on innocent people because you don't feel good on the inside is something you hated doing.

Today you were going to hang out with your best friend, Xiaojun, have a picnic on a park next to the Han river. Xiaojun had packed a cute pink basket (that he had specifically bought for you two to use for picnics together since they happened at least thrice a month) which was filled with kimchi kimbap, green grapes, two clementines and some churro flavored chips and you had packed a large outdoor blanket so Xiaojun wouldn't have too much to carry. For almost a week you two hadn't met up and you both missed each other and wanted to make up for the days you had spent apart so of course you went for the nice, typical not-romantic-at-all picnic hang out session.

But no.

You weren't going to meet Xiaojun and ruin his parade with the rain cloud that was following you around wherever you went since you opened your eyes this dark morning. No, you weren't going to let the first time you two meet in such a long time be ruined by the sad news you got this ugly morning.

누나 🥰

[I can't hang out today, sorry]

Prince Junnie🦄

[why not?☹️]

누나 🥰

[I'm not feeling too well]

Prince Junnie🦄

[it's ok i'll make u some delicious soup😊]

누나 🥰

[No, you don't need to, I don't want you to get sick!]

Prince Junnie🦄

[but ive missed u sm☹️]

누나 🥰

[We'll meet another day I promise to make up for this!]

And so you put the phone gently on the table to lay on the sofa and binge watch some random show. You made sure to turn your phone off first since you knew you'd cut Wonwoo some slack in case you read any persuasive text from him — he's good with words and making you feel loved. Whilst you were looking through all the lists Netflix had created for you, which were filled with movies and series you either had already seen or weren't interested in, Xiaojun was still expectantly waiting for his screen to go bright.

She must be joking, he thought.

Unlike you, Xiaojun's morning had started out brilliant. From the moment he opened his eyes, he was smiling and full of energy, excited to hang out with you after not seeing you for five whole days. He had missed you. Spending time with you was one of his favorite hobbies! Since you two had picnics regularly you two had decided that you would take turns in deciding and packing the picnic basket and this time it was Xiaojun's turn! He had been so excited all week, planning out a shopping list days before. He had specifically purchased grapes this time because he had this fantasy of putting one in your mouth (which sounded weird, but it would feel intimate to feed you fruit) and also playing around and throwing grapes up in the air and catching them in the mouth. 

Needless to say, he liked you a little more than a best friend should and that was a bit of a problem. His friends kept telling him that it was stupid to spend so much time with you and that Xiaojun should either try to ignore his emotions or he should distance himself from you until he loses feelings, because it was unfair to hurt himself by giving himself false hopes of getting somewhere with a taken girl. 

And Xiaojun knew it. For so long, he'd known that it was a bad idea to like you. You didn't like him in the same way, and you even had a boyfriend for fuck's sake — and a really pretty one at that! But no matter how many red flags there were, he still wanted to spend everyday with you. He didn't want a week to go by without being with you. He wanted to cuddle with you on a picnic blanket. He wanted to kiss you when you visited photo booths. He wanted to share hoodies with you. He wanted to stay up late and talk until you two fell asleep in each others' arms. He wanted to be the only one you called Prince. 

Wondering why you called Xiaojun 'Prince' when you already were in a relationship with Wonwoo? Well, Prince had been Xiaojun's nickname before you even met Wonwoo (yes, you'd known Xiaojun longer than you'd known Wonwoo, yet you still found yourself in a relationship with the latter — or not anymore actually). And though your (then) boyfriend never liked it, you had convinced him it was just a friendly pet name. Because that's exactly what it was.

To you.

To Xiaojun it was the closest he'd ever feel to being your boyfriend. But you started using that pet name less and ever since Wonwoo came around and ruined everything more than it already was ruined. Xiaojun even had to change his contact name on your phone to include the word 'Prince' so you wouldn't forget to call him that.

He loathed Wonwoo.

Wonwoo was always the reason why you couldn't hang out with your bestfriend for too long, why you couldn't call him Prince on certain occasions and why you couldn't look at him as a potential boyfriend. Wonwoo was an attention thief. Not really. But it felt like it. Xiaojun was jealous of everything Wonwoo had with you.

Because your boyfriend obviously was a threat, Xiaojun felt like he needed even more of your validation than before (which was already a lot). He needed your attention. If you ignored him he'd think it was your way of telling him that you had left him completely for Wonwoo. Ridiculous! He shouldn't feel like you owe attention to him.

Your friendly fucking friendship was the closest thing Xiaojun had to being together with you in the way he really wanted, so he valued it a lot. Not having you as his girlfriend was painful enough, but not having you as even his friend would break him.

Right now you weren't validating your time together, nor your friendship — or at least it felt like it to Xiaojun. He always needed your attention and unlike normally, he wasn't getting it right now. His smile dropped and so did his excitement for the day.

Was this the end?

He knew that spending one week without each other would lead to more time for you to spend with your damn boyfriend but he didn't know it would lead to the end of your friendship. 

No way he'd bail on the picnic plans.

Prince Junnie🦄

[can i pls come over? i bought fruits for u<33 i'm sure fruits is exactly what u need right now!!]

Prince Junnie🦄

[idc if i get sick or not bc i still wanna hang out w u]

Prince Junnie🦄

[pls 누나]

Sent 11:33

You had ignored him only once before and it was a horrible experience.

The way you ignored him (on accident) was so hurtful that he had to leave the gathering that he had looked forward to for so long, confusing the other guests, to go and lock himself in a bathroom so he could cry without bothering anyone. You'd gone right after him since you knew it wasn't very Xiaojun-like to leave a fun time for no reason. After you had knocked on the door and reassured him you were his best friend and not a random person coming to make fun of him, he let you in the bathroom.

The sight you were met by was his crumbling figure on the floor and overflowing tears on his cheeks. He had thought that you wanted nothing to do with him. Stupid you didn't see the obvious signs. It was because of the fact that you hadn't paid any attention to him that Xiaojun had gotten the idea that you had grown bored of him or that you wanted to leave him for Wonwoo (he hadn't told you the latter part, of course). And weeks later you did get together with Wonwoo. And that made him cry himself to sleep for days which you never knew.

How much your lack of attention and affection for Xiaojun had affected him was scary. And a fucking sign, you idiot. Nobody gets so worked up over the loss of affection of someone they view as a friend. Ever since that incident you'd made sure to always remind him of how much you value your friendship.

Except for today.

He thought he had made it clear enough to you that you never ever should ignore him unless you really meant It. Unless you really wanted to part ways. To go from the bestest friends to cold acquaintances. Some people might think it's crazy to be this attached to a best friend but you weren't just his best friend. You were his love and happiness. Without you he didn't have either.

Five minutes passed since he triple texted you and he still had no reply. Slowly he felt how his tummy was turning into knots and how his eyes started stinging.

Prince Junnie🦄

[ur making me worried]

Prince Junnie🦄

[hey!! text me so ik u didn't die from choking on strawberry milk 누나😰]

Prince Junnie🦄

[r u ignoring me?🫠]

Prince Junnie🦄

[unless u have corona, meet me by the river at 6 if u care abt me. i need to talk to u abt smth important]

Sent 12:04

If you didn't show up he knew for sure that you had left him behind forever. If you did show up then he'd confess to you. So spontaneously he couldn't keep his feelings away from you for another year because it wasn't healthy and he knew it. He knew he would have to tell you about his feelings sooner or later. And after being without you for a whole ass week and after experiencing the cruel punishment that is being ignored and even thinking you broke your dear friendship off, he knew the time had come for him to finally woman up and confess.

Whilst he was anxiously thinking through why he made such a bold move and possibly ruined any future he had with you, the girl he loved was being lazy and stuffing her face in pillows in front of a TV.

one season of Bojack Horseman later...

Tossed between blankets and an overflow of pillows, your tummy roared like a lion. You hadn't eaten anything yet. Maybe it was time to do something other than numbing your feelings with Netflix and the drinks you had at home? As you stood up you felt heavy. You had moved maximum 100 meters in the past few hours — to go to the bathroom, then kitchen and back to the living room — and it had taken a toll on your body physically.

Fuck.

You sat back down on your sofa and brought your phone to view after hours without it.

[6 new messages from Prince Junnie🦄]

Fuck. The last message was sent so long ago. You looked at your windows. It was dark outside. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. As fast as you physically could, you put on a pair of shoes and a jacket with your aching limbs.

In just a few minutes you were on your way to the closest bus station. The whole bus ride to the river was filled with thoughts putting you down. Your favorite person in the world was sensitive about this stuff and you hurt him. You were supposed to not let your bad mood affect anybody around you. But who were you kidding? Of course something had to go wrong with an idea you constructed and analyzed for four microseconds.

Before you knew it you had arrived at the destination. You were speed walking to the river. You two always went to the exact same spot by the river since it was usually vacant, by some miracle, and had a pretty view of a bridge.

You were naive enough to think that isolating yourself from your bestfriend and your phone would help solve your problems, so you were certainly naive enough to go and check if Xiaojun was still at your meeting place hours after you were supposed to meet him. What if he wasn't there? What if he was there?

The water was shimmering from the moonlight and next to it was a bench and an athletic, tall silhouette. Your eyes widened. Could it be...? Sniffles. That's the sound that came from their direction. You walked closer and could make out the lines of a figure that was all too familiar.

"Prince?"

The silhouette turned around and though it was dark you could see that it in fact was him. You quickly sat down beside him and noticed that a couple of notebooks were scattered on the ground next to a bike. You didn't know what to do, never having seen glad Xiaojun cry. After another particularly loud sniffle you turned your attention back to him. The light of the moon exposed the redness and tears on his face. For hours he'd been outside and his face was still wet with tears.

"Why are you still out at this hour?"

He choked on his tears and rested his face in his hands, "Because I'm a fool."

"No, you're not a—"

"Why are you here?" he interrupted you.

Touché.

"You told me to meet you if I care about you."

"You come here hours later as if I don't mean anything to you," he hurried out before his voice could crack.

"I'm sorry about that. But if I didn't care about you I wouldn't show up at all," you spoke with a soft tone. The last thing you wanted was to be harsh, especially since you were the reason your best friend was upset.

"Why did you do this to me, 누나?" he looked you in the eyes as if he'd find any answers inside them.

"I promise I didn't do it on purpose. I would never hurt you on purpose," you took his hands into yours, oblivious to how the simple gesture made Xiaojun a bit hopeful on the inside.

His hands were so cold it was shocking that he was shaking because of his crying and not because of the ice-like coldness. That's what happens when you're out for hours when there's no sun — or person — to keep you warm.

"I saw the messages 20 minutes ago and got here immediately. I would never purposely ignore you, Prince."

You made sure to use his nickname in almost every sentence you spoke, silently telling him that you don't want to fight. Slowly you brought his hands to your lips and kissed them lightly, five kisses on each hand for every finger. He looked at your lovely action and felt how his tears were slowing down. The kisses didn't make him warm — maybe for a second — but at least they made him feel somewhat better inside.

"I'm so, so sorry you had to be here in the cold," you apologized and kept his hands in yours as an attempt to warm them.

One part of Xiaojun wanted to continue being mad and make you feel bad for the hurt you'd caused him but the bigger part wanted you to hold him in your arms. He loved you and couldn't stay mad at you for long even if he tried.

"I-It's OK, 누나. At least you're here now," he whispered and looked at your locked hands, admiring the sight since it may never happen again — or maybe he should make sure his hands are cold more often—

You sent him a sorrowful smile and let his head rest on your shoulder, resting your own against it as an instinct, both from being comfortable and tired.

"From now on I will check if I have any texts every hour for you," you said with an exaggerated joking voice to lighten the mood.

He giggled. You weren't even being that funny but you were both tired and sad, so anything even a tiny bit funny was hilarious to both of you.

"What did you want to tell me before, Prince?" you whispered into his fluffy hair and petted it.

Should he tell you how he feels? Should he possibly ruin this? If he told you how he truly felt, would you ever kiss him hands like you did just now? Would you ever touch him this caringly ever again? Would you continue to call him Prince? Or would all of that be gone due to your loyalty to your sweet precious boyfriend Wonwoo?

For hours Xiaojun had been outside in the cold waiting for the love of his life so he could tell her the truth. But it took time before you, the love of his life, showed up. Too long.

When a person is alone outside with notebooks filled with blank pages to write feelings and stories in, it's easy to let emotions take over. He ended up writing around seven poems. Some poems were really cheesy and written in the spirit of the moment. Some didn't even rhyme. Some were a perfect description of where he was in him non-existent love life.

But they all had one thing in common.

They were melancholic and written from the point of view of a man who was hopelessly in love with his best friend.

"Nothing. I just wanted to have a picnic with you, 누나. I was just being dramatic to convince you to come despite feeling under the weather," he lied right through his teeth.

That made no sense because you two had never been on a picnic after sunset and Xiaojun would never lie to make you come see him. But you were tired and desperate to leave the cold outside, so you chuckled lightly, believing him immediately.

"Then where are the snacks?" you asked, confused since the only things around you were notebooks, a bike and water.

"I ate them."

Laughter filled the air; your genuine one and his fake one.

You put your face in his cheek, making him blush (not that you'd notice, since his cheeks were already red from before), "Well, my tummy is a little too thin right now, so let's go somewhere."

"In the middle of the night?" he questioned.

"Yes," you smiled against his cheek and he felt it, making him smile too.

"OK."

You both were still smiling when you were picking up all the notebooks to get ready for the ride. Jokes were thrown here and there. It was as if nothing had happened. You both knew it was a misunderstanding and you valued the friendship with the other too much to put energy into arguing. And you were tired too, so the argument wouldn't even be that epic even if you tried.

"What about your bike?" 

"Oh nooo! The buses are always so full now that it's too late to take the subway!" Xiaojun whined.

"You know what? Since I was a jerk you can go take a warm bus while I ride in the cold," you said impulsively.

"B-But, 누나—" he smiled, flattered. 

"B-But nothing," you interrupted him and sat down on the bike. Anyone who had spoken to you knew you were stubborn. He laughed. The little sadness he had left was gone by now. His cheeks were dry. Still red, but not from crying, now they were red from blushing.

"OK, whatever you say, 누나."

"You brought a transport card right?" you made sure since he came by bike.

"Yes I did~ See you in an hour, 누나," he winked at you and waved with a smile brighter than the moon before running to the bus that just arrived.

You waved back to him and got ready to bike — you definitely needed a head start. But before you started you couldn't help but see something white standing out in the darkness.

It was another one of Xiaojun's notebooks. You must've been too tired to notice it when you were picking them up. Thankfully the notebook was open or else you wouldn't have noticed it as it had a dark cover. You took it into your hands. To make sure it really was Xiaojun's you needed to read at least a snippet.

You prayed it was Xiaojun's because it would be worse if you read a stranger's private thoughts than your best friend's since you already knew all him secrets. The snippet was Xiaojun's. It was from one of the pages of poems that didn't rhyme, that was very cheesy but depicted how sappy he was feeling and also told him part of the story that you never knew.

I want to feel my best friend's lips on my lips

I want, more than anything, her to call me HER Prince

You drop the book on the grass. So that's what he wanted to tell you.

[vickyvicarious]

Who's Read What in Dracula? Masterpost

This is a little self-assigned project to try and keep track of who has read (as well as written) what documents, and, importantly, when they do so. Last year I spent some time thinking about this and it informed some of my thoughts about specific characters' perspectives and actions in interesting ways. So I thought it could be a neat resource to have for others!

I'm going to update this in time with the novel, so there won't be any spoilers. This post is going to be a master reference, with links to each individual character's posts. I originally wanted to do this as a series of graphs for each character, with color-coded bars for each document they've read, but I'm not savvy enough to figure out a non-confusing way to do so, especially given the number of different authors/documents. Instead, I'm going to have a separate post for each character, and just have the info in written form there. Here are the links to each of those, in order of introduction:

Jonathan Harker

Mina Murray

Lucy Westenra

Jack Seward

Quincey Morris

Arthur Holmwood

Abraham Van Helsing

Some housekeeping notes: Obviously, each character will have read their own writing. I'm not going to update day-by-day for any such things. Instead, I'll only update whenever they access new information by someone else, or begin what I'm counting as a new document.

Most of the time, we know for a fact when characters get access to a new document. However, there are a few exceptions. I have my theories, but I will mark them as speculative whenever that label applies.

I break up documents based on chunks of information and have assigned titles to them as such. The labels may change as time goes by as needed to avoid spoilers. I also try to add in dates, but for any longer accounts it will just be a range of dates rather than every entry.

Below the cut is a list of all the documents, in order of appearance, with dates. I'm using color-coding for all the main authors, which will match the colors used in individual character posts. This too will be updated over time, so no worries about spoilers here either. Unless, of course, you don't want to know if someone who has only written once before will go on to write often... in that case, don't look below.

Castle Dracula Diary (3 May-30 June) - Jonathan Harker

Invitation to Castle Dracula (3 May) - Count Dracula

Letter to Innkeeper (4 May) - Count Dracula *

Letter to Dracula (5 May) - Mr. Hawkins *

Letters to Lucy (9 May, 17 May?*) - Mina Murray

Letter to Mina (2/3 May?) - Jonathan Harker *

Letters to Mina (11 May?, 24 May) - Lucy Westenra

Dictated Letters Home (11 May, 18 May) - Jonathan Harker *

Letters to Various Solicitors (11 May) - Count Dracula *

Phonograph Diary (25 May-?) - Jack Seward

Letter to Art (25 May) - Quincey Morris

Telegram Reply to Quincey (26 May) - Arthur Holmwood

Intercepted Letters Home (28 May) - Jonathan Harker *

Renfield's Notebook (5 June?-?) - R. M. Renfield *

Log of the Demeter (18 July-4 August) - Captain of the Demeter

Whitby Journal (24 July-19 August) - Mina Murray

Message to Lucy (27 July) - Arthur Holmwood *

Daily Graph Articles (8-9 August) - News Correspondent

Letter from Budapest (12 August) - Sister Agatha

Letter to Carter, Patterson, & Co. (17 August) - Billington & Son

Letter to Mina (17/18 August?) - Mr. Hawkins *

Letter to Billington & Son (21 August) - Carter, Patterson, & Co.

Post-Whitby Letter to Lucy (24 August) - Mina Murray

London Diary (24 August-17 September) - Lucy Westenra

Whitby Letter (30 August) - Lucy Westenra

Letter to Jack (31 August) - Arthur Holmwood

Telegram to Jack (1 September) - Arthur Holmwood

Letter to Van Helsing (1 September?) - Jack Seward *

Letters to Arthur (2, 3, 6, 15?* September) - Jack Seward

Letter to Dr. Seward (2 September) - Van Helsing

Telegrams to Van Helsing (4-8 September) - Jack Seward

Telegram to Arthur (8 September) - Jack Seward

Telegram to John (8 September) - Van Helsing *

Telegram(s?) to Vanderpool (10, 13? September) - Van Helsing *

Delayed Telegram to Seward (17 September) - Van Helsing

Lucy's Memorandum (17 September) - Lucy Westenra

Unread Letters to Lucy (17, 18 September) - Mina Murray

Escaped Wolf Article (18 September) - Pall Mall Gazette

Telegram to Quincey (18 September) - Arthur Holmwood

Mrs. Westenra's Death Certificate (18 September) - Jack Seward/Van Helsing *

Telegram to Arthur (18 September) - Quincey Morris

Telegram to Summon Arthur (19 September) - Jack Seward *

Hennessey's Report (20 September) - Patrick Hennessey

Letter to Mrs. Westenra's Lawyer (21 September) - Jack Seward *

Post-Whitby Journal (22 September-?) - Mina Murray

Telegram to Mrs. Harker (22 September) - Van Helsing

Letters to Mrs. Harker (24-25 September) - Van Helsing

Bloofer Lady Articles (25 September) - Westminster Gazette

Telegram to Van Helsing (25 September) - Mina Murray

Telegram to Mina (25 September) - Jonathan Harker *

Letter to Van Helsing (25 September) - Mina Murray

Post-Castle Diary (26 September-?) - Jonathan Harker

Letter from Ring (24/25 September?) - Arthur Holmwood *

Note to Jack (24/25 September?) - Quincey Morris *

* We know these documents exist, but never get to read them (or in one case, only get a brief excerpt) as they aren't added to the record. Sometimes some of the main characters do get to read them, but not always.

Question marks after a date denote uncertainty, though they're all likely written within a few days of the tentative one listed. When after a dash (-?) they mark an as-yet incomplete document.

Some documents contain others within them. When this becomes relevant for characters reading them, I will list the main document read, then all others included in it with brackets, like this:

Main document [included document one, two]

[d-criss-news]

Rachel Zegler, Jordan Fisher, Darren Criss, More Among 2024 Elsie Fest Performers

A host of stars of the stage and screen are slated to perform at the this year's Elsie Fest, the first after a two-year hiatus. The return of the Broadway-themed music festival will be held September 8 at The Rooftop at Pier 17. Performers will include Golden Globe winner Rachel Zegler (West Side Story, Romeo and Juliet), global touring artist Lizzy McAlpine, Jordan Fisher (Hadestown, Hamilton, Dear Evan Hansen), Emmy and Golden Globe winner Darren Criss (Maybe Happy Ending, Glee, Hedwig and the Angry Inch), Tony winner John Gallagher, Jr. (Swept Away, Spring Awakening), Tony and Oscar nominee Will Butler (Stereophonic, Her, Arcade Fire), Joy Woods (The Notebook, Little Shop of Horrors, Six), RuPaul's Drag Race All Stars season two winner Alaska Thunderfuck (Drag: The Musical), and other surprise guests.

The festival will feature additional performances and appearances from Broadway shows Death Becomes Her, Maybe Happy Ending, Swept Away, and Drag: The Musical; as well as the Prime Video animated musical series Hazbin Hotel from A24 and FOX’s Bento Box Entertainment. The famed West Village piano bar Marie's Crisis will also return to lead showtune sing-alongs. “We’re very happy to announce that Elsie Fest is coming back this September 8 with a kick-ass lineup of Broadway-inspired artists hailing from the worlds of theatre, music, TV, film, and comedy,” festival co-founder Criss said in a statement. “After a two-year absence, I wanted to resurrect our festival with a powerhouse list of performers and match it with an equally exciting new venue. And with so many singular talents on this year's bill, combined with the one-of-a-kind NYC atmosphere of the Rooftop at Pier 17, I think we got the right ingredients together to bring Elsie Fest back with a bang.” Elsie Fest is produced by Criss, Ricky Rollins, Eleni Gianulis, Jeff Jernigan, Jordan Roth, Dr. Sidney J. Stern, and Corey Lubowich, alongside Live Nation. Elsie Fest was co-founded in 2015 by Criss, Rollins, Roth, and Lea Michele. The festival's 2024 return will mark its seventh iteration. Past performers have included Nick Jonas, Leslie Odom, Jr., Cynthia Erivo, Ariana DeBose, Olivia Rodrigo, Sutton Foster, and many more. Visit ElsieFest.com for tickets.

[qqueenofhades]

Ok, unsolicited rant, I’m sorry in advance. I used to love reading when I was a kid, and read frequently and often. I read a lot and I read books that I wouldn’t be able to understand now, like Anna Karenina when I was 12 (I am a native Russian speaker so it’s not that impressive but still) and a lot of Thomas Mann when I was 17-18.

It’s all gone now. I became extremely picky, but also it seems to be harder for me to understand books now? Like I’ve been trying to read “demons”, “Oliver twist”, “Ulysses” - too hard, and I can’t concentrate and in case of demons there are so many ideas and historical tidbits that I have to sit with Wikipedia and a notebook. And yes, as a kid I would have checked certain things and be able to hold a connection in my memory without a notebook (although I’m not sure if I would have done that with demons in particular, I’m bad at Dostoevsky and hated “crime and punishment”). And it doesn’t matter whether I’m reading in Russian or in English. I almost got it with Arundhati Roy’s “the god of small things”, then there was a very upsetting and triggering scene and I had to put it down.

And if I try to get into something nicer and easier my picky side comes out and I just drop books one after the other. Murderbot diaries and the Locked tomb were the only two books series that captivated me in two years.

Anyway I miss that soothing state of being engrossed with a book. And I so rarely get it now! So I wanted to ask, do you maybe have some advice? I saw your book stack and felt both envy and fear, like I both wanted to read and didn’t. Yikes.

And also, I can still read fic and your fics got me through terrible time and soothed me! So thank you!!!

Aha well. I will say that my current monumental book stack is not technically the norm for me, though I do usually have 3-4 books on the hard-working bedside table and read for several hours every night. Said giant book stack was a confluence of factors (picking up a bunch of holds from the library after asking the people for book recommendations and then going to the bookstore yesterday and hilariously telling myself that I would only get one book max). So it's not like I have ginormous amounts of TBR at all times, and in that giant stack, there are likely to be several books that don't grab me, are not particularly interesting, or technically good and well-written but just not engaging with the Brain Gremlins at this particular point in time. So I will put them down and move onto the next one, and this will keep me from being bogged down, because why read if you're not enjoying it/yourself/the book? It's not a punishment or a character-building ordeal. It's supposed to be fun, and if you're reading things that, as noted in your ask, just aren't grabbing you and feel like a chore, then stop! Find something else that makes the Brain Gremlins go ooooh shiny, regardless of what it is. It doesn't have to be Fine Literature.

I also had to get back into the habit of reading for pleasure, and it took me time and effort to do it due to various external circumstances. From about 2015-19, while I was doing my PhD, I had less than no money and absolutely no spare brainpower, so while I did have a few books that I collected along the way, I barely did any reading for pleasure at all (though I did do a frankly alarming amount of writing, including fic writing). Looking back, that seems insane to me, but it was something that had to change step by step, and it wasn't as if I just finished the PhD and went straight back into pleasure reading. I moved back to the US in 2019 and had a part-time job at a bookstore, which was very dangerous for my minimum-wage paycheck, but it did get me back into the habit of looking at books and reading books and being able to take home advanced-reader copies for free and otherwise start exercising that muscle again. I didn't have a library as an option for quite a while because I was living in a tiny town, then COVID hit, then I moved to another tiny town, where there was at least finally a modest public library at my disposal. But it took time.

Now I live in a city with a great public library where I can get almost anything I want, and I went accordingly hog-wild, but if you don't have readily available reading resources, obviously it's hard to get your hands on stuff that you like and will make the brain gremlins go brrrr. There are some public libraries that offer cards/user privileges even to people who don't live in the geographical area, especially if you are a young adult. Check out Books Unbanned by the Brooklyn, Boston, Seattle, and San Diego (US) libraries, which aims to provide access to ebooks and other digital collection items for young adults facing challenges to access, regardless of where they live. You can get a card up to age 18 from San Diego, age 21 in Brooklyn, and up to 26 for Boston/Seattle.

I also now have a little more disposable income, so I can buy books if I want to, though it's true that I also bought books when I couldn't really afford them (shh). But it's still the fact of my access to a good public library that enables me to have stacks on stacks rotating through the bedside table, and I use it constantly, so there's that. I'm of course very glad to hear that you can still read fic and that you have enjoyed my stuff, but I do also feel that you have to read fic AND books/published writing/stuff that's not fic. So the best way to get back into the habit is by practicing, not forcing yourself into stuff that isn't fun or feels like a slog, and finding a place where you can consistently obtain other stuff that's good for sparking joy. That is not the case for everyone, it will impact what you are able to do, and you should not feel like you have to do some kind of "good" reading model, especially since a lot of people seem to think that what you read is directly representative of your intelligence, moral character, or some other important part of you, and it's not. Humans like stories, the end. We like being given stories, fiction or nonfiction, in a format that we can digest and understand, and we always have. It's that simple.

Basically, I feel like reading for pleasure should indeed be fun, I love reading for pleasure and encourage everyone to do more of it, I now am fortunate to be able to do it extensively, and it has taken work of various kinds to get to that point where I can in fact just set myself up with a ginormous stack and dive in. As noted, however, if any of the books currently on hand are boring or just not doing it for me, I will move onto the next one, because the fun thing is that there are always more. So yes. Go forth and read. Good luck.

[hoedamn-eron]

baby, please - part 16

You wake up in the middle of the night and something doesn't feel right...

Warnings: This is a very sensitive chapter. If you are uncomfortable with anything involving being with doctors/in hospital, or miscarriage/pregnancy loss, please do not read. There's lots of mentions of blood. Medical jargon, I've done my best to research as much as possible but it still may be inaccurate. Mentions of unsupportive parents/family. Holiday talk (Thanksgiving - I am British so I’m just going off research on this). Mention of being sick, so emetophobia warning. Wine drinking (not you, obviously). Little swearing. Accidental Addison Montgomery cameo - I like to think it was a little nod to the original writing of Baby, Please. LONG chapter, and barely proofread. Word count: 5,317 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Part 15 ● Series Masterlist ● Part 17

You try not to jump in and take control of the meeting about the next launch; the project had been passed over to another team leader, who did things…not wrong, but different. Different to how you would do it anyway. You sit back in your chair, biting your tongue, as Kelsie, the other team leader, signifies ‘how little time we have on this launch’, that ‘original plans are out the window’ and ‘all hands need to be on deck’. This newest client wanted their product advertised - and on the market - as soon as possible, or at least advertised before Christmas. 

It was going to be tough. And with Thanksgiving coming up, everyone was trying to get as much done in the week before the long weekend. 

It was your first holiday without your family. Normally you would have booked a flight over to your parents’ house and spent Thanksgiving there, but no-one had contacted you, and it wasn’t from lack of trying on your end. You’d gone into the family group chat (that had been quiet since you revealed your pregnancy – you had the suspicion that a new chat was created without you) and sent a message to everyone, just checking in and wishing them a ‘happy holidays’. You figured they’d all had enough time to cool off and get used to the idea that you were pregnant, and you were doing okay, that they would love to see you and catch up, where you could tell them all about the babies you were growing. But no. You'd heard nothing back. They’d probably made a new family chat without you. 

You did have a slight breakdown to Beth and Courtney about it, and that was when Beth invited you to her and Georgia’s for Thanksgiving dinner. You insisted you’d be fine, that you’d have dinner by yourself, but she wasn’t hearing any of it. So, thankfully, you had somewhere to be and someone to be with, since Santi had plans in Panama City with his sisters, who he had recently contacted again. They gave him shit for essentially disappearing but invited him back into their lives without even blinking. 

You hadn’t expected him to invite you along, since it was a reunion of sorts, and he was telling them about you and the babies. He didn’t want to throw everything on them at once. Also, you didn’t expect him to invite you, because things had been a little awkward since the almost-kiss on Halloween. Neither of you had said anything about it, you chalked it up to the alcohol he’d been drinking. Santi was a flirt with everyone; it was probably just a blip, probably not even worth mentioning. He didn’t feel the same as you did about him. 

It was fine. Everything was fine. 

The meeting finished after another gruelling half an hour, and with a sigh, you grab your empty notebook (you really needed to start paying attention and taking notes) and stand from the chair. You were hungry, and tired, and your feet were hurting. In fact, everything was hurting. You were, honestly, feeling miserable. You needed to pee all the time, and you had a constant foot stuck under your ribs, which also hurt, and made it hard to breathe. 

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” Emily asks you as you sit at your desk. 

“I’m going to my friend’s,” you reply, huffing as you sit at your desk, already out of breath. Jesus, you’re the size of a whale. And you’re just going to get bigger. 

“Oh,” Emily said. “You not going to be with your...baby daddy?” 

“No, he’s visiting family,” you reply, turning back to your emails. “He’s not seen them for a while, so...” you then give her a look. “Don’t call him my ‘baby daddy’.” 

“Well what else do I call him, you haven’t given us any information!” Emily cried, rolling her eyes in exasperation. 

You grin as you type out an email to the clients regarding their wants and needs for their advertising. You found it funny that Emily hadn’t put two and two together; that it was Santiago that was the father of your kids. That she was the one who set you both up together in the first place. She knew you were due in February; she could do the math. She lived next door to him, for God’s sake, how had she not seen you coming and going? 

“My private life is separate from my work life...for once,” you say. “I’d like to keep it that way, for a little while.” 

“So I eventually will know who he is, then?” Emily asked. 

“Probably. Maybe.” 

“Boo, boring,” Emily called, before turning to her own computer. 

Maybe you’d throw her a bone. You needed some entertainment since you’d taken a few steps back in work. “Fine. What do you want to know?” 

“His name?” Emily asked, looking back at you with wide, hopeful eyes. 

You shake your head no. “Ask for something else.” 

Emily groans before looking at you. “Fine. Are you guys like, dating, or anything? Or is it just a...” 

“A what?” you ask. 

“Well, are you dating or are you just...keeping him around?” 

“’Keeping him around’?” 

“Look, I don’t know how sensitive this is!” Emily cries, throwing her hands up in surrender at the look on your face. 

You tut and roll your eyes at her theatrics. “No, we’re not dating. We’re, like...friends now, I guess. He’s sticking around for the kids. It’s nice.” 

Emily hums in thought before turning back to her computer again. “Okay. Cool. It’s nice to know you’re not alone in this, you know?” 

“I wasn’t ever going to be alone; I have my friends.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Single mothers get along just fine without the fathers,” you mutter. “Now let’s drop it, okay? We’ve got a lot of stuff to do and not an awful lot of time.” 

“I didn’t mean to offend - “ 

“You’ve...” you start to say she hadn’t, but you stop yourself, because you might snap at her, and it isn’t her fault for your bad mood. You take a deep breath before shaking your head, trying to give her a soft look. “You haven’t offended me. I just feel like I have a lot going on at the moment. Work is busy, it’s the holidays and I'm not spending it with my family, and I'm pregnant. I constantly need to pee, I’m always hurting somewhere, and...” And I'm in love with Santiago and I can’t do anything about it. “And I’m just feeling it at the moment.” 

Emily nods, giving you a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. The holidays are always a tough time of year.” 

You nod and turn back to your emails. “Yeah.” 

“If it’s any comfort, I think you’re handling everything like a champ,” Emily says. 

“Thanks,” you say, giving her a small smile. “It means a lot.” 

And you meant it.

You stand outside Beth and Georgia’s house, holding a box of brownies and a bottle of wine, your contribution to the Thanksgiving dinner (you’d attempted to make the brownies yourself, but it almost, almost, ended in tears and they had tasted awful when you were done; you ended up buying a Betty Crocker mix from the store where you only needed to add an egg and some oil and water). You’d been feeling a little off all day, woozy and just generally unwell. You put it down to holiday jitters and anxiety (your family still hadn’t contacted you, and Santi was a little quiet – but you couldn’t blame him, he was still at his sister’s house). So, you made yourself get ready and vowed to enjoy yourself at Beth’s house. 

Which was where you were now. You stood outside on the porch. You can hear the muffled chatter of family and the laughs of children as they play through the house, and it reminds you of Halloween at the Morales’s. You feel your cheeks warm at the memory of the kitchen. Shaking your head, clearing the images from your brain, you ring the doorbell. You swallow down the urge to vomit, shaking your head and putting on a smile. 

You wait a few moments before Beth opens the door, smiling widely at you. “Hey, you!” 

You greet her back as she moves aside, letting you in. You loved Beth’s house. It was always warm, and inviting, and full of sentiment, even when her day-to-day work meant that her client’s want modern and minimalist living spaces. “Thanks for letting me come today. It’s been a tough week.” 

“Oh my God, don’t even thank me, you’re welcome any time,” Beth said, closing the door behind you. “Here, let me take those.” She grabs the wine and the brownies from you. “Ooh, Châteauneuf-du-Pape, very nice.” She gives you an impressed look. 

You take off your jacket and hang it in the closet by the front door. “I hope you enjoy it because I might just cry about not having any.” 

“I’m taking a leaf out of Gabs’s book, I’ll not drink tonight out of consolidation,” Beth says, leading you into the kitchen, where you take a deep breath and inhale the smells of the turkey and vegetables in the oven. Despite your upset stomach, the food did smell amazing. She places the brownies and the wine on the marble countertop. “Stocked up on Diet Coke for you.” She grabs a can from the fridge. 

You thank her as you take the can, but you don’t open it. You both go through into the living room. You take a deep breath before slowly letting it go, giving a smile to Georgia as she approaches you, giving you a hug. You then thank her for letting you join their Thanksgiving, and, like Beth, tells you to ‘stop being silly’, and that you ‘were always welcome, holiday or not’. 

Dinner goes well. You mingle and meet some of Georgia’s family, who talk to you about the wedding and what plans had been made. They ask about your pregnancy, which you were happy to answer, but one of Georgia’s older relatives - quite rudely - asks why you’re alone on Thanksgiving. You’re taken aback at the question, and before you can even remotely five some sort of answer, Beth quickly steps in and shuts down the relative with an overenthusiastic smile. You still feel queasy and just...not right. 

You wish you could drink that bottle of wine you brought. 

By the time the food is ready, you feel worse, and you try your best, but you just can’t eat. Your stomach isn’t settling, and you’re having terrible Braxton Hicks; the worst you’ve ever felt. And the rude relative, whose name is still escaping you, is still looking at you with judgement on her face. You swallow what you can, but once everyone starts talking about dessert, you have to decline. 

“I’m sorry, Beth, I’m not...I’m not feeling that great,” you mumble to your best friend after dinner, following her with some dishes into the kitchen, your almost full plate at the top of the pile. 

“Is it because of what Aunt Rose said? Because you can ignore her, she still thinks Reagan is president,” Beth said, rolling her eyes as you both place the plates down by the sink. 

You shake your head quickly, taking a step back, wincing a little at yet another tightening in your abdomen. “No, no, it’s not that. Really. I just don’t feel very well. I think I’m gonna go home.” 

“Are you sure?” Beth asks, her brow furrowed at you. “I can drive you home if you’re not up for it.” 

“I’m fine, really. I’m not too far.” 

Beth looks at you with a little uncertainty before nodding. “Okay.” 

You give a small sigh through your nose as you try and give her a smile. “I really appreciate what you’ve done for me today. Really. I would have been sat at home, sulking and feeling sorry for myself otherwise.” 

“You’re too badass to do that,” Beth said before giving you a hug. “Get home safe.” 

“I’ll let you know when I’m home,” you say, giving Beth a final squeeze before you let her go. 

After grabbing your coat, you say goodbye to Georgia and thank her again for the dinner. She insists you take some of the Diet Coke they had in the fridge, and eventually, leave, a box of cans in your hands. You place them in your car, but you take a moment to leave against the frame, taking a few deep breaths as more Braxton Hicks hit you. 

“Come on, you’re fine,” you mutter to yourself, trying to keep the vomit down. “It’s just practice contractions; you’ve dealt with them before. The books said they’ll be more frequent around now.” 

You eventually make it into your car and drive home. You don’t bother carrying the box of cans up to your apartment, opting to leave them in the car. You slowly make your way to your apartment, sighing in relief at you close the door behind you. Although not as comfortable as it once was, since you had started packing some of your stuff away for the move in a few weeks, your apartment was still your safe space, and right now, you needed to relax. You send Beth a text, thanking her again for inviting you to Thanksgiving, and apologising for leaving so early. 

Then you strip and run yourself a bath, tossing your phone by the sink. You go all out, using candles and bubble bath, and some pregnancy safe bath salts that Courtney had gifted you. You sigh as you sink into the warm water, closing your eyes and slowly stroking your bump. The twins were quiet, not kicking as much, but maybe because the Braxton Hicks don’t feel as intense as you settle into the water, letting the bubbles float around you, the floral aromas from the salt filling the air. 

You must have dozed off, because when you open your eyes again, most of the bubbles had gone, and the water was considerably cooler. You sigh as you sit up and check the time on your phone. Yup, an hour had passed since you got home. You groan as you climb out the bath and grab a towel. You wrap it around yourself, then make your way to your bedroom. You get into your pyjamas, fully intending on crawling into bed and sleeping the rest of Thanksgiving away. 

However, as you turn to get into your bed, you wince again as there’s another tightening in your abdomen; so much so that you stop yourself again, having to lean against your chest of drawers. 

It’s fine. It’s normal. There’s not enough room for them both, so I will feel more uncomfortable. 

“I just need sleep,” you mutter to yourself. 

After a few more deep breaths, you climb into bed, leaning against your headboard as you stare at your bump. They were still quiet in there. You poke at your belly, trying to prompt a reaction. The twins were usually so active at this time, when you’re about to go to bed. It was as if they knew you would be going to sleep, and they decide to have a party in your uterus. 

You find yourself caught in the web of overthinking, a maze of thoughts that seem to have no end. Anxiousness creeps in like a silent intruder, casting shadows over your mind. Every thought, no matter how trivial, becomes a tangled mess of possibilities. The more you try to untangle the threads, the more they seem to multiply, creating a web of uncertainty. 

The weight of uncertainty is bearing down on you, and the fear of making the wrong choice paralyses your ability to think logically. Your mind refuses to quiet down as you wonder what was going on. 

You take in a shaky breath, before closing your eyes and counting to ten, twice. You try not to worry. You’ve been overthinking a lot, and you’re not feeling fantastic. They might just be feeling your uneasiness, about the holidays, about Santi, about your family. And you’d been socialising a lot with new people; maybe you just needed a break. 

Yeah. You just need a break. Maybe you could look into a ‘babymoon’, something Gabrielle had desperately wanted but Matthew couldn’t get the time off work, for both Theodore and Luna. Maybe you could take her along. Or would Santi want to go? It would make more sense to take Santi. But was that too forward? Too…couple-y? 

You’re overthinking again. 

With a one final pat to your bump, you send a final text, telling Santi goodnight, and you hope he’s had a good Thanksgiving with his sisters and their families. He sends you back a goodnight, and that he’ll see you when he gets back. He also mentioned his sisters were excited to meet you and become Tías. You smiled at the thought; at least Santi’s family were excited about your pregnancy. 

You put your phone on the side table, closing your eyes and letting sleep overcome you. 

However, hours later, you wake violently, gasping loudly at the pain. You sit in your bed for a moment, hands on your bump as you take a few breaths, before letting out a small cry at another rush of pain. No, something was wrong. You needed to go to the hospital. 

Shakily, you turn on your bedside lamp, and the room was illuminated in a warm glow. You throw back the covers and let out another loud cry at the sight of the blood on the sheets, and between your legs. 

I should have gone earlier; I shouldn’t have waited. 

You go to stand, but the pain was too much. You let out a sob as you grip your abdomen, leaning forward as you try and breathe. You reach out blindly for your phone, not really checking the time, before you scroll through your contacts and finding Beth’s number. You quietly sob as you wait for her to answer, the phone ringing out, feeling like a lifetime. 

When you were about to give up, she answers with a groggy, “Hello?” 

“H-hi,” you sob. “I’m s-s-so sorry i-it's late, and - “ 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” she asks, suddenly alert. You can hear shuffling on the other end of the phone. 

You sob again. “There’s some-s-something wrong, I-I-I need the hospital.” 

“We’ll be there in five minutes, stay on the phone with me, okay? Don’t move.” 

You give a shaky “okay,” down the phone. Everything sounds fuzzy as you focus on the pain, almost frozen to your place in your bed. You vaguely hear Beth talking to Georgia down the phone, sounding frantic, and you can soon hear the sound of a car engine. All you can do is nod as Beth talks down the phone to you. You were shaking, both in pain and at the sight of the blood seeping into the sheets. 

They were tainted. You need to throw them out. 

True to her word, Beth soon arrived, using her spare key to your apartment to let herself and Georgia in. You hang up your phone, but you don’t feel all there when Beth is kneeling down in front of you, talking to you gently as Georgia goes around your room, you’re assuming she’s packing a bag for you. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” Beth asks, gently taking your hands and lifting you from the bed. You hear her hiss through her teeth at the sheets. 

You let out another loud sob. “Is it bad?” 

“No, honey, it’s not a lot, okay? It just took me by surprise. Don’t worry about it right now, okay, let’s just get you to the hospital.” 

You nod, and you let her guide you to your bathroom, where Georgia had tossed in some clean clothes. You luckily had some pads still sat in your medicine cabinet, so Beth situated one in your underwear. 

Georgia knocked on the door, but didn’t come in. “I packed a bag. I have a change of clothes and your phone and charger, some slippers. I can pack your toothbrush and a towel. Do you need anything else?” 

“N-no, no. Thank you,” you say. 

Beth grabs your toothbrush and a towel and tosses them to Georgia before turning back to you. “Come on, we’ll get in my car.” 

You sob again, looking at her as tears stream down your face. “What if - “ 

“Let’s not think about ‘what if’s right now, okay? Let’s talk to a doctor.” 

You make it to Beth’s car, slowly and carefully, and soon you’re on the way to the hospital. You're still cramping, but the pain wasn’t getting any worse. You can hear Beth talking to Georgia but you’re not sure what about before Beth turns to you. “Do you want me to call Santi?” 

Oh God, Santi. What do you say to him? You didn’t want to worry him. It’s almost four in the morning, he’s probably asleep. You don’t want to impose on his time with his family, especially since he’s not seen them for so long. He’s five hours away, and you could just see him speeding down the highway in that stupid truck of his. 

“No, no, I don’t want to worry him,” you say, shaking your head. 

Beth sternly says your name, causing you to look at her with wide eyes. “These are his children. He needs to know.” 

“He’s five hours away, Beth, what am I supposed to do? I’ll ruin his Thanksgiving!” 

“You are not ruining anything,” Beth says sternly. “I know you’re scared, and you feel like you need to handle this on your own and not be a burden, but you’re not alone. You’re not a burden. Now do you want me to call Santi?” 

You look at her, fresh tears pooling in your eyes. You suck in your lips and nod wordlessly. 

“Okay,” Beth said, digging in your bag for your phone. She knew your passcode and had no problem getting to your contacts. After a few moments, she puts the phone to her ear. It takes a while, and Santi doesn’t answer. Beth leaves him a message, introducing herself and giving him a quick rundown of the situation. She ends the voicemail with telling him to call back as soon as he could. 

Beth continues to calm you with soft words and promises that you’ll get through this, that you’re not alone and they were there for you. 

All you could do was nod at her. 

You arrive soon at the hospital, Beth clambering out the car before Georgia could even stop the car. Beth helped you out gently as Georgia grabbed your bag, and the two brought you through to the front desk, where the nurse behind the station didn’t even hesitate to call in a doctor and get you a wheelchair as Beth spouted off what was wrong. 

You were wheeled off to obstetrics and gynaecology and placed into an examination room. You settle yourself in the bed as a redheaded doctor, a woman, comes into the room with a dark-haired nurse, also a woman, and introduces themselves as Dr Montgomery and Alisha, as they set up some bands around your bump. Dr Montgomery asks you what happened, and you fill her in as best as you could, telling her that the twins weren’t moving as much and when the pains started, you had bled. Beth had to take over a few times as it becomes too much for you, her hand tightly squeezing yours. You weren’t sure how long you’d been holding it. 

Dr Montgomery nods and writes it down on her clipboard before she gives you a gentle look. “Has anything like this happened before?” 

You shake your head. “N-no. I’ve not had any issues before.” 

“And this is your first pregnancy?” 

You nod again. 

Dr Montgomery nodded, writing down the notes before she gives you another smile. “We’ll monitor your tightenings, and we’ll examine the bleeding. We’ll also schedule in an ultrasound and take a look at your babies, okay?” 

Dr Montgomery was nice. She had a kind smile, and she was calm, and you felt safe. You nod at her. “Okay.” 

Dr Montgomery looked at Beth and Georgia. “Are you two...” 

“We’re her friends,” Beth answered. “Her family is out of state, and the father is visiting family for Thanksgiving.” 

You appreciate Beth keeping a level head and not going into too much detail. 

Dr Montgomery nodded. “Usually we only allow family, but we’ll let it slide for now. Although one of you might have to leave later today.” 

“’I’ll go,” Georgia said. “I have my family at home anyway, I’ll need to keep them busy when they wake up.” 

“I’m so sorry – “ 

“Stop apologising,” Beth said, giving you a stern look. “This isn’t something you can control, okay? It’s not your fault.” 

Georgia nodded, placing your bag on the chair. “Keep me posted, okay?” she gives Beth a kiss, and then leans down to give you a tight hug before pulling away and telling Beth she’ll text her later before leaving. 

Alisha checks the monitor on the babies’ movements, before nodding and looking at Dr Montgomery. “Movements detected; we’ll monitor over the next hour.” 

“Good,” said Dr Montgomery before turning to you. “Are you okay with me examining you?” 

“I don’t have a choice,” you say. 

Beth gave your hand another squeeze. 

“Okay,” Dr Montgomery said before talking to Alisha, before they examine you. 

It was intrusive, and painful. You hated every second of it, and you sobbed even more, not knowing what was going on and what was happening to your babies. 

“Everything will be okay,” Beth whispered to you. “It might not seem like it now, but it will be.” 

“How heavy was the flow?” Dr Montgomery asked. 

“I…uh…I don’t know,” you say, your breathing shaking a little. “I didn’t…it was enough for me to panic.” 

Dr Montgomery nodded before she appeared from your legs. “Well, it looks like it’s subsided. We’ll come back in an hour and check out your states. In the meantime, I’ll arrange an ultrasound.” 

“Thank you, Dr Montgomery,” Beth said, giving a closed lipped smile as Dr Montgomery and Alisha walked out the room. 

You throw your arm over your eyes and lay back on the bed, trying to calm your breathing again as your heart thuds heavily in your chest. 

“Hey, don’t panic, okay? We’re here now, Dr Montgomery is gonna look after you.” 

You couldn’t answer her. Now that you were here, laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors, it all became very overwhelming. You sobbed quietly, Beth holding your hand before leaning over and holding you, letting you cry into her shoulder. She strokes your hair, and murmurs comforting words as she lets you sob loudly, soaking her jacket with tears. Beth says nothing about it. 

After a while, you lift your head, and wipe at your eyes. “I got snot on your jacket.” 

She snorts in amusement. “I’ve had worse on me.” 

“I don’t want to know,” you say, giving a weak chuckle, tears still slowly running down your cheeks. 

Beth gives you a light swat on the arm, giving her own small laugh before passing you a tissue from your bedside cabinet. You take it gratefully before wiping your face. You both go into a lull, listening to the general sounds of the hospital room. 

Beth is first to break the silence. “What do you want me to tell the others?” 

You shake your head. “Nothing, yet.” you take a deep breath. “I feel awful. Physically and emotionally.” 

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. Not right now.” 

You merely nod at her, before going silent again. 

You manage to get some sleep, but it wasn’t long after that Dr Montgomery comes back to check on you. She checks you over, and is glad to say the bleeding had stopped, and the monitors have detected that there has been a decrease in tightenings, and the babies seem to be moving a little more. 

“But I would still like to get an ultrasound,” she had said. 

It was arranged for 9am, which gave you a few hours to rest. You told Beth she could go home, but she told you to not ‘be silly’, that she was ‘going to stay right here’. You were thankful for her support. 

Santi eventually calls just before you go for the ultrasound, when Alisha was setting you up in a wheelchair. 

You answer the phone after Beth passes it over. “Santi - “ 

“What happened? Are you okay? Are the babies okay?” he throws question after question at you, and you barely can get a word in until he calms down. 

“I had a scare,” you tell him gently. “I’m in the hospital now, about to go for a scan. Dr Montgomery is positive that everything is okay - “ 

“Shit, I can be there in...if I go faster than the speed limit, I can get there in a few hours - “ 

“Santiago, do not kill yourself trying to get down here.” 

“I’m leaving right now,” he says, and you can hear him shuffling in the background; he must be packing his bag. “I can be there in five hours, okay?” 

“Santi, listen to me,” you say. “You don’t...you don’t need to come down, okay?” 

Beth’s eyes widen at you, but you wave her off. 

“It’s Thanksgiving, you haven’t seen your sisters for years, I...you don’t need to come.” 

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a while before he finally asks, “Do you want me there?” 

Your heart breaks. He sounded so unsure. “Santi, of course I do - “ 

“Then let me be there,” he says. “These are my kids. This is you.” 

You bite your lip before nodding. “Okay,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.” 

“This isn’t your fault,” he says. “I need you to know that.” 

You talk a little more, asking how his Thanksgiving was (“How are you asking me that right now?”), and what else he had planned for the day (“Nothing, I'm coming home to be with you.”). You felt lighter talking to him, that he didn’t blame you for what happened, that he was just happy to hear that you were in the hospital and getting checked out. You told him to prepare for bad news, if Dr Montgomery found anything. 

“If anything comes back...bad,” he starts. “Then...we’ll deal with it. We’ll make a plan.” 

You hesitated for a moment before muttering back the affirmative. You wanted everything to be okay. You needed everything to be okay. You needed these babies healthy, and happy. 

"I have to go,” you say to him. 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” he says to you. 

“Okay. Bye, Santi.” 

“I’ll see you soon, cariño.” 

You hang up the phone with a shaky breath before handing it back to Beth, who placed it back in your bag. “Is he coming?” she asks. 

You nod. “Yeah, he’s leaving his sister’s now.” 

Beth nods. “Good,” she says, before you both turn to look at the door as it opens, and Dr Montgomery steps through. 

Dr Montgomery smiles softly at you from your place in your wheelchair. “Are you ready?”

Tagged - @khonsulockley, @bluenredndeath, @superficialfeelings, @othersideoftheparadise, @beezusvreeland

[nicole-timey-wimey-stuff]

Masterlist

~Negan Smith~

~Pretty little letters ( Mini Series)~

Dads best friend AU, After leaving college you decide to take a year travelling the country, after promising your dad to write to him, Negan asks if you can write to him too, feelings come out in the end.

Part 1

Part 2 (complete )

~ It’s always been you (2 part mini series)~

Developing a crush on your dads best friend as a teenager, slowly morphs into something deeper as you grow up. When your husband upsets you, lines blur and feelings arise you’ll either burn your life to the ground, or you’ll get everything you’ve ever wanted since you were 17.

Part 1

Part 2

~ I’ll never let this go

Negan, during his redemption arc. There’s always been something about you, even when he first met you at Alexandria to collect ‘payment’ he knew he couldn’t ever do something to hurt you. After his empire falls and his life resides to the four walls of his cell, his soft spot morphs into a friendship that all too quickly on his side turns into deep feelings. Feelings that are in his mind definitely unrequited, how could you ever love a monster? But when you’re hurt everything bubbles up to the surface.

Fuzzy Socks - stepdad Negan x reader

~Joel Miller~

Light it up -Dbf Joel No outbreak AU!! An idea came to mind about Joel regretting saying something that leads to her ending things, then sitting by his phone, frantically pulling it out everytime it buzzes. Praying it’s her, telling him she misses him back, he basically becomes a mess.

My Heart is yours -When Joel leaves you heartbroken in a apocalypse, you go out on your own only to run into a hot headed archer, who turns your world around.

Southern & Slow - short (ish) drabble based on Luke Bryan's song southern and slow, or in other words lazy Sunday mornings with our southern cowboy!

Who’s afraid of little old me! Angst and heartbreak I’m sorry! Happy ending with Spencer Reid though!

~Love and Pipelines mini (series)~

The reader is a competitive surfer, when she is invited to compete at Pipeline Hawaii, the man who she's fallen for offers to accompany her, the only problem is he's her dads best friend!

Part 1

Part 2 (coming soon)

Part 3

~Daryl Dixon~

My Heart is yours - When Joel Miller leaves you heartbroken in a apocalypse, you go out on your own only to run into a hotheaded archer, who turns your world around.

It still isn’t over

Story based on the film/ book The Notebook, young Daryl Dixon x fem reader.

No outbreak au where the reader is from a privileged background, when she visits her country summer home she meets a boy who turns her whole world upside down.

~Somewhere only we know~ (Series)

No outbreak and modern ish day AU (set in 2007-2010 era) Reader moves to the Georgia mountains, to live with her dad for her final year of school, as her mum is going travelling with her new husband. She meets a shy redneck boy with a tragic background, who immediately captures her heart.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 (coming soon)

I choose us every time

Where an artistic surfer girl, falls in love with a southern boy with a rough past.

~Sam Winchester~

Fix you - Soulmate AU with Sammy, based on the coldplay song Fix You. Where the reader uses her soulmate bond with Sam to help fix the damage Lucifer has inflicted.

~Spencer Reid~

Mini Series Science & Magic

Science and magic - (on hiatus), I need to rewatch these shows) Criminal minds and agents of shield crossover, when an inhuman reader meets the genius Spencer Reid.

Who’s afraid of little old me after your dad’s best friend breaks your heart, you find love again in Spencer Reid.

~Lord Alfred Debling (Bridgerton)~

It was enchanting to meet you

[lesbolieeh]

She left behind a poem

Yuna (ITZY) ✦ Fem!Reader

WC—3.8 ✦ k

THEMES—sfw ✦ light angst ✦ future fluff (?) ✦ best friend au ✦ crush au

WARNING—anxiety ✦ heartbreak ✦ crying yuna :(

NOW PLAYING—Jenny (I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship) ✦ Studio Killers

[A/N.] 언니 (eonni) = older sister

Original ver. “The Notebook” (Somi x reader)

M.LISTS—itzy ✦ latest updates ✦ read on wp

All rights reserved © lesbolieeh

✦ ੈ ✦ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✦‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✦ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✦‧₊˚＊* ✦ ੈ ✦ ੈ ✦ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✦‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✦ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✦‧₊˚＊* ✦ ੈ ✦

Today was one of those bad fucking days. One of those days when you can't find any positivity in anything. One of those days when you don't feel like talking to the people you love the most. One of those days when you just want to give up.

The first thing you saw in the morning was a the notification of a text from your girlfriend. Looking at the white speech bubble is something you usually look forward to when you see Somi's name bright up your screen, knowing she always has something entertaining to tell.

But this particular morning she said something you wish were a joke.

SomSom babieboo💞

[ive been thinking lately and _____ i think we need a break]

😘🤌👅🍒🍑✂️🌈☀️

[You're not going to tell me why?]

Seen 10:17

You asked her the first thing that came to your mind. She couldn't possibly just expect you to be OK with having a break without a reason, right?

After an hour you accepted the fact that she had left you on read and that she wasn't going to reply anytime soon.

Maybe it was because she called you _____.

She never called you by your name. Only your friends called you that. She was supposed to call you weird or cheesy pet names and nothing else!

She left you with a headache. She left you with your bad thoughts and theories. Damn you, Somi.

It was very human-like of you to be in a bad mood. Only a robot would feel nothing in this situation. The day wouldn't get any worse. You were going to make sure of it! Your mood may have been bad, but you weren't going to let anyone else get affected by it. Lashing out on innocent people because you don't feel good on the inside is something you hated doing.

Today you were going to hang out with your best friend, Yuna, have a picnic on a park next to the Han river. Yuna had packed a cute pink basket (that she had specifically bought for you two to use for picnics together since they happened at least thrice a month) which was filled with tuna and kimchi kimbap, green grapes, two clementines and some churro flavored chips and you had packed a large outdoor blanket so Yuna wouldn't have too much to carry. For almost a week you two hadn't met up and you both missed each other and wanted to make up for the days you had spent apart so of course you went for the nice, typical no-homo picnic hang out session.

But no.

You weren't going to meet Yuna and ruin her parade with the rain cloud that was following you around wherever you went since you opened your eyes this dark morning. No, you weren't going to let the first time you two meet in such a long time be ruined by the sad news you got this ugly morning.

언니 🥰

[I can't hang out today, sorry]

Baby Yunanana🍓

[why not?☹️]

언니 🥰

[I'm not feeling too well]

Baby Yunanana🍓

[it's ok i'll get some soup for u😊]

언니 🥰

[No, you don't need to, I don't want you to get sick!]

Baby Yunanana🍓

[but ive missed u sm☹️]

언니 🥰

[We'll meet another day I promise to make up for this!]

And so you put the phone gently on the table to lay on the sofa and binge watch some random show. You made sure to turn your phone off first since you knew you'd cut Somi some slack in case you read any persuasive text from her — she's good with words and making you feel loved. Whilst you were looking through all the lists Netflix had created for you, which were filled with movies and series you either had already seen or weren't interested in, Yuna was still expectantly waiting for her screen to go bright.

She must be joking, she thought.

Unlike you, Yuna's morning had started out brilliant. From the moment she opened her eyes, she was smiling and full of energy, excited to hang out with you after not seeing you for five whole days. She had missed you. Spending time with you was one of her favorite hobbies! Since you two had picnics regularly you two had decided that you would take turns in deciding and packing the picnic basket and this time it was Yuna's turn! She had been so excited all week, planning out a shopping list days before. She had specifically purchased grapes this time because she had this fantasy of putting one in your mouth (which sounded weird, but it would feel intimate to feed you fruit) and also playing around and throwing grapes up in the air and catching them in the mouth.

Needless to say, she liked you a little more than a best friend should and that was a bit of a problem. Her friends kept telling her that it was stupid to spend so much time with you and that Yuna should either try to ignore her emotions or she should distance herself from you until she loses feelings, because it was unfair to hurt herself by giving herself false hopes of getting somewhere with a taken girl.

And Yuna knew it. For so long, she'd known that it was a bad idea to like you. You didn't like her in the same way, and you even had a girlfriend for fuck's sake — and a really pretty one at that! But no matter how many red flags there were, she still wanted to spend everyday with you. She didn't want a week to go by without being with you. She wanted to cuddle with you on a picnic blanket. She wanted to kiss you when you visited photo booths. She wanted to share shirts with you. She wanted to stay up late and talk until you two fell asleep in each others' arms. She wanted to be the only one you called Baby.

Wondering why you called Yuna 'Baby' when you already were in a relationship with Somi? Well, Baby had been Yuna's nickname before you even met Somi (yes, you'd known Yuna longer than you'd known Somi, yet you still found yourself in a relationship with the latter — or not anymore actually). And though your (then) girlfriend never liked it, you had convinced her it was just a friendly pet name. Because that's exactly what it was.

To you.

To Yuna it was the closest she'd ever feel to being your girlfriend. But you started using that pet name less and ever since Somi came around and ruined everything more than it already was ruined. Yuna even had to change her contact name on your phone to include the word 'baby' so you wouldn't forget to call her that.

She loathed Somi.

Somi was always the reason why you couldn't hang out with your bestfriend for too long, why you couldn't call her Baby on certain occasions and why you couldn't look at her as a potential girlfriend. Somi was an attention thief. Not really. But it felt like it. Yuna was jealous of everything Somi had with you.

Because your girlfriend obviously was a threat, Yuna felt like she needed even more of your validation than before (which was already a lot). She needed your attention. If you ignored her she'd think it was your way of telling her that you had left her completely for Somi. Ridiculous! She shouldn't feel like you owe attention to her.

Your friendly fucking friendship was the closest thing Yuna had to being together with you in the way she really wanted, so she valued it a lot. Not having you as her girlfriend was painful enough, but not having you as even her friend would break her.

Right now you weren't validating your time together, nor your friendship — or at least it felt like it to Yuna. She always needed. Your attention and unlike normally, she wasn't getting it right now. Her smile dropped and so did her excitement for the day.

Was this the end?

She knew that spending one week without each other would lead to more time for you to spend with your damn girlfriend but she didn't know it would lead to the end of your friendship.

No way she'd bail on the picnic plans.

Baby Yunanana🍓

[can i pls come over? i bought fruits for u<33 i'm sure fruits is exactly what u need right now!!]

Baby Yunanana🍓

[idc if i get sick or not bc i still wanna hang out w u]

Baby Yunanana🍓

[pls 언니]

Sent 11:33

You had ignored her only once before and it was a horrible experience.

The way you ignored her (on accident) was so hurtful that she had to leave the gathering that she had looked forward to for so long, confusing the other guests, to go and lock herself in a bathroom so she could cry without bothering anyone. You'd gone right after her since you knew it wasn't very Yuna-like to leave a fun time for no reason. After you had knocked on the door and reassured her you were her best friend and not a random person coming to make fun of her, she let you in the bathroom.

The sight you were met by was her crumbling figure on the floor and overflowing tears on her cheeks. She had thought that you wanted nothing to do with her. Stupid you didn't see the obvious signs. It was because of the fact that you hadn't paid any attention to her that Yuna had gotten the idea that you had grown bored of her or that you wanted to leave her for Somi (she hadn't told you the latter part, of course). And weeks later you did get together with Somi. And that made her cry herself to sleep for days which you never knew.

How much your lack of attention and affection for Yuna had affected her was scary. And a fucking sign, you idiot. Nobody gets so worked up over the loss of affection of someone they view as a friend. Ever since that incident you'd made sure to always remind her of how much you value your friendship.

Except for today.

She thought she had made it clear enough to you that you never ever should ignore her unless you really meant It. Unless you really wanted to part ways. To go from the bestest friends to cold acquaintances. Some people might think it's crazy to be this attached to a best friend but you weren't just her best friend. You were her love and happiness. Without you she didn't have either.

Five minutes passed since she triple texted you and she still had no reply. Slowly she felt how her tummy was turning into knots and how her eyes started stinging.

Baby Yunanana🍓

[ur making me worried]

Baby Yunanana🍓

[hey!! text me so ik u didn't die from choking on strawberry milk 언니😰]

Baby Yunanana🍓

[r u ignoring me?🫠]

Baby Yunanana🍓

[unless u have corona, meet me by the river at 6 if u care abt me. i need to talk to u abt smth important]

Sent 12:04

If you didn't show up she knew for sure that you had left her behind forever. If you did show up then she'd confess to you. So spontaneous. She couldn't keep her feelings away from you for another year because it wasn't healthy and she knew it. She knew she would have to tell you about her feelings sooner or later. And after being without you for a whole ass week and after experiencing the cruel punishment that is being ignored and even thinking you broke your dear friendship off, she knew the time had come for her to finally woman up and confess.

Whilst she was anxiously thinking through why she made such a bold move and possibly ruined any future she had with you, the girl she loved was being lazy and stuffing her face in pillows in front of a TV.

one season of Young Royals later...

Tossed between blankets and an overflow of pillows, your tummy roared like a lion. You hadn't eaten anything yet. Maybe it was time to do something other than numbing your feelings with Netflix and the drinks you had at home? As you stood up you felt heavy. You had moved maximum 100 meters in the past few hours — to go to the bathroom then kitchen and back to the living room — and it had taken a toll on your body physically.

Fuck.

You sat back down on your sofa and brought your phone to view after hours without it.

[6 new messages from Baby Yunanana🍓]

Fuck. The last message was sent so long ago. You looked at your windows. It was dark outside. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. As fast as you physically could, you put on a pair of shoes and a jacket with your aching limbs.

In just a few minutes you were on your way to the closest bus station. The whole bus ride to the river was filled with thoughts putting you down. Your favorite person in the world was sensitive about this stuff and you hurt her. You were supposed to not let your bad mood affect anybody around you. But who were you kidding? Of course something had to go wrong with an idea you constructed and analyzed for four microseconds.

Before you knew it you had arrived at the destination. You were speed walking to the river. You two always went to the exact same spot by the river since it was usually vacant, by some miracle, and had a pretty view of a bridge.

You were naive enough to think that isolating yourself from your bestfriend and your phone would help solve your problems, so you were certainly naive enough to go and check if Yuna was still at your meeting place hours after you were supposed to meet her. What if she wasn't there? What if she was there?

The water was shimmering from the moonlight and next to it was a bench and a thin, tall silhouette. Your eyes widened. Could it be...? Sniffles. That's the sound that came from their direction. You walked closer and could make out the lines of a figure that was all too familiar.

"Baby?"

The silhouette turned around and though it was dark you could see that it in fact was her. You quickly sat down beside her and noticed that a couple of notebooks were scattered on the ground next to a bike. You didn't know what to do, never having seen glad Yuna cry. After another particularly loud sniffle you turned your attention back to her. The light of the moon exposed the redness and tears on her face. For hours she'd been outside and her face was still wet with tears.

"Why are you still out at this hour?"

She choked on her tears and rested her face in her hands, "Because I'm a fool."

"No, you're not a—"

"Why are you here?" she interrupted you.

Touché.

"You told me to meet you if I care about you."

"You come here hours later as if I don't mean anything to you," she hurried out before her voice could crack.

"I'm sorry about that. But if I didn't care about you I wouldn't show up at all," you spoke with a soft tone. The last thing you wanted was to be harsh, especially since you were the reason your best friend was upset.

"Why did you do this to me, 언니?" she looked you in the eyes as if she'd find any answers inside them.

"I promise I didn't do it on purpose. I would never hurt you on purpose," you took her hands into yours, oblivious to how the simple gesture made Yuna a bit hopeful on the inside.

Her hands were so cold it was shocking that she was shaking because of her crying and not because of the ice-like coldness. That's what happens when you're out for hours when there's no sun — or person — to keep you warm.

"I saw the messages 20 minutes ago and got here immediately. I would never purposely ignore you, Baby."

You made sure to use her nickname in almost every sentence you spoke, silently telling her that you don't want to fight. Slowly you brought her hands to your lips and kissed them lightly, five kisses on each hand for every finger. She looked at your lovely action and felt how her tears were slowing down. The kisses didn't make her warm — maybe for a second — but at least they made her feel somewhat better inside.

"I'm so, so sorry you had to be here in the cold," you apologized and kept her hands in yours as an attempt to warm them.

One part of Yuna wanted to continue being mad and make you feel bad for the hurt you'd caused her but the bigger part wanted you to hold her in your arms. She loved you and couldn't stay mad at you for long even if she tried.

"I-It's OK, 언니. At least you're here now," she whispered and looked at your locked hands, admiring the sight since it may never happen again — or maybe she should make sure her hands are cold more often—

You sent her a sorrowful smile and let her head rest on your shoulder, resting your own against it as an instinct, both from being comfortable and tired.

"From now on I will check if I have any texts every hour for you," you said with an exaggerated joking voice to lighten the mood.

She giggled. You weren't even being that funny but you were both tired and sad, so anything even a tiny bit funny was hilarious to both of you.

"What did you want to tell me before, Baby?" you whispered into her fluffy hair and petted it.

Should she tell you how she feels? Should she possibly ruin this? If she told you how she truly felt, would you ever kiss her hands like you did just now? Would you ever touch her this caringly ever again? Would you continue to call her Baby? Or would all of that be gone due to your loyalty to your sweet precious girlfriend Somi?

For hours Yuna had been outside in the cold waiting for the love of her life so she could tell her the truth. But it took time before you, the love of her life, showed up. Too long.

When a person is alone outside with notebooks filled with blank pages to write feelings and stories in, it's easy to let emotions take over. She ended up writing around seven poems. Some poems were really cheesy and written in the spirit of the moment. Some didn't even rhyme. Some were a perfect description of where she was in her non-existing love life.

But they all had one thing in common.

They were melancholic and written from the point of view of a woman who was hopelessly in love with her best friend.

"Nothing. I just wanted to have a picnic with you, 언니. I was just being dramatic to convince you to come despite feeling under the weather," she lied right through her teeth.

That made no sense because you two had never been on a picnic after sunset and Yuna would never lie to make you come see her. But you were tired and desperate to leave the cold outside, so you chuckled lightly, believing her immediately.

"Then where are the snacks?" you asked, confused since the only things around you were notebooks, a bike and water.

"I ate them."

Laughter filled the air; your genuine one and her fake one.

You put your face in her cheek, making her blush (not that you'd notice, since her cheeks were already red from before), "Well, my tummy is a little too thin right now, so let's go somewhere."

"In the middle of the night?" she questioned.

"Yes," you smiled against her cheek and she felt it, making her smile too.

"OK."

You both were still smiling when you were picking up all the notebooks to get ready for the ride. Jokes were thrown here and there. It was as if nothing had happened. You both knew it was a misunderstanding and you valued the friendship with the other too much to put energy into arguing. And you were tired too, so the argument wouldn't even be that epic even if you tried.

"What about your bike?"

"Oh nooo! The buses are always so full now that it's too late to take the subway!" Yuna whined.

"You know what? Since I was a jerk you can go take a warm bus while I ride in the cold," you said impulsively.

"B-But, 언니—" she smiled, flattered.

"B-But nothing," you interrupted her and sat down on the bike. Anyone who had spoken to you knew you were stubborn. She laughed. The little sadness she had left was gone by now. Her cheeks were dry. Still red, but not from crying, now they were red from blushing.

"OK, whatever you say, 언니."

"You brought a transport card right?" you made sure since she came by bike.

"Yes I do~ See you in an hour, 언니," she winked at you and waved with a smile brighter than the moon before running to the bus that just arrived.

You waved back to her and got ready to bike — you definitely needed a head start. But before you started you couldn't help but see something white standing out in the darkness.

It was another one of Yuna's notebooks. You must've been too tired to notice it when you were picking them up. Thankfully the notebook was open or else you wouldn't have noticed it as it had a dark cover. You took it into your hands. To make sure it really was Yuna's you needed to read at least a snippet.

You prayed it was Yuna's because it would be worse if you read a stranger's private thoughts than your best friend's since you already knew all her secrets. The snippet was Yuna's. It was from one of the pages of poems that didn't rhyme, that was very cheesy but depicted how sappy she was feeling and also told her part of the story that you never knew.

i want to feel my best friend's lips on my lips

ugh how much of a cliche gay can i be haha

i don't want her to call me 'baby' only

i want her to call me 'mine'

i want to call her that too

You drop the book on the grass. So that's what she wanted to tell you.

✦ ੈ ✦ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✦‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✦ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✦‧₊˚＊* ✦ ੈ ✦ ੈ ✦ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✦‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✦ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✦‧₊˚＊* ✦ ੈ ✦

❝ Jenny, darling, you're my best friend

But there's a few things that you don't know of

Why I borrow your lipstick so often

I'm using your shirt as a pillow case

(...)

I've been doing bad things that you don't know about

Stealing your stuff now and then

Nothing you'd miss, but it means the world to me ❞

—chubby cherry; 2013

[emma-dennehy-presents]

Subjected myself to the Netflix Death Note movie for the first time, while I'm hyperfixating on the series again. Willem Dafoe voicing Ryuk is one of the only things I think I particularly care for. That doesn't mean I like DN'17 Ryuk (the Faustian bargain feels so weak when it feels like he's forcing it), just Dafoe voicing him. Similar feeling about L. I stan Lawliet, love LaKeith Stanfeild, doesn't mean i like the movie character. As for the rest:

-why is Sachiko fridged?

-where is Sayu?

-WTF is Soichiro's deal?

-what was wrong with heart attacks?

-why do they get rid of ppl touching the notebook seeing the shinigami?

-why is supposedly 4d level chess Light dumb enough to show Psuedo-Misa the notebook just because he's a lil thirsty?

-WTF is Psuedo-Misa's deal?

-Kira means literally none of the things Light says. Celtic is also not a language.

-the jingoism behind Light's international kills

-totally not surprised US LEO were big Kira fans from the jump

-what did the sex workers in the club slaughter scene do wrong, other than be sex workers?

-wtf is up with ninja L asking Watari to sing Wizard of Oz karaoke to him?

-the Raye Penber incident carries so much less weight

-fuck yea Phantasm

-I appreciate Light retaining some humanity, with the concern for his dad

-L's case feels so much weaker in this

-The OG rules were fun and compelling, the movie ones aren't

-emotional L crushes so much of my personal relation to the character

-i don't like ghost town Whammy's House. Assuming The Rochester in Rochester House means Rochester NY (judging from L reaching the NY field office), nothing even close exists. I grew up in the area and went in a lot of vacants. We would have found that.

-whats with the Bladerunner guns?

- L did NOT need to shove diner guy's face into his plate to parkour around

- L using a page? No.

-i hate it. I Hate It. I HATE IT.

About as seething as I expected, so can't exactly say disappointed. I'd rather rewatch DB Evolution, though. I assume all of these are very cold takes, but my body physically recoiled in reaction to exposure to this souless monstrosity. I know a lot of ppl hate on the '06 live action movies, but I'm so happy to be moving on to them.

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 17

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 17: I'll Be Your Mirror

Chapter Summary: Fin.

Word Count: 6.0k+

Content / Warnings: listen if you made it this far you know what it is

Notes: Chapter title from “I'll Be Your Mirror" by Nico and The Velvet Underground. Ok I know I said there would be an Epilogue, but I decided... I really love it as is. This story is my baby and the feeling of finishing it is so bittersweet. Thank you to everyone who has ever given me the encouragement to feel this story is special. There are so many of you, I don't even know where to start. You know who you are.

[ Previous Chapter ] [ Series Masterlist ]

“Dee?”

He looks up from the notebook in his hand and goes still. 

To say that your heart skips a beat when he meets your gaze is an understatement. 

It freezes, along with everything else in the universe. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You’re almost certain the Earth stops turning. 

Is he angry? Relieved? Shocked? 

You can’t tell. 

But then his tensed muscles go slack. His hunched shoulders drop from his ears. Glossy, pained eyes melting wide into wonderment. 

“Lua?” 

Hearing your name on his lips makes your stomach flip into free fall. Your pulse jumps. A sound escapes your chest that’s halfway between a sob and a laugh.

He drops the notebook and strides towards you.

You can only take one step forward before he’s pushing your back to the door, lips pressed against yours. His hands slip around your waist and pull your body flush to his while you comb your fingers through his hair. He groans into your mouth, tongue rolling soft on yours as you whine at how fucking perfect it feels. 

Unzipping your jacket, Dieter pulls back and rasps hot against your cheek, “I’m so glad you’re ok, I thought I fucking lost you.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pressing your foreheads together as he strips off your jacket, “It was stupid, I shouldn’t have left like that—”

“Later,” he murmurs, shrugging off his fuzzy coat, then brings his mouth to your pulse and sucks the thin skin so hard you gasp, gripping his broad shoulders to bring him closer. 

His hands slip under your shirt—his shirt, actually, you stole it from a laundry basket before leaving his house—and he slides his heated palms against your bare skin. With a chuckle, he looks down at the garment and says, “You little thief.” 

You bite your lip and shrug, flicking your eyes around his face. 

“God, I missed you,” he grins, dimples and all.

“I missed you, too.”

Both your faces fade from amusement to something heavier as you study each other. Heat flickers at the middle of you when he brushes the back of his hand against your cheek. Your gaze dips to his mouth when he murmurs, “Don’t you dare leave me again.”

“I won’t—”

“Please.”

“I promise I won’t.” 

You meet his eyes so he can see how much you mean it, stroking the soft whiskers on his jawline with your thumb, “I love you, Dieter. I love you so fucking much.” 

His warm gaze flicks all over your face, “I love you, too.” 

Your throat thickens. You try to swallow down the discomfort before asking, “Are you mad?” 

“Mad?” 

You nod.

“No,” he scoffs, gently taking your hand to kiss each of your fingertips. 

It’s reverent, the way he does this. Worshipful. Like he’s thanking every piece of you for existing. 

He clears his throat. Pain creases his forehead, making his dark eyes go all gooey soft when he whispers, “I was so scared. I didn’t know if I’d find you dead or alive.”

It hits you hard. Right in the heart. 

You let out a guilty squeak. Your face crumbles. Tears cloud your vision, distorting him. You draw a shattered breath before responding. 

“I was going to do it. I was going to, umm,” you avert your eyes and shake your head, “I was gonna drown myself, Dee. I had everything ready, but… I couldn’t.”

A sob bursts from your belly. 

His body tenses and he pulls back ever so slightly, as if he were seconds away from calling off the conversation. But you stay firmly planted. You link your hands behind his neck and meet his tear-brimmed eyes with your own. When you speak, your voice trembles with honesty. 

“I thought that I was supposed to die. That my being here was a mistake, or like I was cursed or something. Destined to destroy your life if I stayed in it. I didn’t want to do that to you. But also,” you swallow hard and search his face, “I didn’t know if I could trust you not to break me like he did. I didn’t know if I could trust myself not to break you, either. I was so afraid… of everything. Of all the possibilities. Of not knowing what would happen.” 

The way he looks at you—shoulders slumped, jaw set, eyes all dewy with sorrow—it’s fucking torture. But you continue. 

“I was so afraid of everything… except dying. Dying felt like the best option.” 

Dieter sobs. It crushes your ribcage to dust. You have to keep going, though. You need him to understand that you mean this. 

“But I realized—just now, before you got here, like,” you laugh with bemusement and shake your head, “Immediately before you got here, your timing is truly blowing my fucking mind right now—”

He chuckles and wipes at his damp face. You smile, tilting your head at him. 

“I realized that… I was being a fucking coward. You’re not Ethan and I’m not Anika, and you and I… we’re something different. Dee, our love feels big the way the universe feels big. It’s never-ending and always growing and it is fucking forever. To turn my back on something like that would be… well, it would be fucking blasphemy.”

He smiles back at you, grip digging into your waist to bring you closer. 

You cup his cheeks and tell him, “There will be good days and bad, but I know that I will never regret choosing to stay.”

He stares at you with so much love and awe your chest aches. You can’t stop yourself from beaming at him. 

“No matter what the future has in store for us, I know that it will be worth spending every second I can with you in this beautiful, painful, amazing life.” 

His smile widens and he shakes his head, choking out, “Fuck, how do I follow that up?” 

You laugh, this soggy, wet laugh and bury your face in his shirt, then mumble against his chest, “You don’t have to, love, I just needed to tell you.” 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you. 

“For what?”

“For staying. For sharing with me, trusting in me—trusting in us. Without you… I don’t know. Everything is fucking stupid and meaningless. You make me a better me. And I need you. So. Thank you.” 

Your heart swells. 

“You make me a better me, too.” 

He pulls back to look at you, the warmth of his gaze sticking all over your face. Heat glints behind his eyes when they drop to your mouth. 

Something profound throbs between you. Newborn with shaky legs, taking its first breath. Intentional, fearless certainty. 

You kiss him, hard and purposeful, and he responds with fervor, the tips of his fingers digging into the tender skin of your waist. His tongue slides soft and wet and hot against yours, a slick writhing that hypnotizes you. Between the gentle crush of lips and nips from teeth and quiet whimpers that echo back and forth, you get lost in him. 

Time and space slip away and this kiss becomes the only thing you long to feel.

Dieter pushes your back flush to the cool door, warm hands exploring the tender skin beneath your shirt. His shirt. His skin. 

His his his—

He cups your breasts, the pads of his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The tedious touch sends a rush of need through your body. Whining into his mouth, you slide your nails down the expanse of his back, beckoning him closer, wordlessly begging for more. 

Of course, he gives it to you. 

Of course he pinches your nipples so hard you gasp, then tugs even harder. 

Of course he activates something primal deep within your brain, making you hiss, “Fuck yes.” 

“Does that feel good, baby? Hmm?”

“Yes—”

“Good,” he husks.

One hand unclamps. It slips under the waistband of your pants and slides down between your thighs, down to the hot, slick middle of you, where it rubs all those attention-starved nerves and makes them fucking purr. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Mmmm, how about that?” 

“So fucking good, Dee,” you moan, nodding your head in vehement approval as you arch your hips towards him, “Oh my god, yes.” 

Pulsing heat creeps up your spine, making your mouth go slack and lids drift closed. 

“Look at me.” 

Your eyes snap open to meet his. He searches your face with intensity, watching you twist up with pleasure, and drops his gaze to your lips when your panting becomes tainted with whimpers. 

“You’re so fucking hot I can’t stand it,” he mutters, shaking his head, “God, I wanna fuck you.” 

“Oh my god, please—”

“You want me to fuck you?” He releases his tight grip on your tit to stroke your cheek, his low voice almost a growl, “Hmm? Want me to fill your tight pussy?” 

“Yes—”

“Yeah?”

“Yes yes yes please, I wanna feel your cock inside me, Dieter I fucking need it please—”

“I want you to come for me first,” he works you faster, pressing his forehead against yours as he coos, “Can you do that for me, baby? Come all over my fucking hand?”

His request gushes hot down your spine. You gasp and nod frantically, then choke out a throaty moan as heat starts to branch out inside you. Your heart pounds hard and fast in your chest, white-hot need overflowing your veins and pooling thick between your legs, pulsing and growing, stronger, wider, pushing you up up up up—

It overtakes you. Rips you into a million pieces and puts you back together again. 

Your legs clamp shut. You twitch and whimper and gasp as his touch softens and slows. 

It doesn’t stop entirely, though. 

Just a gentle, languid back and forth that persists through ebbing aftershocks, assuring you he’s not done with you yet. 

Dieter rests his forehead against yours, breath warm on your parted lips when he says, “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

You let out a dreamy chuckle, hooking your hands behind his neck.

And, fuck, his fingers feel so good. Sliding up and down, spreading your slick in a gentle manner, teasing but patient. So fucking patient. 

“I mean it. You are… amazing. I love every single thing about you.” 

He dips a thick fingertip in your entrance, sending a heady rush of need through your body, then drags it out to draw slow circles around your clit. His touch prods the glowing embers in your belly. They smolder beneath your skin and make your heart race. 

“Oh my god, Dee—”

“Even the parts you don’t think I want. I want it all, Lua. Forever. I never want to wake up without you by my side again.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe, “Forever and ever until I’m nothing, Dee, I’m fucking yours—”

His lips crush into yours. You moan into his mouth, accepting the warm caress of his tongue, urgent against yours. Between your thighs, he rocks his hand against you hard, then slips a digit inside you. 

Head rolling back onto your shoulders, you gasp, “Jesus fuck.”

“So fucking ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he laughs, delirious and breathy, then takes a step back, removing himself from your body completely. 

The loss sends you reeling. Like a puppy, you glob onto him, not wanting to part from him for a second. 

Regarding your desperation with a smirk, he takes your hand, “Come on.” 

You follow along behind him, grinning at the way he carries himself with authority, striding through the cabin like this has been his residence for the past few days, not yours. 

When you cross the threshold into a bedroom, he turns to ask, “This one ok?”

Nodding, you push him back towards the bed and tug at his clothes, a silent plea he quickly grants. You mirror his actions, stripping down to nothing as he sits down on the edge of the bed and stares up at you, all fuck-me-eyes and parted lips. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” you coo, slotting yourself between his knees, combing your nails through his hair, “Looking up at me with those puppy dog eyes. I love it.” 

His eyelids flutter and his cock twitches. A little bead of pre-cum sprouts up at the tip. 

You lick your lips and smirk, wrapping your hand around his girth, gasping when you smear the swollen droplet with the pad of your thumb. 

Dieter groans, grabbing your waist. He twitches again. 

You pull back his foreskin, forming an ‘o’ with your mouth when more of the viscous liquid slips against your thumb. 

You think about how it might taste, salty and hot on your tongue. You think about his hard, smooth length stretching out your lips, soaking wet with drool as he fucks your face. 

“If you keep looking at it like that I’m gonna blow my fucking load,” he mutters, burying his face between your breasts. 

When you respond by churning your grip, a moan vibrates against your sternum. As if he can’t help himself, Dieter slides his hands up your body and grabs your tits. 

He takes one in his mouth, then the other, sucking and licking and biting your swollen nipples while you work him, slow and meticulous. His muffled whines stoke your desire, flames hot and tingling up your spine. 

Looking up at you with big doe eyes, he flattens his tongue against your nipple, then moves his head from side-to-side. 

“That feels fucking amazing, Dee, oh my god,” you pant, drawing your brows together as you nod in approval at the heated sensation that clings to your bones. 

Arousal urges you to pump him faster, and when you do, he husks, “Fuck, Lua—”

“Hmm?”

“Please.”

The tips of his fingers dig into your waist and he scoots further back onto the bed, ushering you onto his lap, “Wanna feel that sweet pussy wrapped around me, please, baby, please.”

Your knees settle on either side of his hips and you fold forward, smoothing your hands up his broad chest, to his neck, then you cup his cheeks. He searches your face, wild-eyed and desperate. 

“I love seeing you like this,” you purr, brushing your thumb against his bottom lip, “So fucking needy.”

He groans and his hips jerk, the tip of him nudging up against your entrance. You tease him with it, letting him feel how hot and wet you are without allowing access. 

“Do you want my pussy, baby? Or do you need it?”

“I need it,” he rasps, the tendons in his neck going taut he grips your hips with bruising strength, “I’ll fucking die if I don’t feel it, I swear to god, please—”

You lower yourself down slowly, whimpering at the exquisite stretch that reverberates through you. 

His back arches off the mattress and he groans, “Fffffuck yes. Holy fucking shit, Lua—”

“So fucking good, oh my god,” you croak, rolling your hips.  

You take him slow at first, savoring the way he fills you so perfectly, how he rubs along every tingling nerve inside you. Beneath you, Dieter pants and writhes, devout hands roaming your humid skin, worshiping you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I love you,” he pants, thrusting up into you so hard and deep you moan. He lets out a gasping chuckle, then drives his hips up again, and again, and again.

You nod in approval. Thick static bubbles at your center. You press your forehead against his, pushing back against his thrusts as they establish a steady rhythm. 

“Wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“Wanna spend—fuck,” you whimper, nodding again, “Wanna the rest of my life with you.” 

“Wanna marry you, make you my wife—”

Still nodding, you choke out, “Yes, oh my fucking god yes—”

“Would you like that? Hmm? Get you a pretty dress and a ring? Show the whole world that I’m yours and you’re mine?”

“I want it, Dee, I do. I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—“

He captures your lips and pounds into you, hard and fast, exchanging moans with you like vows, vibrating on your tongue as the tingling heat in your belly stretches wider, climbing up your body, swelling and swelling, pulling your muscles tight, until you find yourself suspended in a moment you both never want to end and don’t think you can stand any longer. 

Then, it bursts. 

You sob when the wave of pleasure washes over and under you, making this sick wet sucking noise as your whole body convulses around him. 

Dieter whines against your mouth, fucking up into your fluttering cunt with crazed, frantic thrusts. He goes rigid and silent for a second, then releases a guttural noise from his chest. 

When his breath returns to him and his muscles start to slacken, you meet his eyes with a grin that spreads to his lips. 

You kiss him, slow and deep, then go limp on his chest, “I love you.” 

“I love you.”

The two of you stay here for a while, content and rubber-limbed. His fingertips trace the scar tissue on your shoulder and arm while sand gathers heavy on your eyelids. 

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” you mumble into the damp crook of his neck, “Not sober, at least. Now you’re here and we have so much to talk about.” You yawn, “And I’m so tired.”  

He kisses the crown of your head, then gently persuades you to roll off him onto the mattress. Like a sleepy child, helplessly lethargic and too engrossed in comfort to do it yourself, you let him pull the bedspread out from beneath you and tuck you between the sheets. 

The warmth of his skin presses up against yours as he drapes an arm over your belly and tugs you close. When he speaks, his breath is warm on your cheek, voice low and quiet. 

“Get some rest, love. We can talk more tomorrow.” 

His offer is tempting, but one question nags at the back of your brain and gives you a small burst of energy. 

You roll onto towards him, blinking your weighted eyes open to meet his, all gooey and soft as they search your face. 

“Did you mean it?” 

A mischievous smirk plays on his lips, “What, that I wanna marry you?” 

You nod. 

“Yeah,” he grins and grabs your hand to kiss your palm, then holds it to his cheek, “What about you? Did you mean it? Do you wanna marry me?”

For some reason, your cheeks get hot and you laugh. The noise is water-logged, struggling against the tears that burn up your throat and blur your vision.

“Yeah, I really fucking do.” 

These aren’t the kinds of tears you’re used to crying. They’re celebratory. Joyous. You find yourself unable to stop smiling through them. 

“This is crazy,” you tell him, shaking your head, “I love you so much it’s fucking crazy.” 

“I love you,” he smiles and brings your hand to his chest, pressing your palm against the thump-thump of life and light and love, “Do you feel that?”

“Your heart?”

He nods, “That’s yours. ‘Til my last breath, then after. It’s yours.” 

—

Dieter listens to the peaceful dozing huffs that blow hot across his chest, cherishing each and every one. 

He savors the heat of your body on his, the blood pumping through your veins, and the flutter of REM behind your closed eyelids. Proof that you are here, alive and safe in his arms. An answer to his desperate prayers. 

Something like relief but bigger engulfs him. 

Warmth tingles through his limbs and tears sting behind his eyes. His throat gets all thick with emotion as he pulls your pliant body closer, pressing a kiss against your forehead. 

Careful not to be too loud, he whispers, “Thank you.” 

He’s not sure who he��s thanking. You or fate or whatever omnipresent puppeteer pulls the strings behind the scenes. He just knows he means it with his whole heart. 

Dieter lays here for some time, live-wired with optimism, thinking up a million ways to convey the intensity of his gratitude. His mind wanders into tomorrow and buzzes with anticipation. He gets to tell you about his impromptu trip to New York, and that your charges are dropped. 

Goosebumps prick his skin as a realization dawns on him. 

You don’t even know. 

When deciding to stay, you factored in the consequences of these charges. Your devotion to him was not because of this resolution, but in spite of it. 

You had every single reason to doubt this would work. Probable prison time. Shrapnel from the fame machine. Ongoing recovery. The ugly demise of his marriage. The tragic end to yours.

Fuck, it’s a shit show. 

And yet, here you are. 

He gazes down at you, far away in dreamland, cheek pressed against the rise and fall of his chest. All angel-faced, but with a little drool at the corner of your mouth. Fucking beautiful. 

On one hand, he could stay here watching you sleep like a fucking stalker for hours. On the other, his stomach growls for attention. 

When he contemplates whether or not to untangle himself from you and tend to this need, you let out a little grumble, then start wiggling around, rolling away from him. He misses the heat of your body as soon as it’s gone, but lets you go anyway. 

He carefully gets out of bed and wanders through the dark cabin into the kitchen. 

The cupboards are essentially barren, which is both disappointing and unsurprising, but he finds some bread and drops a couple slices into the toaster. While guzzling down a tall glass of iron-flavored water, he notices piles of towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. This piques his curiosity. 

To put it lightly, you are an incredibly neat and tidy person. Normally you wouldn’t allow this kind of disorder in your living space, however temporary. He should know. Last week you pulled the clothes out of his dresser and gave him a tutorial on how to fold “the right way” before organizing the acrylic paints in his studio by hue. 

Your need for order only increases when you’re distressed, which you definitely were, so… what the fuck is up with this? 

When he rounds the countertop peninsula to investigate, something catches his eye. Big slabs of wood propped up next to a door in the hallway. The door sits ajar, the crack emitting a warm golden glow. 

His footsteps creak across the wooden floor as he approaches it. Somehow he knows what he’ll find when he opens the door, and releases an amused chuckle when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Dark fabric draping the walls. A dimmed-down lantern propped up behind a makeshift seat. The seat, a makeshift nest of pillows and blankets, faces a mirror. 

You built a psychomanteum. 

Something tugs at his memory, causing him to turn on his heel and walk towards the couch. He picks up the notebook he discarded when you walked through the door and revealed yourself. 

He studies the page in abstract, catching little glimpses here and there. Words like unrecognizable and hopeless and monster. Fragments like swerving around traffic, and crying, begging.

Some sentences stand out so much, he can’t help but snag on them. 

It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore.

He called me a bitch. A rat.

It didn’t seem real.

He said we had to do this together.

Far away, the toaster pops. He’s not even hungry anymore. In fact, quite the opposite. He feels fucking sick. 

A smattering of circles distort in the paper, black ink bleeding out from your script as if diffused by tiny droplets of moisture. Probably tears. 

Grotesque curiosity churns beneath his skin. 

He swallows around his thick throat and looks up at the closet. The psychomanteum. 

The first time he tried to read the passage, before he knew you were ok, he was in such a state of panic that he didn’t fully understand what it was. But he understands now. He sees the pieces and how they fit together. 

His stomach twists when he recognizes the pattern laid out before him. His ribcage shrinks two sizes, pushing his pulse to his ears. He runs a hand through his hair and wrings his tight neck as he realizes with horror that he has been a similar kind of monster. 

He knows he had a problem. And it wasn’t as much the drugs or infidelity as it was the emptiness. An infection that set in early and rotted out a cavity in his chest. In his heart. 

He knows it made him change in unspeakable ways, altering the very nature of his character. It made him angry and reckless and fucking ravenous. Starving for anything that would fill him up, however fleeting. 

He was a fucking beast. 

He also knows you love him. Flaws and all, you love him. You had the grace to forgive every unforgivable mistake he made. 

Could Dieter do the same? 

He tosses the notebook down on the coffee table and walks to the closet, opening the door. As he steps inside, he takes the lantern from behind the seat and turns to face him in the mirror. 

He studies the face, recognizing the distinct nose and dark eyes. Mop of messy brown curls atop his head. He looks tired, but hopeful. 

Staring at his reflection, Dieter tells himself, “I forgive you.” 

—

The first thing you notice when you rouse from sleep is the warmth that surrounds you. 

You feel Dieter’s chest flush to your back, arms wrapped around your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your combined body heat under the covers makes your skin stick together. The steady rhythm of his breathing moves in time with yours. 

Before you even open your eyes, you smile. 

Your fingertips twitch against his arm and you try to wiggle even closer, intertwining your legs with his. 

Behind you, Dieter stirs a little, then mumbles into your neck, “G’morning, doll.” 

“Good morning, love.” 

He takes a deep breath in, squeezing you tight, and exhales a groan, “You smell so fucking good what the fuck.”

“I haven’t bathed in days,” you giggle, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, “I’m stinky.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“You’re bullshit.” 

He laughs this big, boisterous laugh as he rolls onto his back, separating from you save for the arm pinned under your side. 

You miss his heat immediately and turn over to face him, scooting close enough to feel it. His gaze holds pure adoration. Your fingertips meet his and play this sort of dance before he laces your hands together. 

He asks, “Wanna take a bath then go get some grub?” 

—

Dieter lathers up a washcloth, watching the muscles shift beneath your skin as you rinse the remaining conditioner from your hair with a shower head attachment.

When you turn it off, you glance over your shoulder at him and announce, “I’m probably going to prison.” 

He sits up and presses the steaming washcloth to your back, working suds up the curve of your spine. 

“You’re not going to prison.” 

You relax into his touch and snort, “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“I took care of it.”

“Wha—wait,” you sit up, then turn around to face him, water sloshing around with you. You furrow your brow and stare at him, “What does that mean?”

“It means the DA dropped the charges against you.” 

Your eyes narrow as you search his face, “Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m dead serious.” 

“How?” 

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he averts his gaze, shrugging, “Let’s just say that, for plausible deniability reasons, it’s best you don’t know anything else.” 

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not!” he laughs, tugging at your waist. You jokingly wrinkle your nose at his affection, but let him pull you into his lap. 

“C’man, sweetheart. Look at me.” He waits until your eyes meet his, then tells you, “I swear to god I’m not fucking with you. You’re clear. A free woman.” 

Your shoulders fall away from your ears. You clamp down on your huge smile, then it breaks free, “Really?”

The way you light up at this news… It is breathtaking. Jesus fucking Christ. Worth every second of misery. 

“Really,” he smiles, cupping your cheek. 

You try to blink away tears with a relieved burst of laughter. You stare at him, glossy eyes all ripe with admiration as they flick around his face, “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he murmurs, holding your gaze, “I’d do anything for you, Louella. You know that?”

Your smile gets bigger somehow. You nod, “I do.”

His stomach flips when he imagines you saying those words in front of that ordained minister he saw in his near-death vision. Little details come into focus. He can taste the salt of the ocean and feel heat from the overhead sun. Light filters through a canopy of sheer white fabric. 

The crowd of onlookers is small. Of course, he sees Parker and Darlene and Lincoln. He sees Glenn, looking like a fucking dick as usual, but grinning nonetheless. He sees his brother’s family, the small children all wriggling around in their chairs. He sees a couple, a man and woman around retirement age, that he doesn’t quite recognize, but he understands that they’re Ethan’s parents. He sees his mother dab her eyes with a tissue while his father curls an arm around her shoulders, letting the faintest smile creep across his lips as he watches you slide a wedding band on Dieter’s ring finger. 

Atop your head sits a band of stars, forged from gold and adorned with dazzling crystals that glimmer in the sunlight. Corona Borealis for his Princess of Crete. Your dress is cream-colored chiffon and lace and fucking perfect. You have on that smile, the one that takes up your whole face. The one you’re wearing now. 

You take the washcloth from him and dunk it under the hot, sudsy water, then bring it to his chest. The smile on your lips lingers as you wash, lathering up his skin with tiny iridescent bubbles. 

“What does Darlene think of all this?” you ask, glancing up at him. 

Smoothing his hands around to the small of your back, he shrugs and pulls your slick body closer, “In a personal sense, supportive. She helped a lot actually. Held down the fort while I was in New York.” 

“While you were—” you scoff, shaking your head with an amused grin, “Dieter, what the fuck have you been up to?” 

“Long story, I’ll tell you on the drive home,” he grins. 

“Fine,” you snort and roll your eyes, but fold forward against his chest. His eyes drift closed as he relaxes into the heat of your body pressed to his. Fingertips sliding against his collarbone, you ask, “So the blowback to your career has been minimal?” 

He gulps when he contemplates how to answer, not wanting to scare you into a spiral that sends you running again. But it is what it is. You’ll find out sooner or later anyway. 

“Not… necessarily. It’s been pretty brutal, actually. Mark and Darlene wanted me to throw you under the bus and move on without you, but I refused. So they dropped me.” 

You prop yourself up and frown at him, “I thought you said Darlene—”

“She was helping me find you, Lua. She’s supportive of our relationship as my friend, but…”

Your eyebrow quirks, “The optics are shit?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, searching your surprisingly serene face, “It’s ok, though, you know. You were right, I don’t enjoy it anymore. Acting, I mean. I think I’ve been too scared to try anything else, but… I don’t know. I think I’m ready now. I’m ready for the next chapter of my life.” 

“You could try writing,” you offer as you trace his jawline, “I could find a job at a bakery or something. It’ll be ok. We’ll figure it out, I know we will.” 

He nods, “We will.”

“I love you, Dee,” you say, holding his gaze, “We can do fucking anything together.”

Your certainty hits him square in the chest. 

For him, love always cast a dark shadow of fear that warned him to be distant. Not too eager or enthusiastic. Careful not to be fumbled by the wrong hands and wind up broken. 

It doesn’t feel like that anymore, he thinks. 

Your presence in his life has always been big and blinding. The warmth of your love has blistered his skin more times than he can count. He has dedicated hours upon hours of his life this past year trying to understand your magnitude and longevity, trying to measure the shadow that the fear of losing you cast. The dimensions fluctuated in a non-linear sort of way, waxing and waning with the circumstances surrounding your relationship. 

But now? 

You are the sun at high noon. No fucking shadow in sight. 

—

“All set?”

“I think so,” you zip up your suitcase and look up at Dieter as he leans against the doorframe. Your stomach growls and you groan, “If we don’t get food soon—” 

“I found a Denny’s about 30 miles away. Open on Christmas.” 

“Thank fucking god.” 

Dieter chuckles and buries his hands in his coat pockets, “Oh, by the way…”

He pulls out a small, familiar sketchpad and hands it to you. Nostalgia spreads warm across your chest as you open the cover and flip through Ethan’s artwork. Each page depicts dark and painful images that tug at your heart, reminding you of how much he was suffering. 

“How did you—?”

“Part of the long story. Tell you on the way home. But, umm… I figured you should have it.” 

You nod, pausing to study a high-contrast illustration that feels different from the previous pages. At first, it just looks like a collection of bold black triangles. The edges and points are crisp. Precise. But as you stare at it, your perspective shifts. The white paper beneath the black ink starts to stand out bright, then rises above the dark hollows. 

When it comes into focus, you gasp. 

It’s a face. 

It’s your face, carved out from negative space. 

“That one’s my favorite,” Dieter tells you, “He, umm… he was really talented.” 

Through your burgeoning tears, you smile, “Yeah. He was great.” 

You tear the portrait from the sketchbook and hand it to Dieter, who asks, “What about the rest?” 

Instead of answering, you step past him and take the sketchbook to the living room, where you lower yourself down in front of the fireplace and open the grate. Dieter follows, sitting down beside you as you tear out the first page and feed it to glowing embers in the hearth. 

Flames crackle to life, burning the paper to ash. 

You give it another. 

And another. 

And another. 

When the sketchbook is just an empty shell, you toss it in. Then Dieter hands you something. You glance it over for a moment, recognizing the painful passage you wrote the night before. You give that to the fire, too. 

He takes your hand and sits there with you while the flames die and return to smolders. 

“How’d that feel?” he asks eventually. 

“Fucking perfect.” 

You turn to him, searching his face, “Thank you.” 

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk and he squeezes your hand, “Anytime, doll.” 

When you lean in to kiss him, his lips are soft and warm against yours. A sensation swells in your chest, this glowing kaleidoscope of patterns that shifts and twists into a million brilliant images. It feels like forever in the best way. It feels like heaven. 

He pulls back, those big ganache eyes meeting yours, “You ready?” 

“Yeah,” you nod and smile at him, “I’m ready. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Groaning, Dieter climbs to his feet and holds out his hand to you. You accept it, letting him help you up. Your hands stay firmly locked together as he grabs your ratty old suitcase and leads you to the door, out of the dark room and into the bright midday sun.

[4pplec0re]

⭐️ WELCOME TO 4PPLEC0RE!

hiya! i'm alana! i use she/him pronouns and i am a nonbinary lesbian! i'm 17 years old, and my birthday is april 11th! i only speak english fluently, but i know a little little bit of spanish and asl :)

i love drawing!!! most of the time, i like to draw fan art, but i also draw my persona and my ocs sometimes!

i don't have much of a dni, i'll just block you if i don't want you interacting with me. but for SURE i do not want proship/profic/whatever around here. i also stand with palestine. if i see that fuckass isnotreal flag on your profile blocking is not enough i need you gone. finally, i can't stop nsfw accounts from interacting with me entirely, but please do not follow me! i'm a minor!

tags i use... ART: #al's art DOODLES/SKETCHES: #al's doodles OC STUFF: #al's ocs YAPPING: #al's thoughts INBOX ANSWERS: #al's inbox

some stuff i like right now... - atsuover! - the unwanteds series! - ride the cyclone!

NEOCITIES COMMISSIONS

OTHER ACCOUNTS @als-notebook @the-choir-inbox

[artiststarme]

What If Steve Were To Leave Hawkins? Part 20 (Epilogue)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

The series is finished! Thank you for everyone that read it and stuck with me through the 20 parts, I know it was a lot and ended up being much longer than I anticipated for my first fic. Thank you very much for your kind comments. I plan on posting my next fic sometime in the next couple of days, if you'd like to be tagged in that, let me know!

~*~*~*~

The trio were thriving in Chicago. It had been roughly a month since they had all three moved into a two-bedroom apartment a few blocks from the coffee shop and a little longer than that since they’d all moved away from Hawkins. All three of them were having the time of their lives. 

Steve had been picking up extra hours at the coffee shop with Betty to try and make some extra money. He loved working as a barista and being challenged to make the most asinine of orders. What he loved even more is when he looked up on boring weekday shifts to see Eddie and Robin pouring over their notebooks. Steve could watch them scribble song lyrics and math equations, respectively, all day. And whenever Eddie looked up to meet his eyes with a beaming smile on his face? That was nice too. 

Eddie had accepted a full time job at the record store that they had passed their first day in the city. He could finally work a job he enjoyed without threat of violence from high school jocks or cruel words from middle-aged churchgoers. He’d also joined the band that the cashier, now known as Justin, had invited him to. They sounded way better than the high school Corroded Coffin did and with Eddie’s guitar skills? The new and improved Corroded Coffin was getting more than five drunks whenever they played in the bars. Steve was there at every ‘concert’ and cheered the band, especially Eddie, on after every song. What Eddie especially looked forward to on those nights though wasn’t the full crowd. Oh no, he looked forward to the possessive kisses that Steve would give him once they were away from prying eyes. 

Robin loved Chicago. She had started taking Gen Ed classes at UIC for the fall semester and working at an LGBT+ bookstore on the weekends. While she was currently single after breaking up with Vickie, she was happy. They parted on good terms and they both agreed that long distance at their age wasn’t the answer. Robin spent most of her free time working at the bookstore or making friends at school. However, she also devoted a healthy amount of time to third wheeling Steve and Eddie. It was easy really. Especially since everyone turned into a third wheel around them, whether they knew it or not. Anytime anyone sees them, they’re hanging off of one another, giving each other heart eyes, and being disgustingly lovey-dovey in general. 

~*~*~*~

By far the best part of moving in together in the city for Steve was waking up to Eddie in the morning on their days off. They would lie in bed for hours just talking or kissing or talking and kissing. Today, they were talking about their future in Chicago. 

Steve was watching the sunlight from the windows hit Eddie’s contours and accentuate his messy bedhead. “Are you happy here?”

Eddie closed his eyes and yawned before giving Steve the biggest smile his tired face could muster. “Stevie, baby, I’ve never been happier. I didn’t even know I could be this happy!”

His eyes danced across Steve’s face before his smile widened upon spotting the hickey he had left the night before. “What about you?”

Steve hummed as he thought about his answer. He was still having trouble putting his happiness into words. He felt like he was living within a dream, one that he never wanted to wake up from. He looked back to Eddie, his glorious boyfriend. The man that had shown him what it was like to be cared for by someone and the one who had picked up the broken pieces everyone else had left behind. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. And I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for you. You make me really fucking happy, Eds. Even if you did eat the last of my Rocky Road cereal last night.”

Eddie’s smile turned into an overexaggerated pout as he fell backwards from his place hovering over Steve’s face onto the pillow. “I said I was sorry! I’ll pick up some more on my way home from work tomorrow. I can’t believe you ended your love confession with that, Jesus fucking Christ.”

Steve laughed and dragged Eddie back over to him, letting his frizzy curls curtain both of them. “I really love you Eddie.”

Eddie pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose and whispered, “I really love you too Steve.”

They kissed each other for a couple of minutes before Steve pulled away and nervously licked his bottom lip before speaking, “hey Eds, I’ve been thinking about something.”

Eddie gently shook his head, “I’m flattered, Stevie, but gay marriage isn’t legal yet so-”

“What?”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed, “oh, was that not what you were… oh. My bad, carry on.”

Steve shook his head, he’d poke that bear later. He cleared his throat before continuing, “I’ve been thinking… maybe I could go back to school? I know Robin is really enjoying it and if I just went on a part-time basis then I could still afford it. And I know I want to get a degree eventually so maybe I could take some classes and decide what I want. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea! We’ll figure out the money later. If you think going to school and getting your degree will make you happy, I say go for it,” Eddie said, rubbing his hand down Steve’s arm. 

Steve nodded, “I think it would. My parents always pushed me to go into business but I think if I did something I really liked, I would have a really good time.”

“What do you want to do, then? Not thinking about anything else, what would make you happy?” Eddie asked. 

Steve bit his lip. He had an idea but he’d never shared it with anyone else. He knew though that if there was one person who wouldn’t make fun of his interests, it was Eddie. “I want to be an author. If I could, I’d write stories that kids could look up to and be inspired by.”

Eddie smiled and grabbed the back of Steve’s head, dragging him into the most gentle of kisses. “I think that’s a great idea, Stevie. Neither one of us will have some normal, nine to five job. When I’m a famous rockstar and you’re a big, hotshot author on the New York Times Best Sellers list, we can tour together and see the world.”

Steve nodded, that was quite the dream. But it was missing something, one small aspect that wasn’t coming to mind. One thing would make their dream even more perfect. Eddie also seemed to notice and after a thoughtful hum added, “with Robin.” 

Steve’s smile stretched and with a small laugh he agreed, “oh yeah, with Robin. That’s the dream, baby.”

And with that, they kissed.

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