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jayflrt · 1 year ago

Text

against the world

PAIRING ▸ park sunghoon x fem!reader x sim jaeyun (ft. park jongseong)

GENRES ▸ fluff, angst, psychological, horror, thriller

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, murder, descriptions of gore, unrequited love, found family, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, mc is an unreliable narrator

SUMMARY ▸ if you could change anything about your life, it would be meeting park sunghoon.

WORD COUNT ▸ 14,064 words

PLAYLIST ▸ back to black by amy winehouse • the french library by franz gordon • perfectly splendid by the newton brothers

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! this fic is a rewrite of one of my first horror fics that i’ve written :') it badly needed reworking and i completely changed the ending. i hope you guys enjoy my spooky szn contribution ♡

THE TRUTH WAS, YOUR LIFE BEGAN TO FALL APART EVEN BEFORE YOU MET SIM JAEYUN.

You realized this as you woke up, face pressed against the ice-cold, concrete floor of a holding cell; when the guards dragged your uncooperative, limp body into an interrogation room; when you were face-to-face with Detective Lee Heeseung and handcuffed to a cold, metal table as he read your Miranda Rights. The handcuffs dug into the flesh of your wrists, but you only fought against them once and gave up as soon as you realized they wouldn’t give in. You just wanted to thumb away the crusted blood staining your hands and pick out the flakes under your nails.

The room was foreign to you. It was something you’d seen in movies and read in books, but you never fathomed the idea of being in an interrogation room yourself. There was a two-way glass that you aimlessly stared at, wondering who was listening in on the other end.

You couldn’t figure out just how you ended up in this situation. Everything was smooth in your memory up until your supposed arrest—a tear in the fabric of your recollection. You hardly remembered what happened on the way to the police station or when you were getting booked in. You dug your palms into your temples and then pressed against the soft flesh under your eyes, frustrated by the stunted gears in your head. As much as you begged than to click and start spinning, they remained stuck and rusted in place.

But you couldn’t ask the brooding man standing over you. You couldn’t look up into his cold, unforgiving eyes. After all, he knew you were a murderer.

“There’s no use in lying to me, Y/N,” Detective Lee said gruffly with a gaze like steel, “the prints match.”

You drummed your fingers against the table—a habit that was rooted in your anxiety. Your fingers were stained and pruned like roses, and as hard as you tried to paint the table red, it only flaked off. You were sure your heartbeat was faster than the tapping of your fingers, your mind perhaps speeding off twice as fast.

Your stomach twisted. If Jaeyun was going to prison, too, then you could no longer protect him.

There was a limit to how much he could take; you knew that being thrown in the slammer would be intolerable for him. You knew you needed to get to him immediately because Jaeyun was the guy who felt too little and too much at the same time—the guy who looked for the part of him that ran away, who self-destructed when he felt the world closing in on him.

After all, Jaeyun was a stick of trinitrotoluene lit at both ends.

You worked up the courage to look Detective Lee in the eye, which made him stiffen up, biceps flexing under his white button-up.

“Where’s Jaeyun?” you asked.

Detective Lee’s lips pressed into a thin, grim line. Cutting into his pale cheeks. You decided that couldn’t be a good reaction.

You continued, “He didn’t do anything, I swear. He was just there. He didn’t do anything.”

“If you cooperate with us, then you can see Jaeyun again,” the detective answered in a clipped tone. “I can sit here all day and wait.”

Cooperate. You hated that word.

You knew Detective Lee was just trying to sugarcoat your betrayal. You knew he was looking down on you, ready to push you to your limit.

But there was nothing you could do in this room. There was no way for you to escape or talk your way out of it to see Jaeyun. You knew quite well that staying silent would only prevent you from making sure your boyfriend was okay.

You had no other choice but to work with Detective Lee.

“Will you at least make sure he’s not hurt?” you inquired, to which Detective Lee agreed with a nod.

“I’ll ask again: Will you cooperate?”

You stayed silent. You despised your old habit of shutting down like this, but you couldn’t help it.

Detective Lee sighed and sat in the chair across from you so that you both were eye-level with each other. “Listen, Y/N, you’re young. This murder investigation—this is serious stuff, okay? We just need to know the full story before we jump to any conclusions and make a false arrest. Can we start from last night?”

Deep down, you understood. But it’s all too fresh—too soon. The grief had yet to settle. The recollections of blood and lifeless eyes poisoned your head; it was all you could see when you closed your eyes.

You sounded hollow when you said, “It didn’t… start from last night.”

Detective Lee acknowledged this and leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “Then let’s hear it from the beginning.”

If you could change anything about your life, it would be meeting Park Sunghoon.

Your first meeting was at the age of fourteen. Moving schools was an unexpected shift in your life, and you didn't expect to find many friends at your new school. Starting new in the beginning of the year was one thing, but entering unknown territory with people already acclimated in their respective groups was another.

People flocked to comfort, and you were sure that no one would want to step out of their comfort zone to bring a stranger into their friend group.

And then Sunghoon swooped in, like an angel sent from the heavens.

Initially, he was awkward. You were both fourteen-years-old and going through the initial stages of puberty—all voice cracks and awkward intervals of growth stunts. Sunghoon was soft-spoken and didn’t have many friends when he approached and befriended you.

It started when you both found out you shared a love for novels. You spent hours talking about your favorite books, and Sunghoon shared his dream of wanting to craft the perfect story. Oftentimes, Sunghoon would share some of his writing with you, and then his eyes would sparkle upon hearing your feedback.

You two were classmates, sitting right next to each other in the back of the classroom, conveniently right next to the door. You got to know Sunghoon slowly—the same gradual feeling of starting to care for someone. You knew his boundaries, though, because you were aware that you could never be the closest to Sunghoon. He and Park Jongseong were attached at the hip, and you couldn’t lie to yourself; you felt like a third wheel in the beginning.

But there was some comfort in the security of your friendship.

“It’s you and me,” Sunghoon would tell you, “the two of us against the world.”

You knew you should have been grateful to have made friends in the first place, but you didn’t exactly know if you belonged with them. As comfortable as you felt, there was always a whisper in the back of your head, telling you that you would never be their number one.

You would never be anyone’s number one.

“I don’t understand girls,” Jongseong said one day, hands tucked behind his head as the three of you were hanging out in Sunghoon’s room. You were flipping through some comic book that Sunghoon had laying around, and you shifted uncomfortably upon hearing the question.

“You don’t have to.” Sunghoon’s eyes flitted from you, and then back to his phone. He swiped through some apps, but you could tell he wasn’t really paying attention judging by the glazed-over look in his eyes. “Girls make no sense at this age.”

Jongseong nudged you. “You have anything to say about that, Y/N?”

To be honest, you didn’t understand yourself much either. You were just starting to go through puberty, and it wasn’t ideal for a teenager as young as you to only have guy friends. You couldn’t relate to any of the girls your age, nor could you ask them if they were going through the same changes you were.

You were acquainted with several girls, of course, but you never got close enough to ask what feelings and experiences they had. You wanted to know if they were becoming as conscious of themselves and others like you were, but you kept those questions bottled up since you only had Sunghoon and Jongseong.

“Nope,” you replied. “I couldn’t tell you.”

You supposed Jongseong was having girl problems again, and it all clicked because lately, he had been hanging around a pretty girl in their class. They were cute together and clearly into each other, but you could pick up on the issue: Jongseong was on the down-low about their relationship. More importantly, he had been on the down-low about it around Sunghoon, which had to have been breaking some sort of best friend code.

Jongseong asked, “You like anyone, Hoon?”

Hoon, your brain echoed, and you imagined yourself using the name as casually as Jongseong did. It sounded awkward coming from you, though. Friends gave each other nicknames, right? What if you gave Sunghoon a nickname? How would he react?

Sunghoon flushed behind his phone screen. You could tell he wanted it to go undetected, but you caught a glimpse of his flustered expression before he was able to compose himself.

“Oh, not really,” he replied with an air of indifference. “I dunno. I guess I haven’t really been looking.”

“How about you, Y/N?”

You faltered for a moment before you realized you had been addressed. It was a normal question; you should have expected it, but it hit you like a tornado and your mind was swirling. Dating had crossed your mind a few times, sure, you had never prepared an answer because you thought it was going to be straightforward—a simple “yeah, there’s a few cute guys in class.” But that wasn’t the case this time, and you were wondering why there wasn’t any clarity in your head.

Come on, Y/N, you urged yourself, as if you were complaining to multiple, uncooperating attendants working in your brain. Just say something—anything.

Your mind was blanking, though, and you were scared. You couldn’t quite grasp why your stomach felt like a never-ending pit, but it only worsened when you couldn’t spit some guy’s name out. You wanted to open up your skull, thoroughly examine your head, poke at the areas refusing to work, and figure out who you couldn’t just list some attractive guy in class; on top of that, you wondered why you couldn’t just flat-out refuse the statement and claim that there was no one you were interested in.

You were struck with a painful realization that there was only one person you could think of.

Sunghoon.

No, no, no, your brain and your heart screamed at each other. Get ahold of yourself.

You quickly decided that it was just a passing feeling that you needed to suppress until it went away. It was just stupid teenage hormones and puberty making you feel this way and starving you of affection that you didn’t actually need in the first place. If you didn’t get a hold over yourself, you were going to crumble and ruin the good things you had going.

You internally convinced yourself that everything was fine. There were plenty of teenagers your age who had moments of weakness like this with their guy friends. You just needed to branch out more, that was all.

Sheepishly, you replied before the boys could chew you out, “There’s no one I’m interested in right now.”

You weren’t a very good liar, but as long as Sunghoon and Jongseong were sold, you were content with how things were.

Your group expanded when you turned fifteen, and you and Sunghoon grew closer—maybe even closer than Sunghoon and Jongseong were.

You were laying down in your bed one night, breaking into sobs when you realized that you needed more than one hand to count the number of friends you had now. Your shell was broken and your world was bigger. You normally lived like your uphills were mountains and your downhills were cliffs, but, lately, the mountains were getting easier to climb and the downhills weren’t that big of a drop. You didn’t need to stop and catch your breath or worry about hurting yourself on the way down.

You never felt lonely anymore. If Sunghoon or Jongseong weren’t free, you would call Nishimura Riki to catch grasshoppers in the creek with you, or you’d go play video games with Yang Jungwon. Kim Sunoo called you nearly every night to bother you, but you didn’t mind. You liked them; they made you feel important, like you were wanted.

“Come on,” Sunghoon teased Jungwon one day as he was blushing over some girl. “What are you being so shy about?”

“It’s embarrassing!” Jungwon complained, and you giggled over how a flush of red started creeping from his ears to his cheeks. “I’m not a smooth-talker like you are, Hoon.”

Sunghoon snorted. “I’m not a smooth-talker.”

“He’s practically, like, bulletproof,” Jongseong chimed in. “We can’t tease him about anyone. He just brushes it off.”

“I’m not bulletproof,” Sunghoon argued, but anyone could see the pride behind his expression. “I’m just not interested in anyone right now.”

You thought you had finally squashed the weird, gooey feeling that arose in your chest every now and then whenever Sunghoon came close. It was primarily due to the fact that Sunghoon was a respectful individual who didn’t try to weasel his way into your personal bubble as he pleased. That was probably for the best because you were sure your brain would go haywire if Sunghoon was too close for comfort.

And then there was Sim Jaeyun.

Jaeyun entered your circle pretty easily. With his radiant personality and warm presence, it was no shocker that he was accepted by the group instantly. He possessed some odd charm that drew people to him, and you couldn’t seem to figure just how that worked. You were almost jealous of him, honestly, with how much of a social butterfly he was.

Out of all of them, Jaeyun seemed to take a particular interest in you. It drove you crazy, though, and you couldn’t figure out how to get the guy to stop teasing and messing around with you. The others couldn’t figure it out either; you just weren’t as bright and bubbly as Jaeyun was, so it was odd that he kept nagging the one person whose wavelength wasn’t on par with his.

Sometimes it was cute—endearing even—but sometimes it was just flat-out irritating.

“Hey, Y/N.” Jake grinned, and his voice was all light and airy as he approached you. “What’re you doing for the summer break?”

“Probably sleeping in, hanging out with the others, and some more sleeping,” you replied, hardly sparing him a single glance.

You were too focused on clearing out your locker of all the books and papers you had tossed in during the year. Gotta keep this, gotta throw this away, gotta return this one, you rattled off in your head, mentally preserving a reminder of your various items. But Jaeyun knew how to push your buttons and grab your attention. He never took your deflection without retaliating back. That was one of the many reasons why you found it so difficult to be around him.

“And hanging out with Sunghoon, huh? Have you realized it yet, or are you still pretending it’s not there?”

You closed your locker with a swift swipe of your hand, revealing Jaeyun’s smug expression. Your eyes were practically bugging out of your sockets as you stared him down. Somehow, you knew exactly what he was hinting at, but you refused to spell it out for him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned, but Jaeyun was already walking away from you. He was turned away, but you could visualize that stupid smirk of his like it was carved into your memory.

Jaeyun was smart. Too smart.

Your summer was filled with laughter, beach trips, and shy glances at Sunghoon. He drove you around places and you sat in the passenger’s seat next to him, toes curled in your shoes because you were so overjoyed. The car was always loud with music and laughter, and whenever it was silent, it was because everyone else was sleeping on each other after a long day of being outside.

You still masqueraded around, playing the role of Sunghoon’s best friend who definitely had zero romantic feelings toward him. It was quite hard when you had to pretend like your heart didn’t flutter whenever Sunghoon’s fingers brushed against yours.

“Sunghoon,” Jaeyun would complain, rousing laughter from everyone at how impatient he was, “are we there yet?”

“You’re so annoying,” Sunghoon retorted, clearly as a joke. You couldn’t help but laugh at his outburst, but it quickly died on your lips once you caught a glimpse of Jaeyun winking at you in the side mirror.

Jaeyun had a mischievous glint in his eyes when he said, “But you still love me, Hoon.”

Oh.

He was trying to make you jealous.

You fought down the urge to laugh at him. You might have been harboring a small crush, but you were never the jealous type, especially not over petty things like this. There was one little thing, however, that you couldn’t seem to shake.

For some reason, the anticipation to call Sunghoon by a nickname made you anxious. You never tested it on your tongue; it just floated around in your head. However, when you addressed him as Hoon one day, your heart skipped a beat when Sunghoon responded with a smile that rivaled the brightness of the sun.

You grew closer to Jongseong, too. You didn’t feel like the third wheel with him and Sunghoon anymore; you felt like you were all at the same level of closeness. You and Jongseong hung out sometimes without Sunghoon, and despite a few awkward pauses in your interactions, you two warmed up quickly and you learned how to joke around with him easily.

Jongseong wasn’t all stiff and dry like you were initially afraid of; rather, he was surprisingly fun, and every time you learned something new about him, like how he adored cats but was allergic to them, you were even more amazed.

It wasn’t just Jongseong, though. You and Sunghoon grew far closer than ever before, whether that was for the better or worse.

Sunghoon only lived a street away, so it was convenient to hang out, and when you didn’t hang out with him, you two called each other. You could see him unravel in front of your eyes; he became visibly more comfortable when it was just the two of you—smiling, laughing, and bursting into laughter with tears of unrestrained happiness.

It wasn’t just the jubilant memories that tugged you two closer, though. It was also the despair.

In the first place, it was an accident that you even happened to break down in front of Sunghoon.

You two were in his room when it happened, and things were as they always had been before you sensed the calm before the storm. You joked around as usual and passed the time by playing video games. Sunghoon was perched on his usual spot in the corner of the bed. You looked over at him and realized how close you two had become as friends.

Friends. Just friends.

It was right at that moment when you realized that this wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to just be Sunghoon’s best friend. You wanted to be the reason why he smiled, the one to make him blush, and the one he could share his pain and happiness with.

But your feelings were the scariest thing you’ve ever had to face, and you felt ashamed for even wanting to cross the line drawn between you and Sunghoon.

You couldn’t dare bring yourself to confess. You were almost positive that Sunghoon didn’t feel the same way, and you would be risking a fall-out in your current relationship if you admitted anything. What if Sunghoon ended up hating you? What if you lost him and all of your other friends? What if you weren’t the closest person to him anymore?

That was why you felt like Sunghoon was in another dimension, always a layer away. Always.

This was your own fault. You were the one who fell for your best friend. You were the one who did this to yourself. You broke your own heart.

You couldn’t help it when you started falling apart in front of him. It started with a broken cough that was supposed to cover up a sniffle. You were thankful for the loud battle sounds in the game that drowned out your quiet sobbing. But the video game didn’t stop Sunghoon from noticing your shaking hands gripping the controller.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m okay.”

Your voice is so shaky, so broken. Sunghoon knew you were crying before he could see or hear it.

He paused the game and put the controller down, but your eyes were still trained on the screen, hands shaking as you clutched the controller until you were white-knuckled. Sunghoon was on edge—panicked. Although, it was a different kind of panic from all the times you would be stressing over an assignment and Sunghoon would offer some lame piece of advice in return.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” His tone was frantic now as he searched your face for an answer.

You smiled, although faint melancholy was tucked away in the curl of your lip. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Now, I know that’s not true.”

Your smile broke. It was so unfortunate that Park Sunghoon had to have a heart so big.

You could almost hear Jaeyun in the back of your head: Have you realized it yet, or are you still pretending it isn’t there?

You started crying, and it wasn’t something soft with a gradual crescendo. It was loud and all at once, like a wounded animal. Your hands shook more, and you finally dropped your controller, burying your fingers into your roots, as if tugging your hair hard enough would make it all stop, as if it would hurt more than the ache in your chest.

Sunghoon was quick to get off his bed and slide to the ground, right next to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and it only made you feel ashamed. You stiffened up and shrunk back, hoping he wouldn’t notice how you tensed up at his touch. You could hear your own heartbeat, but you were pretty sure you were hyperventilating at a faster pace than the pounding in your chest. The world under you moved, bounced, so you decided to lean into Sunghoon.

The logical half of your brain informed you in a calm, clipped manner that you were having a panic attack. The other half meanwhile was screaming and shutting itself down.

Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste, you tried telling yourself, but your senses overwhelmed you completely. Your tears were blurring your vision, you couldn’t hear anything but your sobs, and your lungs felt as if they were on fire.

“Y/N, talk to me,” came the softest voice that eased the painful ringing in your ears.

“I can’t,” you stuttered out. “Not right now.”

You wish you hadn’t let it get to this point. You were completely humiliating yourself in front of Sunghoon right now. This was the one thing you couldn’t let him find out about.

Your heavy gasps grew more labored. You then curled into yourself, sweaty hands tugging and knotting at your hair. And, shit, you couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you repeated again and again, like a broken record. The desperation in your voice was so ugly.

There was something fierce in Sunghoon’s eyes, like he was ready to protect you from anything or anyone that tried to hurt you, but there was also softness in his voice. “You know, you can tell me anything. Whatever it is, I’ll hear you out. I don’t want you to suffer alone, Y/N.”

With a small smile, he added, “It’s just you and me, right? The two of us against the world.”

That only made you cry even more. You just replayed Sunghoon’s words in your head, like it was your favorite song.

“Alright.” You breathed in real deep, through the aching chest and everything. “It’s really stupid.”

“If it makes you cry this hard, it can’t be stupid.”

You bit your lip, embarrassed. “I think I like someone—someone I can’t have.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond for a moment, and it rattled your brain. He probably was wondering this underwhelming confession warranted a breakdown from you, and you couldn’t blame him. However, it was the only way you could avoid lying to your best friend without giving him the whole truth.

For a split second, you wondered if Sunghoon simply just didn’t hear you. But you didn’t want to repeat yourself; you didn’t like repeating yourself.

To your surprise, Sunghoon just smiled. “Do I know them?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words were stringing together in your head to form a coherent sentence.

“Uh, well, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” Sunghoon continued. He flushed and flicked his thumb under his nose—an awkward mannerism of his that you grew to love over the years. “Actually, I think we’re in the same boat. There’s someone I like, too. Someone I can’t have.”

His words bounced in your skull. Settled. Bounced again.

“Really?” you spluttered out, and it took you a moment to recuperate from the heavy sadness that was filling your chest. You brought yourself to ask, “I mean, you’re so popular, so why don’t you just ask them out?”

“Can’t.”

“Why not? Are they dating someone else?”

There was a sad smile on Sunghoon’s lips when he answered, “No, Jongseong likes her, too.”

At the age of sixteen, you realized that you couldn’t get over Sunghoon, but you could suppress your heartbreak and lingering feelings.

It physically hurt to think about how deeply ingrained your concept of friendship was with him, and the possibility that Park Sunghoon would never think of you as more than a friend. You two had shared too many experiences—worn each other’s shoes and walked miles—to ever become more than what you were.

Nothing would ever change.

You were hanging out by a creek near Jongseong’s house. It was just the two of you—no Jaeyun to poke fun at you, and no Sunghoon to distract you. It was just the two of you, and it was somehow so easy to be with Jongseong like this. You could laugh with your stomach and smile with your eyes without feeling the need to close up or shut down.

“It’s getting annoying, isn’t it?” Jongseong asked under his breath at one point. When you shot him a puzzled look, he clarified, “Sunghoon.”

You picked up on Jongseong’s annoyance toward Sunghoon over the past few weeks, but his words confirmed your suspicions now. You wondered if it was geared toward the girl they both liked—whoever she was.

You never thought to ask, mainly because you didn’t want to know. Either way, if Sunghoon wanted to share, he would’ve done so already.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, trying to grab at words and shove them together, but you genuinely didn’t know what to say.

It had always been you, Sunghoon, and Jongseong. You never thought about them turning on each other. The very idea made you feel sick to your stomach.

Over the past week, you had seen Sunghoon’s indifference toward Jongseong, but you were too afraid to ask about it. Your friend group was slow to pick up on it, but you noticed the way Sunghoon would purposely avoid conversing with Jongseong, or the way Jongseong would walk quickly past him if they crossed paths. It was odd, though, because everyone knew that Sunghoon and Jongseong were the best of friends—inseparable. How could you hold onto someone for so long and just let go of them like that?

You recalled that Jongseong and Jungwon went over to talk to Sunghoon about his moody behavior, but Jongseong never told you whether the talk went well or not. You figured it just never happened because Jungwon called in sick the very next day.

You prayed that he would hurry up and get over his cold. He had been out sick all week, which checked out since everyone was getting sick around this time of the year. Jungwon would know how to get Sunghoon and Jongseong to reconcile. He was always the friend that helped everyone patch things up.

“You guys are best friends,” was all you could say. “You’ll make up in a few days, right?”

Jongseong clicked his tongue loud enough to make your skin crawl.

But you didn’t want to drop it this time, you asked, “Seriously, what happened between you guys?”

For a moment, you wondered if you should’ve brought up what Sunghoon confessed to you—about him and Jongseong liking the same girl. But this couldn’t have been about that; Sunghoon would never let a girl get between his friendships.

“Sunghoon’s hiding something dark,” Jongseong blurted out. “I don’t think I can get him out of this one.”

“Something dark? What is it?”

“I don’t really know—”

“Jongseong,” you cut in. “If you know something, then just say it. He’s my best friend, too.”

Jongseong shifted uncomfortably, restless. He was silent for a long period of time, so you just waited for him to collect his thoughts. Uneasiness bursted from the tips of your fingers and crawled under your skin. You felt the heat of the sun against your face, so you looked up and covered your eyes with a hand, blinking back red.

“If Sunghoon did something unforgivable,” he started in a murmur, “would you forgive him?”

“I don’t know,” was all you could say.

“Yeah,” Jongseong replied, his terse words nearly making you flinch. “I don’t know, either.”

The sun grew hotter against your face, and all you could see was blood red behind your eyes.

You didn’t know how exactly it started, but you slowly started to find solace in Jaeyun.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were starting to care for him a little more than the people around you. You were starting to get swayed by him—the things he said, the way he looked at you—and it scared you a little.

But Jaeyun felt safe. He felt like home.

You two called at night, sometimes. You weren’t normally one to be vulnerable in front of others, but you shed some tears in front of Jaeyun a couple of times.

The only other person you had cried in front of was Sunghoon.

“It’s kinda sad,” Jaeyun told you one day. You two were spending the afternoon studying together at his place, and you were feeling self-conscious because you were starting to regret not dressing a little cuter. “I’ve known you for a year, but we’ve only gotten close now.”

“I don’t think either of us cared about deepening our friendship back then.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You think I didn’t want to be closer? How do you think I picked up on you liking Sunghoon?”

“Because I was obvious about it?”

“No, idiot, because I like you.”

You blinked a few times until you fully processed his words. I like you, your brain repeated, and then you reprocessed the information.

No, there was an ‘idiot’ before that. Not only were you liked, but he thought you were stupid, as well.

You became painfully aware of your knees touching Jaeyun’s, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around the idea of him liking you romantically. You had never been in this position. Since your crush on Sunghoon had been one-sided for the past few years, you never expected to be on the receiving end.

“You…” you trailed off, floundering to find something to say—something that wouldn’t make you sound stupid or mean. You settled with, “You, too?”

His eyes beamed with hope. “For a year now.”

Your world was so small before. It was just you, Sunghoon, and Jongseong.

Before you could even wonder if there was space in your heart for Jaeyun, you realized that you had already let him burrow his way in there.

“Can I kiss you?” Jaeyun asked.

You couldn’t help but breathe out a laugh, and every once of nervousness slipped away. You always thought you could attain this level of closeness with Sunghoon, but maybe your relationship with him was just that fragile—where you could just grab the string binding you two together and snip it completely.

But it was different with Jaeyun.

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling, “you can.”

And then, with Jaeyun’s breath fanning your lips, you felt Sunghoon completely dissolve from the impounding thoughts racking your brain. Right now, it was Jaeyun and only Jaeyun.

You leaned in first, cupping his cheek and pressing your lips against Jaeyun’s soft ones. It was weird, kissing for the first time, but he leaned into it instantly so that your movements were less awkward and more guided.

A fire blazed inside of you, burning hotter than imaginable. You didn’t expect Jaeyun to drive you this crazy—to crave more, to want more. You drew back before you slid your hand into his hair, although you were tempted to go further when his pillowy lips peppered soft kisses along your jawline.

But you didn’t want to go overboard or ruin anything by going too fast. You settled for leaving another chaste kiss against his lips before pulling back, and you were delighted when you saw how pleased Jaeyun was. He was practically glowing.

From then on, you and Jaeyun had a relationship that extended past something platonic, but it wasn’t like you two were official. Naturally, you ended up confiding in him over everything.

While Sunghoon still held a place in your heart as your first love, you grew to care for Jaeyun, who kindled a gentler fire in you. Sunghoon, on the other hand, left you burned and scarred.

You didn’t want to rush into a relationship, mainly because you didn’t want Jaeyun to think he was a rebound, and he respected that. So he waited for you to figure out your feelings and let your heart choose who was right for you.

You weren’t stupid, though; you knew that chasing after Sunghoon was a hopeless cause.

You and Jaeyun drifted about in a limbo-state of your relationship. You two went on a couple of dates, got to know each other at a deeper level, and spent a lot of time together. He became the person you thought about when you were falling asleep and when you woke up in the morning.

You two got along surprisingly well, and you wondered why you ever had doubts about him in the beginning. Sure, Jaeyun still got on your nerves at times, but you just found it funny after the wave of annoyance passed.

Your friends started to talk about how close you two were and frequently brought up the idea of you two dating. Of course, you always denied it, enjoying the privacy you and Jaeyun had.

But as your relationship blossomed into something more serious, you decided that you didn’t want things to stay casual any longer. So, you asked him out, and Jaeyun, being the lovesick puppy he was, accepted without a second thought.

You thought about how much had changed in your life. Sunghoon stopped hanging out with you completely, resorting to being alone most of the time. Everyone was concerned about his behavior, but after several attempts of failed confrontation, they all collectively gave up. You and Jongseong still kept an eye on him, using roundabout ways to find out how he was doing; it was the most you two could do given how little opportunity you had to talk to him.

You didn’t share many classes with Jongseong anymore, but you two were still close, even after your “two of us against the world” friendship with Sunghoon had gone to shit.

Jongseong was kind, though, and despite how he was rough around the edges, he was gentle enough.

But he knew that Sunghoon was hiding something dark, and that alone made you somewhat nervous around him.

You felt unsettled the entire day, but when your group chat started flooding with texts about Jungwon in the middle of the night, you felt an icy chill travel down your spine.

It was all over the news. The whole story about him being down with the flu was just a cover-up while authorities were looking for him.

You felt nauseous.

HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT FOUND DEAD NEAR WOODS. FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED.

The 16-year-old boy was found dead at the scene. The parents of the deceased student have identified him as Yang Jungwon. As of now, there are no leads, but authorities have ruled the case as a homicide.

Police have asked anyone with information to contact their local police department.

You read the headline again. Over and over again until your vision was blurry and the words were convoluted. Your fingers were raw and bitten down to the nail bed by the time you were able to put your phone down so that you could just cry into your hands.

By the time you got around to reading the details, grimacing at the descriptions of mutilation done to Jungwon’s body and how his body had been decomposing for weeks now, you had to run to your toilet and dry heave everything out.

You weren’t the closest to Jungwon or anything, but imagining such a bright person meet such a horrific end wasn’t easy to process. For hours, you ignored all of the calls and texts and attempts to comfort from your parents. You stared straight at your wall—so terrified that your chest hurt and your breathing was ragged.

Later that night, when the world was quiet and dreaming, you received a text from Sunghoon.

sunghoon: Hey sunghoon: I’ve been thinking about you. Are you doing okay? sunghoon: I haven’t been a good friend lately, I’m sorry sunghoon: It’s still the two of us against the world

There was a time when those words made you feel like you were on top of the world, soaring high over the clouds.

Now, though, all you could feel was a horrible sensation of dread.

It had been months since Sunghoon and Jongseong’s falling out.

You were seventeen now, but you felt hollower as you aged. Sunghoon showed up to school and lingered within your group silently, only contributing when spoken to directly. He didn’t approach you anymore or ask to hang out after school. Actually, no one knew what he did after school. He would head straight home and then go completely off the radar.

Gone off the rails, as Sunoo called it.

You cried several nights over it. You felt like not only was your best friend slipping away from you, but Sunghoon’s disconnect from the group would soon make you pull away, too. You had Jaeyun, of course, but nothing felt the same anymore. With Jungwon dead, the group felt tense and gloomy. You all started hanging out with other people and slowly stopped responding in the group chat.

Part of you realized that Sunghoon’s detachment was because you didn’t reply to him the night Jungwon’s murder was publicized. Back then, you suspected that Sunghoon could have been behind it, judging by your conversation with Jongseong earlier. It all added up in your head, but the only thing that was stopping you from believing it fully was that you couldn’t fathom Sunghoon ever doing something so evil.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him,” you whispered into the phone, even though there wasn’t anyone around that you were worried about listening in. “He’s shutting me out now. Something must’ve happened to him.”

You heard Jaeyun hum and contemplate for a moment before he replied, “Maybe he just needs space.”

“I think something happened between him and Jongseong,” you admitted, “but I can’t imagine Jongseong saying anything that would make Sunghoon ignore him for this long.”

“It must’ve been serious, then.”

“But… but it’s Sunghoon; he’s”—you paused as you recalled what Jongseong once called him—“bulletproof.”

There was a pause.

“I guess that’s the problem with being bulletproof,” Jaeyun spoke gravely. “People think they can just keep shooting.”

What Jaeyun told you that night kept replaying in your head over the next week—over and over again. It hit you a little too hard, and you waited to confront Sunghoon about it. You wanted him to know that he could be vulnerable, too. But you couldn’t even speak to your best friend these days. He had been avoiding everyone like the plague.

You assumed it had something to do with Jongseong, but when you talked to him about it, he was hesitant to get into it.

“You’re the closest person to him,” you told him. Today was colder, and you rubbed your hands together for warmth as you and Jongseong stood by the gates after school. “I think if you guys sit down and talk things out, then he’ll start being himself again.”

“I was the closest person to him,” Jongseong corrected with a scoff. “Plus, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about? What about your friendship?”

You couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth. Anger roiled deep in your chest, and you were too furious to realize that Jongseong only looked dejected in response. If he wasn’t going to explain what happened, then you couldn’t understand what was eating away at their relationship.

“There is no friendship, Y/N,” he said slowly, in a voice so low that it sounded like the calm before the storm. His words made everything come to a halt, and you felt like time itself had frozen. “I suggest you let go of Sunghoon, too. You’re hanging onto someone who’s beyond help.”

“But I don’t know what you know!” you exclaimed. “I can’t let go of someone just like that, Jongseong. I need answers.”

He was quiet before he asked, “Do you remember when Sunghoon stayed over at your house once when we were fourteen?”

“When his house caught on fire?” you recalled, but the memory was sort of hazy for you. All you remembered was how you were in complete awe that Sunghoon was unscathed and unbothered by the incident.

“Yeah,” Jongseong’s voice was grim as he said, “and I bet he never told you that he was the one who started that fire on purpose.”

It was like a punch to the gut. You could only shake your head blankly, lips parted in disbelief.

He continued, “When we were fifteen, he thought it would be fun to plan out a murder without getting caught—”

No.

“—and, at sixteen, he actually did it.”

No. No.

“Jongseong,” you whispered, your voice smaller than you intended, “was it…”

“Jungwon?” He said the name so carefully, as if the world would explode into nothingness if he did. You had been gnawing at your lip so hard that you drew blood, yet that couldn’t distract you from the haunted look in Jongseong’s eyes. “Yeah, he killed Jungwon.”

You felt like you had just been doused with ice-cold water.

“I shouldn’t have brought Jungwon with me. I knew Sunghoon was gonna do it to someone, but I didn’t know…” He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath that racked his entire body. “I didn’t think it would be him. I brought Jungwon to talk him out of whatever was going on, not to…” Jongseong stopped himself again, covering his face with his hands to wipe away the tears that had started to fall.

It’s you and me, Sunghoon’s voice chimed in your head. The two of us against the world.

You thought your world had been shattered, but then you realized that it had actually been broken for a long time.

That night, you asked Jaeyun to come over, and he arrived at your door in record speed.

You two were sitting on your bed, controllers in hand, but the screen was off and neither of you were even in the mood to play. You must have trusted him more than anyone by now because the words started spilling with no preamble. You ended up explaining most of your conversation with Jongseong after you had Jaeyun swear on his life that he wouldn’t tell a soul.

Of course, you didn’t expect any normal person to compliantly come to terms with the fact that their friend murdered their other friend, but Jaeyun was a bit different when it came to you. Instead of accusing you of lying or denying the truth, he believed you wholeheartedly. You couldn’t tell if he was patient with you, or if he was just horrified by everything you had told him.

It had been an entire year since Jungwon had been found dead and the case closed as an unsolved murder, but your words sucker punched Jaeyun like it had just happened yesterday.

Jaeyun’s tone was urgent when he said, “We have to tell someone.” When he noticed your hesitation, he shook his head at you with a disapproving frown. “Y/N, this is serious. This is Jungwon, my best friend.”

Your mouth went dry. “I-I know, it’s just—”

Jaeyun didn’t have to cut you off. You froze right when you saw tears welling up in his eyes.

“Y/N.” He said your name gently, but you still flinched. You had never heard your name being called with so much despair. “If Sunghoon really murdered Jungwon, then I can’t keep this a secret.”

“Give me a few days,” you pleaded. “I just want to hear Sunghoon out. No matter what he says, I’ll come with you to testify.”

He shook his head immediately, eyes fierce. “You are not going anywhere near Sunghoon—not after what he did to Jungwon.”

“Then let me ask Jong—”

“Y/N,” Jaeyun interrupted, letting his hand slide over yours. His eyes were full of concern when he asked, “How do you know you can trust Jongseong?”

Your hands started to shake.

“Y/N,” he said again, “if Jongseong took Jungwon to see Sunghoon, what do you think he did after Sunghoon killed him?”

Your pulse raced.

“If Jongseong knew about Sunghoon’s behavior for this long, why hasn’t he ever done anything?”

All this time, you thought your world had grown a little bigger ever since you met Sunghoon and Jongseong.

But you were living in a fantasy by yourself.

Not so long after your talk with Jaeyun, your phone rang. You were in the middle of finishing up your history paper when you saw the caller ID flash across your screen.

It was Sunghoon.

You didn’t even give yourself time to think about it first. You just picked up the phone immediately. It was an old habit; you saw Sunghoon and accepted the call without a second thought. You never expected Sunghoon to ever call you again, so you didn’t exactly have any practice in rejecting his calls.

“Y/N?” came the familiar voice of Park Sunghoon—gentle, but almost like he was a caged animal.

“Sunghoon?” You swallowed hard. “Uh, how are you? It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, but you weren’t sure what he was apologizing for. “It was supposed to be the two of us against the world.”

You frowned. “Sunghoon, what’s going on?”

Instead of answering your question, Sunghoon hesitated before saying, “We should catch up sometime. You can read part of the story I’m writing.”

You paused, and before he could ask if you were still there, you replied, “Yeah, sure.”

“Right.” Sunghoon sounded like he had more to say. You almost didn’t catch it because he was so quiet, and the last thing you heard before he hung up was a quiet, “Bye, then.”

Your deepest regret was answering your phone later that night.

It was hours after Sunghoon called you. Jongseong was more of a texter, so you were surprised when his caller ID flashed across your screen. It was definitely not a reasonable hour for a high school student to be out and about, but nothing could have prepared you for what you heard on the other side of the line.

Jongseong was sobbing.

The sound chilled you to the bone. You never heard Jongseong cry, but this didn’t feel normal; this cry was frantic and mangled, like he was spiraling out of control.

“Y/N, you have to come over quickly,” Jongseong begged through broken sobs and heavy breaths. “Please, Y/N, I don’t want him to hurt anyone else.”

“Jongseong, calm down. Tell me what’s happening.”

“You have my location, right? Just hurry. Please.” And he hung up.

In a daze, you called Jaeyun and asked him to pick you up.

“I really think we should just call the cops,” Jaeyun offered, almost pleading. “I don’t know what’s going on with Jongseong, but this sounds sketchy, Y/N.”

Pitted fear festered in your throat. You knew something was off, but you weren’t sure if you could handle losing Jongseong, too. You had gotten so used to not being alone that you were paranoid of returning to having no one.

“Call them as soon as we get there,” you said. “I just need to make sure Jongseong’s okay.”

Jaeyun pressed his lips into a thin, grim line, but he kept driving.

It was a port that Jongseong’s location directed you to, and discomfort crept into your limbs as soon as Jaeyun pulled into the area. Maybe you should’ve stayed back where it was safer and let the police handle everything, but you must have been a fool. It was just that Jongseong’s cries echoed in your head whenever you started having second thoughts.

You could hear him before you saw him.

Jongseong’s soft sobs could be heard from behind a metal storage unit, and you and Jaeyun inched closer carefully after getting out of the car. Your heart dropped to your stomach; you were dreading the worst, and when you turned the corner into the closed area Jongseong was in, you realized that the sight before you was the worst it could get.

Sunghoon’s body.

You waited for his chest to rise, but not even a shallow breath escaped his blue-tinged lips.

It took you a moment to reorient yourself and realize that Sunghoon wasn’t just passed out, he was dead.

You saw the blood pooling around him and the wounds piercing his torso, staining his white shirt, but you wanted to believe your mind was playing tricks on you. You convinced yourself that Sunghoon was going to get up any second now and start laughing, and then Jongseong would join in and tell you it was all a joke.

But that wasn’t the case.

It wasn’t fear that overtook you—not an overwhelm of emotion—it was numbness. You stared at Sunghoon’s body as he bled out onto the concrete, blood pooling into the cracks in the ground. You felt an odd sort of disconnect.

You tilted your head to see Sunghoon’s face turned to the side against the concrete. His blank eyes just stared into nothingness, and you realized that you would never get to see Sunghoon’s warm, sincere gaze ever again. You were never going to see his bright smile. You were never going to hear his contagious laugh. You were never going to read the wonderful stories he wrote.

You supposed your life was always meant to be a tragedy.

“H-Hoon?” Jaeyun choked up behind you. He was staring down at Sunghoon’s lifeless body in horror before his expression was slowly replaced with anger. “Jongseong, what the hell did you do?!”

“It was self-defense, man,” Jongseong whimpered out before his body was racked with sobs again. “He pulled a knife on me out of nowhere. I tried to stop him, but he was trying to kill me. I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t—” He exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t do anything else.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at Sunghoon.

“Come on, guys,” Jongseong pleaded. “I can’t go to fucking prison. I’m eighteen now; it’s not juvie, it’s a life sentence.” You didn’t know what he was getting at until he requested the unthinkable, “Help me get rid of the body.”

You wanted to puke. You eyed the shiny metal soaked in blood that Jongseong was clutching. You were never going to see Sunghoon again. You were never going to hang out with him over the weekend. You were never going to hear his voice again.

“Get rid of the body?” Jaeyun raised his voice, exasperated. “What the fuck are you gonna do when they realize he’s gone missing? You just killed someone! This is on you, Jongseong, not us!”

“Are you going to help me get rid of it or not?!” Jongseong tugged at his hair. “Just help me throw him off the dock, and we can all walk away from this.”

You watched helplessly, horror-stricken. “I… I can’t.”

“The body’s gonna float and show up somewhere,” Jaeyun countered with stony eyes. “They’re gonna catch you.”

Jongseong looked terrifyingly pale. You wondered if it was just the glow of the moon, or if he was also holding in his urge to puke. “I’ll just cut his stomach so he sinks.”

Disgusted, Jaeyun scowled. “You’re a monster.”

You watched as Jongseong tried hauling Sunghoon’s body before giving up and dragging him by the legs. You shot Jaeyun a warning look, mouthing for him to call the police before Jongseong noticed. He lingered back to do so while you followed Jongseong to plead him to stop. His arms gave out as soon as he stepped onto the planks, and he let Sunghoon’s lower half collapse onto the solid wood.

“Y/N, help me cut open his stomach,” he ordered, hardly sparing you a glance. If he did, he would have seen how horrified you were.

“Oh,” you said, voice wavering, “that’s… that—that’s his…”

“Y/N, help me.”

“Jongseong,” you begged, “please… please stop.”

He paid you no attention, though. You felt ghastly as Jongseong used a paring knife to make an incision on Sunghoon’s stomach. The smell was putrid. You screwed your eyes shut as the metallic smell of blood invaded your nostrils. Your nausea plunged into your gut, and you had to fight the pervasive urge to hurl.

A stream of Sunghoon’s blood made its way to your shoes, staining the soles.

Jongseong was cutting your old best friend open.

The dread had kept you numb for this long, but it was when reality settled in that you finally lost it. You couldn’t handle it anymore and pitched forward over the edge of the dock, throwing up until you were heaving up bile. You sobbed through it all, mournful and low, and your friend paid you no attention while he was cutting through flesh.

When Jongseong was done, he wiped at his cheek, leaving behind a smear of blood. Sunghoon’s blood. You stared at him, and you had never been more terrified of him in your life.

And then you really noticed Jongseong. You noticed how Sunghoon’s blood was coated all over his hands, how he hardly had any scratches or bruises on his body, how merciless his eyes were as he stared down at his old best friend.

The realization that washed over you was frightening.

“Sunghoon didn’t actually try to kill you, did he?” you managed to warble out. “You killed him yourself.”

A deep silence from him followed—heavy and wretched. Sunghoon’s blood was so dark that it nearly looked black under the dim light, and you could only stare helplessly until Jaeyun made his way to the dock, placing his hands firmly on your shoulders.

Jongseong turned to you and Jaeyun, clutching his knife tightly. You could hardly recognize the boy in front of you. You never truly understood the term “paralyzed by fear” until you saw the crazed look in Jongseong’s eyes—cold and haunting.

Jaeyun’s eyes glistened with tears and his throat was thick with emotion when he said, “Jongseong, please—just hang on and… and we can talk this out.”

The hand gripping his knife started shaking. “You won’t tell anyone, right? You guys won’t snitch on me, right?” When there was no response from you or Jaeyun, Jongseong’s desperation grew stronger. He turned to you with his eyes big and terrified. “Y/N, come on, we’ve known each other for years. You know I—”

“Shut up!” Jaeyun yelled. His protective grip on you tightened. “Cut the bullshit, Jongseong. The police are gonna be here soon, and they’re gonna take you straight to prison once they see what you did to Hoon.”

It was like a switch flipped in him. A distant part of your mind wondered if you could get everyone out of this—somehow bring Sunghoon back and go back to your normal life—but you immediately shut down that fantasy as soon as Jongseong’s eyes darkened.

In the darkness, you could make out an amused expression on his face. His smile took on a cold edge.

“Fine,” he bit out. “I’ll just have to get rid of you two before the police get here, then.”

You felt like your world slowed. Your eyes burned with the threat of tears. You could tell Jongseong was walking closer to you while Jaeyun was desperately trying to tug you and get you to run, but you were frozen in place. You wanted to believe that your old friend wouldn’t actually hurt you, but then you didn’t know what to think when he raised his knife.

It had all happened so fast. Too fast.

In your brief struggle as Jongseong tried to stab you, you heard a sharp gasp that tore you from your haze, like you had just been drenched in cold water. Brutally sober. You tried to push Jongseong off of you, but he was too heavy, too limp. Jaeyun shouldered his way between you two and shoved Jongseong back, grimacing when his skull hit the wood with a thud.

You heard one last, strangled gasp from Jongseong before he stopped breathing. The last star in his eyes twinkled until it dimmed for good.

Jongseong laid flat on the dock with his knife piercing his chest.

As you heard police sirens go off in the distance, Jaeyun wrapped his arms around you before you finally broke down into his chest.

Your best friends were dead and your world was broken beyond repair.

“So, it was self-defense?” Detective Lee asked, his piercing eyes boring right into yours. “Purely accidental? You had no intention of harming Park Jongseong?”

You shook your head. “I still couldn’t process the fact that he killed Sunghoon, so I didn’t think he’d actually try to hurt me.”

You wanted to cry. You bit your chapped lip, but all you could taste was blood that you doubted was even there. You couldn’t even say Sunghoon’s name without seeing that radiant smile of his stained with deep red.

You sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ve told you everything I know. Can I see Jaeyun now?”

Detective Lee eyed you for a moment. Finally, you saw some sort of sympathy in his gaze, although you felt sort of repulsed that you were being pitied in this state. The detective muttered something about him being back later, and he left the interrogation room, leaving you handcuffed to the table.

A minute passed by. Another. Several more.

You were pretty sure it had been at least an hour or two of staring at the wall, but the passage of time felt meaningless now. You could wait hours, even days, but you didn’t think you would ever be ready to confront what cruel reality awaited you.

You were so tired of everything, so exhausted that you didn’t even think about your parents until now. Were they here? Were they informed about your arrest? They must have been worried sick all night.

When the door opened, your head shot up.

“You’re free to go, Y/N,” Detective Lee said, pulling out a key to uncuff you from the table.

You were frozen. You just stared up at Detective Lee with your jaw hung open.

“I know this took awhile, but there was no security footage at the scene to confirm your story,” he elaborated. “But your stories matched up, and we found more evidence in the trunk of Jongseong’s car that he had been planning this murder.”

He helped you to your feet and escorted you out of the room. You were able to pick up everything they took from you before you were locked up in the holding cell—your keys, wallet, and your phone. Then, you were taken to the waiting room where your parents were seated at the far end.

At the sight of you, they all but leapt from their seats to rush over, hands cupping your face and arms embracing your weak, battered figure. There was so much love in their eyes, and their fear over possibly losing their daughter replaced any anger they had toward the situation. However, you wouldn’t have been surprised if you ended up getting an earful the next day.

“Mom, Dad,” you whimpered out, suddenly overcome with emotion. You were immediately aware of how weak and pathetic you felt. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” your father silenced you by rubbing your back in soothing circles. “Jaeyun’s family wanted us to let you know that he’s okay, too. They just took him home about ten minutes ago.”

You were slightly disappointed. Part of you was hoping that he would wait for you, but you figured Jaeyun’s family would have wanted to go home right away. You definitely would have felt better if you got to see your boyfriend in the flesh to make sure he was alive and well, but you weren’t going to complain now.

There was still a ghost of a smile on your lips as your parents walked you to their car. They gushed and gushed about how glad they were about you being safe and sound, and about how they never would’ve expected Jongseong of all people to end up being a murderer.

You were happy to be alive, of course, but you felt so empty.

You pulled out your phone to try and text Jaeyun, but, as you thought, it was dead.

“Mom, can I use your phone?” you asked, and you dialed Jaeyun’s number immediately as soon as she handed it to you. You had it memorized because it was a combination of numbers that was fairly easy to remember.

It rang four times, and by the fifth ring, you were scared that he wouldn’t pick up. But then, it beeped.

“Hello?” Jaeyun answered. “Who is this?”

It was like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders once you heard his voice. Despite Detective Lee informing you that Jaeyun was, indeed, alive, you felt more reassured hearing it from your boyfriend himself. You wanted to cry then and there, but you didn’t want to make your parents worry unnecessarily.

You forgot you were even supposed to respond when Jaeyun spoke again, “Is anyone there?”

“Jaeyun, it’s me,” you mumbled softly. “Y/N.”

You heard him suck in a sharp breath. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Jaeyun gave you the breakdown of how his experience went, which took a completely different turn than yours. After receiving medical attention, they brought him back to his holding cell to sleep for hardly a few hours. The detective interrogating Jaeyun tried to build trust with him, telling him they wanted to help and just needed his confession. They lied about already having evidence that he killed Jongseong, but Jaeyun denied it and told them the whole story. He was only free to leave after they cross-examined his story with yours.

“Jesus,” you whispered into the phone, breathing out a small laugh. By now, you were already parked at your house and walking to your front door. “This is so fucked up.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “but we’ll get through it.”

“Yeah, Jae. Us against the world.”

Sim Jaeyun spent nine hours being questioned by authorities.

He knew the nature of the crime that occurred was complex, and he was still reeling from the loss and betrayal that left a deep wound in his chest, but there was something that terrified him still.

It wasn’t the murderous look in Park Jongseong’s eyes, or the blood completely drained from Park Sunghoon’s face.

Rather, what scared Jaeyun the most was that he spent so long pining after you and getting to know you at a deeper level. He genuinely fell hard for you, even though you had monsters in the closet. He thought he knew almost everything about you, like how you were a terrible liar.

Yet, you had just lied about everything that went down last night for nine hours straight.

What scared Jaeyun the most was how clueless he had been about who you really were.

Truthfully, he was also in the wrong for going along with your lie. It was definitely going to bite him back one day. In the moment, though, he was far too much of a coward to go against you. Although he was able to get Jungwon the justice he deserved and allowed his family to finally be at peace with answers, Jaeyun still felt horrible. He just remembered the desperate look in your eyes as your face and hands were stained with blood, begging him to protect you.

Jaeyun’s downfall must have been that he liked you too much to say no.

It was true that Jongseong called you in a panic, begging you to show up at the port as quickly as possible, and it was true that you wanted Jaeyun to drive you there instead of calling the cops first.

Jaeyun knew deep down that you were making the wrong choice, but he had hope that you knew what you were doing. Truthfully, although he liked you a lot, he was still wary about how you felt toward Sunghoon. He just couldn’t understand how you were still unconsciously protecting him after hearing what happened to Jungwon. He knew that you wanted answers, but Jaeyun was worried about how you’d react once you got them.

The real story—the one neither of you told the detectives—never started with Park Jongseong killing Park Sunghoon.

It really started when you and Jaeyun arrived at the port to see that no one was around. It was eerily quiet, and Jaeyun was starting to regret not turning around and heading straight for the police station. When you two got out of the car, you walked several feet down the line of shipping containers before returning to Jaeyun with a confused look on your face.

“I don’t see either of them,” you said, but then your eyes grew unfocused as you stared at something—or, rather, someone—behind Jaeyun.

He turned around to see Jongseong walking over to the two of you in a calm fashion, as if he had no other care in the world. The port was relatively an open space, so he had no idea where Jongseong could have emerged from. Jaeyun rolled his neck, more frustrated than anything.

“Jongseong!” you called out.

When he neared you two, Jongseong shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh, you brought your boyfriend.”

“What’s going on?” you urged. “Is it Sunghoon? Did something happen to him?”

“Wow, that hurts, Y/N.” Jongseong barked out a laugh, but nothing about his tone sounded sincere. “I call you in the middle of the night and all you can think about is Hoon? Wow. How do you feel about that, Jaeyun?”

Jaeyun didn’t respond. He just glowered.

Nothing about this felt right.

You stammered, “I-I just assumed—”

“Put yourself in my shoes,” Jongseong cut you off with little regard for your excuses. “Sorry to say this in front of your boyfriend, but imagine how I feel when the girl I’ve liked for years only cares about my best friend.”

The air went still.

Your voice was barely a whisper when you asked, “Excuse me?”

Jaeyun pursed his lips together, and, for a moment, he thought his tongue would start bleeding if he bit it any harder. Sunghoon liked the girl that Jongseong liked, and if that girl was you, then Jaeyun was worried that he already lost you. He knew for months that he would never truly have you the way he wanted. Your feelings for Sunghoon were stronger, and although Jaeyun was able to pack his insecurities into a tiny ball and shove it down his throat, it was all coming out now.

His uneasy heart shattered into a million pieces once he caught a glimpse of your expression—hopeful and longing. And it wasn’t for Jongseong; it was for Sunghoon.

“Now that’s a great expression,” came an overly-enthusiastic voice from Jaeyun’s right.

Park Sunghoon was leaning against one of the shipping containers, arms folded across his chest before he uncrossed them and made his way toward the three of you. He must have been hiding behind the containers this whole time because Jaeyun hadn’t seen him at all before.

The situation was getting increasingly uncomfortable. Jaeyun wanted to shrink back when Sunghoon suddenly took great interest in him, keeping his eyes fixed on him instead of you or Jongseong. He used to have such bright and happy smiles, but, this time, Jaeyun almost thought his grin had been sliced into his face with a blade.

Sunghoon slung an arm over Jongseong’s shoulder. “Wow, Jae, now I really wanna see the look on your face when you’re in total despair,” he crooned, almost mocking. Jaeyun’s blood rushed in his ears when Sunghoon’s tongue swiped across one of his fangs. “You should’ve seen the look on Jungwon’s face.”

Jaeyun lunged before he could even think, but he stopped himself as soon as you held onto him, stopping him from hitting Sunghoon.

And that was when he knew he already lost you.

“Don’t,” you insisted.

“Are you serious?” he breathed out, brows knitting into a frown as he looked down at you.

Shame clung to your throat, keeping your mouth shut, but Jaeyun was more concerned now about the sharp blade pointed at his throat.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Jongseong had a paring knife pointed straight at him, and Sunghoon’s smile never faltered. They were clearly on the same side. There was a reason why Jeongseong never did anything about Sunghoon after killing Jungwon.

Jaeyun felt stupid for not putting it together earlier.

“I’d listen to your girlfriend,” Jongseong warned. His voice crawled all over him, freezing Jaeyun cold to the bone. “You might as well hear us out before you die here tonight.”

“Can’t exactly let you two run off now that you know what happened to Jungwon,” Sunghoon added.

“Jungwon was our friend,” Jaeyun hissed. “He was my best friend, you sick freak! What did you do to him? Why? He’s never… he never did anything wrong!”

“You’re right. He didn’t do anything wrong,” Sunghoon confirmed, surprisingly calm and collected. “In fact, he exceeded my expectations. It was a great performance, actually.” Jaeyun clenched his fist tight—so tight that his nails dug into his palms and drew blood—and Sunghoon took notice of this with a delighted hum. “You should’ve heard him scream, Jae. I had my doubts about him at first, but when he was begging me for his life, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

You were distraught. “Sunghoon, you—”

It all happened in seconds, like a rubber band finally snapping after being stretched too thin. Jaeyun used his elbow to knock Jongseong’s arm out of the way, and he shoved Sunghoon as soon as he found an opening, driving his hands into his ribs. He heard you cry out, but Jaeyun could only see red until he was dragged back up by Jongseong, the sharp blade of the knife being pressed to his throat.

“Stop!” you cried. “Leave Jaeyun out of this! You wanted me, right? Just let him go. Please.”

“I don’t think so.” Sunghoon wrapped an arm around you. “You two already know too much, and Jongseong and I have been waiting for this finale for years.”

Your eyes had a faraway look in them for a moment before you turned your attention back to Jongseong. “You told me…”

“I told you that when we were fifteen, Sunghoon thought it would be fun to plan out a murder without getting caught,” Jongseong filled in the blanks for you, a haunting smile playing on his lips, “and I was in on it.”

Sunghoon tutted. “But you got it all wrong, Y/N. It wasn’t Jungwon’s murder that we were planning; it was yours.”

You looked up at him in horror.

Jaeyun struggled against Jongseong for a moment, face taut with unbridled anger. He just wanted to get to you. Get Sunghoon’s filthy hands off of you.

“I’m a writer. I write stories,” Sunghoon continued. “Isn’t it a great twist? Convincing my childhood best friend that I loved her all this time, only to reveal that she’s gonna die at my hands.” He scoffed. “Jungwon was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but he was good practice. I was too careless back then. I shouldn’t have left all those drawings and papers out like that when he came over, but now I’m gonna finish the job properly.”

Your breathing was shallow. Jaeyun could see the flood of despair racking your body with soft sobs and quick pants. Your gaze fell to the ground, and Sunghoon peered to catch a better look at you.

“Good,” he praised. “That’s what I wanna see. Wow, that’s great, Y/N. I can’t wait to see more when—”

“Get the fuck away from her!” Jaeyun yelled, grunting when Jongseong pressed the knife harder against his supple skin.

With an exaggerated flourish of his hands, Sunghoon raised both arms and backed up as if he was a deer caught in headlights. He wore an easygoing smile, yet something sinister was tucked behind the curve of his lips. Your inconsolable self stayed fixed in place, staring helplessly at your shoes.

“For the past two years, I’ve been isolating myself from the friend group for the sake of this story and its ending,” Sunghoon said. “I think I deserve a little fun right now, Jae.”

“Fuck you,” Jaeyun spat. “You deserve to go to Hell.”

Sunghoon took a step closer to Jaeyun, ducking his head so that they were at eye-level with each other. Jaeyun tried to struggle against Jongseong once more, but he froze when the knife pierced his skin. He felt something trickle down the column of his neck, and he soon realized it was his own blood.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Sunghoon mocked a pout. He lowered his voice by an octave, only for Jaeyun to hear. “Competing with a childhood friend is brave, I’ll tell you that.”

Jaeyun’s blood boiled. To his surprise, Sunghoon gestured for Jongseong to let go of him. He took the paring knife from his friend and handed it to Jaeyun.

“Take it,” Sunghoon said. “Why don’t you try killing me? You wanna get back at me, right? I killed your best friend, after all.”

Owlish, he blinked back at Sunghoon, almost absently. Jaeyun really considered it for a moment—like, really considered it. Some part of him wanted to senselessly beat Sunghoon up until he was unrecognizable, but the morally righteous side of him knew that he could never stoop to Jongseong or Sunghoon’s level.

Jaeyun took the knife by the handle, weighing it in his palm experimentally before chucking it away—far from both Sunghoon and Jongseong. Jaeyun was pretty sure he could overtake Jongseong if Sunghoon turned his back, but he wasn’t sure if Jongseong had another weapon up his sleeve. He heard the blade skid and scrape against the concrete, and he could only hope that Sunghoon and Jongseong being distracted by him would give you time to escape.

But Jeongseong immediately stopped you as soon as he saw you picking up the knife, and he let go of Jaeyun to grab ahold of you. Jaeyun tried to yank Jongseong back by the back of his shirt, but Sunghoon grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head against the metal of one of the shipping containers.

Jaeyun’s world was thrown off-balance. The ground bounced, tilted, swayed. He was so dizzy and disoriented that he couldn’t tell if his head was spinning or if he was collapsing.

The corners of his vision grew hazy with white splotches dancing around. Jaeyun tried hard to focus, making out some of the yelling that was going back and forth, but he couldn’t think at all when a newly-formed cut on his forehead was getting blood all over his face and hands.

He doubled forward, falling onto his knees. Jaeyun had to stay there for a while and ride out the intense waves of vertigo until he was stable again. When the world finally returned to its normal axis and stopped bouncing under him, Jaeyun lifted his head to see you and Jongseong screaming at each other.

And Sunghoon was on the ground.

He stumbled over, and it was as if the white noise in Jaeyun’s ears had drowned out everything in the background. He couldn’t see or focus on anything except the pained look on Sunghoon’s face as the color drained from his neck. Blood was gushing from his jugular vein, and he was digging his palm into his neck to put pressure on the wound.

“—you stabbed him!” you screamed at Jongseong. Your voice was hysterical; Jaeyun had never heard you sound so desperate, not even when he was being held at knifepoint.

“Fuck, Y/N, I wouldn’t have hurt him if you didn’t pull on my arm!” Jongseong yelled back. He sank to the ground, simultaneously dropping the knife and dropping his head between his knees.

The sight was miserable to watch. Jongseong wailed loud and mournful until he couldn’t take it anymore, doubling over so that he could throw up until nothing but bile was coming out. When it seemed as though he had nothing else to heave out of his stomach, Jongseong sat up for a brief moment. You and Jaeyun watched as his eyes rolled back almost instantly, falling onto his back and hitting his skull against the concrete. The exhaustion must have finally caught up to him, and you two didn’t have long until he was conscious again.

Jaeyun turned his attention back to Sunghoon, watching his life bleed out of his body slowly. For some reason, an odd disconnect came over Jaeyun, and he bent down to help apply pressure over Sunghoon’s wound. At first, Sunghoon gritted his teeth, but even he knew when to accept help when it was needed.

Sim Jaeyun was pretty sure he was broken beyond belief by now, but it was impossible for him to ignore someone who was dying right before him.

Even if he murdered Jungwon.

“Y/N, we need to get him to a—”

Jaeyun cut himself off when he looked up at you to see that your expression had changed. Something was different. You looked like numbness had seeped into your body, coiling around your heart until you couldn’t feel anything. The way you looked down at Jongseong, clutching his knife tightly, made Jaeyun worry.

“Y/N,” Jaeyun said again—slower, “whatever you’re thinking… please put it down.”

It didn’t seem like you were listening, though. Almost as if your body and brain were at two different places.

“Y/N—” Jaeyun shuddered when you brought the knife down, driving it straight into Jongseong’s chest.

Jaeyun’s stomach lurched. He watched as Jongseong struggled for his life, hardly conscious as you repeatedly stabbed him over and over again until Jaeyun was yelling at you to stop. He was sure he would never be able to close his eyes again without hearing Jongesong’s blood-curdling screams and seeing Sunghoon’s face drained of color.

“Wow,” Sunghoon choked out. One last amused look crossed his face before it fell apart painfully. “I told you, Jae, there’s no competing with a childhood best friend.” Jaeyun flushed with anger, but it dissolved quickly when he realized Sunghoon’s breathing got slower, shallower. The look on his face was one of someone accepting their untimely death. “Thanks for the show, though.”

In his arms, Sunghoon took his last breath and went still.

It wasn’t grief that Jaeyun felt. It was something far greater.

“Jaeyun, I—I didn’t mean to,” you sobbed out, shakily holding up your bloodstained hands. “It was self-defense! I tried to stop him, but he was trying to kill me, and then he… he killed Sunghoon. I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t—” You exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t do anything else.”

Jaeyun didn’t respond. He just stared at you in disbelief.

“Come on, Jae,” you pleaded. Oh, so it was Jae now. “You have to help me get rid of their bodies. I can’t go to prison!”

“Get rid of the body?” Jaeyun raised his voice, exasperated. “Y/N, they’re dead! We have to tell the police everything. I mean, what are you gonna do when your prints match?”

Your lips pressed together in a grim line. “Your prints are on the knife, too.”

Were you blackmailing him? Jaeyun couldn’t believe what he was hearing from you. He never expected you, of all people, to be the one to throw him under the bus like this. He had trusted you with his life before, and you threw it all away in seconds.

“Are you going to help me or not?” You looked toward the dock over the water. It was a good enough distance for you to drag Sunghoon and Jongseong’s bodies over to, but Jaeyun sure as hell didn’t want to get involved. “Just help me throw them in the water, and we can both walk away from this, Jae. We can go back to our lives, okay?”

He shook his head sadly. You just sounded like a stranger to him.

“Please, Y/N,” he pleaded, tears stinging his eyes, “please stop this. You have to turn yourself in.”

But his resolve was shaky. Jaeyun knew that he would still be booked once they found his prints at the scene, and there was no telling what you would do to protect yourself. By now, Jaeyun wouldn’t have been surprised if you somehow pushed the crime onto him.

“Jae, listen to me,” you insisted. Your eyes were wide and brimming with tears, and Jaeyun couldn’t help but think you looked a little crazed. “We can both get out of this, but you have to help me out here. We’re gonna tell them that Jongseong killed Sunghoon before we got here, and then he chased us until we ended up stabbing him out of self-defense. I mean, that’s all this was, anyway! It was self-defense!”

A distant part of Jaeyun’s mind wondered what happened to you. He wondered if you had always been this way, perhaps keeping it tucked away. In the end, you were still trying to protect Sunghoon in your own way. You were still trying to protect some fragment of his golden image.

“It’s you and me,” you whispered, kneeling down by your boyfriend’s side until you were cupping his face with your hands, staining his cheeks with Jongseong’s blood, “the two of us against the world.”

Just hours ago, Sim Jaeyun looked at you like you were his entire world.

And now, with your bloodstained hands holding his face, there was unmistakable fear behind his eyes as he looked up at you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ thank you so so much for reading if you made it all the way to the end !! i would lovee for you to guys to share what you thought, but just to point a few things out, jake's pov was the unfiltered version of what went down that night. the dialogue from mc is similar to jongseong's because while she painted him out to be the villain in the end to protect sunghoon, it was really her who said those things. originally this had a happier ending but i'm a lot more satisifed with this one actually. i hope you guys liked it !! <3 also i am deciding against using my permanent tag list this time because i haven't used it in a year and don't know if anyone exactly signed up to read horror 🧎‍♀️

#enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen horror #jake fluff #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon horror #jake horror #enhypen angst #sunghoon angst #jake angst #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #jake scenarios #sunghoon x reader #jake x reader #enhypen

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months ago

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König is, obviously, a big little freak. Do you think he'd feel flattered/lovestruck if a cute girl stalked and was obsessed with him or would he be weirded out? I think the first: for once he gets pussy and love without having to do anything. Also it'd be kinda funny if he didn't even notice his little admirer at first cause she doesn't register as a threat and he's too busy being broody and depressed cause he's so alone (while reader is in her apartment fantasizing about their future kids and drawing little hearts on a pic of him)

Ohhh yes. König being oblivious af, thinks this is simply a joke.

It started out in school: cute little postcards that had bunnies or kittens or flowers or hearts on them, delivered to him by his mom who was smirking about how her boy had a secret admirer. There was nothing fancy scribbled on the other side, just soft, silly messages like: "I like you!" or "Your cute" or "Luv u ♡", and König saved them all.

…Until he showed the postcards to the wrong “friends”, who only made fun of them. One of the boys told him they sent those cards to him as a joke because no girl could ever want him, and König believed them. Allowed himself one, maybe two tears in solitude before he threw those cards away.

What was odd, though, was that the cards still kept coming. He always threw them in the trash, and at some point while growing up, they stopped arriving. No cats or hearts or cute mice illustrations for him anymore, just loads of video games and internet and a growing interest in war history and gym.

He didn’t think much of it after the age of 17, just went to the army to make a man out of himself. Got laid for the first time, got bullied some more, grew some muscle and grew some balls. Got kicked out of sniper training, his one and only dream, and went back home to brood for a few weeks.

That’s when he received the letter.

A 5 page love letter, written in beautiful, whimsical handwriting, smelling of something so angelic that it drove even the eternal stench of gunpowder and rust and military storage away.

König gets plunged into a whole world of soft feminine attention without even asking to, the letter now placed on his old desk that’s too small for him to sit at anymore. The fragrant sheets of paper are filled with confessions of adoration and love and… it would be a little bit creepy, were he a man who fancied so-called normal women.

He goes to the attic, searching his old cardboard boxes for the postcards to compare the handwriting, but can’t find none, remembering that yeah… he threw all of them away, didn’t he? The handwriting wouldn’t match anyway, that much he can remember, but then again it was a kid who wrote to him back then. Now, his admirer is a grown woman who apparently got back on her obsession train once he visited his childhood home after years of living abroad.

The hair on his shins, arms and at the back of his neck shoots up as he realizes some woman has a crush on him, some cute girl has been watching him since day one. Those postcards weren’t a joke, so she must have gone to the same school as him… She might be the daughter of some of their neighbors, living right next to him even now.

König goes door to door in search of her, but only wrinkly elders arrive to tell him that no, they never had a daughter or granddaughter or if they had, they have long since moved out to some big city.

He goes through the letter once again but finds no clues to who she is or where she lives. It’s just pages and pages of flattery about how he’s still the man of her dreams and so much more. How he’s even cuter now that he looks like someone pissed in his cereal. She wonders if he’s built the same everywhere, and if he is, then she should say her evening prayers… Too many impure thoughts going through her head already, why does he have to be so handsome?

König is in hell, as always, desperately trying to look for his admirer when he goes out to take the trash. Visions of some girl touching herself at the thoughts of him pester him from sunrise to sunset, and he has to take a cold shower every morning simply because one wank doesn’t seem to be enough to tame the big fellow downstairs.

He hugs his pillow and dreams of his girl, someone sweet to wrap his arms around and to protect. He fantasizes of someone cute waiting for him, someone he could surprise every time he gets home, someone adorable to eat out until they sob and squirm. Until he gets the stench of death out of his mouth…

A message arrives on his phone from an unknown number, and at first he thinks it’s spam.

But when he opens the message, he’s met with two perfect bare breasts. So fucking cute, especially when they’re accompanied by a set of fingertips grazing her soft skin; König even notices she has red nail polish on. So adorably, incredibly cute…

There comes a text that says: “I thought of sending you another postcard, big boy… But perhaps you don't care for kittens anymore. Hopefully this will do? ❤️”

There’s no face reveal, just tits and a cute female hand laid out there before him. Just a text that confirms that she’s the one. Typing a quick reply, he sends it to the unknown number: “This will more than just do 😳❤️❤️❤️”

Without thinking, like, at all, he pulls out his already hard cock and takes a hurried picture of it with a trembling hand. He usually knows better than to send a dick pic to a girl, especially after exchanging less than two sentences with them. But hey, she started this. The least he can do is give her something to pray about (and for)..

So he sends that horrid picture of his ugly cock to his cute mystery girl before she can even type a reply to the first message, and asks: “Are we praying tonight, my lady?”

#könig fluff #könig x reader #silly könig shenanigans

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dandelionjack · 1 year ago

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i love you time loops i love shifting architecture i love you haunted castles i love you brooding i love you stories as a life raft parables as a means of survival i love you incomprehensibly inconcievably long temporal intervals i love you determination i love you devotion i love you minotaur in the labyrinth love you trying again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again. dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and still nothing feels worse than having lost your best friend but you can't give up, not now, not ever, how can you? the narrative in the shape of a girl declares that you're going to win. you could never do anything else. i love you gothic medieval architecture i love you cogs and gears and rusted machinery i love you RELIGIOUS IMAGERY i love you however long it takes however dark however deep however alone i love you

i love you METAPHORS FOR GRIEF!! the pain of losing someone you cared for feels like it lasts an eternity and it is an eternity. it feels as if you're a broken record, spinning round and round (like a circle in a spiral like a wheel within a wheel) but however many seconds in that eternity, however many years it takes to move on, to seek a future beyond the prison of your mind – it feels like billions for each and every one of us, as ghost clara says: "you're not the first person to ever have lost someone".

every grieving person is stuck in their own confession dial. an endless fruitless unceasing loop of guilt. what could i have done? what could i have done? what could i have done?

but however long it takes, it is not forever. nothing can possibly remain the same forever. simple physics. entropy. everything decays, even grief. piece by piece, word by word, bird by bird. this hole you dig is not your grave. get up. pull yourself out of the pit. even diamond is subject to erosion.

#capital C Cinema.#heaven sent #doctor who #dw #jamie.txt #peter capaldi #twelfth doctor #twelve #clara oswald #doctor who series 9 #doctor who meta #doctor who analysis #grief #twelveclara #whouffaldi #the shepherd's boy

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pandapetals · 2 months ago

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Cage Fight

logan howlett x fem!reader - cage fighting, fighting, sabertooth appearance, slight au of x1, brooding logan, no mention of description of reader, no use of Y/N.

Xavier has sent you, Storm and Scott to find the infamous Wolverine.

read on Ao3

The biting cold of the Canadian wilderness gnawed at your skin, the wind cutting through your jacket as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. Snowflakes clung to your hair and eyelashes, and the world around you was an endless stretch of white, broken only by the small town ahead, barely visible through the swirling flurries.

“This is brutal,” you muttered under your breath, trying to suppress the shivers that rattled through your body. “Couldn’t Xavier have picked a warmer place to send us?”

Ororo, her silver hair catching in the wind, glanced at you. Her eyes briefly flashed white as she used her powers to ease the snowstorm around you. “He wouldn’t have sent us here if it wasn’t important,” she said, her voice calm, though you could see the concern in her expression. “We need to find this mutant before Magneto does.”

Scott, walking ahead, his visor gleaming against the stark white snow, nodded. “If Sabretooth finds him first, it’s over. We can’t let Magneto get his hands on him.”

You didn’t argue. You knew the stakes. But still, Canada? In the middle of winter? You had to admit, it wasn’t your ideal location for mutant hunting. Not by a long shot.

The three of you trudged through the snow until you reached the small town Xavier had pinpointed—a forgotten speck on the map, where, according to intel, a powerful mutant had been laying low. Xavier had described the mutant: Dangerous. Animalistic. A survivor.

And according to Xavier, Magneto wanted him.

You walked through the town, its dim streetlights flickering against the harsh snowstorm. Eventually, the muffled sound of cheers and shouts drifted through the cold air, drawing your attention to a dingy, run-down bar at the edge of the street. The light spilling from the windows was warm and inviting, but the noise coming from inside told a different story.

You exchanged a glance with Ororo and Scott. “That’s gotta be the place,” Scott said, his voice low, eyes narrowed behind his visor.

Without hesitation, the three of you made your way inside, the warmth of the bar hitting you like a wave after the relentless cold. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, beer, and something metallic—blood. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, scanning the room as the source of the noise came into view.

In the center of the bar was a cage—an old, rusted structure that looked barely stable. Inside, two men were fighting, their bodies slick with sweat, each strike echoing through the room like thunder. The crowd around them roared with approval, fists pumping in the air, money exchanging hands as bets were made.

It wasn’t the chaos of the crowd that caught your attention—it was the man inside the cage. He was taller than you’d imagined, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his undershirt, muscles rippling as he dodged a blow from his opponent. His hair was dark, wild, and his face was set in a fierce snarl, but his eyes—hazel and intense—flashed with something far more dangerous than anger.

There was no mistaking it. This was the mutant Xavier had sent you to find.

“That’s him,” Scott muttered, his voice barely audible over the noise. “That’s the guy.”

“Wolverine,” Ororo said, her gaze fixed on the man in the cage. “He’s the one Magneto’s after.”

As you watched him move, there was a raw, primal power in his every action, his fists connecting with his opponent’s body with a force that sent the man flying into the cage walls. Then, as if sensing your presence, his eyes flicked up—straight to you.

For a split second, time seemed to slow. His gaze locked with yours, and something electric crackled in the air between you. You couldn’t explain it, but in that moment, everything else in the room fell away—the noise, the crowd, even the biting cold that still clung to your skin. It was just you and him, staring at each other across the room, the space between you suddenly too small, too charged.

A shiver ran down your spine. There was something about him—something dangerous, yes—but also something magnetic. It had your heart racing faster than it should’ve.

Logan—Wolverine—narrowed his eyes at you, his chest heaving with breath, but his focus was entirely on you. He didn’t look away, even when his opponent staggered to his feet behind him, barely managing to stand.

“Shit,” Scott muttered, already moving toward the cage. “We need to get him out of here.”

Before any of you could react, the cage fight came to a brutal end. With a swift, calculated movement, Logan delivered the final blow, sending his opponent crashing to the floor in a heap. The crowd erupted into boos, and Logan didn’t revel in the victory. His eyes remained locked on yours, his expression unreadable, but his intensity unmistakable.

As he stepped out of the cage, wiping the blood from his knuckles, a young girl caught your attention from the corner of the room. She was sitting at a table, her hood pulled low over her face, watching the fight with wide eyes. You recognized her from Xavier’s files. Marie. Rogue. She had been hiding, too—another mutant Xavier had warned you to keep an eye out for.

Logan moved toward her, but his gaze flicked back to you, lingering as if he was trying to figure you out. The room seemed to close in, the air between you thick with tension, and as he came closer, you could feel that pull again—that invisible thread connecting you to him, drawing you in.

“You’re not from around here,” he said gruffly, his voice low and gravelly, but there was an edge of curiosity in it as his eyes flickered over you.

“No,” you replied, meeting his gaze head-on. “And neither are you.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “What gave it away?”

You felt a small smile tug at your lips despite the situation, but before you could respond, Scott stepped forward, breaking the moment.

“Wolverine,” Scott said, his tone all business. “We need to talk.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to Scott, then back to you, his expression hardening. “I don’t talk to people I don’t know.”

“We’re here because Magneto is after you,” Ororo said, her voice calm but urgent. “You need to come with us.”

Logan glanced at Rogue, then back at you, clearly torn between staying and listening—or walking away. “Magneto, huh?” he muttered, his tone laced with suspicion. “What’s a Magento?”

Scott stepped forward, his jaw tight. “We can explain everything, but not here.”

Logan’s eyes darted back to you once more, the connection between you still simmering beneath the surface. Then, with a grunt, he turned away, motioning for Rogue to follow him. “Alright. I’ll hear you out. But I ain’t promising anything.”

As you followed him out of the bar, the cold air hit you again, but this time, the bite didn’t seem so sharp. Your mind was still reeling from the intensity of Logan’s gaze, the electricity that had passed between you.

Outside the bar, the biting cold returned with full force, but the tension between Logan and Scott was even colder. Logan’s broad shoulders were tense, his eyes flicking from Scott to Ororo and back to you, his jaw set like he was ready for a fight. Marie stood a few steps behind him, nervously pulling her hood tighter around her face.

Scott, standing tall and rigid, clearly didn’t appreciate Logan’s resistance. “Look, Wolverine—Logan—this isn’t a negotiation. Magneto’s coming for you, and if Sabretooth gets to you first, you won’t get a second chance to argue.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. He took a step closer, his posture more menacing now like a caged animal sizing up its next move. “I don’t take orders from anyone. Least of all some pretty boy in red glasses who thinks he knows what’s best for me.”

Scott’s jaw clenched. “I’m trying to save your life.”

Logan gave a low, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “I’ve been saving my own life for years, bub. I don’t need your help.”

You could feel the hostility brewing between them, thick in the icy air. Scott had a point, and you all knew Logan was in real danger, but his defiance was written all over his face. He wasn’t about to be dragged anywhere, not with someone like Scott barking orders at him.

Ororo stepped forward, her tone calm, but her voice carrying authority. “We don’t have time for this. Sabretooth is already looking for you, Logan. If Magneto gets his hands on you, you’ll be used as a weapon. Xavier sent us here to help you.”

Logan’s gaze flickered to Ororo, but then his eyes found you again, softer this time. There was a glimmer of curiosity behind the defiance as if he was trying to figure out why you were here—what made you different from the others.

“Logan, please,” you said, taking a step toward him. You could feel that pull again, the strange, undeniable connection that had sparked the moment you first locked eyes in the bar. “We’re not here to control you. We’re trying to help. Rogue could use your help too.”

Logan glanced over his shoulder at Marie, and for a moment, his hard expression softened. Marie shifted nervously but nodded. “Maybe… maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she said, her voice small but steady. “I mean, if they’re offering to protect us, why not take it?”

Logan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his wild hair. “I don’t trust this.”

Scott opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, Logan’s eyes snapped to the tree line, his body going still. You saw it too—movement in the shadows, barely visible against the thick white snow. Something was out there.

Suddenly, the quiet of the night shattered.

A blur of fur and muscle came barreling out of the darkness, and before anyone could react, Sabretooth was upon you, his massive form towering over the group. He moved with terrifying speed, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat as his claws slashed toward Logan.

“Get down!” Scott shouted, already reaching for his visor, but it was too late.

Logan spun just in time, his claws unsheathing with a sharp SNIKT, meeting Sabretooth’s attack head-on. The impact sent both men crashing into the snow, their claws flashing as they traded brutal blows, growls and snarls echoing in the air. Sabretooth’s strength was monstrous, but Logan fought like a man who had nothing to lose; his movements were precise and lethal, and his years of experience were evident in every swing.

“Stay back!” Ororo shouted, her eyes going white as she raised her arms, summoning a gust of wind that whipped through the trees, pushing the snow back and giving you all room to move.

You grabbed Rogue’s arm, pulling her behind you, trying to shield her from the chaos. “Get to the jet!” you called to Scott, who was already firing a blast of optic energy at Sabretooth, forcing him back a few steps.

Sabretooth was relentless. He shrugged off the hit with a snarl, his eyes locked on Logan, filled with bloodlust. “You can’t run forever,” he growled, his voice dripping with malice. “Magneto’s gonna get what he wants.”

Logan’s eyes blazed with fury, his claws glinting in the pale light as he slashed at Sabretooth’s chest, leaving deep gashes in the beast’s skin. “I’m not running.”

Sabretooth lunged again, but this time, Logan was ready. With a swift movement, he sidestepped the attack and slammed Sabretooth into a nearby tree with bone-crunching force. The ground shook beneath you as the tree splintered from the impact.

Scott fired another blast from his visor, hitting Sabretooth in the side and sending him skidding across the snow. “Go!” Scott shouted at you. “Get her to the jet!”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Grabbing Rogue’s hand, you ran toward the jet, your heart pounding in your chest as the sounds of the fight echoed behind you. You could hear Logan’s grunts, Sabretooth’s growls, and the crackle of energy as Ororo summoned another gust of wind to keep the battlefield under control.

Just as you and Rogue reached the edge of the treeline, you heard a deafening roar.

You whipped around just in time to see Sabretooth throw Logan into the snow, the beast’s claws raised high, ready to strike. Logan’s breath was ragged, his body battered, but there was no fear in his eyes. Only fury.

Before Sabretooth could land the final blow, Scott hit him with another optic blast, this time sending him flying through the air and crashing into a boulder. The force of the impact shook the ground, and Sabretooth lay still, momentarily stunned.

Logan staggered to his feet, his claws retracting as he looked over at you and Rogue. His eyes locked on yours again, the tension from earlier replaced by something deeper—something raw. He was hurt, bleeding, but still standing.

“We need to go. Now,” Ororo called, her voice cutting through the chaos as she gestured toward the jet.

Logan hesitated, looking at you, then at Rogue, before finally giving a sharp nod. “Fine. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The four of you hurried toward the jet, Sabretooth’s body still lying in the snow behind you. As you climbed the ramp, you glanced back one last time at the destruction left in his wake.

Logan was the last to board, his eyes flicking to you once more, something unreadable passing between you. That connection, that spark, still lingered in the air, stronger now after the chaos.

“Guess I’m comin’ with you after all,” Logan muttered as he stepped onto the jet, his voice rough but edged with something softer. He glanced at Rogue, then back at you, his eyes lingering just a little longer. “For now.”

You smiled, breathless from the adrenaline, your heart still pounding. “Glad to have you.”

Logan just grunted, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took his seat, the tension between you far from resolved but now laced with something else—something neither of you could ignore.

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mantisgodsdomain · 11 months ago

Note

Listen considering the moth involved it probably fits this art slappeths severely. Here is us photographing colors in the light of day rather than the light of midnight.

Tired of layering. Please accept our Hotel Offerings as Good Enough. Massive motherfucker with Northern moth mixed in there. Has a bottom coat that's a muddy brown/pink and a sparser topcoat that's white. It's been long enough since the one Northern moth in the family that the thing that Causes the topcoat is getting weaker so she just sort of perpetually looks like a snowshoe hare shifting between summer and winter coats. Also has color points going on (a la "siamese" color patterns". Our apologies if the picture is very blurry we are sending this at fuck o' clock in the morning while several thousand miles away from home.

apologies for the delay we wanted to paint this one and we had to wait a bit to do that but here she is

we Tried with the colors but they were. kind of hard to discern we hope we did a decent job. we may have accidentally made it look like she's splattered with blood. we suppose it fits with the About To Get You pose

#live mixing makes the palette by the side complicated a lil bit the colors shown are their most saturated versions #heres a better-lit picture. we have a “glaze” of white over these and her wings are just using a lighter wash #women who kill. women who are going to Get You.#our palette is “rust” “amaranth” “burnt umber” and “white” and all the shades here are produced via mixing Those #white. doesn't show up very well #also patterns are as always based on the eublemma brood parasite moth bc leifs family is normal #bug fables #bug fables spoilers #art #we post our works #she would be roughly zaryant sized on an in-game scale her kids are a bit less Big tho #grandpa inherited being Fuckhuge For A Moth from her #but by todd the “frosting” effect is more or less gone

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nino-rox · 1 month ago

Text

ANOMALY | CHAPTER THREE

Stiles Stilinski x Original Male Reader | M.O

Warnings : Explicit content, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Original Male Character, Teen Wolf SPOILER ALERT, Gore.

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Woman with curly hair is Scott’s mother. Woman with straight hair and a killer gaze is y/n’s mother - inspired by Addison Shepherd {Grey’s Anatomy} Played by Kate Walsh. Thank you for the support ! Please request for part 4 ! Also doesn’t Jackson look so hot like HELLO ?? Not proof read yet!

A loud bang woke him up; the sunlight coming through his window blinded him as he opened his eyes; it took a few seconds for him to realise.

The morning arrived slowly, the pale light filtering through the thin curtains. Your shoulder throbbed, pulling you out of sleep like an anchor. The dream—no, nightmare—lingered at the edges of your mind: the cold air clinging to your skin, the scent of wet earth and leaves, those yellow, slitted eyes watching from the dark.

You groaned, shifting onto your side, but the movement sent a sharp pulse of pain shooting through your arm, travelling all the way down to your fingertips. The ache was relentless, like something festering beneath your skin.

Dragging yourself to the mirror, you peeled off your shirt. The bruise had spread overnight—dark veins curling outward from the centre, spidering across your shoulder like cracks in the glass. It looked swollen and angry, almost as if it were growing, spreading with every heartbeat.

You brushed your fingers along the edge, hissing as pain jolted through you. The skin was feverish—hot to the touch, like it didn't belong to you anymore. There was something wrong with it, something alive.

You grabbed your shirt from the floor and tugged it back on, wincing as the fabric scraped over the bruise. It felt like the weight of the bruise had sunk into your bones, dragging you down.

Your phone buzzed from the nightstand, Maria's name flashing across the screen.

"Still alive? Or has Creepyville swallowed you whole?"

A slight, tired grin tugged at the corners of your mouth. "Barely. Already having nightmares."

Her reply was instant: "Werewolf nightmares? Please say yes."

"Just weird pain. No claws yet."

"Lame. If you grow claws, send pics immediately," she wrote.

Her humour cut through some of the weight pressing on your chest, though the ache in your shoulder refused to ease. You slipped on your shoes, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door.

The drive to school was uneventful. Beacon Hills stretched out in front of you, all quiet streets and thick woods, the kind of place that looked normal on the surface but felt... off. The bruise on your shoulder throbbed with every turn of the steering wheel, and by the time you pulled into the parking lot, you were ready to crawl back into bed.

The school building loomed ahead, old bricks and rusted metal, students milling around in clumps. You slipped through the crowd, blending in with the chaos, your hood pulled low over your face.

When you slid into your seat in AP Biology, Stiles grinned at you from across the table, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You look like death," he whispered. "Let me guess—rough night, or did you finally meet our resident monster?"

You rolled your eyes. "Something like that."

Stiles leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Careful. Beacon Hills has a way of... finding people."

You shot him a sceptical look. "And you're, what? The local monster expert?"

He grinned. "Something like that. Stick with me—I'll keep you safe."

You snorted despite yourself. "Safe from what, exactly?"

"From everything," Stiles said, as if that explained anything. "Besides, you seem like the brooding, mysterious type. You and I? We're going to get along just fine."

Before you could respond, Mr. Harris began the lecture, pacing in front of the whiteboard.

"Today, we're discussing genetic mutations—small changes that can significantly impact an organism's structure," he announced.

The words settled uncomfortably in your chest. The bruise on your shoulder pulsed, almost like it was trying to remind you of something.

"Some mutations are beneficial," Harris continued, "but others..." He trailed off, glancing around the room. "Well, not every change is for the better."

Stiles leaned over again, whispering, "Feeling mutated yet?"

"Not yet," you muttered, rubbing absently at your shoulder. "Give it time."

Class dragged on, each minute heavier than the last. By the time the bell rang, the ache in your shoulder had spread, wrapping around your muscles like a vice. You followed the stream of students out into the hallway, your steps slower, heavier.

The locker room was warm and humid, the scent of sweat and damp tile hanging in the air. You pulled off your hoodie with a sigh, wincing as the fabric scraped over the bruise.

The door swung open, and Jackson Whittemore walked in, shirt already gone, his presence filling the room like a storm waiting to break.

Every movement was deliberate and controlled, his muscles shifting beneath smooth, tanned skin. His scent—woodsy, with just a hint of spice—wrapped around you, clinging to the steam-filled air.

He glanced at your shoulder, and for a moment, the smirk slipped from his face. Something flickered in his expression—curiosity, maybe concern—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"That looks bad," Jackson murmured, stepping closer.

"It's fine," you muttered, though the words felt empty.

Jackson didn't move away. He stood close, too close, his shoulder brushing against yours. His presence was heavy, magnetic like gravity pulling you in.

Without a word, his hand rose, his fingers grazing the edge of the bruise. The light and deliberate touch sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the pain.

"You should get that checked out," Jackson whispered, his thumb tracing slow circles along the bruise.

"I'll live," you whispered back, though your pulse hammered in your chest.

For a moment, the air between you buzzed with unspoken tension, thick and electric.

Jackson's thumb pressed harder, dragging across your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked to your lips, lingering long enough to make your heart stutter - even if only for a second.

"You should stay away from people like me," Jackson murmured, though the way his thumb lingered told a different story.

His breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind. For a second, it felt like he might close the distance between you, his gaze dark and intent.

"Like I said," Jackson whispered, "it would be safer for you if you stayed away."

"Well past safe and saving," you murmured.

Jackson chuckled, the sound vibrating in your bones. "Is that so." He whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

But neither of you moved, and the air crackled with anticipation.

It was dangerous, reckless, and utterly stupid. You knew it would end badly, but Jackson was magnetic, irresistible, like gravity pulling you closer and closer, and you would do anything to get your mind off the pain.

Your bodies were almost touching, just a hair's breadth away, the tension between you thick and electric. Jackson's breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind as he gently placed his hand on your waist, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin.

The hot water blasting from the showers onto you was the only sound you could hear; the warmth was comforting, making you feel less alone, like someone else was there with you, protecting you from whatever was outside.

The water dripped off your skin, the warmth enveloping your body.

You couldn't help but wonder how this boy did what everyone else had failed, making you want him - even if just in the moment.

"What are you doing?" You whispered, though you already knew the answer.

"Whatever I want," Jackson murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat, his words sending a shiver down your spine. He pressed closer, his skin burning hot against yours. His hand trailed lower, his thumb grazing your v-line.

"Are you going to stop me?" Jackson asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"No," you whispered.

Jackson's breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind as he gently placed itself on your waist, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin.

You were trapped between the wall and his body, his hands roaming freely over your bare skin.

"Good," Jackson growled, his voice vibrating against your neck.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath on your neck as he began to gently kiss your neck, his hands slowly moving downwards.

Your hands wandered down his muscular torso, exploring his body.

"I didn't think you'd actually want this," Jackson whispered, his voice thick with desire.

Jackson let out a low chuckle, his lips trailing down your neck.

"Who said I did?" you replied. However, you couldn't stop your body from responding, your arms instinctively snaking over his neck, drawing him closer.

"I know you do," Jackson murmured. "I can smell it on you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as his hand slid lower, hands squeezing your ass, pulling you flush against him.

A cough interrupted the moment. Both of you turned to see Stiles standing in the doorway, his face a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"Sorry," Stiles said, though his tone didn't match his words.

Jackson stepped back, leaving you buzzing from the ghost of his touch, glancing before leaving you alone with the buzz-cut boy.

"Stiles, It's not what it looks like."

"Yeah, right. Whatever, man," Stiles muttered, though his tone didn't match his words.

Stiles couldn't help but wonder why all the hot guys were attracted to Y/N; he didn't mean that he had a crush; hell no, he's not that desperate; he's not gonna be the 4th wheel. But something about Y/N did intrigue him.

"Stiles, wait," Y/N called, running after the buzz-cut.

"What?" Stiles snapped, though he instantly regretted his harsh tone.

Y/N looked taken aback, his eyes wide and confused.

"Nothing," Y/N mumbled, looking away. Stiles was only just starting to notice the massive bruise on his shoulder, feeling a bit bad for snapping.

"No, I didn't mean—sorry, I just meant...look, I get it, okay? You and Jackson. And whatever. It's fine," Stiles said, his voice softer now, but you REALLY should stay away from him.

As Stiles completed that sentence, he noticed something else: Y/N was very … naked; a blush crept up his face as he turned around to leave - still upset by what he saw - he wanted to ask about the bruise…he wanted to worry, but it was just not the moment.

The ache in your shoulder followed you out of the locker room, heavier now, as if the memory of Jackson's touch had settled beneath your skin.

Later that evening, you made your way to the hospital; it felt colder than usual, the sterile scent of antiseptic cutting through the warmth that still clung to you from the locker room - Y/N would never admit it. Still, that little random thing greatly distracted him from his shoulder - and y/n was grateful.

Y/N mentally prepared himself to speak to his mother and "explain" the 2-foot bruise spanning his body as he walked to the reception.

Y/N: Hello, I'm looking for Addison Shepherd, I was wondering if you knew where I could find her

Nurse: Hi. Are you sure you have an appointment with her?

Y/N: No, I'm her son, Y/N. I was hoping to speak to her if she's free

One thing Y/N never hated about himself was that his formal, polite social self could kick in no matter the situation…or the pain - while really, somewhere deep down, he wondered what made him such an excellent liar.

Nurse: She's in surgery; she'll be done in about 40 minutes; maybe you can wait? Oh, and also Y/N? You're Scott's new friend, right? I had no idea Dr.Shepherd was your mother! We're all so happy to have a woman of her calibre working with us.

Y/N Forced a smile instinctively.

Y/N: Haha, I'm so glad to hear that! She was a bit nervous about her first day here… oh, how do you know Scott?

Nurse: Oh well, he's my so—

Person: That's Scott's Mom

… the sudden answer caught both the nurse and Y/N off guard as Y/n turned towards the exceedingly familiar annoying voice.

Nurse: Jesus, when did you get here? You need to stop sneaking up like that.

Stiles: Awww … but it's my signature move.

The buzz-cut boy said, grinning and making a pouty face, to which Y/N just shot a weirded-out look that said… "Ew… grow up."

(Author's Note: Scott McCall's mother's name is Melissa McCall)

Nurse: Anyway, I'm Melissa, Scott's mom. I'm glad to see that you're running about making friends so soon already

The lady said, smiling politely, a smile which racked Y/N with guilt as he didn't really consider the odd duo his friends… it's not that Scott and Stiles weren't great. It's just that, in Y/N's life, he grew to associate the term friendship with a relatively close and protective personal bond…Scott and Stiles…?….they were just… classmates.

Stiles: Well, of course, he's making friends already. Look at the great crowd he hangs out with!

Stiles said excitedly, pointing to himself, a gesture that simply made Y/N feel worse for not considering him a friend…

Y/N tried, but despite being an excellent liar, he couldn't match Stiles' enthusiastic tone when he replied to the boy, which was something Melissa was quick to catch.

Y/N knew Melissa noticed it and quickly changed the topic of conversation.

"Oh, by the way, how come you're at the hospital ?" Y/N asked Stiles while shooting him a questioning look.

Internally dreading that he was stuck in this conversation after a highly awkward morning with Stiles.

Stiles: My dad is the sheriff; Scott and I are waiting for him here.

Melissa: Scott's here?

Stiles: Yep, he's in the cafeteria

Melissa: Oh, I should say hi, I'll see you two boys later. Stay safe!

Stiles and Y/N waved her goodbye.

After she left, stiles turned around.

"So are we gonna talk about what happened, or— Am I Pretending that I never saw you naked in the locker room with Jackson Whittemore?" Stiles asked you sarcastically.

Y/N couldn't quite figure out why Stiles would bring it up? After he already made it clear, nothing really happened. Was he upset? Was he mocking him? Either way, Y/N was not in the mood.

Stiles: Uh, Too soon to joke about it?

Y/N: …

Stiles: Got it. So what happened with the, you know…bruise the size of Texas.

Y/N: Why the hell are you so nosy?

Stiles: Because it's the size of Texas?

Y/N: …

Stiles: okay! Wow, you are not in the mood

Y/N: It's been a day.

Stiles: Right.

The two boys fell silent, the air between them heavy and awkward. Y/N shifted his weight, and the bruise on his shoulder ached with every movement.

Stiles couldn't help but keep glancing at it. As if he could see the bruise through your clothes.

"It's fine," you murmured.

"Really? Because it looks—"

"Fine," you interrupted.

Stiles frowned. "If you say so."

Y/N didn't answer, and the air between you crackled with tension.

Stiles shuffled awkwardly; not knowing what to say, he decided to 'wing it.'

"Okay," Stiles said, breaking the silence. "Then tell me about you.

"What?" you asked, justifiably confused by his statement.

"Because that's what people do. They talk about themselves," Stiles replied, grinning.

"I don't."

"Why?"

"Why are you asking me all these questions?" Y/N shot back.

Stiles shrugged. "I'm bored."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't hide the slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"So. You moved from LA. What was that like?" Stiles asked.

"Hot," you replied, deadpan.

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, I bet. Must've been a big change, though."

"Not really," you said, though the words felt empty.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow, but he didn't press. "Okay. What did you do there?"

"Stuff."

"Omg, no shit, really? Fascinating… ." Stiles shot a look at you.

"I'm not much of a social bee personally."

—silence—

When Y/N said "he's not a talker", he did it to try and justify why he said the word "stuff" so vaguely; since he isn't used to talking so much personally in informal social settings, it didn't come easy to him to always respond in the most appropriate ways in personal conversations - But unfortunately what it came off as to Stiles was…I really, really don't wanna be talking to you."

Stiles looked a little taken aback by what Y/N said - essentially misunderstanding the meaning as "stop talking to me" - when the truth was actually quite the opposite, and the truth is that Y/N was Just slowly actually getting used to the sarcasm and constant state of "joking-need" enjoying the little conversation, he found himself wanting to get annoyed by Stiles stupid quips - it was a new feeling for Y/N, one that scared him a bit.

With a hint of sadness, giving up on speaking to you, Stiles got up from the creaky waiting room couch, "Uhm, anyway, I think I go," he said, almost coldly, turning and leaving, giving a small wave.

Y/N couldn't help but watch the boy walk away, a strange emptiness filling his chest.

(Author's note: SOS GUYS SEND HELP. I DON'T KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING; I'M JUST WRITING AS IT COMES TO ME LIKE I'M POSSESSED BY THE FANFIC GHOST)

An arm rested on his shoulder before Y/N could spiral into his thoughts and emotions.

He looked up, his mother standing before him, a soft expression on her face.

"Mom," you murmured.

"You know, it's never good when you come to see me at work," she said, her voice gentle.

"I'm sorry."

Addison sighed. "Don't apologise. Come, I'll show you my new office."

Y/N followed her through the labyrinthine halls, past doctors, nurses and patients.

As Y/N walked through the cafeteria, he saw a familiar buzz-cut, accompanied by his taller, athletic, crooked-jaw friend and Melissa.

They were having a light and carefree conversation, smiling and laughing, and the air between them was calm and comfortable. That was until Stiles' eyes met y/n's.

Suddenly, everything froze as if time itself had stopped. For a second, all Y/N could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. All he could see was the look on Stiles' face—that mixture of surprise and hurt, his mouth open slightly, as if he was going to say something, say hi.

But y/n didn't give him a chance. He didn't like how Stiles made him feel so on edge and overly concerned for someone he hadn't considered a friend; he wasn't used to feeling so...restless.

Without a word, y/n turned and walked away, the ache in your shoulder heavier than before, his gaze lingering like a ghost on your skin.

— Stiles — POV—

I think he really hates me, Stiles thought to himself as Y/N coldly walked by.

"Oh, there's Y/N and his mom, too, Scott. Why don't you go invite Y/N over for dinner tonight ?" Melissa chimed in, noticing both the boys look towards y/n.

Scott: I mean, sure, but what if he says no?

Melissa: he seems like a nice guy, and his mother is right there; I doubt you'll get a no.

Stiles: Oh, I'm so coming too. Where's my invite?

Melissa: Coming? Coming where you already basically live in my house

Stiles: Are you asking me to move in? <3

Scott: NO, NO, SHE IS NOT, AND you can come. I'll go ask Y/N.

Stiles watched Scott follow Y/N out of the cafeteria as they turned the hallway, wondering what the boy would do. Would he casually approach the man and ask him, or would he just stand awkwardly?

Scott saw Y/N enter an office and start stalking; not wanting to interrupt, he decided to wait outside the room; though he felt like he was eavesdropping because of his werewolf super hearing, it just couldn't be helped; he couldn't really "turn it off" on a whim.

Y/N's POV —

After walking out of the cafeteria, I sighed deeply, which made my mother shoot me a questioning look.

"I'm just tired, the packing, the moving, the having no social battery left, nothing out of the ordinary." I quickly said, hoping my mom wouldn't press too hard about it because I didn't have the energy to deal with it.

"So this is the new office, not as big or fancy, but it's warm, isn't it."

The walls were a bright white, a large desk and chair sat at the far end, and a large bookshelf full of textbooks and medical journals sat behind it.

Despite the cold air conditioning, the room had a comforting and warm vibe.

Addison: Apparently, the hospital has been kind to me. Apparently, I have a reputation.

Y/N: HA That you do. And kind? I could fit two cars into your previous office.

Addison: You, young sir, must learn to be grateful for the little things.

Y/N: Yes, yes, WE KNOW.

y/n chuckled, pulling his T-shirt off abruptly; unbeknown to him, a curious Scott could see and hear everything from outside.

Addison: oh wow. What is THAT, a bruise? And a big one.

Y/N: Umm, yeah, it kinda appeared, no big deal.

Addison: No big deal? It's quite literally a 'BIG' deal. And how did you manage to get yourself into this?

Y/N: Well, I kinda don't know… I just got home and went to bed, I had a horrible nightmare, and I woke up, and this colossal mark was here, so I think maybe I was sleepwalking or something? I don't know, really, but yeah…

Addison: Are you sure it was sleepwalking? Tell me more about the nightmare.

Y/N: I - I-Don— I don't know. It felt real, like I was awake or something. I was in bed, but then I wasn't... I was in the woods. I know it's not real, or I think it isn't because I remember the pain and getting caught in a bear trap, but I'm fine. However, there was something there when I was caught in the bear trap. It was, I don't know, this sounds crazy, it was … I don't know … it was a monster? It looked almost human, reptilian, kinda like the lizard man from Spider-Man. I KNOW, I KNOW, IT SOUNDS CRAZY, but it attacked me. My whole body couldn't move or breathe, and this is where it gets weird when I supposedly "died"/or rather "woke up" from the nightmare I was in the room, but where that ..thing… attacked me … I had this huge bruise. And I know this sounds like a cock and bull-bullshit story, but I swear I'm not lying.

Addison: Well, you are right about it. It sounds crazy, but I trust you. You know there's a thing called Phantom pain.

Y/N: MOM, I didn't imagine the pain. It's real! I have a bruise!

Addison: Oh honey, it stemming from something in your head doesn't mean it's any less real, or painful. Sometimes, when our body goes through a traumatic experience, it can leave this sort of "lasting pain." When someone gets their leg amputated, they feel a lot of extremely real pain in their "leg", the leg that's not even attached - despite this, their body produces actual pain and chemicals biologically, so the pain is very real. I'm no expert on Sleep studies, I'll have you shown to someone in a week or so, but my best guess is that the nightmare, which could have been caused by a thousand reasons like stress from moving and this and that probably inherently was traumatic enough for your body to "read it/ experience it as real pain" so even if it happened in your dream, it was damaging enough to your psyche for it to physically manifest as an actual bruise.

Y/N: So what I'm hearing is I need a shrink.

Addison: Honey, you'll realise this when you grow up, everybody needs a fucking shrink…Now I have to get back to work. I'll write you some meds for the pain, and to help it heal, don't physically exert yourself. That includes, you know, things with other people.

Y/N: Trust me, girls aren't exactly lining up for dates right now, so you don't need to worry about it.

Addison: Aww, I love you, baby.

Y/N: Love you too.

When Y/N was done with his mother, a tall boy stood there waiting for him. It was Scott McCall.

Y/N: Uhh, Hello, Scott...

Scott: Hey, sorry, I was just waiting for you.

Addison: Who's this?

Scott: I'm Scott McCall, I am in a couple classes with your son and we were talking earlier I was just wondering if y/n wanted to come over for dinner?

Y/N: oh, umm, yeah, that sounds nice, but I wouldn't want to impose.

Addison: Oh, nonsense! He would love to come over for dinner, and it's always lovely for Y/N to make friends, isn't that right?

Y/N: MOTHER: I have friends.

Addison: Sure, baby, and that reminds me, when was the last time you called them

Y/N: Why does everyone in this world have it out for me

Addison: Mhm.

Scott: Well, that sounds great! We're leaving in 10 minutes. Can I drive you?

Y/N internally sighed. There was no winning today. Maybe Destiny just really wants Y/N to hang out with these two boys…FUCK.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! Please Like for Next Part ! Lots of Love - Nino

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fleursbending · 2 years ago

Text

𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓, 𝐈'𝐌 𝐓𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : sully!family x daughter!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : you try to prove to your family the endurance you behold. but your trials and tribulations get the best of you.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : requested, yes | no. based on a few chosen lyrics from the song this is me trying by taylor swift. not proofread sorry!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : angst no comfort, dialogue-heavy, character death oops, deviates from the original atwow movie plot!

𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 : - ‘eveng - child // tsmuke - sister // iknimaya - rite of passage // muntxate - wife // ngaytxoa - i'm sorry // 'ite - daughter // sa'nok - mother // olo’eyktan - clan leader // tsamsiyu - warrior // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2k words.

I've been having a hard time adjusting.

Life in the Hallelujah Mountains was a direct juxtaposition from whence you came. The ruggedness of the rocks, the sound of your feet making contact with the stones beneath you. There wasn't any shrubbery to whack out of your face. Instead, it was squeezing around the commune of people and narrowly avoiding knocking into tents.

You missed the plushness of the earth that would encompass you, guiding you to another adventure. Instead of your feet aching at the impact, they'd sink into the soil. When you'd inhale, the oxygen granted you serenity.

Up here the air was a little thinner, not enough to affect your oxygen on a larger scale - but it didn't pass you. Nothing did.

You made sure your father knew of such grievances.

I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting.

A prodigy had been birthed within you the moment your soul graced the world. The people were more than hyperaware of it. Especially Mo'at who looked like she'd seen Eywa herself as Neytiri cradled you for the first time in her arms.

That was before. When wielding a bow and arrow came easy to you, when you'd been the youngest to have a successful hunt, when you'd come back from a fishing trip with your dad with enough to feed the whole clan.

After coming in the form of your brother who was proving to be someone who looked and felt like he was more deserving of the role of Olo'eyktan one day.

The berries on top came in the form of leaving the communities rendition of Home Tree up to the mountains where the Sky People could no longer target them.

She'd never felt this weathered down, this loneliness ebbing away at all her wasted potential. The regrets anchor themselves then, a stark reminder that this war was brooding and vicious. At a young age, she must force herself to become capable.

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back.

When the day came for you to prove just that, you did so within a blink of an eye. You didn't know the consequences that would come for doing so, all that was drilled in your mind was "my family."

So when your mother's arrows came flying in the dark of the night to try to save you from your kidnappers. The rain casts itself over and your little sister Tuk is getting choked out by one of the soldiers. This was your time to truly try.

I have a lot of regrets about that.

You barreled in, ripping the soldier's hands from your sister's neck, and pushing her behind you.

"Go tuk, run!" Urgency is crystal in your voice, and Lo'ak can only give you a quick glance of fear before grabbing your sister in haste.

He was waiting for you.

"No, Lo'ak - go! I'll follow after you, okay?" You grunt, trying to battle this soldier off.

He soundlessly nods, gulping and blinking the tears that prickle at his eyes before disappearing into the foliage and eclipse of the night.

If only her stubborn self just kneed the soldier in the groin and left with them.

Could've followed my fears all the way down.

The trepidation began to bubble in the pit of her belly, and it sunk deeper and deeper the more the soldier overpowered her.

A wrangled cry escapes her throat as a very distinct "pop" echoes through the brewing chaos. He'd dislocated her shoulder. She didn't have time to dwell on it though, her uninjured arm reaching for the knife and unsheathing it from the soldier's grasp.

Everything slows down then.

Somehow she's being pushed onto the floor, and the knife that was once pressed to her perpetrator's neck was now inching into her stomach.

Oh, she's hurt. Blood pooled in her mouth then, the man letting out a menacing laugh - gun in hand and about to land a bullet to her head when an arrow shot into his instead.

And maybe I don't quite know what to say.

"My dear 'eveng, no!" She hovers over you in worry, looking around before muttering apologies. The knife was still lodged in your gut as she tried her best to lift you up and carry you to safety.

Your hand gripping the handle of the knife weakens, slipping in and out of consciousness as your mother tries her best to find the others.

"Ngaytxoa, sa'nok." You rasp out, chest shuddering at the sheer effort such a minor action took.

She hushed you, worries growing at how pale you'd already gotten as she enters a clearing.

"Muntxate?" A hushed whisper comes from in front of you.

It makes your mother jump in fright, jostling you a little making you let out something akin to a wail.

"Ma Jake, help her! I do not know what to do!" Your mother sobs in defeat, crouching to gently lay you down on the soft patch of grass beneath you.

"D-dad..." You grunted as his hand pressed on your dislocated shoulder.

I just wanted you to know, that this is me trying.

"Ma 'ite, what happened?" Your sempul's eyes glaze over in worry taking in your form. He did not know anatomy well, but the placement of where you'd been stabbed would have definitely gotten some of your organs.

"I had to save her dad, I had to save Tuk" She mumbled, eyes lost and looking at the night sky peering at her through the branches of trees.

"Tsmuke!" Tuk whines out, kneeling by your head at the mention of her name. She'd forever be in debt to you, and while she was young - her heart knew what was coming.

Lo'ak, Neteyam, and Kiri, follow her movements. All of them settled by you, not knowing what on earth to do but be there for their sibling.

Jake gave them all a look then, a twisted confirmation - an ending to your chapter. This wound was lethal, and you were suffering.

They told me all of my cages were mental.

Neytiri and Jake had never felt such utter distraught until today's events. Sure their kids were mischievous, always finding themselves up to no good. But they thought they had this handled, each battle they've gone into - they've lost some...not all.

Yet this felt too cruel, too world-altering and crumbling. Their child, is so frail and withering.

You and Neteyam were their mighty tsamsiyu's. Never did they want to have to see you go like this. Not when you had so much ahead yet to experience and live through.

They knew you were going through your own external crisis, and now more than ever - your parents wished they'd been more of a lending hand.

So caught up in raids, so caught up in making a stand - protecting their people. That their daughter had swept herself under a mat right before their eyes.

Her cages were going to finally win today, how ironic.

I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere.

As the eldest Sully daughter, you were more than self-aware of the baggage that came with who you'd become. The mantle to live upon and make yourself a dazzling star to gain the approval of your people.

You won over the people, and their hearts and souls. Strong in their eyes, almost the exact replica of Neytiri.

A healer apprentice under Mo'at, yet still going hunting with your father and brothers. There was a balance you'd manage to create that aided in you spreading out all the help and effort you could give.

But spreading yourself out so thinly can only last for so long.

Fell behind on my classmates, and I ended up here.

Even if you were the eldest though, you knew Neteyam was the one to become Olo'eyktan. It was what your Tsahik wanted, after all, Eywa had spoken it to her after Neteyam successfully finished his Iknimaya.

The tasks that filled up every inch of your day began to dwindle, and the people's hearts swayed to another. Your own brother, yet you didn't blame him for it.

For now, he to had to bare the weight that comes with a treacherous amount of responsibilities. The weight that comes with being named the future Olo'ekytan of your clan.

Therefore your uselessness began to amount...to nothing. Your father began to pour his efforts and lessons into Neteyam, who before used to just be a bystander - it was his turn to be molded.

Sure, you still were a daughter of the infamous yet famous Sully's, but the desire to be more than that no longer was set aflame.

Pouring out my heart to a stranger.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, - I just wanted to live up to you both. I wanted to be better, I just wanted to protect our family." She whispered, voice growing fainter as time ticked by.

"That's not on you to do!" Jake wept then, infuriated at the circumstances. It should have been him who suffered at the hands of the sky people, it was him they wanted anyway.

"At that moment - it felt like it, sempul." She insisted, her weak hand grasping his own that hovered over the knife still embedded in her.

"Leave it, I'm going to be okay. You're going to be okay."

A sharp gasp leaves his lips, before forcing them closed. His head shakes, shoulders quaking as he tries to muffle his cries.

Neytiri lets her hand rest on his shuddering shoulder as she leans down to press a feather-like kiss yet filled with so much purpose to your forehead.

She tries to explain.

"What your sempul is trying to say, is that it should be us who had been there. Not hiding in the dark, by your side."

At least, I'm trying.

A broken scoff escaped you then, "Can you just say thank you? I'm trying, I tried. I just wanted to show you guys I still had it in me. I wanted to save my little sister. I wanted to be of use, I wanted to help."

Neytiri doesn't care for the tears that cascade down her face, instead thumbing her daughter's ones away instead.

"I knew you always had it in you, baby girl. I'm sorry if it seemed like I ever stopped. I'm so sorry." Jake's voice wavers, cracks, a tear of his dropping onto your cheek - masked by your own that moves like a silent ship.

He was determined then, your efforts would not go down in vain.

And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound.

A smile graced her face then, one of acceptance. The clock was going to halt soon and she hopes that her intentions did not come off as something vengeful and selfish. But from a place of genuine protection and vigilance.

One fleeting look at them gave her great comfort though, they knew.

She etched the faces of her family into her heart then, even if they looked like they were in as much pain as you currently were. You wanted them to be the last thing you'd see.

The pain numbed then, the cries of anguish from the people that love her the most in this unsure world - muted.

The one thing that never faltered was the tight grasp of your father's hand that held onto your own, a gentle reminder that he was there as his thumb rubbed a soothing motion on the back of your hand.

Right by her your mother caressed your hair, occasionally leaning down to press another kiss to your head. Her cries oddly quieting, instead, revenge began to paint scenarios in her mind. All while she reminisced of everything you had been and what you were becoming.

"We're here, Tsmuke." Neteyam whispered, Kiri and Lo'ak chime in with a wavering hum of unfortunate understanding.

Hidden between the lines of such a simple statement, it's alright - you can let go and rest now.

Her heart stills then.

I just wanted you to know, that this is me trying.

𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ━━━ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

⤷ feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated ! feel free to ask through my inbox if you would like to join my taglist. ♡

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @pandorainmymind @eywas-heir @spicycloudsalad @missdreamofendless @prty-poisxn @scarlettwitch-4 @23victoria @avidreader3107 @theycallmesia @mazemymirror @tsireyasgf @nijirozzz @useryourbut @yua-himari @sweetheartlizzie07 @grierpilots @reneehillary69 @fruitsalad1 @forasgaard @iwaslikeblah @dumb-fawkin-bitch @theicemav @narutoboi @hai-kbai @goosemothersblog @audigay @cyberfreaky @worldofmunson @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @wwwellacom @starl1g4t

#junie's library 📚✧.*#jake sully x daughter!reader #sully!family reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #sully family #sully!reader #atwow x reader #atwow #avatar #avatar the way of water #atwow neteyam #neteyam sully x reader #lo'ak x reader #avatar angst #avatar imagine #james cameron avatar #avatar fanfiction #avatar x reader #avatar 2

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stop-talking · 11 months ago

Text

You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (pt. 4)

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

2.4k words + 300 word epilogue

Tags: 18+, mike x fem reader, no use of y/n, exes, enemies to lovers, slowburn? sassy mike, sassy reader, pet names, banter, angst, fluff, comfort, happy ending.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

Mike sits at his kitchen table, trying not to nod off into his cereal. Today is a quiet day. A lazy day. His one day off.

Except, not really. There's always work to be done. He just has to figure out what today's work would be. He's caught up on laundry and dishes, the house isn't too much of a mess... Hm. Maybe he should finally fix the dripping pipe in the bathroom. Or the living room window that's been stuck for years. Or one of the million other things wrong with his house.

He sighs and goes to take a bite of his cereal, only to realize he forgot the milk. Damn it. When he opens the fridge, he stands face to face with a little blue dolphin stuffed animal. Right... Abby's still testing him. He leaves it alone, she'll see it when she gets home from school and assume her "spell" still works. Pfft.

Mike nearly drops the milk mid-pour when he hears the phone ring.

*click.*

"Hello?" He mumbles groggily, a little annoyed to have his morning brooding interrupted.

"Hey, Mike? You free at all today?"

He immediately perks up at the sound of your voice. It's been two days since he last saw you, and he honestly wasn't sure if you'd ever speak to him again.

"Yeah, uh... It's my day off, actually."

"Good. I'm using that 2nd favor."

Mike's heart races. If this favor is going to be anything like the last one, he was definitely up for it.

"Oh? Missing me already, sweetheart?"

"As if. I need you to build me a shelf."

A shelf? Well, that was unexpected. Hm. Better than nothing.

"What, like build it from scratch? Are you expecting me to buy the boards, or-"

"No. I have all the pieces. It just needs to be assembled."

"You can't assemble a shelf?" Mike scoffs, but secretly he's pleased. Sounds like you just want an excuse to have him over.

"Mike. You know I'm no good with tools."

No, he didn't know that actually. Liar. You definitely just wanted to see him again. God, he felt giddy.

"Mhm. Sure."

"Just get your ass over here, Schmidt."

"Woah, what's with the attitude, Princess? I'm here to help." He can't help but let some smugness seep into his tone. Okay, more than some. He's a cocky bastard and he knows it.

"I've been working on the damn thing all morning. Almost three hours now. Not in the mood, jackass."

Shit. You sounded sincere. And really pissed off. Then again, what kind of a shelf took three hours to assemble? The fuck was it? A jigsaw puzzle?

"Alright, alright. I'll be over soon. See ya."

Mike slumps against the counter as you grumble something incoherent and slam the phone down. Damn, what is he getting himself into this time?

Only one way to find out.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Mike finally arrives at your apartment half an hour later, he feels a bit silly. He put on a nice shirt and trousers to come see you, and here you are in sweats and a baggy t-shirt. Figures.

"Call for a handyman?" He greets you with a teasing smile, holding up his old rusted toolbox as he makes his way inside.

"Pfft. Someone's happy to see me."

Mike can't really say anything to that, so he doesn't try. He is happy to see you, even if you have attitude problems and dress like a bum.

"So, I bought the damn thing from a friend-of-a-friend, who got it at a garage sale. I swear, it has to be missing some parts or something, because-"

He nods as you rattle on and lead him to your bedroom, but he's only half-listening. He looks around your apartment, taking it all in. It's been at least six months since he last came over, probably longer. It doesn't look to have changed much. He likes your apartment. It's cozy.

"Anyways... can you fix it?"

Mike pauses in the doorway of your bedroom as you give him a sheepish smile and gesture to something in the corner.

Holy hell. Is that supposed to be a shelf? Mike can't help but think that the hideous agglomeration of boards and screws would only be good as a fire-starter. It looks more like a pile than a shelf.

"Uhh..." He bites his cheek, desperately trying not to burst into a fit of laughter. Maybe you really weren't lying about the whole "no good with tools" thing.

He finally loses it when you groan and flop down on the bed, hiding your face in a pillow.

"Ughh... Laugh at me, whatever. Just fix it."

"Jesus Christ. This has to be the sorriest excuse for a shelf I've ever seen. Sure you don't want me to haul it to the junkyard instead?" He snorts, sitting down on the edge of your bed and looking with disdain at the half-assedly assembled shelf.

Mike immediately shuts his mouth when you glare at him. Oops, right, you're in a bad mood.

"I mean, uh... you tried?" He laughs, shaking his head in amusement. He still can't believe you're actually this inept when it comes to assembly.

"Get to work, Schmidt."

Mike yelps as you kick him off the bed, but doesn't bother retaliating. He just grabs his toolbox and sits on the floor, examining the so-called "shelf".

"Well, the first step is going to be un-doing everything you did."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You lie on your stomach in bed, chin propped up on your hands as you kick your feet in the air and ponder the sight before you. Mike's back is turned to you as he quietly works away taking apart the monstrosity you assembled.

"How long is this gonna take?"

"Well, If it wasn't so..." He trails off, glancing at you and choosing his words more carefully.

"...sturdy, it'd be a lot easier to take apart."

"Hm? What do you mean?"

He gives you an incredulous look and gestures to a series of nails in a corner where two boards meet. It does look pretty ridiculous, the sharp ends pointing out the other side. Not your best work.

"You put nails in it, sweetheart." He scoffs.

"How else was I supposed to keep it together?" You give him your best pout, and gloat internally when he has to turn away. He's absolutely infatuated with you. Even the back of his neck is pink.

"It comes with screws for a reason, ya know."

"There's a difference?"

He turns and gives you a flat look, and you laugh. Damn. You can play dumb with him, but maybe not that dumb. Noted.

Still, it's a little boring just laying there and watching him grumble and pull nails from wood. You can't really mess with him too much either, because you really do what him to fix the stupid shelf.

"You want something to drink?" You finally break the silence, under the guise of trying to be a good hostess.

"Pfft. Need some whiskey to deal with this bullshit." He snorts, pulling yet another nail free. He'd almost gotten one board off. One. This was gonna take a while.

"I was thinking more along the lines of soda or tea."

"Jack and Coke, then?"

"Mike. It's hardly past noon."

"So?" He scoffs. "For me, this is like... evening, or something. I dunno. Sleep schedule's fucked with this new job."

That answer makes you pause.

"What is it you do now, anyway?"

He groans, finally prying one of the boards free of the clusterfuck.

"Night guard. Told you already, remember?" He tries to shrug the question off, but you're nosy.

"Where?"

"Uhh... Freddy Fazbear's Pizza..."

"Speak up."

"Ugh. It's this stupid rundown hellhole pizzeria. Honestly dunno why anyone would wanna break in there anyways. It's a dump."

"What kind of a pizzeria needs a night guard? Or any guard?"

"The haunted kind."

You decide not to ask about that, simply shaking your head as you walk to the door. He's truly a loon. A loveable loon, unfortunately.

"Just tell me what you want to drink, Mikey, or I'm getting you water."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Mike sits on the floor of your bedroom sipping his glass of water and wondering how he got here. If you'd told him a week ago he'd be building his witch of an ex-girlfriend a shelf, he would've gagged. Now...? Well, he just wants to go join you on that bed.

"So are you really just gonna sit there and look pretty while I do all the work?"

"Aww, you think I'm pretty, Mikey? You smile, lying on the bed with your feet kicking in the air, giving him a look of pure adoration. It wasn't hard to do.

"Pretty annoying, yeah." He turns away with a scoff, returning to his work. If only he could get this stupid nail untangled from the other two... why would anyone use this many nails?

"You know, I think I liked you better gagged."

"Oh I know, sweetheart. I could see it in those evil eyes of yours." He can't help but smirk a bit at the comment, though. Sometimes he liked himself better gagged, too. He shakes the thought away and keeps working.

"Why can't you just get on hands and knees and beg me to take you back already?" You huff dramatically and roll over onto your back, letting your head fall over the edge of the bed. He looks silly from this angle. Upside-down.

That question nearly makes Mike drop his tools. Were you serious?

"Why? So you can laugh me off again?"

Ouch. It was true you'd turned him down the last time he'd tried it, but that was six months ago.

"Maybe if you used those big brown puppy eyes of yours on me."

That only earns you a grunt, so you verbally prod him again.

"Besides, why can't I do both? Laugh at you, then take you back? Sounds fun."

"Pfft. Fun? To toy with me? You'd probably break up with me all over again just for shits and giggles." He responds bitterly, still refusing to turn around.

"Mikey. Look at me." You roll back over onto your stomach and rest your chin in your hands as he slowly meets your gaze.

"I didn't break up with you just for shits and giggles. You know that. I'm not letting you sit there and wallow in self-pity."

Mike goes stiff from your words, but your tone is soft, and your eyes even softer. You're still giving him that adoring look. Damn it.

"Well maybe I'd rather wallow in self pity than admit you were right all along."

"You've had six months to wallow. Grow a pair and come kiss me."

He can't say no to that. Not when you look at him that way. He shuffles over, kneeling by the side of your bed. On his knees for you again, damnit.

You kiss him. It's different from the lustful, sloppy kiss you shared last time. This one makes you feel warm. You kiss him again. And again.

Mike really doesn't want this to end, but the knot in his stomach forces him to pull away. He has to ask.

"Why? Why are you doing this, I mean? Do you really want... to take me back?" He sputters, looking down at the floor.

"I'm not completely sure yet." You answer honestly, shifting and lying back on the bed.

Damn. That's not the answer he wanted to hear.

"Are you-"

"Come here."

When you pat the spot next to you in bed, Mike melts. He's a wreck right now, but still wants nothing more than to be with you, in every sense of the word. He silently complies.

"It's not about right and wrong, you know. As much as I love being told I'm right." You give him a soft smile, breaking the silence and placing your hand on top of his as you both lie on your sides.

Damn it. He'd done this with you before, this and so much more. Why was such a small touch turning him to goo?

"What isn't?"

"The breakup. It's about growing as a person. As people. Both of us." You lace your fingers with his, and can't help but laugh as his face reaches a level of pink you've never seen before.

"And what exactly am I supposed to be growing out of?"

"Pfft. I don't know, the emotional unavailability? The way you never made time for me? Constant irritability?" You start to dramatically list off his flaws, using your free hand to count on your fingers.

"Okay, okay. I get it." He huffs, and grabs your hand before you can make fun of him more. Instead, he guides it to his side, pulling you in a little closer.

"And you're miss perfect?"

"No. 'Course not. I have flaws too." You give him a sly smile, and start listing your own "faults".

"Too hot and sexy, too intelligent, too kind, amazing, sweet and caring..."

That's as far as you get before Mike scoots closer, burying his face in your neck and giving you a playful nip.

"Too arrogant." He adds with a laugh, wrapping his arm around you and letting himself melt further into you.

"My arrogance is one of my best qualities, thank you." You reply haughtily, sliding your hand up his back and into his hair.

Mike couldn't speak, even if he could somehow find the right words to say. Everything in this moment felt so right. His arm around you. Your fingers in his hair. He lets out a soft groan instead.

You aren't exactly eager to let go of this moment either, and just hold him for a few minutes. It feels nice to play with his soft brown curls.

"I'll do better. Please." He finally mumbles something to you, not bothering to move his face from where it's buried in the crook of your neck.

"Please what, Mikey?"

"Take me back."

He finally pulls back, just enough to give you a glimpse of those puppy eyes of his. Damn it. How could you even think of saying no?

"Yeah. Okay."

You both lean in for another round of soft passionate kisses, and Mike feels himself relax completely. His stomach unknots and his mind goes numb. For the first time in months, he feels completely safe.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"So does this mean you'll babysit for me again?"

"Go finish the shelf, Schmidt."

"Yes, Princess."

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♡ Epilogue ♡

Over the past few weeks, you and Mike had fallen into a sort of rhythm.

He never did end up finding a new babysitter, and besides, you're the only one who could ever get Abby to finish her dinner. You had to graduate her from daily witching lessons to weekly ones, though, convincing her she needed to study for the more advanced spells. Secretly, Mike was just losing track of which objects in his house were supposedly invisible. It was quite amusing to watch.

Mike's favorite part of the day was coming home to you already asleep in his bed, and waking you up with a kiss. He'd then either lie down in bed while you shower, or hop in there with you, depending on how you felt. Either way, he loved the view.

The conflicting schedules made things complicated, but you were able to work around it. Mike slept better with you holding him, and consequentially, was a lot more agreeable. He did his best to make more time for both you and Abby.

He even started to open up to you for once, letting you take on some of his burdens. This man sure had a lot of guilt. You were certain he hadn't yet told you everything, but he told you enough. At least you finally knew what the fucking NEBRASKA poster on the ceiling was for. Now you kind of felt bad for all the times you teased him about it the first time you dated.

As for the damn shelf... well, he finished it. It was still hideous, but it was functional. There were holes in it from the nails, and the wood had even started to splinter in a few spots. You couldn't bring yourself to get rid of it, though. Not after how much work you both put into it. Even if most of Mike's work revolved around un-doing yours.

It definitely wasn't a perfect relationship, not by far. But Mike never promised to be the perfect boyfriend. He just promised to be better.

And he was, bit by bit, every day. Better. ♡

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Author's note:

Thank you all for the love!! This was my first time writing a fanfic of any kind so I'm really happy so many of you enjoyed it. Feels good to bring the story to an end.

Feel free to send me a request, I'd love to write more fics about Mike. Or any other J-hutch character for that matter, Mikey is just my favorite <3

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