#and this year they stopped and i'm finally doing good

[tsukii0002]

Okay, I've been thinking that Mc is the person who best handles the subject of facing death, ironically. Being human and mortal, they know very well what the final stop is and has somehow made peace with that fate, just as all humans do to live day to day. But the brothers, angels, demons and others do not believe that Mc can face the concept of death so easily, even Solomon thinks that death can overwhelm them, because he, being immortal, has stopped thinking like an ordinary human.

Death is a concept that overwhelms beings so long-lived, almost immortal or immortal (except for Thirteen), so everyone believes that for Mc is much worse.

So imagine the situation, a famous witch who has managed to extend her life several hundred years has died and because of her relevance her funeral is crowded and angels and demons are invited. She was a good person, she did a lot of good to the human world and helped a great number of humans, demons, angels and magical creatures. So his departure has been a great loss to the three realms.

Now, imagine Luke super worried, asking Simeon and Lucifer to go comfort Mc, that he is too touched to “be able to give peace to Mc's fragile human heart”, it's normal, he is a child, so the adults nod and go to find Mc willing to calm them down and take their mind off the heavy burden that must be the certainty of death.

However Mc is in front of the open casket, the only one who has been able to approach (Most do not understand why the mortal remains have been exposed in that way), in the world funerals are diverse and in the region of the deceased, that should be the procedure. To Lucifer and Simeon's surprise, Mc has a serene, even tender expression as they leave a white flower between the deceased's hands.

“I wonder if she would remember her mother in her last days, if she lived life as she wished”

They both looked at each other in confusion, but Mc simply turned and smiled at them.

“In the end all that counts is what you've lived, that's what you take away…I hope when it's my turn I can be as satiated as she looks”

There they understood, that unlike demons and angels, humans, Mc, lived with death, despite the fear, despite the sadness, despite everything, they had to go on living with it. At that moment they could only think that Mc was much stronger than any of those present.

.

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A little reflection on death in the universe of obey me!, although I'm not quite sure I could have managed to express things as I wanted to 😐.

Thanks for reading 🩷 .

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[elladcat]

Fluff | Yandere CRK x Baker Reader | Chapter: 1

「Sweet Little Baker」

Note: It was really hard to write that part without reminding me that I tried to do that in real life. I'm not really good with words but if you ever feel like you're worthless or wanting to do something like this then please don't do it, your loved ones will always love you no matter what even if they're not perfect or anything, and they'll be sad if you're gone, so what I'm trying to say is that you're not alone and you're special in your own way even if you don't think that you are. Sorry if I sound so cheesy when I said this.

Summary: You used to play cookie run: kingdom until you stopped playing it to focus on your life, leaving the game dormant for years. Then one day, you were reminded about it and finally played it again, not realizing that the cookies were aware of your absence and took the chance to drag you to their world so you wouldn't abandon them again.

Warning/Tags: yandere tendencies, platonic/romantic, horror, depression, suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, self-hatred, angst, cookies are monsters literally, isekai, etc.

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[Narrator POV]

Your life is normal and you're fine with it. You live in an apartment and have a decent job to earn money. You also got in touch with your parents since they're worried about you, and they often text or call you to make sure you're alright. Sometimes you find it annoying, but you don't blame them for their behavior.

Everything is fine in your life, and yet why aren't you happy?

You sigh and open the door of your apartment after a long day at work, doing your usual routine before night falls. You head to your room to change into your pajamas before plopping down on the bed. You pull out your phone and see a lot of text messages from your mom asking if you're eating well and doing alright. You sigh and reply to her message as usual before closing the app and searching on youtube to watch something to distract yourself from that heavy feeling again.

You watch some cat videos and gaming videos about your favorite youtubers just to put a smile on your face, even if it's only for a little while. Just then, a single video catches your eye. It's about a new update for your once-beloved game cookie run: kingdom, and it features new playable characters known as the beast cookies. They look so interesting and are apparently the parallel of the ancient cookies. It also introduces a new story called Beast-Yeast, as well as beascuits, topping tarts, new toppings, other new playable characters, etc.

The video reminds you of the first time you were introduced to that game. You were looking for a new game to play out of boredom until you stumbled upon a game called cookie run: kingdom on play store. You found the game interesting, so you downloaded it and played it for the first time, and that's how you grew attached to the game and the cookies you had collected.

Whenever you got home from school or finished doing your chores, you always played that game to your heart's content, making your cookies stronger, doing tasks, completing missions, granting wishes for them in the tree of wishes, trading, building houses and stuff, and even decorating your Cookie Kingdom to make it more lively for them because they deserve it.

You remembered how your cookies loved what you did for them and their home. You thought it was strange for them to say that, but thought that maybe the developers added some fourth wall break dialogue, like most games do. So you shrugged and smiled, happy to see they were enjoying themselves in the Cookie Kingdom.

It sounded weird, but you used to talk to them as if they were real people. Whenever you felt down or that life was hard to deal with, you would talk to them, telling them about your struggles, your fears, your frustrations, your hatred towards one of your classmates, teachers, and even your parents. Sometimes, you wished that they were gone for hurting you. You remembered how you ended up crying in silence while tapping your cookies to say something to make it look like they were comforting you, and that made you happy, even for a little while.

But as time passed and life became even more difficult, you rarely played the game until eventually, you stopped playing it to focus on your life instead. It was hard for you to not play and interact with your cookies anymore, but you had problems in your life that you had to deal with, and so you left cookie run: kingdom on your phone, untouched, for years.

You tried your best; you really did. School was hard, but you tried to study harder without help so you wouldn't feel like a burden to everyone. You made some friends who were nice to you, though they probably felt bad for you since you spent time alone because you didn't know how to socialize with others very well. Your relationships with your parents weren't the best. You tried to make them happy and proud of you, but sometimes it didn't work out the way you wanted it to.

You tried to be good; you didn't mean to make your parents mad by making a mistake or doing something bad. It felt like your world slowly crumbled each time you reminded yourself that you're not good enough for them. Then, one day, you did something that you still regret to this day.

You didn't know why you tried to do it; maybe you believed that once you were gone, you wouldn't have to feel depressed anymore and that you wouldn't have to carry the burden of being born if you just closed your eyes and never woke up again. So, when your parents were asleep, you tried to end your own life, but it didn't happen; you're still alive. Maybe you didn't cut your skin hard enough, or maybe the knife wasn't sharp enough to make you fall asleep, but regardless, you're still alive. You ended up crying and told your parents what you were doing last night. They were obviously horrified by what you had planned to do. Eventually, they cried with you and hugged you tightly.

You felt so guilty and ashamed back then, blaming yourself for making them worried because of your stupid actions that you were trying to do to yourself. Luckily, you only had deep bruises on your body, so your parents put medicine on them to hopefully help them heal better. Your parents took you to see a psychologist to help you with your mental health issues, but they just wanted you to be cured because you overheard them talking with the psychologist in the other room while you were sitting outside, and that made you feel like it was your fault for having them in the first place.

You knew that your parents were trying to help and knew what was best for you, but sometimes you just wished that they would try to understand you better. However, you knew that even if they did, they would probably just do it the same way, trying to make you normal. Sometimes, you hated them, but you also felt happy that they still cared about you, even though you felt guilty about it.

After that incident, your parents always helped you when you were feeling troubled in your life. You felt bad, but at the same time, you felt happy that you no longer had to worry about anything, thanks to your parents' persistence in helping you whenever you felt confused or worried about something.

Years later, you graduated and found a job and an apartment to move into. Your parents still help you, even though you don't live with them anymore. For a while, you felt happy with your life; you didn't feel depressed anymore, and you could do whatever you liked now that you live alone. Though life can have ups and downs, overall, you manage to get through the day without any problems.

But then that heavy feeling returned, and you didn't feel happy anymore. You didn't know why you were feeling like this; you thought you were doing better. You did what your parents and the psychologist asked you to do to make you feel better. Maybe it's because of the bad day you had when you got yelled at by your boss for running late at work, or one of the customers was rude to you and even spilled coffee on your uniform for doing something wrong, or something else. But whatever the case, that heavy feeling just came back again to remind you that you're still worthless, even if you try to be better.

You tried not to think about ending your life again and tried to think of positive things because you didn't want to go through that again, just to make your parents worry about you even more. You hated yourself for not getting used to it, thinking that you should stop being a selfish moron for believing that your life is meaningless and wanting something more in your mundane life.

Why can't you be normal like everyone else, you worthless piece of shit!?

You shook your head at that awful thought and exited youtube after finishing watching the video. Maybe playing cookie run: kingdom again isn't such a bad idea. You'll play the game and interact with your cookies again, even if it's for nostalgic reasons. With a smile and a little bit of excitement, you updated the game and started playing it, expecting to see the familiar devsisters intro at the beginning.

But it didn't happen; instead, there's only Pure Vanilla Cookie standing there behind a black screen, looking straight at you with a somber expression. Then he spoke to you, but no text appeared on the screen, nor was there no sound to convey his speech, which sometimes happens if the voice actors didn't have time to voice act the characters. No, he really is speaking to you in his full voice.

Pure Vanilla Cookie: "Baker... you finally returned."

Y/n: "W... What?"

This didn't happen before; is that what happens if you don't play the game for too long?

Pure Vanilla Cookie: "We thought that we would never see you again, but you finally came back to us!"

He smiled.

Pure Vanilla Cookie: "I'm not mad that you left; you have your own reasons for leaving us, but I think it's best that you live here with us so you won't have to face something that is troubling you anymore!"

Y/n: "W-Wait, what?!"

Before you have time to react, you see a flash of light, and your world fades to black.

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

You heard voices ringing in your ear, and they all sound so familiar.

Strawberry Cookie: "A-Are they really the Baker?"

Wizard Cookie: "Of course they are, dimwit! Why do you think Pure Vanilla Cookie brought them here if they're not the Baker?"

GingerBrave: "Baker, are you still here with us?"

You groan and sit up, feeling so dizzy that you rub your temples to ease yourself from the irritating headache you're experiencing.

Y/n: "Wh... huh?"

You open your eyes but quickly widen them in shock. What you see in front of you leaves you feeling confused, wary, and filled with dread. It's like you're being surrounded by predators looking straight at you, but they don't look hungry. Well, maybe some of them are, but what confuses you the most is why they look like cookies you know so well, yet why do they look so different from what you remember.

They don't look like cookies; instead, they look like monsters from folklores you used to be obsessed with as a kid. Although some of them look like hybrids of two or more creatures, you have a hard time figuring out what they're based on. You look at them with nervousness, and you can't even form a sentence of your own.

Y/n: "I-I... um..."

Custard Cookie III: "You don't remember us, Baker?"

The little prince said in worry as his sheep ears lowered to reflect his real emotions.

Chili Pepper Cookie: "Don't tell me you forgot about us!"

She looks rather annoyed as she crosses her arms, though there is a slight hint of worry in her eyes.

Y/n: "I-I do remember you all; it's just that y-you don't look like cookies..."

The coo—no, everyone looked at you weirdly as they muttered to each other about what you just called them.

GingerBrave: "Cookies? What do you mean, Baker? We have always looked like this before you came into our lives!"

Y/n: "But you all were..."

You stopped your sentence when you heard a familiar voice.

Pure Vanilla Cookie: "Alright everyone, let's give them space since they are still in shock after I brought them here to their kingdom."

Y/n: "Wait, kingdom....?"

You turn to the voice expecting to see Pure Vanilla Cookie, but you're met with a tall, bipedal sheep creature that kind of resembles Custard Cookie III, except he has four ram horns that curl up and down and four eyes, but they're closed because of the noticeable scars on his face.

Y/n: "Oh my god, your eyes! What happened?"

He smiled at your words and shook his head.

Pure Vanilla Cookie: "You don't have to worry about me, dear; it's not that important."

You wanted to know what happened to him that gave him these scars, but then you remembered what he said earlier. You stood up from the grassy floor and looked around the place; it seemed so familiar, but you wanted to know if it was true or not.

Y/n: "Where exactly am I?"

Just then, Gumball Cookie spoke up to explain where you were.

Gumball Cookie: "You're in the Cookie Kingdom, Baker. You did amazing decorating our home like this; it's a masterpiece!"

You blushed as you felt flattered by his compliment, and you scratched the side of your neck sheepishly.

Y/n: "Oh, um, I'm glad you all enjoy it."

Cherry Blossom Cookie: "Of course, we all enjoy it. You did so much for us, and we're all grateful that you gave us a place to call home!"

Everyone agreed with her, and then Cream Puff Cookie came forward with a somber look on her face.

Cream Puff Cookie: "But then you left without warning, and everyone is heartbroken when you're gone. Did we do something wrong to make you leave, Baker?"

You widen your eyes in surprise at her words. Just then, everyone starts begging you not to leave them again; some of them even tear up in sadness at the thought of you disappearing from their lives again.

Pancake Cookie: "Please don't go!"

Cherry Cookie: "We need you here!"

Pumpkin Pie Cookie: "Please stay with us, Baker; Pompon and I don't want to feel sad anymore."

Just then, Snapdragon Cookie came flying towards you and hugged you tightly as they let out baby noises, as if to say that they didn't want you to go away. You looked down at the little fellow; they didn't look like they were made of dough; they looked so real to you. You wondered if these former cookies were meant to look like monsters in their world rather than what you thought they were in your world.

You look at everyone for a moment. They're all worried about you leaving them behind again because they love and care about you. You always thought that they didn't have real emotions since they're characters from a game, but you were wrong; they do have emotions, and those are fear, worry, anger, and sadness in their eyes.

You're left speechless; no one is worried about you besides your parents like this before. You always thought that no one would love a worthless trash like you. You're just a nobody who's forgotten by everyone because you're not memorable enough to stay in their minds, and yet these people never forget about you even after so many years, and they love you so much that they never want to let you go.

All these feelings of worry and dread about them suddenly wash away from you; all you really feel now is sadness and guilt, and you can't help but cry. Everyone widens their eyes in surprise when you cry as you hug the baby dragon back.

Y/n: "I'm so sorry; I'm so sorry for leaving you all behind!"

As you said that with tears in your eyes, all of the children start hugging you and crying with you. Most of the adults join in, while the others stay with somber expressions on their faces. Pure Vanilla Cookie stares down at you with sadness. You were unhappy with where you came from, but you don't have to worry about that anymore because he'll make sure that you won't go through that ever again.

[To Be Continued]

[prettyboykatsuki]

PLEAPSLEPSLEPELEEMSPELEMSJEKZJEKSNS. WANSI LOVE THIS DYNAMIC SOSO SO SOSOOOO MUCH IM EATING YOUR BRAIN EIGJT NOW

based on this

cw for mild yandere and veryyyy angry caleb + your usual caleb incest lmao

"Come home,"

"Aw. Why should I?"

You can see it. His jaw is twitching, a vein in his neck swelling with irritation. It's been years since you've last seen your older brother but some things don't change. He's cold when he's angry. Frigid and temperamental.

It used to upset you. You remember trying to cheer him up. They're sweet memories - good times now long behind you. Seeing him now looking just the same way makes you wonder if he's also been in the same place all these years. Just like you.

"Quit acting out and come home," He says. Insists.

You scoff at the nerve of him before you smile. It's crooked. Vicious and mean. "I don't want to. Why should I? So I can spend the rest of my life watching you go in circles over what you should do about wanting to fuck me?"

Caleb stills. You should stop now, but you keep going. Keep rubbing salt into the wounds in exactly the ways you've always wanted. You already made a mess of everything else.

"Be a little more considerate, will you? I'm a big girl now. I've got needs. I'm not sure you can fill a single one of them," You can hear it in your voice. Sneering. His eyes go dark but you go on. "And you know, once you start having sex - nothing really beats the real thing,"

All the air gets sucked out of the room. You stand from where you're seated and walk to the other side of the table - leaning against it. Right in front of Caleb as you rest on the edge, head tilted. Your phone buzzes on the table and you glance at it before looking right back up at him. Something in you burning.

"A lot of people would miss me. I'm their favorite part of their week," You put a hand on his chest and Caleb freezes. Stares at you as you pretend to think about it. "So I don't know if I can. But maybe, you know - since you're my big brother," Your eyes sparkle. "I can give you a little service before you leave. I'm good with my mouth. So I'm told, anyway,"

For a while it's noiseless. So deathly silent all you can hear is the hammer of your own heartbeat. You're enjoying this. You're enjoying provoking him. Once upon a time such a thing would be unbelievable. But it feels good to finally have thrown it al away. Nothing left of your innocence for him to insist on preserving. Everything ruined at your own hands.

A punishment you've wanted to inflict on him each time he rejected you. The humiliation of being the only one who seems to believe being together was worth wanting.

A chill crawls up your spine as Caleb circles his hand around your wrist. He's strong. You can feel it in such a small movement. He pulls your hand away from him and you think he's about to give up and go home.

Instead his hand grabs your jaw, seething.

He's never, ever been so fucking angry. It alerts you as much as it pleases you. As much it scares you.

"I shouldn't have tried to let you live your life. That's the only thing I really regret," Caleb hisses. You squirm away from his grasp but he holds you so firm you can't do anything but keep still. "I should've done what I thought was right and kept you locked up nicely in the house. I should've just trapped you there,"

Your breath hitches. "You—"

He leans in closer. You're nearly nose to nose, your eyes forced up to look at him. Terror has your stomach churning. It's brief and low, suddenly keeping you alert. Like you're in some kind of grievous danger.

Maybe you are.

"I won't make the same mistake twice," His grip on you gets righter. It hurts. "You're coming home. You don't have a choice. Clearly, I can't take my fucking eyes off of you," Another flash of anger passes over his features. He takes a deep breath. "So you'll come back whether you like it or not,"

You're incredulous. Irritated by the surety in his words.

"And what makes you so sure I won't just run away again? I could have someone come get me," Your words are muffled slightly. "I'm sure there'd be plenty of people willing to keep me around in exchange for a little—"

Caleb laughs humorlessly. "You think you'd ever be able to again? I'll come find you no matter how much you run away. No matter how much you act out, you're my responsibility."

You're mine, goes unspoken. The sentiment lingers in the air.

You pause. You want to say something to combat him - to get under his skin again. He's staring at you with so much intensity, almost loathing that you find yourself at a loss for words.

"I'll give you what you want this time," Caleb's voice is hollow. The anger is so heavy, so apparent - his words come out calmly. "And you can show me what useless shit you learned while you were out of my sight,"

[luvvixu]

actual confession / l. norris x nurse!reader

he did it. he finally asked you out!

vital signs masterlist

the race in monaco just ended a few hours ago.

it is currently night and you're about to finish cleaning up the infirmary, ready to go home. lando just won the monaco grand prix and you saw all of it from your laptop's livestream. but despite being in the literal scene where you could literally hear the sound of liveries dashing and zooming outside, you decided that you're a nurse first, an f1 fan the second.

and you wouldn't lie, you would cheer for lando in your own way—you even screamed when he waltzed towards the checkered flag, claiming the p1 and getting awarded by the monaco royal family themselves!

you felt really happy for him.

the watch on your wrist says it was already 8 pm. you plan to retire for today and just sleep the night away in the hotel that the fia provided for you. still in your white scrub with your name tag, you were about to put your customized stethoscope when the door of the infirmary suddenly opened.

it was lando. standing by the door of the infirmary, out of his racing suit, just casually dressed in one of the quadrant's fashion hoodies.

“hi,” he gave you his infamous eyed smile.

this is the first time you see him up this close ever since the race had started. although he did visit you before the parade had even started, said he would like to have some good luck from you—in which you just rolled your eyes and gave him a stamp of your name and signature on the back of his palm.

it was supposed to be a joke but you saw lando how he couldn't stop staring at his hand. it made you warm in some ways.

you cleared your throat and just focused on cleaning up your things to hide your flustered face. “i saw you win. congratulations, lando.” you said, giving him a small smile.

lando sits on the bed of the infirmary, watching you busy yourself with your things. “thanks. i got a lucky charm.” he raised his hand where your stamp is still there but faded.

“though i would be more happy if i actually see you beneath the stage, but i understand your job.” he said, casually popping a small piece of candy on his mouth that he stole from your jar. his eyes landed on your table and saw a piece of familiar pink tulip on top of your book. his heart swells with happiness. you just dried one of the pink tulips that he gave you last month and made it your bookmark.

while you didn’t answer him, you just stuffed your last tool in your bag.

“so…what's your plan for tonight?”

“nothing, just gonna head straight to my hotel then sleep.”

“boo. that's boring.” he grimaced.

you glared at him as you crossed your arms, walking towards him and standing. “well, i'm sorry if valuing my rest is boring. do you have any recommendations to make my night less boring then?” you said sarcastically.

“i do. go out on a date with me.”

you froze. “...i’m sorry, what?”

you blinked at him, still thinking you’d heard wrong. because there's no way that lando norris—monaco gp winner, national hero for the day, mclaren's golden boy, the one who shamelessly joked and flirted with you for years—had just casually and actually asked you out while popping your candy like it was nothing.

lando tilted his head slightly, his grin widening. “you heard me and i didn't stutter.”

your heart picked up, and you hated how flustered you felt. “are you serious, or are you just high off victory and sugar? or maybe this was just your usual flirting scheme?”

“i’m dead serious,” he said, all traces of teasing suddenly gone from his voice. “look, i just won a race. and it didn’t feel complete. not really.”

you stared at him, still rooted to the floor, your fingers tightening on the pocket of your scrub.

he continued, his tone quieter now. “it's true that i kept flirting with you and this goes for years now. but i never actually had the strength to ask you out since i was scared of rejection. and we both know that, y/n.”

lando cleared his throat. “and you know what i realize earlier? when i got on the stage, received my medal and trophy, had the champagne, shook hands with literal royalties…i thought everything was perfect. not until i looked for you through the crowd and saw that you weren't there, it felt…odd.”

“lando…”

“i know you’re always here,” he said, gesturing around the infirmary. “working. taking care of people like me. and maybe i didn’t ask you out before because i thought it’d mess something up or make things weird between us. i mean, it already is because of my flirting with no actual move. but this win?” he exhaled softly. “it made me realize that i spent too much time wondering when would be the right time for me to formally ask you out. so yeah. go out with me. let me take you somewhere that isn’t a white-lit clinic with antiseptic wipes and blood pressure cuffs.”

you let out a soft, stunned laugh, cheeks burning.

“this is…really unexpected—i mean, not at all. at first, i think your flirtings was just for fun, but as time went by—years rather, i tried not to think that there's a real intention behind it but failed miserably.” you admitted.

“i understand.” he stood now, stepping closer, closing the distance until you could smell the faint citrus of his hoodie and the clean shampoo scent of post-race showers. “but i’ve liked you for so long. you know that, right? i wouldn't keep flirting with you so consistently if i didn't.”

you smiled slowly. “like i said before, i had a tiny suspicion. maybe it was because you literally told carlos that you met your future wife when i first checked you up during your rookie year.”

he grinned sheepishly. “gotta be memorable somehow.”

“and you’ve definitely been… persistent.”

“relentlessly charming,” he corrected.

you gave him a long look—one that traced the tired joy in his face, the soft shadows under his eyes, the hopeful quirk of his lips.

“you know,” you said, voice quieter, “there’s a yacht party happening down at the bay. i heard you were invited to celebrate your grand prix win and the mclaren's.”

“yeah,” he said with a shrug. “but i’m here instead.”

you smiled at the honesty in his voice. at the vulnerability masked behind his usual lando-ness. at how, despite the glory waiting for him outside, he chose you.

“alright,” you whispered.

his brows lifted. “alright?”

you nodded, lips tugging up. “let’s go on that date.”

lando blinked. “wait, really? like—really really?”

you laughed. “yes, really really.”

“tonight?”

you pretended to consider. “depends. will it involve actual food and not just celebrating by stealing more of my candy?”

“i can do better,” he said quickly, already reaching for your bag. “dinner. soft and romantic music. a view of the harbor. monaco at night. maybe even another candy for dessert, if you behave.”

you rolled your eyes but let him take your bag anyway.

“wait here for a bit. i'm just gonna change. my scrub is begging me to let them rest.” you sighed dramatically as lando laughed. you reach out for your bag in his hold and grab your spare clothes.

“you know, i don't mind going out on a date with you wearing that. gotta let them know that i have a gorgeous, hardworking, and personal sweets supplier nurse.” he grinned. you just threw him a look but still smiled at his words before going towards the bathroom to get changed.

as you both stepped out of the infirmary together, lando’s fingers brushed yours once, then twice—until he finally laced them fully, confidently.

“i'm sorry if i took so long to ask you out.” he mumbled, caressing the back of your hand.

you looked up at him, the golden glow of the monaco street lights illuminating the victorious curve of his smile. “i don't mind. i'm just glad that you did.” you said, squeezing his hand.

tonight, he wasn’t just a driver who won a medal and a trophy.

he was a boy, heart full, walking hand-in-hand with the girl who’d unknowingly been his finish line all along.

©luvvixu2025

[perkypeony]

Omg pls , Umemiya with a childhood crush on a reader that doesn't show much emotions but turn into the second coming of Sakura's tsun whenever Ume teases them. I feel like he'll thrive with someone jumpy like that

Thanks for the request! Hope you like it❤

“Hi! I'm Umemiya Hajime. What's your name? Can we be friends? Why are you so quiet? Is it because you're shy?”

His nonstop questions made you look at him in horror. Why is he so bubbly all the time? Doesn’t he ever get tired?

Of course, those thoughts never left your mouth, but one day, you might have the courage to say them out loud.

Then you realized that everyone in class was staring. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“I-I-I’m Y/N… I guess we can be friends.”

“Yay, new friend! Let’s eat lunch together,” Umemiya beamed.

“Sure.”

He was loud, energetic, and already had most of the class wrapped around his finger. You often saw him surrounded during lunch, smiling like he belonged there.

You were the shy, quiet kid in class, never speaking unless spoken to. It had been two weeks since school started, and this boy, Umemiya, was the first to approach you.

“Eating together is more fun than eating alone,” he had said.

Since that day, Umemiya made sure you were never left behind. Because of your quiet nature, people often overlooked you but not him. Never him.

He had a soft spot for you, even when your idea of fun was ignoring his jokes with a deadpan stare or stealing his eraser when you lost yours.

Although you didn’t realize it at the time, Umemiya had liked you first. He told you he didn’t know what a crush was back then, but he knew he liked having you around. So, he used every excuse to be near you. Like sharing food.

“Try this, it's good!” he'd grin, shoving a piece of karaage your way before you could protest.

At first, you just blinked at him.

Why is he always giving me his food? Is he trying to fatten me up or something?

But he looked so happy whenever you took a bite, you didn’t have the heart to say no.

A few years later, you both got into the same middle school and ended up in the same class again. His presence became an anchor as you adjusted to the new environment.

Once again, he introduced you to others, pulled you into group activities, always saying things like, “I’m sure you don’t want to miss this!” or “It’s more fun when you’re there too!”

“I always find you cute when you're focused,” he once blurted during art class, making you spill your paint water. He had laughed, and you would’ve glared but your ears had turned bright red.

Over time, you began looking forward to school. Just seeing him brightened your day. You might not have become more sociable, but with Umemiya around, everything felt possible.

And then, something strange began to grow inside you. A fluttering feeling whenever he smiled at you, or when he grabbed your hand to drag you somewhere.

“Y/N, why’s your face so red?” he asked, head tilted in innocent confusion.

“Wh-why do you ask that?! It’s just the weather!” you stammered.

“If the weather’s hot, should I hold an umbrella for you?”

Your face grew even hotter.

“Wh-who needs your umbrella?! I can take care of myself!”

And with that, you ran away.

“Y/N, wait for me!” Umemiya called, chasing after you.

In the final week of middle school, he told you he wanted to go to Furin to stop gang activity and change things for the better. That was such an Umemiya thing to say.

“How about you, Y/N? Have a high school in mind?”

“I think I’m going to an all-girls high school.”

“Promise we’ll still see each other?” he asked, holding out his pinky.

“Promise.”

On the last day of school, after gift exchanges and goodbyes, Umemiya approached you.

“Y/N, want to eat before going home?”

You blinked. He looked oddly nervous.

“Urmm… okay.”

He took you to a tempura restaurant. You ordered prawn and mushroom tempura with a bowl of rice—your favourite.

“Y/N… can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“Can I be your boyfriend?”

You legit choked.

“S-sorry! Drink this!” he panicked, shoving water toward you. “I shouldn’t have asked like that, huh?”

“It’s okay…” you wheezed, cheeks burning. “But seriously, who drops that in the middle of a meal!”

That earned a chuckle from Umemiya.

You rolled your eyes. “Umemiya, actually… I like you too,” you whispered, eyes focused on the table.

“Really? Then… you’ll let me be your boyfriend?”

You gave a shy smile. “Yes.”

Now, you’re a first-year student in high school. Without Umemiya by your side, adjusting was hard at first but you managed.

Every day, Umemiya waited for you outside your school to walk you home.

Some students were jealous, some curious. But you learned to ignore the whispers.

“Baby, let’s go home! But first, ice cream!” he said, grinning wide as he saw you.

“Hajime, people are watching…” you mumbled.

“Let them,” he said, kissing your forehead.

Your face turned redder than ever and your eyes stung.

“I’m sorry, baby. Was that too much?”

You nodded and buried your face in his chest.

“Still as jumpy as you were in elementary school,” he said, softly patting your head. “Don’t worry, we’ll go slow. One step at a time until you’re used to all the affection I’ve got to give. Who else am I gonna spoil if not my cute, shy girlfriend?”

You couldn’t help but smile.

[mintchocolove]

Before you go

They meet you one last time before they leave to follow their destiny, as if fate had given them something to return to afterward.

Pairing: OT7 x f!reader Instead of yn I'm going to use Eunjin as the readers name, but each Eunjin is different. I'll take recomendations. English is not my first language so please be kind.

Lee Heeseung - Late-night harmony

One week before I-Land starts, Favorite, 2020

Heeseung was pissed at himself. I-LAND was less than a week away, and even now, he couldn’t stop messing up his performance. Not everyone was rooting for him, he knew that. Many trainees had been denied the chance to participate in the reality show, and they were mad at him.

News and rumors traveled fast in the building, and he wasn’t surprised that many believed the show had been created solely to guarantee his debut. The pressure was becoming unbearable, making him want to cry. His feet moved on instinct, only stopping when he found himself in front of practice room A-16. Once again, music drifted from inside—but this time, it was accompanied by a soft voice.

His hand moved to the door handle, pushing it open gently as the voice sang the lines to “Locked Out of Heaven” by Bruno Mars. A smile tugged at his lips as he caught sight of the girl inside, her back to him. She wore a bright orange sweater with purple bows—instantly recognizable. It was the same girl from the end of last year.

Suddenly, the song stopped, and Heeseung locked eyes with you through the mirror. You looked almost scared to see him standing there. But he didn’t want you to run away again like last time—his mouth acted before his brain could catch up.

“Your voice is good. Want to sing together?”

You froze, beginning to gather your things immediately, then looked up at him like you’d just heard a ghost whisper in your ear. You seemed to be searching his face for any sign that he was joking. Instead of saying more, Heeseung walked into the room and stopped in front of you, waiting.

“Sure… yeah, that…” you let out a breath and smiled, gesturing to the floor beside you. “That would be good.”

And gods, he thought, if your voice was good when you were singing, it was even better when you were just talking. His cheeks warmed with a blush, slightly embarrassed, as you grabbed your phone and opened Spotify, glaring at it like it had personally offended you.

“You choose. I’ve been having a crisis over this for the past hour.”

If it was possible, his smile grew wider. Heeseung took the phone from your hands, scrolling through songs before settling on one. You grinned at his choice, whispering how much you loved that track.

Time passed quickly. You sang together, sitting side by side, and the tension in your shoulders eased. Heeseung no longer felt the pressure that had been eating away at him all day.

After a few songs, you decided to get a snack from the vending machine down the hall. You walked quietly beside each other, and Heeseung finally took in your clothes—the hideous sweater, the mismatched Converse. You definitely had a unique style. And it made him smile.

“My name’s Eunjin, by the way,” you said, not looking at him, too focused on deciding between cookies or chips. “Sorry I ran away last time. You kinda scared the shit out of me.”

This time, he couldn’t hold it in. A laugh burst out of him, loud and genuine. You turned to him, startled, your cheeks now a deep shade of red.

“Sorry for scaring you. I’m Heeseung.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, then turned back to the machine, shrugging as you pressed the button for chocolate cookies.

“Yeah… you’re well known in the building.” Stepping aside so he could pick his snack, you stared at his face, still boyish under the soft hallway lights. “I heard about the reality show. I bet you’ll do well, Heeseung. Don’t pay attention to the jealous trainees. Just do your best every time.”

His heart skipped a beat. He looked at you, studying every line of your face. His eyes stung unexpectedly with tears. It wasn’t that your words were the grandest encouragement he’d ever received, but somehow, coming from you, a near stranger who seemed to believe in him anyway, they meant everything.

“Then root for me while I’m there. If I debut, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

You smiled, nodding before whispering your reply. That night, when Heeseung arrived home, his phone buzzed with a message. He wasn’t surprised to see it was from you: “Lee Heeseung, I was rooting for you anyway.”

Park Jongseong - Bookstore browsing

One month before I-Land starts, Manga, 2020

Jay had not rested well last night, even as he walked around school with his hands shoved in his pockets, he wasn’t entirely paying attention. His eyebrows were knitted together as he tried to remember the lyrics of “The 7th Sense”. It had been happening a lot these days, maybe he really did need to rest. With a sigh, he started heading toward the library.

The library was silent and almost empty, except for a few students sitting near a window, apparently too focused to notice him. His eyes drifted to the second floor, and since he couldn’t see anyone from where he stood, he started climbing the stairs. The second floor was indeed deserted; the chairs and tables were perfectly in place. This was where the fantasy books and manga were kept, so it wasn’t surprising that not many people came up here.

He considered falling asleep at one of the tables. He only had two classes left, and one of them was P.E.—missing them wouldn’t be the end of the world, and he could get some rest. Finally giving in to the temptation, he sank into one of the chairs farthest from the entrance and took off his jacket to use as a pillow. The manga section was just in front of him, so chances were slim that anyone would come to bother him.

His mind drifted off quickly, falling asleep without paying much attention to his surroundings. He didn’t know how much time had passed when the sound of movement stirred him awake.

There was a girl standing on top of a chair, reaching for a manga with a slight frown, standing on tiptoe. Jay watched as the chair wobbled slightly, his body moving before he could think, just in time to stop the chair (and the girl) from falling.

“God, that was close.”

He looked up and met your eyes, you looked startled, a shaky breath escaping your lips as your trembling gaze landed on him. “Can you help me down?” you asked softly.

He nodded immediately, finally exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Once you were safely on the ground, you bowed politely. “Thank you, if it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve fallen.”

He nodded absentmindedly, glancing up at the shelf you had been reaching for. The Attack on Titan collection stared back at him. “What volume were you trying to get? I’ll help.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you murmured that you were looking for volume two—if it wasn’t too much trouble. Less than a minute later, the manga was in your hands, and Jay was putting the chair back in its place, not noticing that you were following him. When he turned around, you were standing there again, facing him.

“I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but… have we met before?”

He almost joked that you were in the same school, so it was likely. But there was something oddly familiar in your face, the way your eyes looked at him with quiet curiosity.

Then it hit him. You were Soyeon’s friend, the one who had been at his cousin’s wedding, smiling politely but looking a little out of place in the middle of the party.

“You’re Eunjin” he said, more like a statement than a question.

Your eyes lit up, a smile spreading across your lips, revealing braces. “Yes! How do you know that?” He smiled as well, walking back to the table he’d been sleeping on while you followed. “Wait, I do know you! You’re Soyeon’s cousin, Jay, right?”

He nodded, and you looked oddly pleased with yourself, your smile widening as you sat across from him. “She said you went to the same school, but I didn’t see you after that day.”

“You were looking for me?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. You blushed, muttering something about how you weren’t. “I’m joking, Eunjin. Why don’t you tell me about the manga?”

Your face lit up at that, and you launched into an explanation, telling him you were rereading the series for an art project inspired by it. You talked for what felt like hours, and when you finally parted ways at the school entrance, Jay stood there for a moment, watching your back.

Then, suddenly, you turned around and jogged back to him, eyes lowered to your shoes as you pulled out your phone. “Could I have your number, Jay?”

You parted ways with a big smile on your face—and his heart felt lighter, his mind more at ease, even if he had only napped for half an hour. He was already looking forward to talking to you again.

Sim Jaeyun - Coffee shop

Four months before I-Land starts, Cold days, 2020

Jake tugged his scarf a little higher around his neck as a gust of wind slapped his face, his cheeks already red from the cold. Seoul winters were brutal, nothing like the ones back home in Australia. He exhaled, watching the fog of his breath disappear into the busy street, and pushed open the door of a coffee shop he’d stumbled across during a walk meant to clear his mind.

The warmth inside greeted him instantly, along with the soft sound of indie music and the hum of hushed conversations. He stomped the snow off his boots and looked around. The place was small but cozy; brick walls, warm lighting, and shelves filled with mismatched mugs and books.

He ordered a caramel latte and made his way to a corner table by the window, unwrapping his scarf and pulling out his sketchpad. He wasn’t the best artist, but lately, he’d found that doodling helped with the nerves. Practices were getting more intense—more pressure, more eyes watching. The weight of what if I don’t make it? had been sitting on his chest all week.

He was halfway through drawing a messy-looking tiger wearing sunglasses when a familiar voice made him freeze. “Jake?”

He looked up instantly, blinking in surprise. The girl in front of him had a black beanie pulled low, a thick puffer jacket engulfing her frame, and a steaming cup in one hand. But the face—and that smile—he recognized instantly. A grin spread across his own face. “Eunjin?”

She grinned, her nose red from the cold. “I thought it was you! I almost didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure. Wow.” The familiar accent almost made him tear up; he missed having someone to speak English with.

He stood up quickly, warmth flooding him despite the chill outside. “Wow, yeah,” he laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “What are the odds?”

“I know, right?” She rocked on her heels before glancing around, eyeing his table. “Mind if I sit with you?” He nodded immediately, pulling out the chair in front of him. She smiled and plopped down, setting her drink on the table.

“I was at a makeup store down the street,” she said. “Thought I’d grab something warm before heading back to the dorm. I didn’t expect to run into my airplane buddy.”

Jake chuckled, the memory warming him. “That flight feels like it was a year ago.”

Eunjin nodded, muttering something about her hands still being cold before looking at him again. “How’s training?” Jake blinked, surprised she knew. Had they talked about that on the plane? He certainly couldn’t remember. At his confused look, Eunjin smiled.

“You said you were here for an audition,” she reminded him, eyes twinkling. “I guessed you made it in. I did too—not idol stuff yet, but I’m getting there, I guess.”

“That’s amazing,” he said, leaning in a little.

The conversation flowed from there, both opening up about how they were feeling these days, the pressure of not being enough, of falling behind. After a few minutes, Jake felt his hands tremble as he looked down at them.

“I want it so bad, you know? But I wonder if wanting it is enough.”

“You’re here,” she said, tilting her head. “That already means something.”

Her words settled something in him, soft and grounding. They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their drinks, the city muffled by the foggy window beside them. Then Eunjin reached over and tapped the sketchpad.

“Your cat’s got swag, I’ll give you that,” she teased, grinning.

Jake snorted and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling for the first time in days. “It was supposed to be a tiger, actually.”

They talked for almost an hour, sharing stories of their dorms, their daily routines, and how much they both missed their moms’ cooking. When she finally stood up to leave, Jake felt the familiar tug of hesitation he’d had at the airport months ago.

“Hey, wait…” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. “Let me get your number this time.”

Eunjin smiled, pulling out her own phone. “Took you long enough.”

They exchanged numbers and stood outside together for a while, the cold biting at their fingers as they awkwardly lingered before saying goodbye. As she walked away down the snow-covered street, Jake looked down at her name now saved in his contacts.

Maybe Seoul’s winter wasn’t so cold after all.

Park Sunghoon - Ice rink

One week before I-Land starts, One last dance, 2020

Sunghoon pushed the door open slowly, letting the cold air hit him like a familiar embrace. The same scent of resin, polish, and faint sweat lingered in the air. He knew it too well. Tightening the scarf around his neck, he let out a breath, watching it fog briefly in front of him.

This place had been a second home for years, early mornings, late nights, bruised shins, and blistered feet. But in a week, it would all be behind him. I-LAND was calling, and skating would become just a chapter in his story.

Still, he laced up his skates, needing one last glide. Just one. He whispered it to himself as the ice creaked under his weight. The floodlights were dimmed, and the playlist that usually echoed through the speakers had long ended.

There was another skater on the far side of the rink, moving slowly, lost in thought. Sunghoon let the silence carry him, his body moving on autopilot; a quiet loop, a small jump. Nothing special, just a goodbye.

Then came the sound of another pair of skates scraping the ice. He turned instinctively, blinking through the low light. A slim figure in a black hoodie was gliding toward his side of the rink, her long ponytail swaying gently as she moved.

“Sam Eunjin?” he called, voice cracking just slightly. He wasn’t sure she had heard him until she turned, startled, then slowed to a stop. Her face lit up with recognition, cheeks pink from the cold.

“Park Sunghoon” she said, skating closer with the grace of someone who had practiced most of her life. “Didn’t think anyone else came this late.”

Sunghoon looked around, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how awkward he probably looked. “Just… needed one last skate.”

She smiled at that, a sad kind of understanding in her eyes. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her gaze spoke more than her words, filled with emotion, sparkling under the soft lights. “Same.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound coming from the blades beneath their feet. “I heard from the coaches you're retiring,” she said after a beat, glancing over.

He nodded slowly. “And you?” he asked, skating in sync beside her as they traced a wide loop around the rink.

She shook her head. “I got a role in a drama. Not a huge part, but… enough to finally make the switch.”

There was a pause, heavier than it should’ve been. Her voice trembled slightly when she spoke again, eyes drifting across the empty bleachers. “Feels weird, doesn’t it? All those years of routines, music, medals, and then just—”

“Gone,” he finished for her.

They circled the rink in silence for a while. It was peaceful, two people giving a quiet farewell to a version of themselves they weren’t sure they’d miss yet.

“I used to think you hated me, you ran away everytime as kids” she teased after a moment, smiling as they both slowed to a stop at the center of the rink.

“I’ve never been good with girls, I get nervous” he admitted, lips tugging into a half-smile. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, quietly, Eunjin stepped back and gave a small bow.

“One last time?” she offered. “Just for fun?”

Sunghoon hesitated, then bowed too, a smile finally reaching his eyes. “You lead.”

They moved by instinct—no choreography, no music. Their skates glided across the ice like they had for years, two quiet souls saying goodbye not just to the rink, but to the people they had been within it.

When they finally slowed to a stop again, both breathless and smiling, it felt like something had lifted.

“Thank you, for skating with me,” Eunjin said softly as they sat side by side, unlacing their skates. The silence was no longer heavy, but warm. Outside, snow had begun to fall. Like a curtain closing on a long-awaited final scene.

“Thank you,” he said back. “For letting me.”

“Hey,” Sunghoon said as they stepped out into the night. “When your drama airs… text me. I want to watch it.”

She looked up at him, a small laugh escaping. Her eyes were full of emotion—so much that he wanted to drown in them. “Only if you debut.”

And with that, they parted ways again, their steps light despite the weight of goodbye. Maybe their paths had only crossed briefly, like lines etched in ice, sharp, fleeting, and beautiful in their impermanence. But they both hoped they would cross again.

Kim Sunoo - Convenience store

Two weeks before I-Land starts, Rainy day shelter, 2020

It was raining the kind of rain that clung to your clothes no matter how fast you ran. Sunoo pulled the hood of his school jacket tighter around his face, clutching his bag to his chest as he hurried down the street. His clothes were already soaked, and the cold had crept into his bones.

He didn’t even know where he was going, really. Just... walking or running. Anywhere that wasn’t a dance studio, a classroom, or a cramped practice room. Anywhere he could just be Kim Sunoo for five minutes, not “trainee Kim Sunoo”

A neon glow appeared through the foggy blur of rain ahead: a small convenience store, buzzing quietly against the gray. Without hesitation, he darted toward it, the bell above the door chiming as he stepped into the warmth.

He shook out his hair and rubbed his arms, slowly pacing down one of the aisles, letting his breathing slow. “Still craving ice cream in this weather?” a voice said, lightly teasing. Sunoo turned, blinking in surprise.

There she was — a yellow backpack hanging heavily from her shoulder, the same one from that tiny ice cream shop weeks ago. Her bangs clung to her forehead from the rain, but her expression was bright.

“You” he said without thinking, his tone sounding almost accusing as she stepped closer, her smile widening.

“Me,” she replied, mirroring his tone with a light laugh. “I’m Eunjin, by the way.”

“Sunoo” He let out a small laugh, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “Didn’t expect to run into you again.”

“Same. I guess fate just wants us to keep meeting near frozen desserts” she replied, glancing toward the freezer section. “Though I think they don’t have many flavors here, right?”

Sunoo made a face, and Eunjin laughed, then reached into her backpack and pulled out a small, half-wet hand towel. She walked over and gently tossed it toward him. “You look like a drowned cat.”

“Wow. Flattering.” He dabbed at his face with the towel, suppressing a grin. His mood had definitely improved. “Thanks. I really needed that today.”

She tilted her head. “Bad day?”

Sunoo hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much to say. But her voice didn’t feel judgmental, and there was something comforting in the way she just stood there — as if they were picking up an old conversation instead of meeting for the second time. “Just… tired, I guess.”

She nodded, and they ended up in front of the warm drink machine, both choosing hot chocolate. They paid in silence, then sat at the small tables near the entrance, watching the rain blur the world outside.

“I’ve been thinking about you” Eunjin said suddenly.

Sunoo blinked. “Really?”

“Well, not obsessively,” she added quickly, cheeks turning pink. Sunoo noticed that she didn’t seem to have a filter — and somehow, that made him smile. “Just… sometimes.”

He looked down at his cup, embarrassed but smiling. “That day was weirdly important. I didn’t even realize it until later.”

She glanced at him, curious, so he continued. “Because everything feels temporary right now,” he admitted. “I keep meeting people, or seeing places, and wondering if it’s the last time before things change. That day, it felt like a small moment I got to keep.”

Eunjin was quiet for a moment. The rain softened slightly outside. “That’s kind of nice, she finally said. “Sad, but nice.”

They both sipped their drinks in silence again, this time a little more comfortably, like a secret moment neither of them knew they needed. Eventually, Eunjin glanced at the time. “I should head out before it gets too dark.”

“Wait,” Sunoo said before he could stop himself. “Do you want to—” She looked back at him, eyebrows raised, a lopsided smile tugging at her lips.

He cleared his throat. “I mean… do you want to meet again? Just, you know, in case we keep ending up in the same weather.”

Eunjin smiled. “I’d like that.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled receipt, scribbling her phone number with a blue pen.

“Text me next time you need someone to rescue you from bad weather or bad flavors” she said, handing it to him with a grin.

Sunoo took it like it was something precious. “I will” he said, and meant it.

She stepped out into the rain, pink umbrella snapping open, her yellow backpack bouncing with every step until she disappeared into the blur of city lights and drizzle. This time, he wasn’t going to let the moment slip away.

Yang Jungwon - Amusement park

One month before I-Land starts, Pretty smiles, 2020

The amusement park was loud, messy, full of laughing children and overpriced snacks — not the kind of place someone with a secret folded tightly in his chest should be. Jungwon was supposed to be resting — whatever that meant when your world was about to flip upside down. Only the company knew. He carried the truth quietly, like a note slipped between pages, waiting to be opened.

So he wandered. One last walk through the city. His feet brought him to the amusement park before he even realized where he was going. And that’s when he saw her.

Eunjin.

She stood in line for ice cream, laughing at something Minhyuk had said. The late afternoon sun caught in her hair, making it shimmer like something from a memory. Jungwon watched from a distance, wondering — not for the first time — if her smiles were always that soft. If she ever frowned in a way that wasn’t playful or tired. If she’d ever thought about him since the skateboard accident.

Because he had. Maybe too often.

He waited until she stepped away from the vendor, two cones in hand. Minhyuk turned, his sticky fingers pointing in Jungwon’s direction.

“Hyung!” Minhyuk called, his voice far too familiar for someone he’d only met once. He waved enthusiastically, nearly spilling his cup.

Eunjin followed the boy’s line of sight. Their eyes met. And just like that, Jungwon couldn’t breathe.

“Oh,” she said softly to herself, the word barely carried by the breeze.

Then she smiled — slow and warm, the way a smile should feel. Jungwon stepped forward, brushing imaginary dust from his jeans, trying to steady himself. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said once they reached him.

Her smile grew and she leaned down to whisper something to Minhyuk, who nodded and took off running toward the playground. “You look tired,” she said, stepping up beside him.

“I’ve been busy,” Jungwon answered, gaze drifting to the crowd bustling around them, everyone unaware of how strange the world felt right now. He was going to miss this. All of it.

They found a shaded bench beneath a tall tree. Eunjin sat beside him not too close. The air between them buzzed with the quiet static of things unsaid.

“I’m going away soon,” he said suddenly. He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe he just wanted her to know. Even if they weren’t close. Even if she didn’t know him, not really.

“For long?” she asked, her voice low.

“It’s… complicated.” He fiddled with his hands in his lap. She nodded. Like she understood. Maybe she didn’t. But she didn’t ask questions. That meant more to him than she probably realized.

“I’ll miss this,” Jungwon murmured. “Not the park, exactly. Just… days like this. Normal days.”

“Yeah,” Eunjin replied. “Those are rare.”

He turned toward her, really looking.

There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, like she carried too much for someone her age. But her smile was kind. And there was something open about her — not loud, but like a window left ajar. He noticed a freckle near her jawline he hadn’t seen before. And when she smiled, it reached all the way to her eyes.

“You have a really nice smile,” he blurted. His ears immediately turned hot. He could feel them reddening. Eunjin blinked, surprised, then laughed — soft and bright, her eyes crinkling as she did.

“Thanks,” she said. “Yours isn’t bad either. The dimples make you look… cute.”

He looked away, chewing on the inside of his cheek, smiling to himself.

Life was moving. And in a month, Jungwon might be on a screen somewhere… or nowhere at all. “I probably won’t have a phone for a while,” he said, suddenly. “But I’d really like to talk to you before that happens.”

Eunjin tilted her head. “I have your number from last time,” she admitted, her tone sheepish. “But I never called because it felt awkward to say I just wanted to see you again.”

Jungwon stared at her, surprised. His ears somehow managed to get hotter. “Call me,” he said. His voice was quiet. “Please.”

A whistle blew in the distance, signaling the next parade. Music bloomed in the air, grand and glittering. Minhyuk darted toward them again, grabbing Eunjin’s wrist with sticky fingers. “Come on, they’re throwing candy!”

Jungwon watched her get pulled away, her laughter like a ribbon trailing in the air. She looked back at him before the crowd swallowed her whole. And smiled. Her lips parted as she shouted over the music “I will call you, Jungwon!”

And that smile — wide and real and full of promise — stayed with him long, long after she vanished into the crowd.

Nishimura Riki - Bus stop

One month before I-Land starts, Umbrella, 2020

The rain had been steady since early afternoon, not heavy enough to cancel anything, but persistent in that moody, drizzling way that clings to your clothes and makes the city feel smaller. Ni-ki’s sneakers left damp prints on the sidewalk as he neared the bus stop, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. He didn’t mind the rain, really—it gave him an excuse to slow down, listen to music, and pretend the world was quieter than it really was.

The stop was nearly empty. Just an older man with a briefcase and...

His steps faltered. Her.

She sat beneath the narrow awning, a pale pink umbrella closed and leaning against her knee. Even from behind, he recognized her. Same baby blue hoodie. She was staring at the bus schedule taped to the pole like she was trying to will it into making sense.

He hesitated. Debated pretending he hadn’t seen her. But before he could decide, she turned and their eyes met. For a split second, neither of them said anything.

Then her eyes widened slightly, like the memory had clicked into place. “Ni-ki?”

He pulled out one earbud and gave a small nod, a shy smile breaking across his face. His Korean was still a little rough. “Eunjin.”

“Twice in one city,” she said, standing to brush off the bench beside her with a napkin. “That’s either luck or fate.”

“I vote luck,” he replied, sitting beside her with a murmured thanks. “Fate sounds too romantic.”

Eunjin laughed softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye while tugging at her hoodie sleeve. “Maybe I like romantic.”

He gave her a scandalized look, and she laughed again, light and warm. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it settled between them like something familiar. Rain tapped steadily on the metal roof above them. She stared at the road, her foot tapping to a rhythm only she could hear.

“You’re out late,” he said eventually. “Were you at school?”

“Drama club practice.” She turned slightly; cheeks pink. “I want to be an actress. I mean—someday. Right now, it’s just school plays and getting stage fright in front of twenty people.”

“You want to be famous?”

She shrugged, eyes lifting toward the gray sky. “I want to be seen. Heard. I want to play someone else and still be me inside it, you know?”

He nodded slowly. “I dance. Kind of the same, I guess.”

She grinned. “What kind of dance?”

“Mostly hip hop. A little contemporary.” He toyed with the edge of his sleeve. “I’m training full time now. Not sure if I’m allowed to say more.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Secret agent vibes?”

He laughed quietly. Just then, the bus pulled up with a screech and a hiss of steam. They both stood. Ni-ki noticed it before she said anything, her umbrella was broken, one rib bent uselessly out of shape.

She stared at it and groaned. “Of course.”

He held out his own umbrella—one of those plain black ones the company probably bought in bulk. “We can share.”

She blinked, surprised for just a second before her expression softened. She stepped in beside him, and for a moment, he forgot about the cold. They sat together on the nearly empty bus, still a little damp from the rain. Eunjin leaned her cheek against the back of the seat, watching the raindrops slide down the window.

“I almost didn’t go to the store that day,” she said suddenly and Ni-ki looked at her.

“But I was craving something sweet,” she added. “Funny how one decision can make you meet someone.”

He smiled faintly. “I was too scared to ask the manager for help.”

They rode in silence again, but this time it felt full. Just before her stop, she reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and placed it gently in his hands. Then she took his and started typing something into it.

“Put your number there. I’m giving you mine,” she said. “Just in case you need a translator.”

Ni-ki did as told, and when the bus doors closed behind her and she waved from the sidewalk, he looked down at the contact’s name she’d left:

Eunjin 🎮

The bench beside him was empty now, but somehow, he still felt warm.

If you read this, thanks. I accept requests.

[argumate]

I think we're genuinely witnessing the final desperate death rattles of race/ethnicity based nationalism, but it's a long and annoying and violent death rattle. Technology has made the ability to physically change which place you live (transport), access information about how to speak a language used in a place (language-learning resources), communicate with people in a place even before speaking a common language (translation resources), communicate with anyone in any place (social media, e-mail, calling), set up a new place to live (IKEA, flatpack furniture, new homebuilding tech), and more all significantly quicker, cheaper, and accessible! More than any argument about "ethnicity" and "people who look different", the core thing that creates race is that for thousands of years, you usually lived nearby to the person who shot you out of their uterus, other people shot out of the same uterus, etc. This creates ethnicity, race, nationality, etc. Now that's not as true anymore. Certainly, race will continue to exist for a few hundred years, but more than that? I'm a half-korean, quarter white australian, one eighth latvian one eighth polish person. What race do I belong to? If I have genetic progeny, what about them?

I think genuinely, housing is the only material fact about the world that lets ethnic nationalism hang on. If a place is good, and people want to go there, if we can't house them all we have to come up with some method of deciding who gets to stay and who has to leave/stay out (which ethnic nationalism is a very efficient way of doing). That technology kind of racketed up to 100 from my perspective when people were building quarantine housing as quickly as possible during the pandemic. Unfortunately, racism will continue to exist until it gets good enough to basically render "er durr housing" arguments obsolete. (and for a good while after, but it'll lose most of its steam by then, in my opinion).

hmm housing is definitely a big problem, but borders seem a bigger issue; so many people are emotionally invested in stopping people from moving.

[jessesluvr]

Hi I'm so glad you're here!! I haven't read all of your work yet but it's amazing and please keep writing love u!!!💞💞

Okeyyy, so I thought maybe you could do something like this where the reader is Tommy's daughter not biologically but she came into his life (like Ellie and Joel) before he came to Jackson and before he met Maria he was still clinging to Joel then. But after a few years in Jackson we got used to the rules of this place, we go on patrols and help with every task and we are even good snipers just like Tommy. But Reader is in love in jesse from the beginning, she was always afraid to talk to him about it but because Jesse gets along well with Tommy and started being a member of the council she had the perfect places to watch him from a distance, but everything changes maybe on patrol or when they left to Seattle (after Joal's death to find Ellie and Dina) or simply Tommy giving them a work. that's yours now, I haven't read all of your works so I apologise if you've already written something like that byeee 💞💞

in the silence after | jesse x reader

author's note : holy moly ! this is by far the longest oneshot i've written so far. my fingers are gonna fall off. but that also could be because all i've had is an energy drink lol. i hope you all enjoy! tysm for requesting. i will be writing fluff after this. ps. i love you most!! take care of yourself! <3

summary : as tommy’s adoptive daughter and a skilled sniper in jackson, the reader has always quietly loved jesse from afar—until a violent ambush at the theater forces her to confront just how much she stands to lose. after dragging jesse home wounded but alive, she stays by his side through every step of his recovery, and amid grief and healing, they finally admit what’s always been in their hearts.

word count : 3.6k

the first thing you remember is the rain.

that night, it came down in sheets — cold enough to soak through your coat, cold enough to make your teeth chatter so hard you bit your tongue bloody. the empty road stretched out like a scar in the earth, buildings crumbling to either side, bones and rust in every doorway.

you hadn’t eaten in two days. you’d stopped counting hours. your last bullet had been spent three towns back; your knife was dull and chipped from too many cracks in too many skulls.

and the sound behind you — low and wet, not human anymore — it had been following you since dusk.

you were thirteen. maybe fourteen. the years had blurred, smeared into a shapeless smear of hunger and running and cold. you didn’t know how long it had been since kansas city burned. since your family had died. since your name had stopped feeling like it belonged to anyone.

by the time you reached the gas station — sagging roof, shattered windows, the stench of old fuel and rot — your legs barely carried you. you stumbled inside and bolted the door behind you, ribs aching with every breath.

it wasn’t safe. you knew that. nothing was safe. but you needed one hour, just one, to breathe. you crouched behind the counter, knife trembling in your grip, heart pounding like it would crack your chest open. and that’s when you heard his voice.

low. calm. tired. 

“c’mon out.”

you froze. the voice came again—edged with weariness, not threat. “ain’t here to hurt you. i heard you runnin’. betcha you ain’t armed much either.” slowly, shaking, you peeked over the counter.

a man stood in the doorway — rifle slung over one shoulder, wet hair plastered to his brow. his beard was thick, shot with gray. his eyes looked washed out with exhaustion. but not cruel. not hungry. the man crouched down, palms open. his voice softened.

“name’s tommy. ain’t gonna hurt ya. you alone?”

your throat burned. no words came. you just nodded.

tommy’s gaze flicked over you—the blood on your sleeves, the ragged cut on your temple, the bruises blooming along your arms. his mouth tightened. “aw hell,” he muttered. “c’mere. we gotta move.”

when you didn’t move, he reached out—not fast, not grabbing. just offering a hand. you stared at it like it might vanish. but something, some scrap of instinct deeper than fear, made you reach. your fingers brushed his. rough. warm. solid. tommy helped you to your feet.

“you got a name, kid?”

the words caught in your throat. you hadn’t said it in months.

“...(y/n),” you rasped. he nodded once. “alright, (y/n). let’s get the hell outta here.” and you did. 

the months that followed blurred.

tommy didn’t talk much at first. neither did you. he had that look—the same one you’d seen in too many other survivors. like something inside had been ripped out and never replaced.

but he didn’t leave you behind. not once.

through forests, across rusted bridges, through towns choked with cars and bones, tommy kept you close. if you lagged, he slowed. if you flinched from a sound, he checked it first.

and when you were too tired to walk, too sick to hold your knife steady, he carried you.

he taught you how to shoot. first with a battered old pistol, then with a rifle longer than your arm.

“breath steady,” he’d say. “don’t yank the trigger. squeeze it. like you’re lettin’ it go.”

the first time you hit a can dead-center, tommy ruffled your hair, a small smile ghosting across his face.

“hell of a shot, (y/n).”

your chest swelled. no one had praised you in... years, maybe.

and every night, when the fire crackled low and tommy would fall into a restless sleep, you’d hear him mutter a name — joel.

you didn’t ask.

you didn’t need to.

you could see it in the way tommy’s gaze always drifted west. in the way he would wake some nights gasping, clutching for a rifle that wasn’t there.

joel had been everything to him.

and now, somehow, you were too.

by the time you reached jackson, you weren’t the same girl who’d stumbled into that gas station.

your coat was patched. your hands were steady on a rifle. you could spot an infected from three hundred yards out through the scope tommy had given you.

and when tommy introduced you to maria, his voice didn’t waver.

“this is (y/n),” he said. “she’s... my daughter.”

maria’s smile was warm. real.

you didn’t know what to say.

but when she pulled you into a gentle hug and said, “you’re safe here,” something broke in your chest.

safe.

you hadn’t been safe since the world ended. you stayed. and slowly, brick by brick, you built a life. patrols became routine. you trained harder, pushing yourself to outshoot even the older scouts. tommy gave you your own rifle, a beautiful bolt-action with a scope so clear it felt like cheating. “you’re better with this than anyone i know,” he said one crisp morning, watching you drop three targets at 400 yards.

you smiled—a real one, this time.

“i had a good teacher.”

that was when you noticed him.

jesse.

tall, sure-footed, always half-smiling. the kind of person who looked like the world hadn’t chewed him up and spit him out. the kind of person who could still laugh. at first, you told yourself it was nothing. a crush. stupid. but every time you crossed paths — every time you caught him grinning at dina, or leaning in close to talk with tommy during council meetings — something in your chest twisted.

you wanted to be near him. you wanted to hear that easy voice, that laugh that felt like sunlight in the gray of jackson. but every time he looked your way, really looked, your throat locked up.

you were tommy’s girl. the sniper. the quiet one. you couldn’t... risk it. couldn’t risk jesse seeing how much you wanted something as fragile as his attention. 

so you watched.

from across the mess hall. from the catwalk above the council chamber. and through your scope, when jesse would spar with the younger recruits in the courtyard. you told yourself it was enough.

it had to be.

you weren’t there when joel died. you were halfway to lookout point with a broken scope in your pack when the call came in. the radio static was sharp, frantic. you ran. by the time you reached the gates, tommy was already on his horse, face white as bone.

he didn’t speak.

didn’t need to.

the look in his eyes said everything.

joel’s body lay cold. blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the wood grain. ellie knelt beside him, shaking, her voice hoarse from screaming. tommy stood frozen in the doorway, gun trembling in his grip. you sank to your knees beside him, hand on his arm.

“tommy,” you whispered.

nothing.

you felt it, even through his jacket — the way his muscles quaked, the way his breath came in shallow bursts. when ellie’s cries broke the silence — a sound so raw it barely sounded human — tommy finally moved.

he holstered the gun.

walked over to joel.

and knelt.

he stayed there for hours.

you stayed with him.

the days after blurred.

funeral. silence. more silence.

ellie was gone. dina too.

no one knew where.

tommy drank.

you caught him at the old lookout tower two nights later, a bottle in his fist, rifle at his side.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you said softly.

he didn’t look at you.

“you need to come home.”

his voice cracked: “i can’t. not without him.”

your throat burned.

you sat beside him, leaning against the cold metal.

“he wouldn’t want you to do this,” you said. “you have me. i need you.”

tommy flinched.

but when you reached for his hand, he didn’t pull away.

when word came that ellie had gone to seattle, tommy changed.

steel hardened behind his eyes.

“i’m going after her,” he said.

you didn’t argue. you were already packing. jesse found you in the armory. “you’re going too,” he said, not a question. you nodded. he stared at you a long moment. “you always did follow tommy,” he said, trying for a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

you looked away. but when you shouldered your pack, jesse’s voice came softer. “...come back safe, (y/n).” your heart caught.

“i will. you too.”

something flickered in his gaze — something you couldn’t name. and when he offered his hand, you took it. held it a moment longer than you meant to.

then you both let go.

seattle smelled like rot.

rot and smoke and rain.

you’d been in the city three days.

three days of crouching through flooded streets, weaving between crumbling buildings tangled with ivy, listening for the telltale clicks of infected echoing off concrete.

three days of tommy moving like a ghost ahead of you, his grief wrapped around him like a second skin.

three days of jesse staying close—too close, sometimes—voice low in your ear:

"careful." "step there." "on your left."

every time he touched your arm, just a brush of fingers to guide you past a wire trap or across slick stone, your heart kicked so hard it made you dizzy.

you told yourself it was just the adrenaline. you knew it wasn’t.

the first fight nearly killed you. you’d taken point, rifle up, covering a long stretch of flooded freeway. the clicker came out of nowhere, rising from the water like some rotted nightmare.

you fired. missed.

it lunged.

you stumbled back, breath ragged, knife flashing too slow—

then jesse was there. a blur of motion. he tackled the thing sideways, blade sinking deep into its throat. rot burst out with the stink of death, and jesse dragged you both down behind a rusted car as the rest came.

your hands shook as you reloaded.

jesse pressed close beside you, voice hoarse.

“you good?”

you forced a nod.

he caught your chin with blood-slick fingers, turning your face toward his.

“look at me.”

your breath caught.

you looked.

his eyes were dark, fierce. not angry, afraid.

not for himself.

for you.

“i’m good,” you whispered.

slowly, he let you go.

but that look stayed with you the rest of the day.

night fell.

you camped in the shell of an old bookstore — second floor, windows boarded, the rain hammering outside.

jesse took first watch.

you pretended to sleep, lying on your side, watching him through half-closed eyes.

he sat near the window, rifle across his lap, shoulders hunched.

and when he thought you were asleep, he whispered:

“...don’t get yourself killed, (y/n).”

the words were so soft they barely reached you. but they landed hard. your fingers curled tight around the worn strap of your pack. he cared. more than you’d let yourself believe. more than you’d let yourself hope.

the days blurred after that. rain. mud. blood.

every time you fought, jesse was there. at your back. at your side. grabbing your wrist and hauling you to safety when your foot slipped. shouting your name when a runner came too fast.

once — in a flooded stairwell, your leg pinned under a broken beam — jesse had cut his hands raw freeing you. he hadn’t hesitated.

not once.

later, when you tried to thank him, voice rough with shame, he’d just touched your face — thumb brushing a smear of dirt from your cheek. “no need,” he said softly. “we’ve got each other.” your heart had nearly split in two. you almost told him then.

almost.

but the words caught in your throat like broken glass.

so you said nothing.

and neither did he.

the theater smelled like dust and sweat and fear. tommy, jesse, and you all huddled around the map. ellie stepped out from behind the curtain. “where are you goin’,” tommy asked. “needed to get some air,” she replied. “they got what they deserved—” tommy started saying. “but she gets to live,” ellie spewed out. 

tommy sighed, “yeah.. is that okay?”

“it has to be.”

“i’m going to go pack the duffles,” tommy said, walking through the endless rows of seats in the empty theatre. the door clicking shut behind him. 

jesse moved—his hand found yours. you startled—then squeezed back, hard. his voice came low, for you alone: “i’m not going anywhere.” your throat closed, you glanced at him, saw the raw promise in his eyes. “i can’t lose you,” you whispered. “you won’t,” he said. simple. certain. like he believed it.

you wanted to.

“hey,” he murmured. “sit.” you shake your head and just lean against the stage, back to the curtain. the wood was cold through your jacket. but jesse’s thigh pressed warm against yours. and for a heartbeat, you could breathe.

jesse took a moment before he turned his attention to ellie, “how are you doing?”

“fine.”

“ellie,” you say, as you reach to touch her arm, but hesitate. “fine,” she said, turning her attention towards you and jesse. “thanks for coming back for me.” ellie said as she let out a sigh. “my friends’ problems are my problems,” jesse said fiddling with his fingers. you hummed in agreement, “we just want what’s best for you ellie, we have your back.” 

“you guys are such saps,” ellie said giving a small smile. you gave her a small, light punch to the shoulder. “okay, how about.. my own friends can’t get out of their own damn way?” jesse replied. ellie nodded, “that’s better.”

jesse turned to you—his voice steady, warm, grounding, “soon,” he whispered. “we’ll be home soon.” you turned to him. smiled, small and aching. “promise?” he grinned, soft around the edges. “yeah. promise.”

you wanted to kiss him then.

you would’ve.

it was silent for just a mere moment before all that was heard were the sounds of tussling and a muffled grunt. jesse, ellie, and you all looked at each other, ellie muttering a “shit!” before you all were racing to the door tommy had went through. 

jesse was first.

bang.

jesse jerked against you—breath catching in his throat.

“fuck—!” 

blood burst from his shoulder, bright against his shirt. you caught him as he stumbled back, pulling him hard behind the broken seats. your rifle clattered to the floor. 

“jesse—no—no no no—”

he gritted his teeth, breath shallow.

“shoulder—just the shoulder—”

you pressed your hand to the wound, desperate.

his blood soaked your palm.

“stand up! hands in the air or i shoot this one too,” abby’s voice—raw and jagged with fury. another shot cracked the air, her gun now fixated on tommy. 

around you, chaos erupted:

ellie screaming. tommy groaning, yelling at ellie to get you three to safety. 

you curled tighter around jesse, voice shaking. “stay with me. stay with me.”

his fingers brushed your cheek—weak, trembling.

tears burned your eyes, “i can’t lose you—”. jesse’s grip tightened, a flicker of strength. “you won’t,” he whispered.

another gunshot.

you flinched, shielding him with your body.

“i’ve got you,” you choked. “you’re not leaving me. you’re not.”

ellie’s voice rang out, raw and furious. abby shouted back.

but all you heard was jesse’s ragged breath in your ear.

when the fight shifted, abby moving for tommy, you seized your chance.

“hold on,” you whispered. grabbing jesse under his good arm, you hauled him toward the stage wings — step by agonizing step. he hissed in pain but didn’t fight you.

didn’t let go.

neither did you.

behind the curtain, hidden in the shadows, you collapsed with him against the old wood. your hands shook as you checked the wound — bleeding, but not fatal. not yet.

“you’re okay,” you whispered, voice breaking. “you’re gonna be okay.”

jesse’s gaze locked on yours — dark with pain, but steady. “i’m not leaving you,” he whispered. and somehow, through the terror, you managed a broken laugh. “good,” you said. “because i’m sure as hell not leaving you.”

the sounds of the fight roared and faded around you—like waves crashing, distant and unreal.

you pressed your forehead to his, both of you trembling. “i love you,” you whispered again — a vow now, not a confession. jesse’s lips brushed yours — soft, fleeting, everything. “i love you too,” he breathed.

and when the next shot rang out, you shielded him with your body again, teeth bared. 

the rest was a blur, too busy focused on keeping you and jesse safe. minutes felt like hours, you’re unsure how long it had been but all you knew was jesse needed help. 

you finally heard a call of your name, motivating you to call out for ellie. the makeshift bandage around his shoulder was soaked through. but his eyes were clear now.

alive.

“fuck,” ellie whispered. “fucking... fuck.” her voice cracked. you looked over, saw her shoulders shaking. you wanted to go to her. but your arms wouldn’t let go of jesse.

couldn’t.

jesse’s fingers curled weakly around your wrist. “check on her,” he rasped. you blinked. “not leaving you.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, managing a ghost of a smile. “go.” you hesitated. then squeezed his hand, pressing a kiss to his temple. “two seconds.”

you crossed the stage, boots whispering against the boards. knelt beside ellie. her breath came in sharp, ragged pulls. “hey,” you said softly. she didn’t look up. “they almost killed us,” she whispered. “she almost killed jesse—”

her voice broke. you reached out, rested a shaking hand on her back. “i know.” ellie lifted her head, eyes bloodshot and wild. “jesse—”

“he’s alive,” you said firmly. “she didn’t take him.”

ellie’s gaze flicked past you—to where jesse leaned against the pillar, pale and panting but watching her with tired eyes. a sound tore out of her, half-sob, half-laugh. “i’m sorry,” she choked. “i dragged you both into this—” you caught her face in your hands, gentle but unyielding.

“stop.” she blinked. “this wasn’t you,” you said. “and we’re not leaving you behind. got it?” ellie stared at you: broken, furious, guilty. then nodded. a tear slipped free. you wiped it away with your thumb. “let’s go home,” you whispered. 

the gates of jackson loomed like a promise you didn’t dare believe. snow dusted the walls. torches burned against the fading dusk. the ride back had been a blur — jesse slumped against you in the saddle, breath shallow but steady.

your arms around him, holding him up. holding him here. every beat of his heart against your ribs had been a small, desperate victory. you’d counted each one.

you still were.

maria met you at the gates—grim-faced, eyes shining when she saw who you carried. “you’re back.” alive. not whole. but alive.

they rushed jesse to the infirmary. you followed, wouldn’t be pushed back, sat through the hours of stitching and bandaging with your fists clenched, your heart lodged somewhere behind your ribs. when they finally let you near him, he looked pale and drawn against the stark white of the sheets.

but his eyes opened when you touched his hand. and he smiled. “you kept me alive,” he whispered. you choked on a laugh. “damn right i did.” you pressed your forehead to his. “i’m not ready to lose you yet.”

his fingers tangled weakly in yours. “you won’t.”

the first few days were the worst. fever. pain. you barely left his side, slept in a chair by his bed, hand always on his arm so he’d know you were there.

when the nightmares came, you held him through them.

when he woke shaking, you whispered him back to calm.

maria brought food. tommy came and sat sometimes—didn’t say much, just presence, solid and grieving in his own quiet way. ellie came once, stood awkward and hollow in the doorway.

“i’m glad you made it,” she said softly. you nodded. she looked at jesse, something unreadable in her eyes, then at you. “i’ll see you both later.” she left without another word.

bit by bit, jesse got stronger. you changed his bandages with trembling fingers: careful, precise, hating the way his breath hissed when you touched too close to the wound. “i’m sorry,” you whispered every time. and every time, he caught your wrist—kissed your palm. “stop apologizing. i’m here. with you.”

when he was strong enough to sit outside, you wrapped him in blankets and led him to the orchard behind the lodge.

you sat together on the bench beneath the bare trees — snow drifting softly around you. jesse leaned into your side, warm and solid. your hand in his. neither of you spoke for a long time.

then, voice low and rough, he broke the silence, “i thought i was done.” your throat tightened. “so did i.” jesse turned—met your gaze, dark eyes shining. “but when you dragged me away... all i could think was—i wanted more time with you.”

you swallowed hard. “there is more time,” you whispered. “i’m not letting you go.” he smiled, slow and aching. “good. because i love you.”

the words knocked the breath from your chest. you cupped his face, thumb brushing the stubble on his jaw—and kissed him, slow and deep and full of every heartbeat you’d feared might stop. when you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “i love you too,” you whispered.

later, back inside, you tucked him into bed — kissed his temple — sat close as he drifted toward sleep. you looked at jesse — pale but breathing. fingers tangled with yours even in sleep.

you hadn’t lost him.

not yet.

and you’d fight every damn day to keep it that way.

[watermelondip]

seasons | summer pt. one

pairing: stiles stilinski / female reader word count: 11k tags: friends to lovers, jealously, miscommunication, little bit of angst, mostly fluff, pre-season 3/post-season 2 warnings: underage drinking, brief/vague mentions of sexual content (will become more graphic later on) a/n: this story is going to be three parts, and this is part one of part one basically, bc i just wanted to post it. i'm gonna cross-post onto ao3 but i don't wanna do that until the whole chapter is finished, which it nearly is. at that point i'll post the second part of part one. been working on this since the beginning of the year! don't know why it's taken me this long!

At the end of sophomore year, your boyfriend dumped you, you threw your finals, and Stiles decided to grow out his hair. Of those three things, the hair was the only one you were willing to talk about, so the first week or so of summer was emotionally muddled, mostly consisting of days in bed and text conversations about dorky movies or hypothetical plans that were bound to fall through. Plus, Allison jetted off to France, and Lydia was generally MIA per mysterious Lydia reasons; you were looking out at three months of Stiles and Stiles alone, which was intensely overwhelming.

Foremostly, Stiles had been a good, unwavering, PB&J (a.k.a. everything you’d expect, want, etc) sort of friend since Elementary school, but he had never taken such a central role in your life before. Since, of course, your boyfriend, tall-blond-asshole-Pearl-Jam-listening Kenny, had always been the leading man. But Kenny was bored with mediocrity, and according to you, and maybe also Jessica from lit who loved to talk shit, he just wanted to whore around until college, which was fast approaching, the senior that he was. 

So, when you sobbed, tried to stop sobbing, nearly vomited, and then decided to call Stiles, screeching he’s such a jerk, I hate him, god, he’s such a jerk, you know into the phone, it was almost cathartic. But when he rambled back at you over the line, something about you being better than tall-blond-asshole-Pearl-Jam-listening Kenny and needing to stop letting him get under your skin, something sweet like that, an urge that had been buried on the playground emerged with full force, albeit a little morphed for the modern day. 

Too desperately for your own good, you wanted to fuck Stiles. In fact, you wanted to make love to Stiles, like in an 80s movie, something smooth playing in the background, basking in candlelight, or maybe after prom, makeup fallen under your eyes and dress half laced up in the back. The specifics weren’t entirely important. Most vitally, you asked yourself if you understood love at all, and if what you had felt for Kenny was genuine love, or if that had been reserved all those years for your sudden realization. You thought, most assuredly, that you very well could be in love with Stiles, for all that was worth.

It had been apparent for years that it was more than a friendship. Kenny would hardly ever shut up about it, but you were good at brushing things off. Stiles is Stiles, you’d say, a shrug or a slump accompanying your deliberate nonchalance. I could never date Stiles, you’d affirm, but you’d be at a loss if asked to explain why (except, maybe, to say that Stiles would never date you, but admitting something like that to yourself was unpleasant, so you shied away from it).

Cataloging memories and coming up with the logistics in your mind, it was important to consider that Stiles was perpetually obsessed with Lydia to the point of derangement, so it seemed unlikely that he would abandon all of that for a girl that was functionally opposite. You were, of course, a girl with hair and eyes and cute enough clothes, but you were also overtly normal and lacked the minx-ish qualities that seemed to be so attractive to him. You were friends with Lydia and you understood her most of the time, occasionally sharing in her girly-isms on Saturday nights, but there was something fundamental in your DNA that prevented you from ever being her carbon copy. You thought, how could he want to fuck you if you didn’t smell so strongly of vanilla and cashmere, and when he touched you your essence didn’t transfer onto his skin in a gold, sparkling sheen?

Sometimes, though, when it was late and you were sitting on the couch in your basement, the only thing separating you being an empty popcorn bowl, and he turned to you and made a joke about whatever was on the TV, but he was smiling so wide and you just couldn’t stop staring, it didn’t matter if you weren’t Lydia. You knew it would never be like that with her, and you let yourself be mean spirited about it, too, because you were so jealous sometimes that it consumed you. You wanted to pull him over by the sleeve and throw the empty bowl on the floor and tell him how cute he was, how potently him he seemed.

It was a hellish summer.

You got a job at this isolated little coffee shop at the edge of town, rustic fixtures and squeaky tap and all, but it paid decent enough. There was this cute senior named Josh that would always be working there when you were on your shifts, spouting, I’ll miss you when I graduate, Ace, and running his fingers through his overgrown hair. He was tan and he played sports and you probably should’ve dated him, if only for a few months, just to wean yourself off Kenny and prevent yourself from salivating over Stiles, but you could never bring yourself to fully reciprocate his banter.

“Guy’s a douche,” Stiles murmured, playing with the sleeve on his coffee cup, leaning overtly over the countertop. “He was on lacrosse last year, which he sucked at, by the way, and he kept calling me scrawny, a total projection, obviously, since he’s got major chicken legs and that super long, like, Slenderman neck that he always juts out like a creep–” Stiles mimed the action, “–you know? And, besides, if you’re gonna rebound, you should do it with somebody cool like a famous person or a teacher or something.”

“Stiles.” You fussed with the faulty register, shooting him a warning look. “Sit,” you chirped, nodding towards the tables behind him.

“Just kidding, about the teacher thing, definitely don’t do that. Actually, I heard that Mr. Sanders isn’t gonna be there next year because he got caught hitting on Lauren Johnson, which is kind of crazy considering his wife just got pregnant, pretty sure, and–”

“They’re gonna fire me if you keep talking my ear off, you know.” He grinned, tightening his grip on his coffee.

“Yeah, well, that’s sort of my goal.” He leaned closer, tilting his head with a hesitancy that made you frown. “You spend all day here. It’s boring.”

“You could always get your own job.”

“Har har, good one. Me, working, very funny–

“–Stiles–” 

“–No, a zinger, really.” It was too early for him to be so bright, and you squinted at his shine.

“Customer, due east,” you declared, shooing him away with your hand. Someone burly and un-caffeinated stumbled through the door. “Stiles, sit down,” you urged, pushing at his hands, splayed lazily over the counter. You narrowed at him and he relented, slouching over to a seat by the window. Even in defiance, he pulled out a book and stayed for an hour. 

It was a half-an-hour drive to the beach, which felt like hours in the Jeep since the seats were always sticky and the air conditioning was temporarily busted. You had done yourself up in the most severe way, with a tiny bikini and a face of makeup that would inevitably be washed away by the water and the heat. You kept running your hands over your thighs, trying to decide if the skin there was smooth enough, scratching nervous lines up and down. Rilo Kiley was on the radio and the sun was reaching you through the window; the backseat was oppressive.

“Water?” Scott asked, dangling his arm over from the passenger’s seat. His water bottle had rolled under the seat, and you contorted yourself in an attempt to grab it. It was old, scuffed on the cap, half-filled and a nauseating shade of green that looked worse with age. Stiles took a turn and you huffed as the bottle skirted out of your grip. “Are you digging for gold back there or something?”

“Just gimme a second,” you snapped, clawing at the bottle until it relented into your palm.

“She’s testy because Kenny has a new girlfriend,” Stiles remarked, slapping Scott’s expecting arm. You handed him the water bottle.

“He has a new girlfriend?” You pushed your hair from your face, feeling the slick sheen of your back resettle against the seat. You crossed your legs, quelling the oncoming tremor.

“They’re not really dating, are they?” Scott questioned before chugging his water like an Olympian, throat pulsating, expanding like a beast. There was something animalistic that lined his every action post-bite, and you found it occasionally off putting, like he was some strange dog on the side of the road, swaying towards you with an open, heaving mouth. He swallowed, gasping for a moment. “You’re talking about Tana, right?”

“Uh, no, no, I meant Bree.” Stiles glanced at you in the rearview, frowning. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” You pulled at the hem of your shorts, wondering if Kenny took Tana or Bree to the same diner he always took you to, or if he told them to close their eyes and kissed them soft and quick like he used to do with you. Begrudgingly, you let in the reality that your relationship with him would never be the snowglobe you made it out to be, and that he had processed things fully while you were still mourning.

“Tana’s a total slut,” Stiles tentatively reasoned. Scott elbowed him to no avail. “And Bree too, so,” he trailed off, throwing you a look over his shoulder, something slathered with sympathy. “We’ll find you a beach hunk, don’t worry.” He patted your knee, his burning fingertips and good intentions infecting you all throughout.

Cute-senior-coffee-boy Josh was playing volleyball a few feet away, and from your position on your front, head turned to the side, maybe just to stare, you felt undeniably voyeuristic. In a sense, with sweat dripping down his chest and hair flopping into his face, he was coital. Beach hunk, you thought, daydreaming.

“Stop drooling,” Stiles puffed, pulling off his t-shirt. You furrowed.

“Where’s Scott?” You sat up on your elbows, glancing to the empty chair beside him.

“He hasn’t scored a single point this whole game, and you’re still ogling him, which is sort of pathetic on your part.” Stiles’ hair stuck out unceremoniously from his scalp, morning-esque, and he tossed the shirt into the sand. The sun hit him in a nasty way, and he dug through the communal bag for a pair of sunglasses. “Of course fucking Josh is here today, fucking douche.” He began to murmur, and you sighed, flopping back down onto your arms, chin poking harshly into your flesh.

Stiles pushed on a pair of large, boxy sunglasses that you recalled pulling out from your vanity that morning.

“Those are mine.” You suppressed a laugh, shoving your nose into your forearm.

“I kinda pull them off though, right?” His anger subsided for a moment, and he easily diffused the conflict with a grin. He hated to dwell, you knew. Things were never very gritty for him. He turned his head to either side, shrugging. His nose was a little sunburnt, and you pictured what he might do if you lathered it in aloe and kissed him hard right after, saying, god, will you stop picking at it?

“You’re the one who brought up the beach hunk.” You returned to the side-facing position that gave you a good view of Josh’s serve. Your feet kicked up behind you. “You think he’d go for me?”

Stiles was quiet for a moment. Josh grunted whenever he hit the ball. His swim shorts were low on his hips. You were so inexplicably piggish with your gaze that what you had assumed was a post-breakup horny brain seemed to really just be the birth of a nympho, you thought. There was something mad about you. 

He cleared his throat: “Course he’d go for you. Doesn’t mean you should throw yourself at him.” You turned to look up at him, squinting, incredulous.

“What’s your problem?” He slumped into his beach chair, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it, only managing to make it messy in a different format, charming all the same. You liked the taut folds of his stomach, the moles on his chest, on his arms, his shoulders, the ones that were reaching for his face through his neck. You found it difficult to be frustrated with him when he was half naked and sweltering. 

“Guy’s a douche. That’s all.” You could hardly see his eyes through the dark lenses. “At least be tactful.”

“Tactful?” 

“Subtle. At least be subtle.”

You pondered on subtlety as Stiles looked off at the water. He shifted, crossing his arms over his chest, baking a bit. You thought to ask, can I get your back, squinting up at him and maybe pushing your boobs together a little, but then you reprimanded yourself and remembered that you shouldn’t be a perv. When you were eleven you’d asked him if he’d ever kiss you and all he could get out was nowaynowayuhgrossno, choking on his Cheerios. It seemed futile.

A few minutes later, Scott returned with a mint-chocolate-chip, which he handed to you, and a rocky road, which he had already taken a decent chunk out of for himself. Stiles seemed offended, mouth ajar.

“I don’t like what you said about Tana and Bree in the car,” explained, crashing into his chair. “Also it was really expensive and I still owe her twenty bucks.”

“Don’t worry about that,” you assured him, vaguely waving as if to say I’m cool, and licked off a drippy bit. “This works. Ice cream is, like, how much it costs times two and then some.”

“Why don’t you have a chair?” Scott asked, tossing his leg over his knee. “You look like you hate us,” he laughed. Stiles looked over at you, and even though you still couldn't see his eyes great, you imagined that they were raking down your back, subtly like he’d said, and got sort of hot in the neck.

“I’m basking,” you explained, wiping some mint-chocolate-chip from the corner of your mouth.

“She’s trying to be sexy for Josh,” Stiles chimed in, gruff. “Which you don’t need to do because he already likes you, by the way.”

“You don’t know that,” you argued, flattered. It showed; you meant to say that you knew he liked you, but that wasn’t the point, and that you really just wanted to be dramatic, since everything had felt so grey since Kenny had ended and all. 

“He likes you,” he retorted firmly. 

“Ask him out,” Scott suggested. You hated that he was an ice cream biter, and the sight made you shrivel up a little. He had his mouth full. “He’ll probably say yes,” he decided, examining you.

“Aw gee,” you teased. He hardly ever said stuff like that to you. Mostly, if he did anything at all, he’d flick your head and say you make me laugh at lunch or maybe in the hallway, if he had the time. You liked that he was so casual. Stiles gave him a look like they had some big secret, like you were just a little kid sitting on the edge of the bench, getting words spelled out to you like you were dumb and wouldn’t know the meaning.

It was out of place, but you started to think about sex. Building up the courage to talk to Josh, with Scott and Stiles arguing about something inconsequential, maybe lacrosse or maybe Allison, in the background, it became incredibly important to you. Not just sex in terms of the act, but sex like the aura, like the way you might walk towards him, hips swaying, and the way you might bear your neck to him as if it were some sort of animalistic ritual. You had never gone that far with Kenny, and you asked yourself if you could fake that sort of thing or not. Josh was older and you were sure he’d slept with plenty of girls, which was scary and you were psyching yourself out too much.

“Give me those,” you demanded, wiggling your finger at the sunglasses Stiles had adopted.

“What? No, I like them. Why?” Half of you wanted to let him wear the silly girl sunglasses because they were yours and that must’ve meant something.

“You told me to be subtle and I have expressive eyes.” You stretched out your hand, urging. Stiles paused, almost like he had been talking in hypotheticals and he’d never thought you’d do it, not with Josh who you were sure had slept with lots of girls and was a douche, that’s all. 

“You’re really going to talk to him?” He was quieter, more reserved, like you’d juiced him dry and now he was just reeling. Scott smiled, but maybe just because Stiles was being stubborn and he looked dumb in your sunglasses. 

“I do it almost every day, Stiles.” You jutted your hand forward impatiently. 

“That’s work. Work is different. This is voluntary and you’re in underwear.”

“Give me the sunglasses,” you demanded, tucking your hair behind your ear on the left, giving him a look that usually garnered affection, eyes big. He was a sore loser, but he handed them to you anyway, and he sucked it up okay, digging his heels into the sand.

Josh smelled like something from the mall, something like lake water and rough pine, and he had a sweaty beach face, tan and dark in the eyes and a little bit of condensation on his upper lip. You looked at him through your sunglasses, confident in the way they concealed you, and he said, “you look hot”, laughing and grinning and being overall very effective.

When you licked your ice cream, you wondered if he found it all sensual or if you were just embarrassing yourself. He was so easygoing that you couldn’t really tell.

He ran his fingers through his hair like he always did, with it falling on either side all piece-y and smooth. You thought about how much Lydia would like him. She always told you to go for more typical sorts of guys. She never wanted to hear about Stiles, who was non-typical and didn’t smell like mall scents and never wore the right thing. She said, “he’s too much of a cartoon, with his clothes and his blah, you know”, but his clothes had changed since last year. He was more typical than he’d ever been before.

“We’re all going over to Miller’s place after this,” Josh said, picking over your appearance, lingering a bit on your collarbone. “You can come. So can Stilinski and McCall and whoever else.”

“It’s a party?”

“It’s a thing. I guess it’s a party. Anyway, I want you there.” That made you extra sweaty. You wondered if he’d pull you into an empty room and try to put his hands in your pants like you’d always feared, even if it was that kind of fear that teetered on the edge, dipping into something different, more like curiosity. It didn’t matter much because Peter Miller had the third biggest house of anyone you could think of off the top of your head, and he had a pool too, and a giant basement with a bar, which was always stocked because his parents didn’t mind for him and his friends to drink. 

Josh ran his hand along your hairline, clearing your eyes, and said, “crazy wind today”, boyishly aware, so you just knew you’d go to the party.

Stiles took you home so you could change. He said, “I’ll be back in a little”, and he left with Scott and the Jeep and some of your sanity, too. It was intensely hot outside and you knew that finding a balance between comfort and sexuality was important. Still, your trademark was your lack of formality. Lydia always said it was charming that you picked shorts when she might have picked a skirt, and you didn’t do up your hair like she did, and that when you wore makeup it was just different, like it didn’t make as much sense for you. This was all a construction, everything just as innately tailored as it was with her, but in a different strata. 

You wondered if Josh liked boobs or butt or neither or both or maybe a subtle, uneven mix, like sixty-forty or something. If you asked Stiles you knew he’d say eyes, and when you’d say no really, he’d say you’re right, it’s boobs, and then he’d grin for days.

Your shorts were the girly kind, with big buttons and a chunky foldover hem, paired with something thin and airy that Allison had said was so cute, something she’d buy for herself if the color didn’t wash her out. You thought you might shower, but then you thought of Stiles, how he could be back anytime, and how he’d be mad if you held him up. He already didn’t want to go.

“Josh, like Josh Dubie? Like the one who sucked at lacrosse?” your sister asked. You had three. Three sisters and two brothers and an uncle in the basement and two parents who didn’t talk very much, probably because one of them was a little too close with their siblings. 

“Stiles is worse,” you said, wiping off your lipstick. Lucy, aged fourteen, had barged in to borrow a sweatshirt that she couldn’t seem to locate. She had a bonfire later. You knew she was going to drink but you were too muddled to complain to her about it.

“Yeah, but it’s funny with Stiles. Josh should be good at lacrosse, so it’s just kinda sad.” You shot her a look. “That color is too much,” she said, furrowing at the red all faded on your lips.

Scott had decided to stay home. Even though his werewolf-ness had given him strong arms and an underlying sense of urgency, he still carried remnants of the wallflower you’d grown up with. Stiles would’ve stayed home too, had it not been for you and Josh and you and your terrible driving skills and you. He was wearing his nice plain blue t-shirt, not his nasty old one, which you found only slightly endearing.

“You need to clean in here,” you grimaced, kicking around an old bag of Doritos by your feet.

He pressed his lips together all taut-like, frowning, something forming in his throat that made him contract, retreat, reorganize.

“Do you think we’re gonna know anyone?” he asked, glancing at the footwell.

“Definitely not. Well, not unless you’re familiar with my good friend, the Twisted Tea.”

“Or the lacrosse assholes,” he added, hinting at a depression that made you feel obtuse. It would’ve been a fine night to re-watch Tremors and have an expired popsicle. He tried to smile but you watched the way it fell, his mouth twitching at the sides. You wondered what he’d do if you were alone with Josh and he was stuck downstairs or on the patio or something, and he called you but your phone was in your purse and your purse was on the floor. You wondered if he’d leave you there.

“We don’t have to go,” you offered, shifting uneasily. “I mean, we can do something else. We can go see Bad Teacher. It has Jason Segel; you like him, right?”

“No, no, we’re going.” He bit his lip, and you realized you were staring. “Sure, I’m dreading it, but hey, it might be fun, and maybe Josh isn’t as bad as I think.” He gesticulated haphazardly. 

“Really?” You tucked your hands under your thighs, looking down at your feet. The Converse probably weren’t the right choice. You and Stiles matched. His eyes flickered over to you for a moment, and he smiled softly.

“Well, for starters, he likes you. That’s already, like, five points at least.”

“You don’t know that he–”

“–he likes you, and he’s generally hygienic, which has gotta be another two. Then there’s his prowess in all non-lacrosse sports, although after today I might add beach volleyball to the list of things he’s not very good at. Oh, and cold brews.” You puffed out a scoff-laugh. “Minus a bajillion points for not being very nice to Stiles, though.”

“I can scold him later if you want.” It never made much sense to you why people were nasty to Stiles, since he was cute and sweet and even if he was being a little annoying, it was always easier to laugh at him than kick him down. But then Lydia would say you’re too nice, it’s not good for you and you’d think that maybe you were just fated to feel that way about him, to see him as tolerable, because otherwise no one would be there quietly worshiping his ground. “I could blue ball him or make him confess some deep dark secret and then mass text it to the whole school like they do in movies,” you finished, trying to lighten whatever damper had lined his lilts and movements.

“Just be careful, okay?” he asked, more sincere and rigid than you were used to seeing him. Still, you knew that he thought you were a bit funny, and that he didn’t mind who you tried to date as long as you didn’t stop going to him for rides and helping him with his essays. You wondered if you weren’t careful, if you drank the darkened cup and entered the unknown room, if he would come to save you, and if you would fall in love forever after that.

You took your first shot, first shot ever, or at least since Kenny, which felt like a lifetime ago, and Stiles looked you in the eye and tugged on your arm and he whispered, “Hey, slow down party girl”, but Josh was giving you sex looks from the couch, so all you wanted to do was accelerate. You still felt obtuse, though. Stiles really didn’t know anyone at the party. It’s different for girls because guys don’t have to know girls to like them, but Stiles was just the bad-at-sports kid with one friend and a handful of decent grades. It was one of those things where not even the ugliest girls there, who really weren’t ugly at all, and probably had boyfriends at the end of the day, would even try coming up to him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you out, you know,” Josh said, leaning against the wall like a real cool guy. He had this sly grin that made you go shivery. Stiles was symbolically hooked to you, symbolically sewed to you by his elbow or his fingertips. He gave Josh a funny look, a look like really? You giggled.

“Ha,” you coughed, sipping, “right.” 

“Stilinski, you drink, don’t you?” 

“I’m driving,” he said tightly. His fingers ghosted over the back of your hand, dangling at your side.

“You know, you guys can totally crash here. Pete’s parties aren’t really much unless you get wasted, and he’s got a million couches in the basement.” This was your surging, everlasting, fear-and-curiosity nightmare. Stiles would drink, and babble, and pass out, and then the hand in your pants, the mouth on your neck. Your legs felt tired and your head pounded a bit. He should’ve been more pushy with Scott, then you might still have a savior. 

“Stiles is responsible,” you murmured, grabbing onto his arm and shaking it a bit. There was always something intoxicating about touching him ever since you hit puberty and became wholly conscious. His eyebrows pinched together as he looked down at you, and you just wanted to cry a little, just to let something out other than another wobble. You knew it was a lie; he was just as much of a boy as the rest of them, and he let things go just as often.

“Yeah, we’re good,” he assured. Your hand fell from his arm and you straightened yourself up.

“No, no,” Josh shook his head, eyeing you with a strange determination. “No, man, let's get you a drink.” 

“Really, it’s okay, I'm driving.” Josh pushed himself off the wall, going to grab Stiles’ shoulder, but he shoved him off. You tried to sink into the houseplant beside you, become one with the dirt and avoid the confrontation you saw slowing bubbling in front of you.

“Like hell!” Peter Miller jogged through the archway. He was bigger than you remembered. He muffed up Stiles’ hair and nudged him where Josh had tried to grab him, and you sort of just wanted to steal the keys and declare celibacy. “Like hell you aren’t drinking, Stilinski,” he reiterated, shoving a cup, something identical to yours, into Stiles’ hand. Stiles looked at you like you’d have some great big answer for him. All you could do was shrug and blame the whole scenario on the poor decisions caused by a false sexual drive.

Thirty minutes later, you ran off to the bathroom to puke. You never drank as much as you had that night. Maybe it was nerves, you thought, but it wasn’t as if you even liked Josh all that much, aside from his solid chest and his charming expressions. Maybe it was Stiles, you thought, who had made you second-hand upset with his uncharacteristic quietness. You hated when things really did get to him, since he never let it linger, never liked to dwell, not usually. 

It felt like five whole minutes that you were hurling. Someone knocked on the door a few times, but you were still frantically pulling your hair back, heaving, as she said, “I have to piss like a fucking racehorse”, clearly to a friend, and you couldn’t half care. 

When you came back downstairs, Stiles was gone. Right away you figured he’d been murdered, but when Josh wrapped his arm around your shoulder and tried to swing you into the kitchen, it became pertinent that you didn’t let assumption overtake you. Josh breathed heavy down your neck like a predator, whispering you look nice as he drank beer from the bottle like your father always did. You sobered, and you knew this wasn’t your fantasy. 

You found Stiles by the pool. His shoes were placed neatly next to him, socks stuffed inside, with his feet dangling in the water, texting. Even with his neck craned over and his shoulders hunched forward, you found him so innately attractive you nearly became stone and fell to your knees at the sight, cracking at every corner. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. He shut off his phone as you sat down next to him, crossing your legs. Even though you had rinsed out your mouth under the tap, you feared the vomit stench, and made sure not to get too close.

“For what?” He rubbed the heels of his palms over his shorts, hesitant to engage with you.

“For making you come. I’m sorry.” He nodded, eyes locked on the water, rippling as he moved his legs back and forth. “How drunk are you?” 

“Tipsy. I mean, I can’t drive, if that’s what you’re asking.” He looked at your lap, the way you fiddled with your hands, picking at the skin around your nails. “You?”

“I puked,” you said, swallowing down a bit of shame about it. Stiles laughed, which made you smile a little too wide, since you were still feeling so warm and loose, but his hair flopped and his eyes were clouded. Your thumb dug into your palm. “Also definitely screwed up the whole Josh thing, but I probably could have managed that sober too.”

“Well, okay then, final verdict: he’s still a douche.”

Even though you very well could have been in love with him before, you were suddenly so sure that it was definite, that you loved him and there was nothing else to call it. It was a summer thought, something that appears when life is uninterrupted by school and fleeting connections. You thanked yourself for puking because you could have kissed him then. It wouldn’t have been much of anything.

You picked at your cuticle so hard it made a noise, and Stiles winced.

“Stop that.” He reached out to pull your hands apart, taking one of them on his own, interlocking your fingers. He squeezed once, pulling your joint hands into the space between the two of you, which you had thought was just for the bile smell but seemed to be of more meaning the longer he looked at you. “You do that when you’re stressed. I hate it.” Even with the lukewarm chill of the night, the back of your neck was burning, and your stomach was spinning like a car tire. 

“You play with your pencils,” you accused, but still frowned at you, “and you bite your nails.”

He furrowed: “No I don’t.”

“You do. And you scratch your knees. You did it a second ago.” His pupils were big and brown, dilated. You weren’t sure how drunk you were anymore, but it all felt very hazy. You thought that he’d probably only held your hand like that a few times ever, which made it all very special and exhilarating, even if you couldn’t show it with your slight slur, speech slowed down just a fraction.

“Yeah, well,” he trailed off. Not very jovial, you understood. His grip around you loosened and, fearing that he might let go, you squeezed as tight as you could, smiling obscenely big even if you didn’t mean it.

“Let’s go find an empty couch and pass out, hm?” you asked, and you shivered a bit at the idea of sleeping so close to him. You figured you were drunk enough to let it happen. He nodded and you pulled him to his feet, your smile unwavering.

“Josh called you his girl at the Panera yesterday,” Scott said. He had ketchup on the corner of his mouth. “And he said you guys did stuff at Peter’s party.”

“No he didn’t,” you retorted, a bit incredulous and a bit embarrassed, maybe, like you didn’t want to be the kind of girl that was Josh’s girl.

“Really, he did. There’s this guy on the team, Toby; he can’t keep his mouth shut about anything.”

“I’m not his girl,” you stated, stony. 

“Yeah, I mean, sure, but he still said it.” You gave Scott a laced glare. Stiles’ hotdog was going cold in his hand. He grimaced.

“I told you,” he murmured, finally taking a bite.

Near the end of June, Kenny and Bree got froyo. He kissed her on the cheek; that’s when he first said I love you. She licked his spoon clean. You saw it from your car. Lydia said ew and then she stuck out her tongue and asked if you could take her home.

Under the surface, Stiles spun in and out of himself, choking on a laugh before he jolted up for air. You were always better at holding your breath. Once, when he was eleven and you were eleven and your older brother Joey was twelve, you won the who-can-stay-underwater-for-the-longest-no-breathing contest by ten whole seconds. You got the last cherry popsicle. Everything post that was a lot less climactic. 

He grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you back up with a rough tug.

“Okay, no! You for sure went down after me that time.” You pushed him back, swiping at the water.

“You’re such a sore loser!” His hair was matted to his forehead. It was his youngest moment in years, reveling in whatever the sun and the grass dew and the chlorine provided. He gave you another dilated look, more defiant than before. “If you’d just admit I’m better then we could move on.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t tell bold-faced lies.” He swiped back, splashing your face. “Plus, you’re way too cocky.”

“I’m not cocky, I just won, you ass.” Your next splash was over-zealous. Stiles coughed on pool water, but he did it with upturned lips, fighting another laugh. Sometimes, though, when he was smiling and laughing and getting splashed in the face, you’d think of the time he’d cracked his head open on the blue tile when was seven, and how he’d cried so hard you thought you might puke.

You faltered, slipping a bit as you waded over to the ladder. You glanced over your shoulder. He was pushing the hair from his forehead, stationary.

“No round four?” He pouted.

“No round four!” You grabbed your towel, checking your phone. “Scott’s gonna be here in ten. Did you warn him about Lottie?” 

“Why would I warn him?”

“Because she’s in love with him and he’s going to take his shirt off.”

“She’s thirteen!” Stiles splashed around carelessly, moving to the edge of the pool.

“Thirteen and insatiable, yeah. She won’t stop asking me about him now that he and Allison broke up.” This, you thought, and showed glaringly in your twist of features, was silly, since it was one of those things, something you’d known all too well in your youth, where it didn’t matter if the guy had a girlfriend or was married or just madly in love; for Charlotte, it was a fantasy, just like it was for you with Stiles.

“I think Scott can handle himself against your little sister.” He pulled himself out of the pool. You looked away; it felt ambiguously wrong. You decided to stop inviting him over for a swim.

“Insatiable,” you repeated, making sure to enunciate slowly. “You want food?” Stiles scoffed.

“Like you ever have to ask.” He slumped down into a patio chair, reaching lazily for his towel, splayed across the table. You only ever tolerated his disorganization because he was so boyish and appealing with it most of the time, only occasionally acting annoyingly unaware. “Can you make sandwiches? I love when you make sandwiches.”

“Yeah, sure.” Your phone buzzed. Lydia was entranced by a collegiate asshole named Rick Bigabsshinycar, which she didn’t shut up about for at least a week “You want the crusts cut off those, little guy?” He spat out a laugh, ironic, and gave you a playful expression of un-amusement. Of course, he ended up making his own sandwich.

Lydia said that her first time was with Jackson. She said it hurt more than she had expected it to, and that he wasn’t very attentive, not in the way she would’ve liked. But she also said that she loved him with all of her guts, all innards and organs, so it didn’t matter how horrible it had been. She still thought back on it fondly.

“You could try it with Stiles. He definitely would,” she remarked, running the pads of her fingers along her new manicure. “But then, of course, you could never just be his friend again, so you’d have to deal with that, which I don’t think you want to do.”

You shook your head, sweating at this idea, but she was looking elsewhere, in her own mind too much to observe you.

“Like with Scott and Allison,” she said. “They’ll never just be friends, even if they talk. It’ll always be different, you know? I bet it’ll be worse with Stiles too, since he’s so neurotic.” 

This was a dilemma you had never been forced to face. It stung you thoroughly and left you aching. 

Scott picked Roadhouse for movie night, which you always thought was super macho, but ended up coming back around in this overly-sensitive, girly way that only self-obsessed man films can achieve. Still, he was Scott, so when the movie was funny he laughed and when the movie was serious he laughed again.

“I watched this with my dad when I was a kid,” he said, mouth full of popcorn. He was always eating, savage.

“The sex?” you questioned. “The violence?” Your voice raised in volume. Scott shrugged.

“It’s not the same for boys,” Stiles chimed in, academic in tone. “We’re exposed to these things at an early age. That’s what gives us the cooties and over-zealous sex drives.”

“Ew.” You grimaced, deciding against another handful of popcorn. 

“It’s true,” Scott agreed. “If I hadn’t watched Roadhouse, I’d probably be celibate. I mean, who knows if I would’ve ever even wanted a girlfriend.” You doubted, furrowing. 

“Yeah, but it's not just about sex. There’s emotional stuff there too.”

“Sex emotions,” said Stiles. He shot you a popcorn-littered grin. You shoved his gleeful face, palm against his cheek, and he chuckled, tossing a few kernels in your direction. He fought back with no spine, limp as your hand drifted to his shoulder before dropping back to your lap. “I’m serious! It’s a lot more important for us than it is for you.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean that watching Roadhouse at infancy permanently alters your brain chemistry.”

“It doesn’t have to be Roadhouse,” Scott added, waving his hand over Stiles’ head, pointing at you vaguely. “Could be, like, porn or something really scary. Poltergeist or Jaws.”

“It’s puberty,” you said. He dropped his arm, frowning. “And I know that you weren’t just with Allison because you wanted to sleep with her.” You fiddled with your thumbs, Stiles noticing with a held glance. “That was love.”

“God, now you’re the gross one,” Stiles groaned. Patrick Swayze kicked ass in your periphery. Without drawing focus, he pulled one of your hands away, stopping the fidgeting. “Do we really have to talk about love during movie night?” He crossed his arms, head falling back on the couch. 

“I think it’s important to be candid about your emotions with your friends.” Stiles returned the face shove you’d given him, playfully pushing you away and sticking out his tongue with a big blegh. He threw you off center, and you grabbed onto the arm of the couch to adjust. 

“Course I loved her. The point is that I still wanted to you know with her, like, all the time, which was only because of the culture, A.K.A. Roadhouse, slash all that other dude stuff I saw as a kid.” Scott didn’t talk about his father a lot. As the conversation continued, you saw yourself in a bad light, wondering if you really just weren’t part of the hivemind in the same way that he and Stiles were. You felt stale, like heels clicking down a tile hall, stiff and unsmooth. 

“Whatever,” you drawled, turning back to the screen. “I just think that sex isn’t as all-consuming as people make it out to be.” You reached over Stiles’ lap for the popcorn bowl. “And I definitely don’t think that Roadhouse has anything to do with child sexual development.”

“This is why we never should’ve made friends with a girl. It’s actually revolting how sweet you are,” Stiles spat out through a bothered facade. You knew he found you novel.

“I’m not sweet!” Your argument fell flat when you tossed a palm of popcorn in your mouth, muffling your protests.

“It’s a good thing,” Scott assured. “You’re like a friendly bird.”

“Oh, yeah! Like a canary. You remind me of a canary,” Stiles said, shooting you another popcorn grin. He smelled uncharacteristically mall-esque, something you suddenly noticed as you re-adjusted, scooting a bit closer to him. It was one of those things you cataloged to your constant string of evidence that he thought about you, that he wanted to smell good because he knew you’d be able to tell. “Don’t worry, we love you just the way you are,” he teased, patting your shoulder. 

The rest of the movie was a lot of the same, and then a whole different argument about condiments, and then another about Kenny’s new haircut, which Stiles adamantly despised while Scott was mostly impartial, maybe leaning a little on the positive side at certain points. 

Later, Stiles’ fell asleep on your shoulder, and Scott reacted with a quiet laugh, saying, let him stay there, I think he’s been having nightmares.

stiles 9:56 p.m. lydia is dating a college guy?! u shud have told me wtfff

Kenny called you, drunk, late, on a Sunday. It was right after you got off work. On work: things were averagely stilted with Josh, and he didn’t bother you much. Sometimes you caught him looking at the back of your neck, though, and so you knew he still wanted you at least a little carnally.

“Can you pick me up,” Kenny asked, mumbling. He hadn’t spoken to you since he’d dropped off a few miscellaneous belongings at the start of summer. The way you missed him felt almost pavlovian.

“No.” You stared at the crack in your ceiling, limbs splayed out across your bed.

“Please, ohmygodohmygod, please please, it’s so late, please,” he said. “I know you want to,” he slurred, an attempt at cheeky.

“Can I hang up now?” You knew that if he passed out on a bench and swallowed his own puke you’d blame yourself forever. 

“Wait! Come on, come on, I miss you,” he whispered, and you could tell he was getting closer to the phone. “I miss you, really. Can you come pick me up?”

“I don’t have a car,” you admitted, shivering. Before he called, you had been thinking about Stiles, about how his hair might feel under your fingers, how his shirt might look draped over the back of your chair, that sort of stuff. Still wistful, you meandered in the conversation.

“Since when?” You sighed momentarily, picturing the way Kenny used to love you, to look at you with love, and say it all the time, even if he didn’t mean it for every one.

“Since it broke down in May.”

“Take your mom’s. Take the van. I just really need a ride, okay?”

“I’m not stealing the van while she’s sleeping.” He scoffed faintly from the other end, pausing to think, you thought. You hung onto the phone, glancing over at the night shone through your window. You liked the view from the house at night, with the quiet street and grass lawns, all generally manicured, comfortingly monotonous.

“What about Stiles? Can you get Stiles to do it?”

“Do you seriously not have other people you can call?”

“No, and stop being such a bitch about it.” His tone made you feel dirty, like there was a layer of grime on your skin that you couldn’t scratch off. It was nearly nauseating to talk to him so casually, to want him so little, and still have to hear his voice.

“Yeah, good luck,” you murmured, hanging up.

To: stiles 11:47 p.m. don’t worry he’s ugly 11:49 p.m. also kenny just called supa drunk. blerguh

You hadn’t masturbated since Kenny dumped you. Lydia said it was good for the soul, but she was too candid about things, and sometimes you thought she was wrong anyways, no matter how much she seemed to mean it. It all felt unbalanced. The desire to have sex with Stiles became more emotional as the weeks went on, and the physical part of your wants fell to the background. Besides, if you did think about him when you did that sort of thing, you always felt a bit nasty after and wished you had just searched for some semi-artsy softcore, not that it ever did much as a replacement. 

Stiles sat vacantly on the end of your bed most nights, staring off into space, murmuring softly to himself, glancing down at you every so often. He never touched you, too far to reach out for, but when you woke up in a jolt he’d be sitting there, back hunched over, chin in his palms, smiling like he knew everything all the time. 

Lydia always wanted you over early to help with party set ups; her new solo cups were pink, which you found way too exuberant for the sort of night it was, too birthday, but took them out of the bag and set them on the counter nonetheless. She was still curling her hair, huffing every few minutes, teasing and spraying and wetting and drying and brushing, clearly tempted to rip it all straight out.

“You didn’t invite Stiles did you?” She put down the iron, fussing with her ends, looking at you through the mirror.

“Was I not supposed to?”

“He just lame-ifys the atmosphere, you know?”

Once people filled out the space, Lydia got lost in it. You sat on the couch, crossed-legged, staring at conversations. You held your cup with two hands. Your legs felt cold. You had invited Stiles, but he’d said maybe, a foreign response for a Lydia party. He wanted to be her arm guy, her arm-around-the shoulder-at-a-party-leaning-on-the-wall-all-suave guy, with a smirk and a confidence that always evaded him. His intense distaste of social gatherings never kept him from her, not until the maybe.

“Where’s your lover?” Kenny had a blazer on. It was his occasion blazer. He washed it once a month even if he didn’t wear it and always kept it ironed. He was holding a real beer, not just a half-empty pink solo cup that was stained with lipstick and spit. 

“Who?” You glanced over quickly, refusing to turn to the side to give him a proper look. 

“Stiles, obviously.” He shifted uncomfortably in your periphery. You closed your eyes, lips pursed.

“Why are you here? Lydia hates you.” He banged the tip of his shoe against the foot of the couch a few times, flittering.

“I wanted to say sorry about calling you, for saying all that stuff, and I just figured you’d be here.” There was a rush when he implied that he had been thinking about you. It had been days, nearly a week, you thought. You pictured him roasting in guilt at all hours, pushing away a smile.

“Well, I really would’ve preferred a text, so,” you drifted, glaring from behind your hair, head downturned. You picked at the hem of your skirt.

“Can I sit?” He waved his beer at the place beside you. Finally deciding to look at him fully, your eyes caught on his short hair, freshly cut. In response you shrugged, biting your cheek.

Stiles showed up two and a half hours after the time posted on Facebook, which was a half an hour before people were supposed to show up anyway, so he was only around two hours late, not two and a half, but it still felt rude and little like he was doing it all just to spite you. Why he’d ever want to piss you off, you were entirely unsure. It seemed, though, as Kenny talked your ear off about how he had gotten so drunk that night and why he had decided to bother you about it, that it was the ultimate purgatory after all.

“Bree, she’s got a convict dad, you know? He’s out now but he was locked up when she was a kid, so she’s a huge drinker. She loves to drink and she hates when the people around her don’t feel the same. I just got so caught up in it; you get that, yeah? Getting caught up in stuff? I do it all the time, leads to the worst shit. Once, I stole a tow truck on a dare, you know, because I was so high after this party, and I almost got arrested.” He had gained a bit of weight, maybe muscle, since you’d gotten a good look at him last. His nose less thin, cheeks less gaunt: he was more objectively attractive than he’d ever been, but a bit more intimidating, too.

“A tow truck?”

“Yeah, one of those little ones.” He sipped down something big before tilting his bottle off into the distance. “Your lover,” he indicated. Stiles was wearing black jeans and a fat frown, looking at you, his hand on Scott’s shoulder, tapping incessantly.

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“That he’s your lover?” Kenny circled the beer bottle on his kee, tilting his head side to side. “Well, mostly because you’re in love with him, but also a little because I like seeing the face you make,” he smiled, “like that, yeah.”

You furrowed: “I’m not.” Your lipgloss was starting to feel tacky, separating around the little cracks on your lips, the ones you struggled not to bite off. Scott dragged Stiles into the kitchen. 

Kenny laughed: “Okay.” You could feel him staring at the side of your face, the heat of it. He put his hand on your shoulder, fingers prickling up the side of your neck, teasing the nape. “You look really pretty tonight,” he murmured, breath warm.

“I think Kenny wants to fuck me,” you told Lydia, refilling your cup. “He touched my neck, like, sensually.”

“I’m opposed to the idea that Kenny can do anything sensually.” She messed with the hair on the back of your head, tossing it around before flattening it back down again. “But you know I don’t like him.” Her hand pressed into your elbow, a sign to stop pouring. She had pity face when you met her eyes. “If you’re going to fuck someone tonight, make it Stiles.”

“You don’t like Stiles either.” 

“I like him more than Kenny, and so do you.” Her lips pressed together, narrowing tentatively. “Also, like, your summer ennui is getting really old and I just think you should do something exciting with your life.”

“My summer ennui?” You drank. Warmth invaded your self-imposed isolation. 

“Yeah, I don’t know. You just seem kind of depressed right now and I think fucking Stiles would be good for you.” You scowled at her from behind the sanctity of your drink.

Stiles had his arms crossed in the family room. Harley and Josie and Steve from pre-calc made up a mini-conversation circle around him, Scott glued to his side. He spotted you once you entered the room, your heeled shoes causing you to stumble through the archway, confidence wavering. Kenny had wandered, and you supposed that you feared him, what he might try to initiate, eyes skirting the perimeter.

“Hey!” Stiles broke the circle to jog over to you. “Hey, I’m here!”

“Yeah, I can see that you’re here.” He vibrated on his feet. “You should try to find Lydia. That college guy just dumped her and she’s super drunk.”

“The ugly one?” Even inquisitive, he seemed oddly disinterested, like he was just floating around the topic, not caring to collide.

“No, I just said that to make you feel better. He was really hot.” Your heels burned, and the atmosphere felt dizzying. Stiles laughed. He beamed.

“Hey, so, why were you and Kenny talking earlier?” His brow creased, something to dig into. 

“Well, I think he wants to have sex with me, but I’m not really sure why. He can be cryptic.” You were a blunt drunk. Stiles wrinkled his eyes with a hesitant annoyance, biting the inside of his cheek. He was buzzing, hands twitching, noticing your detachment, eyes in a constant spiral.

“You think you’ll do it? If he tries.” The question was kryptonite. You wanted to melt at his feet. He chewed at some dry skin on his bottom lip, and you knew this was a whole different purgatory, one far more tailored.

“You mean, have sex with him? Are you really asking me that?” Stiles wasn’t the sort of boy you discussed your sexuality with. Even though you’d trust him with your beating heart in his palms, he got sweaty when he remembered you had a vagina, and there were things you knew to keep concealed. He smiled on one side, tilting his head with an inward chuckle.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Sure.”

“Well, no, I won’t. He dumped me.” You wondered if he could see you in a form that weak. Everything withered, and Stiles seemed disheartened. Trivial things were allowed in the summer. In the summer, it was okay to be sixteen. 

“Yeah, course, I know I just–”

“I don’t like Kenny anymore.” You took a sip of your drink, concealing your growing urgency, everything bubbling in your throat. “He’s a dick,” you explained, swallowing hard. Stiles had a bit of a vacant thing, hollow, mind in another room. 

“I’m aware,” Stiles barked, half sardonic and half like he had somehow been scorned. The party surrounded like hounds, shoving, forming a mass. It felt like the room was caving in, something inherently uneasy about the way he spoke to you and the way he looked you in the eye. He bit his tongue.

“You’re aware?” 

“Yeah, I’m aware.” He teetered on his left foot, pressing hard into the floor. He glanced down at your drink. “He said some stuff, like, a few months ago, when you guys were still dating. I just don’t like him, whatever.”

“Some stuff?”

“Yeah, like, dumb shit. I just–” he caught himself. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Your face is telling me that it does.” You grinned for a moment, toothless, and he scoffed. In dreamland, Stiles uttered, he called you easy, a slut, so I sucker punched him, grabbed him by the collar, and told him never to talk about you like that again, because I’ve loved you since we were little, and I’m also infallible, by the way. Your throat burned. His mouth hung agape for a moment, expecting some sort of out, but failed to find escape.

“He was jealous,” Stiles admitted, scratching at the back of his hand. “Just, don’t talk to him anymore, okay?”

He had never commanded you, not once, not really. If he did, he was joking, or he wasn’t, but you were, and it didn’t end up mattering. Despite the way he’d wavered around his vague notions of a prior argument, playing it off as another quickly passing mishap in what was, knowing him, a haphazard day, his voice was flat, mouth tight. You gave him a withering look, stepping back unconsciously. You shook your head, and you were leaning harder on one foot, oblivious to a piece of hair hanging down into your eyes. It wasn’t the time for dynamics to shift.

“Why are you being weird?”

He countered, moving forward: “I’m not being weird,” he reached out.

“Yes, you are. Stop it.” He ran his palm over his forehead in exasperation.

“I’m sorry, but I just don’t like that you’re talking to him again.” His hands gestured at his sides, emphatic. He was a few decibels away from exclaiming, only hushed in fear of you scurrying away. You shook your head again, a few times, indignant.

“Don’t be an ass, Stiles.”

“Me, an ass? Kenny is the one who dumped you so he could fuck other girls!” Your ears rang. Drunkenness hadn’t quite hit you until his tone raised. You thought that, yes, you agreed with Lydia. If you let him stick it in right there and then, it might feel therapeutic in some sense, gaining back control. Still, he had big, brown eyes and they were wet and they were open and he was staring, almost beastly, hand outstretched. Something struck him, and he surged forward. “Hey, no–”

“Whatever.” You pushed past him, needing a nap. In dreamland, he grabbed you back by the wrist, pulled you in, gripped your waist, kissed you as hard as he could without tongue, and told you it was love for him too. There was no beckoning call, just “Dancing On My Own” and a bundle of roaring laughs. You huffed to yourself, finding the hallway, setting down your drink, and leaning against the console table, trying not to heave.

Kenny rediscovered you in Lydia’s guest room, your face stuffed into a throw pillow, eyes leaving smudged black marks, even though you would've denied that you ever cried. You could hear that it was him, his chunky shoes and dragging feet entirely emblematic of his hardened core.

“It wasn’t me, was it?” He sat down on the end of the bed, glancing at his lap.

“No,” you muttered, leaning up on your elbows. He still had his beer.

“Ah,” he spoke, nearly spat. “So, Stilinski?” There was a moment of silence, as if this idea angered you, and a tense feeling surrounded your shoulders and your neck. 

“What did you say to him?” you questioned, sitting up to lean back against the headboard. Kenny’s brows pinched together.

“What?”

“Stiles said you told him something, when we were still together, that you were jealous.”

Kenny pondered on this, his lips twisting up strangely. Half of you thought he might hold you down by the hips and lie about love again, but he only shook his head, smiling crookedly to himself.

“Course I was jealous. You want to be with him.”

Post-party, you didn’t speak to Stiles for days. Lydia, in infinite tact, was right. Kenny didn’t seem to want to talk either: no calls or texts or handwritten letters. He very well could’ve fucked you that night, if he had been more kind and less insistent on your priorities. Mostly, you spent time with your sisters and mowed the lawn. Once, you saw a movie with a friend from cross country.

stiles 11:34 p.m. are u mad at me?

“I’m not mad at you, Stiles.” He was a bad phone call. He talked entirely too much, and since there was no physical manifestation of him beside you in bed, you couldn’t punch him in the shoulder or send him a glare to shut him up. 

“You seem mad.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“You ran away from me. I pissed you off.”

“You didn’t piss me off. I was just drunk.” You sighed, glancing at the clock. Monday loomed ominously in the corner of your eyes. There was a residual ache from the colder months, even though work often broke the boundaries of weekend rest. “I left because I didn’t want to be mad. I wasn’t mad.”

“But you would’ve been?”

“Stiles,” you chided, rubbing your hairline.

“I’m reasonably concerned! I didn't want to make you angry; I was just being honest. I mean, the guy is a complete fucking loser, he doesn’t care about you, but he does you the small kindness of striking up a conversation and you just, what, forgive him?” His voice cracked over the line. Your thumb hovered inadvertently over the red button, but you knew it to be some greater sign, your muscles pushing you to pull the plug.

“I don’t forgive him,” you muttered, about to retort with something like you don’t understand or it’s not like that, but he very much did understand and it was, in fact, very much like that. Being wanted was a bliss more intense and all-consuming than a fresh cherry slushie. “And it’s not really any of your business,” you added on, trying to find your edge.

A groan ripped out of him, but he’d taken a step back from the phone, so it came to you muffled and softer than intended.

“What is the deal with you and assholes?” he asked, incredulous. 

Kenny wasn’t the asshole that Stiles made him out to be. He had a conflicting household, and you were sure the weed had been getting to his brain. He was just a rodent. You were too simple for his universe, too concise, and you were in love with your friend, which you didn’t think helped any. In the smaller moments, Kenny saw you in a pure way, and he admired that. He liked you. You wondered if Stiles found that perverse.

“Are you jealous?” you threw back, too in the heat of it to consider the implications. You had to remind yourself that this wasn't dreamland, and he wouldn’t be at your window, saying yes, I'm jealous, because I love you like hell, so can we kiss now, finally? You choked on a breath waiting for him to reply, which took a while. You could hear him thinking into the phone, a wavering “uh” spilling out.

“What?”

Considering a path to take, a way to flip this on its head, you stuttered, “I–”, swallowing, “it’s just that, no one wanted me before, when we were younger, but they do now. I mean, I have a life and you’re acting like it’s a sin or something.”

“That’s not true.” He was even.

“Yes, it is! You keep berating me for–”

“No, no, the thing about no one wanting you before, it’s not true.” This you clocked as a play on his part, a way to defuse your tone. He knew, of course, that when he said something sweet, you’d get soft and forgive him forever, because you always forgave him forever. The pit in your stomach boiled.

“That’s not my point.”

“But it is your point, and it’s not true, so your entire argument is null. I know for a fact that Drew Pike had a huge thing for you in fourth grade, so much so that he asked me, who he despised intensely, if you liked him back. Sure, I said no, because Drew was a mouth breather and wasn’t nearly enough of a gentleman, but still.”

You scoffed: “That doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s dumb, and it’s just one small example amidst sixteen years of barren landscape.” You felt that you urgently needed to stand up, take space from the phone, and pace circles around your room for a few hours, or maybe until you wore down your socks into thin strips of unwearable fabric, feet bleeding. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you confirmed, stale.

“Well, I do. Are you with him now?”

“Drew Pike? No, he moved to Texas, and I think that ship sailed.”

“Kenny,” he spat, firm. “Did you get back together with Kenny?” He had a tone to him that you were unfamiliar with, something sharp and awful, something like you’d seen at the beach, or at Peter’s party.

“No, Stiles, I didn't get back together with Kenny. I told you, I don’t like him anymore.”

“Yeah, well–” he breathed heavily, “well, good.” You knew he wouldn’t be saying those things if he could understand how much you wanted him, how much you didn’t mind his poor tendencies or his social miscalculations. You knew he’d hang up the phone and never spend another night with his sleeping head on your tired shoulder. The nail of your thumb scratched at your knuckles hard, picking and peeling and biting bad.

“Awesome. I’m going to bed.” You ended the call without a goodnight.

[crybabyddl]

How I Get Myself Killed

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warning: hypochondria, marijuana use, sexual tension, modern au, mentions of reader being on her period, slight smut (oral m receiving, fingering f receiving, mention of period sex, mention of masturbation, mention of choking), slightly unhealthy relationship dynamics, miscommunication, 18+ content. MDNI.

Author's Note: This song means so much to me, and I'm having some situationship problems so I'm gonna use this as an outlet. If Indigo De Souza isn't one of my top artists on Spotify at the end of the year, it's deffo rigged. Oh, and sorry in advance.

This is probably how I get myself killed

Things with Eddie were complicated. You had a great connection, one that you'd never felt with anyone in your entire life. You had friends that you're sure were angels sent from heaven to be your people, with you through thick and thin. But the second you started Eddie, everything clicked. You agreed on just about everything, and the things you didn't agree on were so trivial that it didn't bother either of you.

Did you say anything on the night of my first hit?

After going out to that Tibetan restaurant for your first date, you took him to your favorite smoking spot. It was the place you smoked weed for the first time, and it was your preferred space to do so every time after that. You'd brought a few pre-rolls, unsure of which ones would be the vibe for the night. You were a bit of a germaphobe, so you gave him his own joint, not wanting to share spit until you knew he was someone worthy of that. As you felt your anxiety melt away with each inhale, you took in just how close you and Eddie were sitting on the hood of his car.

On the night of my first kiss?

You don't remember for sure, but it was probably you who asked if you could kiss him. You asked if he was sick, or if he had any sort of contagious diseases, and maybe it wasn't smart to take him at his word, but with the cosmic connection you shared, the way you could tell him the most vulnerable things so easily, it made you believe him. You kissed, and the metal of his lip ring took you by surprise. You'd never felt something like that before, and it felt good. It wasn't long before you were making out, cherries of your joints fading out. You accidentally dropped yours, the floaty feelings of your high and the kiss taking over your senses, the function of your hand forgotten.

On the night of my first runaway?

You knew it was crazy, but Eddie was matching your energy. He felt just as strongly about you as you did about him. You couldn't stop yourself from confessing just how surreal all of this felt, how someone so similar to you and so accepting of your perceived flaws actually existed. He shared the incredulousness, and you exchanged more stories of your past. The cogs of your brains were interlocking and detaching so seamlessly, a well-oiled machine born from a stupid dating app.

Something must be up, I have never felt so dumb

You were scared to kiss him, and now here you were, making out in his car with your hand palming over his pants. You were intimidated when he finally took his boxer briefs off, not expecting him to be as endowed as he was. But you wanted him in your mouth, and you took your time wetting his dick with your spit. You started off gently, trying to get enough saliva from your semi-dry mouth to lubricate your motions. He told you when he was about to cum, which was sweet. You worked him through his orgasm, swallowing the foreign taste of his spend. It was different than you expected it to be, not bad, but not great. You didn't mind, especially when he told you he'd prefer to paint your body over the inside of your throat.

And I have never gone so numb

You ended up being too nervous about the date, maybe too high since you had smoked 90% of your own joint before you'd dropped it, to be able to let yourself relax while he fingered you. It was too new, you were too caught up in wanting to impress him, even if you felt no pressure coming from his end at all. It was purely self-inflicted, as most of your pain and disappointment was. You didn't want his confidence to take a hit, so you explained that it was alright and that you were happy just to do something for him. It was true, but of course you wanted to receive something from Eddie as well.

And I have never been so late before

When the night came to an end, it was almost midnight. Eddie had dropped you off at your house, which was very sweet. He noticed the puddles in your driveway and pulled up further so you didn't have to step in when you got out of the car. You knew he had a long drive home, so you bid him goodbye with a kiss, one that would leave him wanting more. It seemed to do the trick, the way he sat and stared up at you with a flustered, frustrated smirk as you lingered at the open passenger's side door. What you hadn't expected was the way he pulled you back in, biting your lower lip and tugging it with his teeth, flipping the script on your departure.

This is probably how I get myself killed

The week you spent apart was agonizing. Having to go to work while you were craving his touch, his kiss, his company. Not to mention, you were going to have your period the next time you saw him. Second dates weren't exactly a recipe for period sex, at least they weren't up until now. You were on your back in the backseat of his car, in the same smoking spot, having intimacy for the first time in months. You hadn't realized how much you missed it, especially since your breakup left your sex drive nonexistent. You hadn't even masturbated, and in the seven days leading up to this moment, you had finally broken that barrier and touched yourself to the memories of Eddie's hand around your throat, the dirty desires he divulged to you. It didn't matter that you were bleeding, the effort Eddie was willing to put into this connection was arousing enough to bypass the lack of sensation in your loins. He was so sweet, so talkative, and he was so, so pretty. You didn't know how you were supposed to open your heart, your mind, or your legs to anyone else after this. You didn't want to.

Oh, come when you're called

You'd spent every day texting, sending memes, sharing songs, making playlists. Every night consisted of conversations that lasted until the early hours of the morning, despite the both of you having obligations that required a decent amount of sleep. He'd even sent you racy pictures of himself, posed in his bathroom, tattoos on display. You still couldn't wrap your head around how a man, a straight, white man could be so sweet, sensitive, and downright ethereal. It was almost unfair, how gorgeous he was. His hair was as long as yours, his features feminine, and his sense of style was everything you'd ever dreamed of. He was quite literally your idea of perfection personified and here he was, calling you gorgeous and divine.

If this is all we've got to work with, then it's all we've got to blame

Of course, it wouldn't be your life without some mentality-shattering circumstances. As great as your connection with Eddie was, even this newfound bliss wasn't immune to the harsh slap of reality. Turns out, Eddie was still in communication with his ex-girlfriend. The two of you shared stories from your past relationships, so you knew just how terrible he'd been treated by his exes. You understood the reasoning behind it, they'd been together for four years, lived together, and shared a deep emotional connection. However, she was extremely unstable and toxic, and it was clear that she was selfishly keeping Eddie on a line for her own benefit. It was stressing him out, and waiting for him to realize that he should cut her off was unfair to you. You didn't want to be the overbearing new girlfriend who was jealous of his ex—you weren't jealous. It just caused things with Eddie to feel as though they were on hold, like you were in line for his effort and attention. You'd explained this to him as kindly as you could, but you also wanted to set the boundary that this was not something you were comfortable with. Eddie understood, but in the following days, he grew distant. It almost felt like he was choosing the attachment to his ex over starting something new; something healthier with you.

Oh, come when you're called

You had to settle for texting Eddie during all of this—long distance was a bitch. He was stuck practically running the mechanics garage while his uncle was suffering from the flu. Paragraphs were sent back and forth, but it was becoming evident that things were taking a turn for the worse. You'd finally found someone who you didn't feel the need to justify yourself to, and now it was all falling apart. The fear of finally allowing joy into your life was suddenly far less scary than the fear of losing what you had with Eddie. You found yourself in somewhat of a panic, trying desperately to distract your mind from him. It was hard, especially since work had been a bit slower than expected, which gave you time to check your phone to see if he'd responded to your message. He hadn't, and you prepared yourself for the worst, hoping to get the crying yourself to sleep out of the way. You spent your nights scrolling through Instagram, double tapping inspirational quotes about moving on from emotionally unavailable people.

If this is all we've got to work with, then it's all we've got to say

You had talked to some of your friends, as well as your therapist about your situation with Eddie. You knew that your family would've told you to drop that man and run for the hills, but your closest friend was a bit more understanding of things, knowing that your heart was more sensitive and understanding. This wasn't a black and white situation, it was almost entirely a grey area, especially since you had been through a very similar situation with your ex months prior. The only difference was that you knew you were done with that dirtbag before returning to the dating scene. You wanted to chalk it all up to being "right person, wrong time". Unfortunately, it wasn't as simple as that either. All you knew was that it would hurt far too much to let Eddie go, but it hurt just as much to put yourself in a scenario where you weren't a priority. Talking about it with your support systems was helpful, and allowed you to emotionally intellectualize everything. Yet, the difference of talking with Eddie every day to only exchanging a couple of texts every couple days was still bringing you down.

I'm lovin' your skin darlin', I'm lovin' this hard morning

You told him that it would probably be best to just be friends for the time being. It wasn't what you wanted, but it was what was necessary to protect your heart and wellbeing. You wished it didn't have to come to that, you knew you and Eddie loved each other. It wasn't until a week later that you finally got to hear his voice again, on a Discord call of all things, while you played a multiplayer game. You hadn't realized just how much you missed him, and not just the feel of his body close to yours. You missed the conversation, the way it would derail, neither of you caring because there was so much to say.

I need to be kicked, maybe fucked, maybe told I'm in the way

You felt better after talking to Eddie, almost like they were back to normal. You mentioned making plans to hang out sometime in the near future, and he reciprocated the sentiment. However, the next couple of weeks were looking hectic for Eddie in terms of work and scheduling conflicts. You understood, but obviously it was disappointing. That meant it'd be a whole month before reuniting with one another. It was hard to suppress the craving for his company, both in communication and in the way your bodies meshed together.

I'm lovin' your skin darlin', I'm lovin' this kooky morning

It was late June, a Monday afternoon that you both had free. You were going to a dispensary that Eddie thought you'd like. It worked out perfectly, you had been saving your last joint for the two of you to share. When he pulled into your driveway, you couldn't push away the fluttering feeling of butterflies in your stomach. It was an anticipatory anxiety, one you had been feeling the whole day, from the moment you woke up, while you were in your zoom meeting, as you got ready, and while you waited for Eddie to arrive. Your heart was beating in time with your steps, and you felt your spirits rise even higher when you saw him unbuckle his seatbelt and exit the driver's seat.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

You stood silently for a few seconds before closing the space between you, wrapping your arms around each other. It was just as comfortable, burying your face into his collarbones as you tightened your embrace.

I need to be kicked, maybe fucked, maybe told I'm in the way

"Can we sit here for a minute? I just want to look at you."

Eddie nodded.

You took your time as your eyes scanned his entire demeanor. He was dressed in all black, long sleeves and pants with chunky combat boots, all in the summer heat. You observed the fact that he had forgone his signature rings and earrings, and you didn't even need to ask why. You knew he wasn't an early riser, and that he was probably rushing out the door to get to your place "on time", fifteen minutes late as usual. He was eyeing you as well, and you wondered what was running through his mind as he did so.

This is probably how I get myself killed

Wordlessly, your eyes met Eddie's, seemingly having finished your observations of the other at the same time. You could feel it in your chest, in your bones, soul, and heart that this was right. This was where you were meant to be. You knew Eddie was meant to be in your life in some way, whether as a friend, a lover, or solely as a twin flame with whom you could bounce ideas off of. You were so grateful for him, and in his eyes, you could sense his appreciation of you. But like the ocean, the waves always return to the shoreline, the ebb and flow uncontrolled and capable of destruction. The urge to hold Eddie's face in your hands and kiss his lips was crashing into you full force. You didn't know what to do as the feelings overwhelmed you. You didn't have the courage to break the silence...

[allthingsfangirl101]

Covers Blown – Gary Johnson

"You didn't have to grab my ass so much," I said, elbowing Gary in the gut as we walked towards the truck.

"Not my fault," he said as we got in. "The guy needed to believe you were my girl, not the woman his wife hired to kill him. Besides, you didn't have to stroke my chest so much."

"Don't act like you didn't like it," I scoffed. "The woman needed to believe you were my guy, not the man her husband hired to kill her. We were covering for each other."

"I can't believe we had to go on a double-date with the couple that hired us to kill the other," he laughed.

"To be fair," I said as we got in the truck, "neither one of them knows the other hired us."

As he pulled out of the restaurant parking lot, I leaned my head against the headrest.

"You okay?" Gary laughed as he reached over and patted my knee.

"I forgot how much I hated going undercover," I sighed. "It's exhausting."

"You gotta admit it's kinda fun," he smirked. When he looked over at me, I realized his hand was still on my knee. He turned his focus back on the road, his hand still on my knee. For some reason, I didn't move it.

Halfway back to our fake house we're using for our cover, Gary finally moved his hand. I looked over at him to see him readjusting in his seat. I watched for a second to see him continually checking the rearview mirror.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, not sounding convincing at all.

"Johnson," I said slowly. He looked at me and gave in.

"Fine," he sighed. "I think we're being followed."

"What?"

I turned around and saw the GMC following us. "Shit," I mumbled, turning back around. "What do we do?"

"Just hang on," he tried to comfort. "Maybe we're reading too much into this. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they're not following us."

We waited a few more minutes. When one of us wasn't looking at the car behind us, the other was.

"Okay," he said, looking back around. "I think it's official. We're being followed."

I turned around and got a better look at the driver. "Oh no."

"What?" Gary said, glancing at the rear view mirror.

"I think I know him," I said slowly.

"What do you mean?" Gary asked, glancing at me before looking back at the rearview mirror.

"Shit," I mumbled.

"Who is he?" He asked, looking at me longer this time.

"I set him up two years ago," I sighed. "He must have traced his arrest back to me and found me."

I glanced at Gary to see him tightening his hold on the steering wheel. "It's okay," he tried to soothe. "I'll lose him."

As hard as he tried, he couldn't lose them. "Gary," I started to say, but the car pulled up next to us.

"Get down!" Gary yelled as he used his free arm to pull me down. He covered me with his body right as the guy shot at the window. Once the window was shot, the guy shot our front tire.

There wasn't anything we could do as the truck started to roll. We let out matching groans when we finally stopped rolling. My head was spinning long after the truck stopped.

"Y/N," Gary strained. I looked over at him, but there was too much blood in my eyes. "Y/N, you good? Talk to me?"

"Gary. . ." I stuttered. I felt him reach over and gently move some hair out of my face. 

"Don't move," he said quickly. I heard him struggling to get out of the truck. As he got out, I struggled to get the seatbelt undone. I jumped when my door was forced open. Well, trying to be forced open.

"Gary?" I whispered.

"I'm here," he said through the door. "Turn your head, Y/N. I gotta break the window."

I slowly did as he said. My hands were shaking as I covered my head. I jumped when he broke the window with, I'm guessing, his elbow.

"Ding dong," he chuckled. He tried to sound teasing, but I could tell he was hiding how much pain he was in. I turned back to him as he instantly reached across me, unbuckling my seatbelt. "Put your arms around me."

I did as he instructed. Once my arms were wrapped around him, he started gently pulling me out of the truck. I let out a small whimper as he carefully placed me on the ground. He took my face in his hands and started examining my wounds.

"Gary. . ." I started, but he started going through my injuries.

"You've got a gash across your forehead, which is why you can't see very well."

"Gary," I tried to get his attention.

"Possible burn mark across your chest from the seatbelt. Your shoulder looks badly bruised, maybe dislocated."

"Gary," I tried again.

"You most likely have a concussion." He grabbed his phone and called this in. "This is Johnson," he said when they answered. "Y/L/N and I were ambushed. She needs an ambulance."

"Gary," I said, grabbing his arm once he hung up the phone.

"Help is on the way," he said quickly. "You're going to be fine. Just hang in there until. . ."

"He's getting away."

"What?" He asked, finally focusing.

"The longer you're with me, the further he gets from us."

"Y/N," he sighed, "I'm not leaving you."

"You called it in," I pointed out. "Help will be here soon. Go get that son of a bitch."

* * * * *

I woke up a few hours later in a hospital room. Well, actually, I woke up to someone screaming outside my room.

"I know this is a hospital! But I am not leaving her."

I slowly turned my head and could see Gary arguing with the nursing staff. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Sir, this is a family-only. . ."

"She doesn't have any family close by," he snapped. "I'm her partner. I'm the closest thing she has to a family."

"I'm sorry, sir, but. . ."

"Just let me in there."

"I can't, sir."

"Gary," I struggled to say loud enough for him to hear through the barely cracked door. Luckily, he did. He brushed past the nurse and ran into my room.

"Y/N," he said, my name getting caught in his throat. "Are you. . . Are you okay?"

"Did you get him?" I asked instead of answering his question.

Gary laughed as he sat next to me in the chair next to my bed. "Is that really your question for me?" He smirked.

"Of course," I shrugged, ignoring the pain in my shoulder. "I need to know if I have to get out of this bed, kick your ass, and finish the job."

Suddenly, the teasing smirk on his face fell. He looked away from me and grabbed my hand, wrapping both of his around it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" I whispered back. He looked up at me, and there was something different in his eyes.

"For leaving you," he said.

"Hey," I cut him off. "I told you to leave me, Johnson. You called it in. You got me help before. . ."

Gary cut me off by pressing his lips to mine. Things slowly sped up as I gave in to him. He broke the kiss sooner than I would've liked. He leaned his forehead against mine as we caught our breaths.

"So," I said, still breathing heavily, "did you get him or not?"

[magicaldice]

Synopsis: Y/n goes to a party with her bestfriend without telling her toxic boyfriend. She unexpectedly meets Chris sturniolo & things start to unravel overtime.

⚠︎ : read at your own leisure.

any feedback, likes, comments or shares, are appreciated!

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 part 4 pt 5

I woke up my body completely frozen, realizing Chris's arms were wrapped around my body. This is morally wrong, I mean if Jackson saw me and Chris like this he would have a stroke. I think to myself some more, if its wrong then why do I like it so much?

I should leave, go home and text Jackson to make sure he's okay. And my brain was screaming at me telling me to get up and leave. But my body wanted to stay here for as long as possible.

It's not actually wrong is it? To be snuggled up in Chris's arms. I mean he's a friend, and friends do this sometimes. It's not like we're doing anything sexual.

I let out a deep breath and try to move around, trying to get up so I could leave. But Chris made it hard for me, gripping onto me tighter, pulling me back in closer as soon as he felt me move.

I had never experienced someone wanting to hold me without the feeling of being lusted over. This felt comforting, soothing and innocent.

And when I hear footsteps walking down the hallway it brings me back to reality. I struggle to get out of Chris's grip, causing him to wake up from all the moving I'm doing.

"Good morning" Madi says coming around the corner. "Good morning" I said back before looking at Chris who is rubbing his tired eyes. "You sleep good?" Madi asks glancing between me and Chris. I nod my head.

"I'm making breakfast, don't even think about leaving until you eat first" Madi shoots me a look. Cooking for people is obviously a love language of hers. "I really should go" I say. "Nope, tell your boyfriend I'm holding you hostage" she says playfully.

My boyfriend. I let out a deep breath knowing I should see if he texted. I felt kind of guilty for leaving his house while he was sleeping. And just as I started thinking about the guilt I feel Chris's hand wraps around my waist.

He's behind me on the couch, laying down. And I'm still right next to him sitting down. I look back at him and his eyes are shut, like he's half awake, half asleep. He opens his eyes, feeling me stare at him. "What time is it?" he asks.

After Chris was finally awake and Madi finishing up cooking I watch as Matt walks into the kitchen. After a couple minutes Madi brings me and Chris each a plate of food. Matt followed behind her, they both sit on the couch across from me and Chris.

As we all eat together Matt starts up a conversation that I didn't expect to have. "So you and your boyfriend, how long you two been together?" Matt asks while picking at his food with the fork he's holding.

I see Madi try to subtly nudge Matt with her foot. I look down at my food, my body tenses subconsciously. "A year" I respond. "Oh shit really?" Matt asks.

I nod my head. "He knows your here?" Matt asks. "He knows I'm with friends" I spoke. I look over at Chris who has his eyes locked on Matt. "Maybe you should invite him over sometime, we can all chill. Or go on a double date" Matt suggests. And at this point I can't tell if he's trying to stir the pot or not.

"Matt, will you help me clean up the kitchen?" Madi blurts out clearly trying to stop the conversation from going any further. As Madi and Matt go into the kitchen to clean up I look over at Chris.

Chris's energy is unreadable as he stares at the wall in front of him. "You okay?" I ask. He looks over at me as if my words brought him out of some type of dissociation. "Yeah. Are you?" he asks. I nod my head.

"I should probably go" I say. And as soon as I say that Chris's facial expression almost look saddened. "Okay yeah, I gotta do some stuff today. I'll see you around" he says before walking towards his room.

I couldn't pick up on his energy, it was like he wasn't there fully.

I say my goodbyes to Matt and Madi before calling an uber to be picked up.

6 days later

It's been almost a week since I talked to Chris. He's been dead silent, which makes me wonder if I did something wrong. But I currently had no time to overthink it. Not with me being around Jackson so much.

Jackson has made it clear to never leave him while he's sleeping again. I understood that, I understood I was in the wrong. He yelled at me with aggression, wanting me to apologize over and over.

And that's exactly what I did. I apologized as many times as he needed me to. I deserved to be yelled at and validate Jacksons feelings. He was my boyfriend, and I cared about him, his feelings were valid.

As of now I sit in my bedroom contemplating whether I should text Chris or not. Ask if he's okay or if I did something wrong. This is a friendship that felt genuine, and I didn't want to lose it.

I end up going into Katie's room at an attempt to stop overthinking. Me and her are hanging out in her room catching each other up. She tells me about a party she went to, and about the man she's been seeing.

Hanging out with Katie always made me feel better. Even if I was in the worst mood possible she could make me smile. It always amazed me how good her people skills were.

Later that night I went to my room and sat in silence, trying to relax. Jackson had called and told me to come over. It was late and I knew what he wanted. As much as I didn't want to go, I did anyways.

I got into his bed to lay down and he automatically gripped onto my body, in a way that made my stomach turn. "You always look so good, it turns me on" he said. I didn't respond because this is his usual use of words when he wants something.

Nothing Jackson did surprised me anymore. As he continued to grip onto my thighs I tried to suppress the emotions of disappointment I felt. Disappointed in myself for letting this continue to happen.

Only when he was done with me, he pretended to care about how i've been doing. "So who are your new friends?" he asked. "Just some people I met" I responded vaguely. He didn't ask any more questions. He scrolled on his phone while I layed there naked and cold.

The next day.

from chris: hey. you wanna hang?

I reply quickly, agreeing to hangout with him. I wanted ask him in person if he was okay, I wanted his company. He said he would pick me up in about 20 minutes.

An hour goes by and he hadn't shown up yet. I texted him once asking if he was on his way and got no response. Another hour goes by and I gave up on waiting for him.

I started to get ready for bed, trying not to think about why he didn't show up. Why did he feel the need to avoid me? What did I do wrong?

And just as I was about to hop in bed to go to sleep my phone dings.

from chris: I'm sorry. can I come get u still?

He can't be serious right now. Almost 3 hours later he decided to text back.

He picks me up and were both more quiet then usual on the car ride to his house.

Once we get inside we head to his room. I look at him in his eyes for the first time tonight and they're glossed over, tinted red and a little puffy. He looked like had been crying, or high, or maybe both. And by the smell of weed in his room I can tell he's been smoking.

"Are you okay?" I ask while sitting on his bed. He sits on his chair by his desk. "Yeah" he says giving a smile that doesn't match the current sullen energy he has.

"Are you sure your good" I ask. He nods his head. "Why are so quiet right now? It's kinda freaking me out" I voiced. He didn't answer the question. Instead, he asked if I wanted some food. I said yes and he ordered food from door dash.

The first hour of being at his house felt different compared to the other times I've been here. But after the first hour things got better.

Chris sat across from me on his bed as we finished eating the food he ordered. "You know I thought I did something wrong that made you mad at me or something" I admitted. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"You just didn't text me for awhile after the last time I was here. Thought I did something that made you want to avoid me" I confessed. He shakes his head. "You didn't" he responded, short and simple.

"You just make me think a lot" he said. "What's that mean?" I asked confused. He shrugs his shoulders. "Anyways what have you been up to?" he asked, changing the subject. "Um nothing really. Just been with Jackson and stuff" I said truthfully.

"Yeah? And how's that been?" He questioned. "I mean it's been okay" I lied. It hasn't been okay. Lying was never my strong suit, and by the way Chris is looking at me it seems like he can tell.

"That sounded real convincing" he chuckles. I shake my head and laugh.

The night goes on and I'm now laying down on his bed. He's laying down next to me, as we face eachother while talking. We're both reminiscing about our childhoods and go back and forth between telling eachother stories.

"You should of seen Nick's reaction" Chris smiled. "Matt putting a frog next to Nick while he was sleeping is top ten funniest memories" he continued. "When he woke Nick up, Nick saw the frog and screamed so loud our parents came running into our room".

I laugh, "thats so fucked up". Over time the topics change. From childhood stories, to past high school drama, we listened to eachother closely. And whenever the topic of past lovers and relationships came the energy shifted.

I had told him Jackson was my first boyfriend. I had never been with anyone else.

"I only dated one girl and it was a year and a half ago. We were together for 9 months" he said. "Why did you guys break up?" I asked. His body tensed up and I could tell he was deep in thought. "She cheated on me with someone I considered to be my bestfriend" he said.

My heart sunk into my body. "Oh" I said quietly. "It's okay it was a long time ago" he said shrugging. I didn't know how to respond so I just grabbed his hand and squeezed it. The topic changed again.

We talked about our families and our dreams for our future. We talked about our favorite things, the things we hated the most and everything else in between. And as we talked I had lost track of time.

Chris had gone silent for a minute. "You okay?" I asked. "Mhm" he hummed. As me and Chris face eachother laying down on his bed together talking, I feel content. And when we both go silent with our eyes locked on eachother I feel a type of feeling that I can't quite register.

I can't help but feel like our energies together are all the sudden electromagnetic. And within a couple seconds of the atmosphere feeling heavy Chris brings his hand up to my jaw, gently caressing it as if it was the most fragile part of my body.

My heart fastens at his actions just a little bit because something about this feels so intimate. And when he moves a strand of my hair behind my ear my stomach feels like it's doing flips.

At this point I was so caught up in the moment that I didn't hear the bedroom door open. "Chris" I heard come from the other side of the bedroom. Chris quickly removes his hand from my jaw as if he had just been caught doing something illegal. Madi was standing at the door looking at the two of us.

She gave me a polite smile and I returned it. "Matt wanted to talk to you for a second" Madi said to Chris. Chris sat up from laying down on the bed and walked off to Matt's room.

Madi jumps on Chris's bed next to me. "I lied he didn't want to talk to Chris I just wanted to see you" Madi said laughing. "Oh my god" I said laughing.

"So you and Chris, getting closer yeah?" She said. I nod my head, feeling a little unsettle. Me and Chris weren't doing anything but for some reason I felt guilty. "Good. I think its good for the both of you" She said smiling. "He can be a really good friend" she continued. "You spending the night?" Madi asked with a curious expression on her face. "Yeah maybe" I replied.

"I think you should. I can cook us all breakfast in the morning" she said. "Ill text you if I end up staying the night" I told her.

Chris comes back into the room, "Matt's asleep" he said. "I know I just wanted to steal y/n from you for a second" she said laughing before getting up off the bed. Chris rolls his eyes sarcastically, giving her a "are you serious right now?" type of look.

Madi laughed before leaving the room. Chris comes back onto the bed and sits next to me. "Did you wanna stay the night?" he asks. "Do you want me to?" I ask. "Well do you want to?" he responded. "Yeah but I dont want to invade your space or overstay ya know" I spoke.

"Your not, I want you to stay" he said. "You sure?" I asked. Chris didnt respond right away. Instead he grabbed onto my body and pulled me into him. "Stay" he said softly.

With my legs wrapped around his, and his arms wrapped around me I felt safe. I felt comfortable, I felt okay, which isn't a very common feeling for me recently.

I didn't want to move, so I didn't. Instead Chris and I held onto eachother. And as my body and mind get tired I feel the inevitable sleep come.

And I tried to fight it, as if I didn't want to go to sleep. As if I wanted to spend as much time as I could awake. Just to talk to Chris some more, to hear him talk some more. To hear him breath or laugh some more. But my body's natural instincts took over, and I fell asleep on his chest once again.

taglist:

@overlygoin @riggysworld

[luxiomahariel]

Hi um. First of all, just wanted to say that I really like your posts and what you've been doing for the transmasc people in this terrible fucking time. Second, and sorry and feel free to ignore me, I just saw that ppl can vent in your asks and I'd like to do that if you don't mind. Sorry if you do. Also, you don't have to answer anything, but if you want to, sure.

Um, TWs for suicide thoughts, self hatred and a lot of transphobia?

You see, I'm just Russian and several years ago, just after I turned 18, our government basically just banned all transition for everyone including adults. Completely. Funny enough they passed this law while I was taking my final exams for graduating school, so. These exams were very fun while I was considering killing myself. I did pretty good, though!

Also we literally have a law that states that talking about LGBTQ+ people is propaganda and being LGBTQ+ is being an extremist (a terrorist, basically). You can be in jail for that!

Anyway, my life is shit. I'm extremely dysphoric, I'm closeted pretty much everywhere and when I do come out, most of the times it's useless, because who the fuck cares about other people's pronouns, right? My family is extremely transphobic and I'm forced to live with them because I don't have the money and opportunity to move anywhere. They won't ever accept me as a son and I'm just so tired of being misgendered and deadnamed every day.

I hate my body, my voice, my personality, everything. I genuinely hate the person I'm becoming. I'm bitter, I'm miserable, I'm hateful and envious, I'm terrible to be around, and I'm so sad it's unbearable. I genuinely don't think I've ever had a good day since I was a kid and even then I'm not sure because I don't remember my childhood.

I barely, if ever, pass. I can't even wear a binder because of my fuckass family (and I already have bad ribs). I can't transition. I'm fucking 20, ffs. I lost so much time that I'll never get back. I got so many traumas that I'll never properly heal. There are things I've already completely lost by going though this fucking puberty. And I see all these people who have supportive families and got to transition young and have queer communities and queer friends and I feel so much envy. They're living in better countries and I don't think I'll ever leave this hell of a country where I was born. I'm stuck. I'll die here, never having experienced happiness.

I genuinely am a terrible fucking person, and I can't even try to be better, because I spend all my energy on not killing myself and being somewhat functional. Well, I'm not, like, actively horrible to other people, I genuinely try to be nice to everyone, even this one fuckass girl who can't seem to memorise 6 letters of my chosen name that I fucking introduced myself as and seems to think that if she stops using my deadname it will kill her. I'm even nice to HER. But I feel so much guilt for being this way, because I know just how spiteful and angry I am on the inside. I look at older women and I'm so afraid I'm going to grow up and look that way. I look at men and it's killing me that I'll never look like that. I'll never be loved.

I also guess most people also feel that I'm somewhat queer, and fuck, do they fucking hate me for it. I genuinely am barely treated like a human being by some professors (a few, not a lot, but fucking still).

So, I go through all that every fucking day, and then I get on tumblr, and then I see all these fucking people talking about how the moment someone identifies as a trans man, they gain ALLLL the male privilege in the world and also immediately become guilty of all misogyny and transmisogyny in the world and also they pass perfectly and nobody is ever shitty to them. Yeah. Because that's how it happens. Great job, guys. But transandrophobia isn't real, because...um... Men = privileged!☝️🏻 Transandrophobes are a fucking joke.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading that, if you did. Sorry for my English, as I said, I'm Russian. And sorry again if you don't accept people venting to you, I just had nowhere to go. I do feel a bit better having written all that.

.

[pikakaistudioos]

SKYFIRE IS MY FAVORITE LITTLE (big) GUY SO PLS TELL ME ALL ABOUT YOURS. What's his backstory? What does he do? What are his relationships with the other cast members like?

Ahhh, I don't really know where to start cos some stuff would be really confusing if I don't talk about basic Cybertronian lore in my AU. Cos, it is quite different.

As for backstory he is a shuttle-class Seeker who was forged on Luna-1. During the Golden Age he shared a recharge bay (dorm room) in Iacon Science Academy with Starscream.

In general there was a lot of discrimination towards seekers, minicons, war frames,etc. So there wasn't many shuttles in the Academy, and Starscream was the first and only Vosian Seeker accepted into the Academy (Luna-1 Seekers were less discriminated because they looked less "predatory"). But I'm kinda expanding a little bit onto seeker lore but I want to focus on Skyfire for now.

So, he and Starscream were assigned to the dorm room together bc administrators thought it was most logical to put two Seekers together. And it was a good thing. Sky and Star quickly became friends, shared their notes and exchanged their research. Eventually they became Amica Endura. And their relationship grew more and more in time.

Skyfire could be described as the quiet, soft and caring mech who had a lot of patience (especially with Starscream lol). Even if he did nothing wrong he would always apologize. Despite the looks other students give him because of his size, he still warmly smiles to them. But he can be firm when someone crosses his boundaries.

Time passed at the Academy and he and Starscream finally got some recognition and were to participate in an exploratory mission to study and map out the uncharted sectors of space. Just the two of them in the dark vastness of space. They studied many planets, some organic, some metallic, some partly energy-based planets. During their studies Skyfire saw Starscream glancing at him in a weird way as if he wanted to tell him something. Skyfire immediately knew and smiled internally, he will wait.

But then something happened once they were descending towards their last planet, a 3rd planet from a Sol system (which was actually prehistoric Earth). An unexpectedly strong blizzard led to many system malfunctions and inevitable separation. Skyfire had crashed into the ice of the polar region but his massive weight made the ice crack and he sunk into the abyss of the cold waters, systems engaging into deep stasis lock.

Starscream was looking for Skyfire non-stop, until he needed to force himself to withdrawal and go back to Cybertron for a rescue team (which never really came, the Academy didn't allow a rescue, I can explain about it in Starscream’s lore). That day was truly devastating for Starscream, he was preparing to tell Skyfire once they arrived on Sol-3. He was preparing to ask Sky to become his conjunx endura...

[Time skip]

After millions of years the tectonic plates shifted enough to make Skyfire's signature detectable. Now it happens similarly like in the G1 episode "Fire in the Sky". Starscream cannot believe what the sensors detected, it was a Cybertronian distress signal, a signal matching Skyfire's signature.

Note that that's not the same Starscream anymore. The Decepticons discover Skyfire in the ice and recruit him. Starscream explains to Skyfire about the war with the autobots, that Decepticons were the heroes and the autobots were the villains who stood with the old system and that the decepticons were fighting against it. But after millions of years causes change.

After Skyfire saw what the decepticons do to the autobots who surrender he couldn't watch, when Starscream demanded of him to execute the prisoners Skyfire with the horror look on his face and refused. Starscream then with betrayal on his face whispered "traitor" and pointed up his null-ray. Skyfire didn't believe Starscream would shoot him, he explained that he was a scientist, not an executioner. Starscream fired, missing Skyfire's helm by mere inches. That's when Sky saw that Star wasn't who he was all those years ago. Starscream told Skyfire to leave and never come back, he told him that he should be thankful that his spark is still lit (these words hurt both Skyfire and Starscream equally).

Skyfire fled, the only options for him were the Autobots...

So he joined the faction, despite the pain he felt...welcome...as much as he could have felt. But something still nagged him, despite being an autobot, he didn't feel like one. He would have stayed neutral but by being an Autobot they could once and for all put an end to this war that destroyed his conj-... no...they didn't become it.

...

There's still much more but I do not want to overwhelm you with too much info in one post lol

[fictionkinfessions]

not a confession, but im just curious! mpc, have you ever seen a confession on here that's made you want to get into a certain source?

surprisingly yeah!

homestuck, too dated to read as an adult with a functioning brain in the year idk 2020? ish? I tried the semi official audio book / read along and hated the voice actor sorry couldn't do it. Love the concept but its impenetrable to me. the music is excellent though, I recall spending one full year of listening to nothing but the soundtracks on "repeat 1" for various songs. dance of thorns, eternity served cold, austin Atlantis , creation, violet prince, rex duodecim angelus,, lifdoff, pumpkin party in sea whatevers water apocalypse, THE LORDLING,three in the morning, ok stop typing before you list all the songs!!!

the final fantasy xvi? the one that has ignis and gladiolus, good bird doggies. loved the car 😘

orv, which confused and disgusted me. I dont understand the literary device. it's like explaining a nuclear plant to a bird.

this one childrens horror novel about cursed dolls, cant remember that title sorry. It was ok. I think I'd enjoy it more if I were in the intended age audience for the novel.

the coffin of andy and leyley: amazing story telling about a capitalist hellworld. I can't remember the let's player but def check if it's the latest playthrough since theres been updates.

look outside: fantastic cosmic horror video game btw. dodges stale tropes, no racist lovecraft stuff, as charming as it is repulsive, does not shy away from including child as victims of this horror. I watched this full playthrough commentary. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLANLy0-qcuzTv9L_YAFiHu6edccTsND7J the let's player, CullenDaGaDee, also has a thread on the SA forums which goes into more detail about the game: https://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=4087411

clair obscur: stunning, sad, didnt care for the fighting parts sorry. hated the one black character died at the start but like. I know how french people are like. 👤

I also almost got into danganronpa, but I've never found a good sslp.  I'm not watching 300 hours of vlp, my brain does not allow that.

sort of related but shout iut to Maeltopia folks. I tried your source, could get into it, and was surprised to see you all popping up here. of all the podcasts, that one?!? most people dont like Horror, unless that's just my attention bias.

oh theres also some niche indie horror video games but I can never find the time to play them or the let's plays for them.

so yeah anyways if you also got into a source via this blog, do share?

[tidbitch]

When Your Wings Break

Part 1

141 x Reader

Ranch AU

This fic will contain some dark topics such as abuse, assault, and suicide. Please read at your own discretion <3

After getting nearly kidnapped at a bar, Reader gets rescued by Price and brought back to tf 141's ranch. Lots of daddy issues ahead

Big thank you to @leyavo !!!! I couldn't have done this without your support and our talks <3333

I’m awoken by the pounding in my head. The smell of something cooking alerts me to the fact that I’m not in my own bed. I can’t remember the last time I cooked something, much less had breakfast. 

The dim light of dawn is an unfamiliar sight, and not one that’s easy on my weary eyes. No matter how much I squint, I can’t seem to ease the pain behind my retinas. I let out a groan and throw the covers back of my head. They smell strange but not unpleasant. Notes of woody warmth fill my nose as I try to remember what I’d been up to last night. I can only hope to figure out where I’m at before I’m found out. 

I know I just got off the plane yesterday and I can’t imagine having been in the highlands too terribly long. I’ve always wanted to travel - cliche, I know - but that doesn't make it any less true. I've grown disenchanted with the hectic hustle and bustle of city life and I wanted to finally see something green for once. Lord knows I'll never find it in my wallet, that's for sure. I'd spent the past half year saving up for this trip. 

So far the UK's lived up to the hype. And being able to drink here sure is a bonus. Not that it was ever hard finding someone willing to turn a blind eye back home, but still. A win is a win, I suppose. And I haven’t been having many of those lately. Or in general. 

I can remember being in some quaint little pub. It was maybe the third or fourth one I'd been to last night despite being so fresh off the plane that I still had a pocket full of airline peanuts. I don’t even eat peanuts. There was this group of creeps that kept showing up no matter how uninterested I tried to come across. I remember getting a drink I hadn’t ordered, but when I tried to tell the bartender that, he gestured towards this group of  weirdos sitting at a table. Every single notion of “Stranger Danger” and basic bar safety screamed at me, but, in my defense, I’d already started drinking it before I considered the implication. I know it's stupid. I know I'm an idiot. But hindsight's always 20/20 and at the time I had been seeing through drunk goggles. 

After a few minutes, I was really feeling the drink. More so than I should have. I know I'm no lightweight. I've had a few too many more than a few times and I know that's not what this is. One of those crazy bastards had drugged me and I can only guess what he wants from me is nothing good.

A man from that awful table approached me. I can’t remember what dumb pick-up line he had tried on me, but I remember immediately connecting the dots and wanting to get away from him.

“Leave me alone!” I snarled. I recall the way I had tried to chuck my glass at his face, but my arm felt awkward and far too heavy. The cup fell on the floor, glass shards spraying up and coating the ground of the bar. 

“Aw c'mon, baby, don't make a scene now.” The man's hand cupped my ass and alarm bells were finally blaring full force.

“Stop!” I tried to scream, but words failed me. I slurred out something vaguely terrified, but no one seemed to notice. Or at least they hadn’t cared enough to do anything about it if they had.  Before I had the chance to berate myself, the man was leading me towards the door, about to steal me into the night and who knows he had planned. Well, I had a few guesses but I really didn’t want to have to face any of them. 

I kept trying to flail and get someone's attention, but the man just mutters out apologies and explains I had a few too many. At this point I had begun to notice the tears falling down my burning cheeks as whimpers try to bubble from my dry mouth. 

“Right, what’s going on over here?” Another man, one far too large, suddenly blocks the door. He has the facial hair of a chipmunk and what appears to be a cowboy hat dropout on his head. 

I once again attempted to separate myself from the pervert, but he’s holding me flushed against him. His terrible stench might never leave my nostrils.

“My girl’s just had too much to drink. We had a little scuffle, tha's all.” 

The man in the hat hums for a moment before studying my face. 

“Too much to drink, yeah? Reckon some water would do her good then.” His smile made a strange “v “shape. He has the cheek fur of a drowned rat, but the piercing gaze of a hawk about to strike. He turned and grabbed his own cup. He bashed it right over my captor’s head and ripped me away. I fell into the booth he has previously occupied and the last thing I saw before my vision had gone black was my savior getting surrounded by the creep’s buddies. The sounds of anguished cries and smacks of fists against flesh, maybe some boots getting a stomp or two in as well, are the last things I remember.

I quickly open my eyes, much more alert now especially once I pick up on the sound of something moving. Or rather someone.

I try to move but my body's still far too heavy.  

“Shh, shh, easy does it now. Be gen’le with yourself.” The man slowly pulls the blanket away from my face. The sunlight warms my cheeks.

I finally manage to crack open an eye and I'm face-to-face with what might be the kindest looking brown eyes I have ever seen. But looks can be deceiving.

I level a glare at him but end up wincing as the pounding in my head reminds me of its presence.

“Here, drink some water.” He reaches a straw towards my mouth, but I shake my head. 

“It's safe, love, I promise,” he takes a sip. “See?” He lets out an “ahh” as he tries to make the water seem more palatable. “Just a few sips, yeah?” His brow scrunches and I have to look away, the amount of concern in his russet gaze boring into my very soul.

I can’t let this guy trick me. I can’t let my guard down again. 

I take in a deep breath, the burn in my throat following the air down. 

“What do you want?” I bite out, finally able to push myself into a seated position. 

“I  jus’ wanna help.” The brown-eyed guy kneels next to the bed. “I know what happened must've been pretty scary, yeah? So how ‘bout you le’ us take care o’ you.” He slowly reaches out, obviously worried about spooking me, and offers me his weathered hand. “I'm Kyle.”

I study the guy. He’s tall and muscular. Definitely not anyone I'd wanna take in a fight.

 I swat his hand away, trying not to think too much about just how tiny mine looked next to it. Just what are they feeding these guys?!

The door flies open and the room is flooded with light from the hallway. Kyle looks like he’s about to say something, but the guy’s interrupted by a sudden commotion of barks and nails against hardwood. I barely have time to shield myself with the blanket again as a flurry of fur and slobber slams against the bed. 

“Brace yourself…” Kyle rubs a hand over his face.

“Oi! Get!” He barks out a command and the dogs surprisingly listen. The big white one even hangs its slobbery head as I peek out from under the covers. “Don't mind the dogs. They're friendly, I promise.”

“Is that our wee bon I hear?” Some man with the mohawk scampers towards the bed and drags me into a hug. He softens and coos out apologies as I let out a small “oof” from the impact. He pulls away for a moment to look me in the eye. 

I can only hope I don't look half as lost and befuddled as I feel. 

“Och! Poor wee scone,” he pouts, rubbing at my heating cheeks. “Yer alright, lass, I've goch-ye.”  It was impossible to get a word in, he just kept yapping and yapping! He was somehow saying so much yet so little and barely varying his enthusiasm. 

Kyle has moved to push the dogs out of the room. From his mild scolding I can gather that their names are Lucy, Clyde, and Whiskey. The big one, Lucy, seems to be giving him a hard time. The border collies listen exceptionally well despite giving the man the most tragic puppy dog eyes as they exit. 

Just what have I gotten myself into?