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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 1 year ago

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Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, canonical character death, sexual themes/situations, masturbation

A/N: The series will heavily follow the timeline and events of the show but there will be additional non-canonical events/injuries/etc.

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You sat quietly in the passenger seat of Daryl’s truck after the caravan had stopped for a problem with the RV. There had been introductions after you had gathered your bearings during the last stop, and your trauma-addled brain was working overtime to retain the information.

Along with the RV’s issues, the group was currently saying goodbye to one of their own. It seemed too intimate an affair for you to include yourself, an outsider. The man had been bitten. It was your understanding they were all headed for the CDC in Atlanta, desperate for a cure before the sickness could take him.

But the fever had won, as it always did.

You watched as the frail man was carefully moved to the base of a tree, but then averted your gaze as they bid him farewell. They were all affected, heads down as they returned—one by one—to their vehicles. They intended to leave him, per his own wishes. You weren’t sure if that was a choice you could make were you the one in his predicament. It was both admirable and ludicrous.

Daryl returned to the truck, remaining quiet as he climbed behind the wheel. He hadn’t spoken a word to you, which left you with a tight feeling inside your chest that you couldn’t—wouldn’t—name. You wondered if you were only there because of the possibility that his baby was growing inside of you. It hadn’t been mentioned.

I told ya she’s good.

He hadn’t given the group any information. They knew your name per your own admission, which alone was enough to twist the archer’s face into a scowl. You were a dirty little secret. You had placed your remaining fragments of hope in Daryl after losing everything and he was treating you like he’d left a few loose bills on a dresser after fucking you in a sleazy motel.

You scrutinized him from the corner of your eye; the way he was tapping the tip of each finger against the steering wheel as he drove. His other arm was resting on the door, the window down, while he rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip. The broken skin on the sides of the digit suggested that it was indeed a habit he turned to in times of stress. He was consciously trying not to indulge.

You cleared your throat, keeping your eyes on the back of the vehicle in front of you. “I’m sorry about your friend.” You dared a glance at the same time he gave you a once over.

“Weren’t no friend’a mine.”

Lie. You could clearly see he was affected. It was borderline offensive that he’d even try to deny it. “Right. Well, I’m sorry anyway.” The uncomfortable silence stretched on, leaving you with vivid images of your encounters with the redneck. Even after you had told him you might be pregnant, there hadn’t been this thick tension in the air between the two of you. “Thank you.” He looked at you again, barely moving his hand away from his mouth. “For saving me.”

He hummed, this time parting his lips to nip at the irritated skin of his thumb. You wanted so badly to reach over and guide his hand away, but you knew that was a bad idea.

“Ya take one’a them tests?”

Ah, there it was. Your back slid down the seat while you nervously twisted the hem of your flannel around your index finger. “Uh, no. I lost them when I ran from the camp.” He shot you a look so quickly you thought he might have given himself whiplash.

“Y’fuckin’ serious?”

You nodded, expecting an outburst, but you still flinched when his fist came down on the doorframe, keeping it clenched when he brought it back to his mouth. “It was an accident. I wasn’t exactly thinking of them when I was wrestling a geek for my bag. Lost most of my clothes and my canteen, too.”

He let out a condescending humph from behind his hand. “Ya sure it’s even mine?”

Now it was your turn to pin him down with a look of your own. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Means exactly what I said.”

You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes, along with the urge to throttle him right where he sat, regardless of the fact that he was driving. “Well, there was that other hunter I’d meet at dawn and then the one that would wait patiently until you got your rocks off first.”

“Ya think your funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny, asshole. If there’s a baby, unfortunately, it’s yours.” His piercing gaze met your narrowed eyes, only holding for a moment before he had to look back at the road. “Can you pull over?”

“Gonna puke again?”

“No.” You snapped, angling your body toward the door. “I want to get out.”

“Why?”

“Because being trapped in such a small space with you is going to make me puke. Now, pull over.”

To his credit, he did slow down. “Nah.” He pressed the gas and easily caught up with the car in front of him.

“Don’t worry, Daryl. I won’t tell anyone your secret.” You hissed the word with such venom that you swore you could taste the remnants of it on the tip of your tongue.

“Settle down. Ain’t lettin’ ya out so ya can get your fool self killed.”

You threw yourself back against the seat with more force than necessary, crossing your arms. You wondered if you suddenly began to pray that god or whoever was listening might possibly just see fit to bestow upon you the monthly occurrence that most women deem as a curse.

This was the reason the time between you in those woods was so limited. No feelings involved. Little to no social information exchanged. You liked the Daryl that made it priority to worship your body and fuck you senseless, his only words being filthy encouragement that would catapult you to and over the edge. Even when he accompanied you to the pharmacy, his presence wasn’t a negative contribution to the journey. You had actually felt oddly—comfortable.

But the Daryl that you were currently trapped inside a beat up old pickup truck with had spoken all of seven sentences and you wanted to shoot him in the groin. You couldn’t imagine having a child with that man. Didn’t want to imagine it. If only your baser instincts hadn’t been so prominent over common sense when you saw him in the woods that third time.

You could vomit now when you thought back on that specific meeting. You quite literally propositioned him while stalking toward him and simultaneously ripping off your shirt. He had looked so confused at first but caught up quickly. He was deep inside you while you straddled his lap less than five minutes later. Why hadn’t you at least had the brain power to tempt him just enough and send him to get condoms first? Nope. You jumped straight on his dick like a horny teenager.

“For the love of fucks sake.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, ashamed at how recalling the carnal moments spent with the man across the bench seat from you had heat pooling at the apex of your thighs. You shifted, crossing your legs and pressing one down on the other, the tough inseam of your jeans rubbing just right over your clit to send a jolt of pleasure all the way down to your toes. You only barely stifled a moan.

A quick glance found Daryl still watching the road, lighting up a cigarette. Yet another thing you didn’t know about him. You shifted your hips while casting quick, discrete glances. He was seemingly oblivious. Biting your bottom lip, you turned your face toward the window and continued the careful side to side of your hips, very slowly but very steadily working toward what would undoubtedly be a quick and not totally satisfying orgasm. Still, it was better than the alternatives of either sliding your hand into your panties or asking the man beside you to slide his hand into your panties.

You noticed your breaths quickening and inhaled deeply through your nose to try and calm both that and your heartrate. The hot coil burning in your lower belly was tightening, pulses of pleasure bleeding out to culminate at the swollen bud that your jeans were stimulating. You were so close, almost there—

Daryl cleared his throat, flicking his smoke out the window and unintentionally bringing a sudden halt to any progress you had made toward release. You openly glared at him.

“What?” He huffed, sneering at your obvious resentment.

“You’re an asshole.”

It was near dusk when the caravan finally pulled up to the CDC. There had been stops to siphon fuel, take bathroom breaks, and go over plans and strategies. You had remained inside the cab of the truck, not trusted enough to be privy on their plans. You couldn’t really fault them. Even if they had included you, nothing they had said could have prepared you for the devastation outside the government building.

“We’re really going out there?” You asked, feeling nauseated at the thought of seeing the bodies up close.

“Yep.” Daryl replied casually, already outside the truck. He was holding his crossbow as well as a shotgun and was looking at you expectantly. “C’mon. Get the lead out, woman.”

Puffing out your cheeks in a forced exhale, you opened the truck door. The stench of death and rot was even worse when you stepped out onto the pavement. Flies and maggots were in abundance, feasting on the fallen littering the ground. You gagged behind your hand, ushered forward by a surprisingly gentle hand from the redneck.

“Can’t stop here.”

When you caught up with the group, the one called Shane was directing everyone like a traffic cop, trying to keep fear and panic to a minimum. “All right, everybody. Keep moving. Go on. Stay quiet. Let's go. Okay, keep moving. Stay together.”

Rick joined in, urging everyone forward while Jacqui and Shane tried to keep the group quiet. You were at the rear of the main cluster of people with Daryl following closely behind you. You could hear the commotion before you saw Shane pounding on the shutters that were keeping the entrance blocked.

“Walkers!” Daryl called out, firing a shot that made you flinch.

“Walkers?” You blurted before realizing exactly what he meant. “Oh fuck!” You had no weapon, absolutely no method of defending yourself. Before you could protest, Daryl had reached back with one arm and pushed you behind himself. You didn’t have time to think too hard on it before he was yelling.

“Ya led us into a graveyard!”

Your hands had fisted into the back of his shirt, subsequently allowing him to guide you where he needed you without sacrificing his focus.

“He made a call!” Shane sounded from somewhere behind you.

Daryl growled harshly, the sound vibrating your hands against his back. “It was the wrong damn call!” He shouted. The commotion continued, blame and orders being thrown about in shouts and pleas you ignored in favor of burying your face between Daryl’s shoulder blades. You had survived; lost your entire family and stayed alive only to die with a handful of strangers and a man you almost wished you had made more of an effort to get to know. Amidst the crying children, the screaming women, you could clearly hear and focus on Rick’s desperate declaration:

“You’re killing us! You’re killing us! You’re killing us!”

“Daryl.” You sobbed before you could stop yourself.

Then, something unexpected but no less of a miracle.

The shutters began to open, dousing you all in a most blessed light.

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ladykailitha · 6 months ago

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I am always on the hunt for my next story as I like to have four or five stories going on at the same (being able to have multiple stories going so that I always have something to post really helps with the anxiety like you wouldn't believe.)

And I think I have found my next one. With everyone doing Olympic stories I thought that I too, would throw my hat in the ring.

Back when I first started writing for Stranger Things (like September of '22 way back) I had this story I was posting on AO3 anonymously. The fear of writing for a fandom I hadn't seen the source material of left me terrified (I still worry about from time to time) had my anxiety going a billion miles an hour.

It was about Steve deciding to coach Eddie on getting on the swim team his final senior year so that teachers would be more lenient on his grades. And in return Eddie would help with Steve's trauma of having Barb die in his pool.

I ended up abandoning the work because the characters all wrong and I just started to hate it. It only had something like 34 kudos and 121 views after six chapters. It was not good.

So I am cannibalizing the plot for my next story.

Bit of an age gap. Eddie 18 and Steve is 24 when they meet but they don't get together until after the Olympics making them 20 and 26 respectively.

Steve was going to be Michael Phelps in world where he doesn't exist (shhhh) He had come in fifth his first Olympics as a fourteen year old. His next Olympics had him winning several medals, so many that the phrases "world record" and "foremost swimmer of his time" were tossed around.

But all that changed when he had an accident in his first match in his third Olympics where the bounding board slipped out from under him as he went to dive into the water, hitting his head and nearly drowning.

Leaving him with migraines and a fear of large bodies of water. So now he teaches swimming to little kids in kiddie pools and for the older ones, he uses an endless pool. But he steers clear of the main pool and if he has to use it, he has his assistant coach Robin get in the water for him. It isn't ideal but it works.

Enter Eddie Munson. Eddie who used to swim in middle school but after his mom died and his dad went to jail, he got sent to live with his uncle, Wayne. But because Wayne was working long hours at the plant Eddie was forced to give it up in high school.

Hopper caught him dealing weed and pulled to have Eddie do community service at the rec center, mopping floors, gather towels for the laundry, refilling soap dispensers.

Eddie didn't mind because it meant that he had free access to the pool any time he wanted.

One day, Steve comes in early because he's getting a new group of nuggets for his swim class when he sees Eddie doing a near flawless butterfly stroke.

They talk and Steve finds out that Eddie just didn't have the same opportunities Steve did otherwise he probably would have been in Steve's last Olympics. The next Olympics are two years away and Steve wants to train Eddie for them.

Eddie turns him down at first until on the last day of his community service and he realizes he'll lose access to the pool. So he decides to let Steve coach him because he figures he'll at least get two free years of pool time and then after he doesn't make it, Steve and him can go their separate ways.

Only not only does Eddie get into the Olympics he starts get gold in his events.

Someone plants weed on his to discredit him when they find out he used to deal with hopes of getting him disqualified but it backfires and the culprit is exposed as the one that sabotaged Steve four years ago.

Then after Eddie wins his fifth gold in his last event, Steve and Eddie kiss about it.

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #olympics #olympic steddie

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thoughtspresso · 1 year ago

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Aqua plans to die.

And his death will be necessary to take Kamiki down.

While the full details of Aqua’s revenge plan isn’t entirely clear to all of us yet, his intention to place himself in danger as he tries to take Kamiki down is a very clear, and very crucial part of the plot that he anticipates.

Before we can dive into how Aqua is going to achieve his revenge, we need to back up a little bit and understand who he is as a person, how he makes decisions, and what he personally wants.

What is Aqua’s Goal?

From a top-level view, Aqua has a singular emotional goal:

Aqua wishes to take responsibility for the deaths of his mothers.

Aqua/Gorou absolutely believes that after two lives of the same thing, that he was the common denominator. He was the fault his mothers both died, because he was useless and helpless. Had he never been conceived, and more crucially, if his mothers did not have to lie about his existence, they would have both stayed alive. If Gorou’s mom didn’t have to conceal the pregnancy from her parents, or did not have one at all, she would have lived a long life. He believes that perhaps his second chance at life was to save Ai, but he was paralyzed and helpless during her murder. He blames himself for Ai’s death too.

This is a driving force in Aqua’s character, and informs all of his decision making, even to the detriment of his own plans most times. It leads us to his supplementary goal:

Aqua wants to keep the people he loves safe.

Whether it was shielding Ruby from entertainment or making sure she’s in a safe agency with good group members, or Akane not going too far in enacting his revenge plot for him, or Kana from steering clear of a career-ending love scandal, Aqua’s key traumas has led him to feel compelled to take action and do whatever it takes to save people if he had the power to do so.

Here is a breakdown of Aqua’s plans, and some key questions we have to ask about each one.

1. Why make a movie called The 15-Year Lie? And what is “Ai’s true wish”?

I have reason to believe that Ai’s DVD for Aqua would have either been a message about wishing to be loved truly and be hated with full honesty for the person she really was, that she wanted her actual self to be revealed to people. In line with that, I think Aqua’s DVD included Gotanda’s original documentary for the B-Komachi dome event. Which is why Gotanda tried to defend Aqua's decision to reveal her secret in chapter 112, and why in chapter 108 Gotanda says about the script that “this is finally my time to fulfill that promise.”

2. What does he mean by “using Arima Kana”?

There were theories circulating that the person who texted Frill Shiranui could have been Aqua, trying to get her to encourage Ruby to play the role of Ai in the film. However, that couldn’t be any farther from the truth. As we know, Aqua was saying that Gotanda should “grow up” and understand that the most important thing for a movie is to succeed commercially first before we talk about artistic value.

If Aqua had full control over the situation, he would have just straight up casted Akane. After all, that was what he initially proposed, and even contacted her for it despite saying he’ll never have anything to do with her again. What he needed, more than anything, was for the film to succeed commercially. And with the headlining actress no longer (a) the most famous celebrity of their generation, or (b) the heralded genius of their generation, Aqua has no other options.

Except: Arima Kana.

I think the aspect of him using her or manipulating her is mainly to encourage her publicity activities. He’ll be encouraging her to do well in her work to garner more star power for the movie to really be a success, and for her to help his sister be the perfect lead for the show. He’s also going to bank on the idea that Kana will do things for him because she has a crush on him, which he only realized in Chapter 102 after Mem-cho points it out, that he can pursuade Kana to get out of the way of his revenge plot if necessary to keep her safe or place her in the spotlight to attract people’s attention for the movie.

While unlikely, he might even encourage her to stay on a little longer until Ruby gets to the Dome performance.

Or, and maybe this is my shipping delulu talking, but it can also be that he’ll try to just be around her frequently to garner media attention about their relationship. In this way, keeping her close without actually dating her could serve a dual purpose: get people talking about them and the movie, but also make sure that Kana stays safe and nobody makes a rumor of pairing her up with anybody else.

Lastly, also not super likely but another option could be to convince her to headline the show, and play Ai in Ruby’s stead.

3. Why does Kaburagi say that the film is bordering on illegal?

This is a truly crucial piece to unveiling Aqua’s plot. We know Kaburagi likes producing shows that include good-looking young people, and that seems to be his main strategy for raking in young audiences and cashing out.

So why would he have hesitated, even for a second, on a plan to cast the top talent of this young generation, on the biggest news Japan has been talking about, handed to him by a first-hand source--the son of Ai himself?

On all accounts, this would have been the perfect formula for a smash success. So why would Kaburagi say things like, “do you have enough evidence”, when everybody already knew about the University student stalker that murdered her? What was so controversial?

Unless, when they said Aqua will play the culprit, they didn’t mean the Ryosuke.

They meant he was playing Hikaru Kamiki.

Here’s what we know about the film, and what I think Aqua is trying to do:

1. Portray Kamiki in the worst possible way and destroy his reputation.

The 15-Year Lie will be a biopic about Ai’s life from when she was starting out as an idol. Ai will be portrayed as a poor girl abandoned by her parents, searching for the true meaning of love. We know that this framing will be part of Ai’s characterization because of the scenes where Ruby struggled the most:

In the search for love, they will show her falling for a young man and talented actor at Theatre Lalalai--that being Hikaru Kamiki. Once he gets Ai pregnant, he abandons her, and she runs off to the countryside to hide from the press. When Ai asked him to come visit her, Kamiki, in wanting to protect his career, attempted to send out a stalker. A few years later, seeing his kids wotagei on social media, he manages to find them again and kill Ai.

It is a complete and utter character assasination of Hikaru Kamiki, and while revealing Ai as a flawed person, draws for the sympathy of the viewers to love Ai for who she truly is. Which is exactly why Gotanda keeps insisting for Ruby to play the role, even when Aqua and Kaburagi have sensible recommendations for Akane and Frill.

At that moment, when Ai dies, Aqua will reveal his face, and openly declare that it was his father who orchestrated it all. Then he might even portray his father murdering Ryosuke himself, instead of the suicide that was reported in the media.

2. Aqua will use himself to bait his father out, and force Kamiki’s hand to kill Aqua.

The main reason why Aqua finds it necessary for the film to be a commercial success is because he needs the general public to be one hundred percent in agreement that Hikaru Kamiki is an evil man that deserves to be jailed. (Whether or not he reveals his name in the film, which he could but doesn’t need to.) This public lynching is his first control.

But here’s the thing: Kamiki didn’t directly murder Himekawa Airi and Hoshino Ai himself. At this point in time, Aqua is not aware of Katayose Yura’s murder either. And there is no evidence that connects Uehara Seijirou and Ryosuke’s suicides as murders by Kamiki’s hands.

And on top of all that, when these things happened, Kamiki was fully a minor.

Akane’s fears and interpretation was that Aqua would murder his own father because it’s the only form of revenge he could enact himself.

But she’s wrong, there’s one more thing Aqua could do: make Kamiki commit murder again. If he kills Aqua, there will now be a murder that the public agrees without a doubt was done by Kamiki himself.

He can go to jail once and for all, or he can also get stabbed by an angry fan--Aqua doesn’t care. All he cares about is that it’s a sure win, and it’s over forever. He launches his sister’s career into the spotlight, he keeps everybody safe, and he atones for the death of his mothers with his own life.

In summary: Aqua plans to get killed by his father, so that an actual murder has occurred for which he could be jailed or publicly ostracized or even killed.

And here’s why I think Aqua will fail:

Aqua’s assumptions about his father are incorrect.

He believes that Kamiki’s reason for killing Ai was because her pregnancy would ruin his reputation and career as a rising actor. That’s why Aqua tries to hit him there. And he believes defaming him might provoke him to get killed.

But I don’t think Kamiki cared about his reputation at all anymore. He left his career as an actor behind after Kindaichi kicked him out of Lalalai, and went on to graduate from Faculty of Science. He never went back in front of the spotlight, instead opening a talent agency around the exact time he believed his kids might be joining the industry.

I have reason to believe that Kamiki thinks murdering Airi and Ai was to protect his children or some other great act of justice against his rapist(s). And that even killing Katayose Yura was done because he didn’t want a liar like her to take the spotlight that was supposedly for his daughter Ruby.

I don’t think Kamiki will harm Aqua.

But I do think he will come forward and expose himself and his twisted justification, and he might even openly give interviews to the media.

Instead, I do believe Kamiki might pay attention to Kana’s honest acting--something he’s never seen before in a person, and try to get close to her somehow. And if Kamiki’s name is not revealed, and if the theories are true that Frill works for Kamiki’s agency, he might recruit Kana to join him.

All this is to say, get Kana out of this manga. Somebody, please save her.

#oshi no ko #oshi no ko spoilers #onk spoilers #onk fantheories #oshi no ko fan theories #Hoshino Aqua #Aqua Hoshino #Arima Kana #Kurokawa Akane #Hoshino Ruby #ruby hoshino #Hikaru Kamiki #Character Analysis #If you're reading these tags please know that Aqua is like Edward Cullen planning to walk in front of the Volturi in broad daylight #And Arima Kana is Bella driving a yellow sports car in full speed trying to not get him murdered #But seriously he blames himself so much we should get Robert P to play him in the live action good god #The Chuunibyou is strong with this one #These are the gambles #I am allowed to be incorrect

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year ago

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The Forgotten Nest (Part 7) - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Mitchell!OC (Cora)

Word Count: 5.2k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Past Unplanned Teenage Pregnancy; Angst; Absent Parental Figures; The 'He Didn't Know About the Pregnancy' Trope; Repeating Trauma Cycles; Crying; Named Mitchell Daughter OC (Cora) and Named Mitchell-Bradshaw Son (Nickie)

Summary: In the few days before the mission, Nickie has important conversations with his mom, his grandfather, and maybe even his estranged father.

A.N. There are references to a previous unplanned teenage pregnancy (between two eighteen-year-olds) in this fic. There won't be any flashback scenes to the pregnancy, but the references are still there, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8 Epilogue

Master List

It was the day after Ice’s funeral and somehow the Mitchells had to go back to normal. Maverick reported for duty early, Cora went back to work as usual, and Nickie stayed late at school to make up some of the work that he missed. But it wasn’t back to normal. Not really.

Walking out of school, Nickie looked up to see his mom’s car roll around the corner of the school. A bit nervously, Nickie made his way over. They hadn’t talked last night about much of anything. Everyone sort of went in their separate directions and stewed in their own thoughts. And Nickie knew that his mom and his grandfather saw the wings that he pinned to his jacket.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Cora greeted him with a small smile. “How was school?”

“Long,” Nickie replied quietly, sinking into his seat. “How was work?”

“Same old, same old,” Cora stated as she put the car in drive.

They stared heading home, though Cora got tenser and tenser with every mile. Gripping the steering wheel tighter than normal, Cora stared at the stop light in front of them, before quickly putting her turn signal on and making a right. Nickie looked over at his mom with clear confusion, since this wasn’t the direction home. But Cora continued driving.

“Where are we going?” Nickie asked his mom, who shot him a small smile in return.

“You’ll see.”

Nickie leaned back in his seat, still confused, but trusting his mom. Cora eventually pulled down a winding road that ended in a parking lot. They could see the naval ships in the harbor and the planes overhead reminded Nickie that base wasn’t very far.

Wordlessly, Cora turned off the car and stepped out, causing Nickie to do the same. Cora walked down the path, made her way down to a bench, and sat down on the worn wood. She patted the spot next to her and Nickie sat down without much of a fuss, though he felt a rock settle in his stomach when he caught his mom’s expression.

“Mom, I can explain . . .” Nickie started off softly.

“Do you remember all the times that I would bring you out here when you were little to watch the ships?” Cora asked, staring over at the ships docked in port. “You would just sit out here for hours, endlessly entertained.”

“Mom?” Nickie asked, looking over at her with some concern.

“Or all of the times that your grandfather brought you to the museum in town? He had to run after you once because you wanted to touch the plane and you just slipped under the ropes,” Cora mused, smiling at the memories. “You know, I think if your grandfather’s face wasn’t in some of those photos in the museum, the security guard would have been a lot meaner to him.”

“Mom?” Nickie repeated, softer this time.

Sobering, Cora took a breath before turning to her son. Nickie could see a thin layer of tears in her eyes, but didn’t comment on it. Mostly because he could feel some building behind his own eyes. Cora smiled painfully and cupped her son’s cheek, rubbing her thumb along his skin.

“What I’m trying to say, Nickie, is that part of me always knew that you could someday end up in the Navy,” Cora began, dropping her hand down to grab Nickie’s hand and give it a squeeze. “I mean, all of your father figures were aviators. You grew up in a Navy town. Your grandfather always brought you to the airshows and told you all about his stories.”

She dropped her head for a moment, trying to compose herself. Biting the inside of her cheek, Cora turned back to Nickie with a small smile.

“I know that you probably think that I’m going to tell you that you can’t go. But I’m not.”

“Really?” Nickie asked, sounding shocked. “But, Mom, you wouldn’t even let me on a trampoline growing up.”

“And I stick by that,” Cora stated firmly. “Do you know how many kids come in with broken bones—never mind. That’s not why I brought you here.” Composing herself, Cora let out a breath and turned back to her son. “Answer a few questions for me, Nickie. Do you want to go into the Navy?”

“Yes,” Nickie replied quietly, without much confidence in his mom’s presence.

“More than you want any other career path?”

“Yes,” Nickie returned with more confidence than before.

“And will going into the Navy make you happy?”

“I think so.”

“And do you have a backup plan in case you can’t become a naval aviator for whatever reason?”

“Well, I know that I want to do something mechanical. I mean, Gramps had me working on cars and bikes for my entire life . . . it’s what I know. It’s what I feel comfortable with and what I want to do,” Nickie explained, causing Cora to nod slowly. Nickie scooched a little closer to his mom, still surprised at her words. “You’re really okay with me going into the Navy?”

“In all honesty, I’m not thrilled, Nickie,” Cora stated, causing Nickie’s expression to fall a bit. “If I had it my way, you would go into business or something where the most dangerous part of your day was getting to and from work.”

Cora’s gaze softened again when Nickie turned away from her, a bit shy. Grabbing Nickie’s chin gently and tilting it up so that Nickie locked eyes with her again, Cora smiled.

“But it’s not my life, Nickie. It’s yours. And I can’t—I don’t want to be that parent who stands in the way of their child’s dreams because they’re too scared of what could happen or they’re too afraid to let go. I don’t want to be that kind of mom.”

Turning to face her son fully, Cora grabbed his hands and gave them a squeeze.

“All I have ever wanted for you, Nickie, was for you to be happy. For you to not have to worry about the things that I had to worry about when I was your age. I wanted you to be able to live your life without my past or your grandfather’s past or . . . anyone else’s past holding you back.”

“Like how it happened for Bradley?” Nickie asked, causing Cora to pause for a moment.

“Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “Like that.”

Cora slowly turned to look at the back of the bench. Nickie followed his mom’s gaze and paused when he noticed the plaque in the middle of the wood. It was small and not very noticeable, but there was a plaque that read a simple message:

In memory of LTJG Nicholas “Goose” Bradshaw

“That’s the thing about becoming a parent. You look back at your childhood and you try to make choices to give your kids an easier life than the one you had. But sometimes you overcorrect. And sometimes you didn’t see the problem in the first place until it smacks you in the face all over again.”

“Mom, planes have come a long way since 1986,” Nickie pointed out, causing Cora to turn back to him. “Safety wise.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I wasn’t talking about that.” Looking down at her lap for a moment, Cora took a breath. “Your father. Bradley. He always felt like he had to prove himself to the memory of his dad. And he made a lot of decisions trying to impress someone who was gone and who would have loved him regardless of any of those choices.”

Cora stared into her son’s eyes as she squeezed his hands.

“And I want to make sure that if you go into the Navy, you’re doing it for yourself. Not for Maverick. Not for Ice. Not for me . . . and definitely not to prove anything to Rooster.” Cora held her son’s gaze for a moment before adding, “I want you to do it for yourself, Nickie. Do you understand me?”

“I do, Mom.”

“Good.”

With a watery gaze, Cora pulled her son in for a hug that he quickly returned. Latching onto his mom like he was a little kid again, Nickie let a few tears dribble down from his eyes and onto her scrubs. Cora rocked her son back and forth, holding a hand to the back of his head like she did when he was a baby and she was trying to soothe him in the middle of the night.

“I thought that you’d be mad,” Nickie whispered out shakily, causing Cora to shake her head. “Or disappointed in me.”

“Nickie, I could never be disappointed in you,” Cora stated, squeezing him tighter. “You’re my baby. And you’re smart, you’re kind. You’re the kid who always got praise from all of his teachers for standing up for other kids and inviting everyone to play.” Letting out a choked sound herself, Cora tugged him closer. “I’m so proud of you, Nickie. And I’ll always be proud of you. And if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t be honest with me about this, I’m sorry, Nickie. I’m so sorry.”

“I know that you just wanted me to be safe, Mom,” Nickie croaked out emotionally.

“You’re a Mitchell. We’re not the safest bunch,” Cora blurted out, causing Nickie to laugh with her. Pulling back from the hug, Cora wiped Nickie’s tears away with her hand. “I love you, Nickie. Okay? And nothing will ever change that.”

“I know, Mom. I love you too.”

~~~~~

“I told you that you were worrying over nothing,” Amelia told Nickie as they sat out in the backyard of the Benjamin house.

“I know,” Nickie replied, shooting Amelia a small smile. “I should probably listen to you more often.”

“At least you realize it.” They sat side by side, watching the waves crash before Amelia slowly turned back to Nickie with a more serious expression. “Do you know when they ship out?”

“Any day now, I would assume,” Nickie stated, shrugging his shoulders. “We’ll probably only know the night before.”

“Have you talked to Mav yet about the Navy?”

“No, but I will. Before he leaves,” Nickie answered, nodding to himself.

“Are you going to try to talk to . . .” Amelia trailed off, causing Nickie to look at the ground.

“I don’t know,” Nickie replied honestly. “I feel like I should, but . . . he’s still the bastard who abandoned us. Should I really give him a chance?”

“I don’t know,” Amelia stated, shrugging her shoulders. Turning to look out over the waves, Amelia gripped the edge of the bench. “I know that I stopped giving my dad chances a long time ago.” She slowly looked over at Nickie, who was still staring at the ground. “But knowing you, you’re going to beat yourself up if something happens on this mission and you never talked to him.”

“And what if nothing happens and I gave him a chance that he didn’t deserve?”

“Then you can tell him to fuck off when he gets back,” Amelia replied bluntly. Turning back to Nickie, Amelia shoved him lightly on the shoulder. “Isn’t the whole Mitchell mantra about not thinking? Why are you overthinking this? Do you want to talk to him or not?”

“I want answers,” Nickie stated quietly, causing Amelia to nod.

“And where are you going to get them?”

“Him,” Nickie added lamely. Letting out a groan, Nickie rubbed his face tiredly. “Goddammit.”

~~~~~

After the orders were given that they would be shipping out the following morning, the Daggers seemed to scatter to the wind. Those with families spent their last night on FaceTime or in town with them. Some just wanted their solitude and peace to center themselves.

And Rooster didn’t have a plan. He was just going to wander, quite honestly. Until life moved in a direction for him.

“Rooster,” Hondo called, causing Rooster to slow and turn to face the warrant officer.

Holding out a piece of paper, Hondo stared Rooster down and motioned for him to take the paper. Rooster tentatively reached out and took it to find a location and time written down.

“It’s top-secret correspondence,” Hondo stated, causing Rooster to turn back to him.

“From who?”

“An unnamed source,” Hondo replied stiffly. “Just . . . don’t fuck it up.”

And without another word, Hondo turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Rooster standing there with just a piece of paper in his hand. Staring down at it again, Rooster slowly folded it up and tucked it into the pocket of his flight suit before heading for the locker room. He had a guess as to who would try to get a message to him through Hondo.

And he desperately wanted to speak with her.

~~~~~

Pulling into the lot just down the beach from the Hard Deck, Rooster turned off his car and stepped out into the warm Miramar air. Dressed in his civilian clothes, Rooster looked around for Cora, but the figure who got out of their car and turned to him was too tall to be Cora.

It was Nickie, Rooster realized, after the teenager stepped forward.

The father and son stood several feet apart, neither seemingly wanting to make the first move. Bradley was still in shock that Nickie wanted to even look at him and Nickie was still summoning all of his courage to ask the questions that had been hammering around in his head for his entire life.

“You came,” was what Nickie started off with.

“I did,” Rooster replied quietly, shutting the door to his car. Looking up and down the landscape, Rooster turned back to Nickie. “Does your mom know that you’re here?”

“No,” Nickie stated honestly. He tilted his chin up a bit, almost challenging Rooster. “Are you going to tell on me?”

“No,” Rooster replied, shaking his head.

Nickie stared up at Rooster for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists as he shifted his weight around on his feet. Letting out a breath, Nickie turned back to his father with a hardened expression that made Rooster more than a little nervous.

“Why did you never come back? Why did you never read any of her letters?” Nickie demanded with his voice thick with emotion. “Why the hell did you turn your back on my mom and never look back? What the hell did she do to you?”

“Nothing,” Rooster stated after a few moments of silence.

“Then why did you do it?” Nickie hissed, glaring over at Rooster.

“Because I was . . . am an idiot,” Rooster replied quietly, knowing that excuses weren’t going to do him any good here. Looking down at the ground for a moment, Rooster tried to find the right words. “And I . . . I was worried that she would slam the door in my face if I showed up again.”

“So, you just did it to her then?” Nickie scoffed, his jaw ticking with thinly veiled annoyance. Shaking his head as the anger simmered in his stomach, Nickie took a step closer to Rooster. “Do you have any idea of what you put her through? Do you think it was easy for her to raise me as a single mom? Do you think that she wanted that?”

“No,” Rooster returned, shaking his head calmly. Clearing his throat, Rooster rubbed the back of his neck. “My mom . . . your grandmother . . . she was a single mom for most of my life. I know it’s not easy. I know it’s not the life that most people choose to have.”

“That makes it worse,” Nickie scoffed, shooting Rooster a sharper glare.

“Do you know about her? About . . . your grandmother?” Rooster asked quietly after a few moments, causing Nickie to pause with the change in conversation.

“Of course, I do. The only person that my mom ever hid from me was you,” Nickie all but snapped, causing Rooster to wince. Letting out a breath from his nose, Nickie looked at the ground as some of the anger left his body. Kicking a rock, Nickie kept his gaze down and his voice level. “I grew up on her recipes. On . . . my grandmother’s recipes.”

“Even the birthday surprise cake?” Bradley questioned emotionally.

“Every year,” Nickie returned, some more anger leaving his system. “Until I was like thirteen.”

“She used to make those cakes for your mom and for me. For our birthdays,” Bradley replied, sounding like he was talking more to himself than Nickie for a moment. Bradley stared down at the ground, taking a breath to calm himself down. “You know, I was about your age when . . . when she died.”

“My mom told me,” Nickie responded softly, swallowing a lump in his throat.

Ice had only been gone for a few days and sometimes Nickie had to remind himself that he was never going to get a text from Ice asking for him to come over. Not anymore. Turning back to his dad, Nickie set his jaw and let out a quiet sniffle.

“Fuck cancer,” Nickie stated, causing Rooster to pick his head up.

“Fuck cancer,” Rooster returned, nodding firmly. He looked out over at the waves over Nickie’s shoulder for a moment, leaning back against the Bronco for support. “You know, if she was still here, she would have been the grandmother to never leave you alone. The kind to make sure that you left her house five pounds heavier than you came. She’d go to all your sports games and events. Hell, she probably would have driven your mom just a little crazy, sticking around so much.”

And for a moment, though he couldn’t believe it, Nickie was sympathizing with Rooster. He actually felt bad for the guy. Because for the three seconds that he put himself into Bradley’s shoes—losing his mom at sixteen—Nickie barely survived it without bursting into uncontrolled sobs.

He loved his mom. He’d do anything for his mom. He was a mama’s boy. And he couldn’t picture his life without his mom.

Coming out of the emotional fog, Rooster turned and opened the door to the Bronco, causing Nickie to pick his head up. Rifling around in the glove compartment, Rooster pulled out a simple gold chain. It was a necklace that his mom used to wear all the time that he kept close to him to remember her. And the simple ‘B’ that hung from the chain was still there all these years later.

“This was hers,” Rooster explained, holding it out to Nickie.

A bit cautious, Nickie walked over and slowly took the necklace from Rooster’s outstretched hand. Studying the chain, Nickie glanced down at the ‘B’ pendant before looking back up at Rooster, who seemed to be waiting expectantly for him to speak.

“Is the ‘B’ for Bradley?”

“It’s for Bradshaw,” Rooster replied softly, smiling a bit painfully. “My dad . . . your grandfather . . . he gave it to her when they first started dating.” Rooster shoved his hands into his pockets, just watching Nickie study the necklace for a moment. “Less than two years later, I was born.”

“My mom showed me the pictures of their wedding,” Nickie returned, rubbing the metal with his thumb. “I guess that young, unplanned pregnancies just run in my family.”

“Both sides,” Rooster agreed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Try to break that streak. Please.”

“Gramps already gave me the shovel talk about it about fifteen times over,” Nickie replied with a dash of amusement in his tone. “And my mom too.”

Running his thumb over the thin gold chain again, Nickie picked up his head and held out the necklace for Bradley to take back. But Bradley shook his head and held up a hand to stop him.

“Keep it.”

Nickie looked a bit taken aback for a moment before he glanced down at the chain in his hand. Slowly wrapping it around his wrist to keep it safe, Nickie turned back to Bradley.

“You know, we’re never going to have a relationship unless you make it up to my mom,” Nickie stated firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“I know. I understand that,” Rooster replied, nodding along to show that he understood. “I would have been the same way.” Rooster looked away for a moment before turning back to Nickie. “You know, I suggested it to your mom but . . . my mom left me some money. And I know that you’re going to college soon and everything—”

“—I don’t need it,” Nickie interjected, knowing where Bradley was going with it.

“College is expensive and I’m sure that you’re smart but—”

“—I don’t need it,” Nickie repeated, a bit more firmly.

“Are you not going to college?” Rooster asked, trying not to frown but failing anyways.

“No, I’m going to college,” Nickie sassed back, straightening up under Rooster’s frown. “I just don’t want to go to a . . . traditional college."

"Traditional . . ." Rooster trailed off, confused for a moment, before it finally clicked in his mind. Staring at Nickie incredulously, Rooster tried to put his words together despite his shock. “You . . . you want to be a . . . a naval aviator?”

“If they’ll take me,” Nickie replied, nodding firmly.

“Does your mom know?” Bradley asked, causing Nickie to grow a bit defensive.

“Yes.”

“Does Mav know?”

“. . . Yes,” Nickie lied straight through his teeth, causing Rooster to sigh and rub his face.

Well, Nickie got Cora’s inability to lie, that was for sure. He even shrugged his shoulders the same way that Cora did when she tried to lie.

Shifting his weight on his feet, Nickie turned back to Rooster with a slightly skittish appearance. That fear that he had carried around for months, ever since he decided that he really did want to go on and be a naval aviator, crept up again. And even though he talked it out with his mom, he hadn’t yet managed to find the courage to talk to his grandfather about it.

“Did he . . . did he really pull your papers?”

“Yeah, he did,” Bradley sighed, turning back to his son.

Nickie nodded and looked away, his shifting stature giving away how nervous he was feeling. Rooster took in Nickie’s anxiety and swallowed his pride and about sixteen years’ worth of resentment against Maverick before he cleared his throat. Nickie turned back to him, clearly apprehensive, but curious to hear what he had to say nonetheless.

“Mav told me that he regretted it. Of course, that doesn’t change what’s happened . . .” Rooster trailed off, letting a breath out from his nose. Nickie looked up at Rooster, waiting for him to finish his thought. “But it changes what’ll happen down the line.”

Nickie nodded slowly, looking down at the ground again. Staring at his grandmother’s necklace, Nickie turned back to Rooster. He straightened up, trying to look bigger, but he was really just a bean pole at his age, like Bradley was.

“When you get back . . . we can talk. After you apologize to my mom. And my grandfather too.”

Rooster nodded to show that he agreed with Nickie’s terms before Nickie slowly backed up and slipped into his car. Rooster watched Nickie drive off into the night before slowly slipping into his own car. Staring at the steering wheel for a moment, Rooster slowly lowered his head into his hands and let a few tears loose.

~~~~~

Nickie walked around back, having rolled into the driveway sneakily to avoid his mom or grandfather seeing him. Climbing up the side of the house, Nickie reached his window that he left cracked open. Pushing it up more, Nickie started to shimmy into his bedroom when he spotted his grandfather sitting on his bed with an unimpressed expression on his face.

“Hey, Gramps,” Nickie laughed off, trying to appear casual, though him stumbling in through his window definitely didn’t help that. “Just dropped something and thought that it was easier to go out the window than . . .” Nickie trailed off for a moment when he caught his grandfather’s expression. “Is there any excuse that I could use that you would believe?”

“Where did you go?” Maverick asked, getting to the point.

“Uh . . .”

“What’s on your wrist?” Maverick asked, pointing at Nickie’s left wrist.

“Nothing, just a—”

“—Is that Carole’s?” Maverick interjected, easily recognizing the piece of jewelry. Slowly turning to look up at Nickie, Maverick slowly stood up from his bed. “You went to see Bradley?”

“Yeah . . . I did,” Nickie agreed, nodding slowly, staring down at the necklace. “He gave it to me.”

“And . . . how did the rest of your talk go?” Maverick questioned, concerned.

“Well, I didn’t tell him to ‘fuck off’,” Nickie reported, causing Maverick to sigh. “We talked. Mostly about Carole, actually.”

“Bradley was a mama’s boy,” Maverick recounted, nodding sadly. “Not unlike you.”

Nickie nodded as well, staring down at the chain on his wrist for a moment. Slowly unclipping it, he unwrapped the necklace carefully. Nickie reached for the gum tin that he got from Ice and slowly opened it, setting the necklace inside with Goose’s dog tags and Ice’s wings. But the action only reminded him of the conversation he was trying to avoid with his grandfather.

“Your mom told me,” Maverick stated, causing Nickie to turn to him quickly. “Well, she didn’t fully tell me. I just asked her why she looked like she had been crying for a while and put the pieces together from there.”

“She doesn’t want me to go into the Navy,” Nickie replied softly.

“No, she doesn’t. But she doesn’t want to stand in the way of your dreams more,” Maverick returned without a second thought.

Nickie nodded and set the gum tin on his nightstand again. Maverick studied Nickie’s expression for a moment before looking over at the pictures that Nickie had hung up. The one of Goose and Carole caught his eye before he turned back to his grandson, the boy that he practically raised as his own son, as he had done with Nickie’s own father before him.

“And neither do I, Nickie.”

Nickie whipped around to face his grandfather, still a bit apprehensive, though there was that hope budding behind his brown eyes. Maverick managed a smile and nodded to show that he wasn’t lying, which caused Nickie to turn around completely.

“You’re not just saying that because you want me to feel better, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Maverick stated, a bit more firmly. “Though, I do want to be honest with you, Nickie.”

Maverick motioned for Nickie to sit down on the edge of his bed and the two Mitchells sat together for perhaps the final time. Maverick turned to Nickie with a serious expression.

“The whole process . . . it’s not sunshine and daises. And I’m sure that you have your eye on the Academy, and I don’t fault you for that. But I want you to prepare for the reality that politics plays a bigger role in the process than anyone wants to talk about. They kept me out of the Academy because of my dad. And, honestly, I’m worried that they’ll keep you out because of me.”

“I know,” Nickie replied quietly. “Ice warned me.”

“Of course, he did,” Maverick sighed, rubbing his chin.

“I looked into other options. If I can’t get into the Academy, I’ll just try NROTC or OCS. I could even stay in San Diego if I really wanted to do that,” Nickie stated, causing Maverick to nod. “And I mean, even if I can’t become an aviator, I’ll just do my time, get my college degree paid for, and figure it out from there. Maybe I’d become a civilian pilot like you tried to push me to do.”

“Well, you’re a Mitchell. Being in the sky . . . that’s your birth right one way or another,” Maverick stated, smiling a bit painfully. “But I am really glad that you thought through this a bit more. I didn’t want you to get stuck like . . . like Bradley.”

“Why did you pull his papers anyways?” Nickie asked softly, causing Maverick to pause. “I mean, you encouraged me to fly my whole life. Maybe not for the Navy, but you had me up in planes with you since as far back as I could remember. Why would you try and stop Bradley from doing that?”

“My decisions with Bradley . . . your dad . . . I made those decisions because I thought that I was doing the right thing. I thought that I was protecting the son of my best friends. But all I did was end up pushing him away and making him think that I didn’t believe in him at all.”

Maverick looked down at the ground for a moment, before turning back to Nickie.

“And, you know, part of me mixed up Bradley and Goose in my head. And I let what happened to Goose hold Bradley back. I didn’t want him to end up like Goose because I wouldn’t have survived that. But that wasn’t fair to Bradley.” Maverick rubbed his cheek slowly. “You know, they look so damn similar that I just acted on instinct alone.”

“Goose had strong genes,” Nickie remarked, causing Maverick to laugh.

“Yes, he does. He’d be very proud of himself for it too.” Letting out another chuckle and rubbing his chin, Maverick turned back to Nickie. “You know, if he was still here, he would have been bragging to me and anyone who would listen about which side of your family you looked more like. His side, of course. God, he would have held it over my head forever.”

Nickie nodded along and looked at the photo that he hung up on the wall. One of Goose and Carole from before they were even married. They couldn’t have been much older than he was now Nickie realized with a small smidge of dread.

“I wish I got to meet them,” Nickie spoke softly, causing Maverick to slowly tear up.

“Yeah, I wish that you did too, Nickie. Every single day,” Maverick breathed out, forcing a watery smile.

“When do you ship out?” Nickie asked, trying to change the subject to avoid his own tears.

“Tomorrow morning,” Maverick stated, causing Nickie to whip around to face him.

“Tomorrow?” Nickie breathed out, his stomach immediately knotting.

“Affirmative,” Maverick stated, trying to force a smile again. “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.”

“I know,” Nickie stated softly, not looking entirely convinced.

Slowly, Maverick pulled Nickie in for a tight hug. Nickie returned the hug and tucked his chin against his grandfather’s shoulder. Maverick patted his curled fist against Nickie’s back, forcing himself to not give away the fact that he felt in his gut that this would be the last night that he saw his grandson. Taking a breath, Maverick released Nickie.

“Come on. Let’s join your mom downstairs.”

A.N. Final “main” part will be out either Wednesday or Thursday. And then the epilogue maybe sometime next week.

If you like AUs, don’t forget to vote on the poll that I made last week!

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8 Epilogue

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namfinessed · 1 year ago

Text

eliminate! - p.jm.

genre: major angst, suggestive content, dystopian!au (warnings include violence, death and mentions of blood) (8.8k wc)

summary: in a world where people killed those they loved, to survive, to be alive, you and jimin can't seem to be parted and the impending doom of your relationship stretches the two of you out before you are forced to make the choice, to love or to die?

masterlist

(i highly recommend listening to heartbeat by childish gambino while reading this, enjoy <3)

october 20th, 2022.

rain traveled down your back, slowly, mockingly but fell with full force on top of your head and clouded your vision. red lights flashed, green lights flashed, white lights flashed but somehow, he was still there, in the midst of it all, clear as day in the dead of the night.

it couldn’t be him, not after all this while, not after you’d given it all up.

but the hand that held your gun quivered, your blinking became slower as your eyes tried to focus on him, drink him in, forget him, remember him, anything it can do, see him.

it shouldn’t have come to this.

a road shouldn’t be separating you two, a gun in your hand should’ve never been held, the rain should've never dared to hide him from you but it was all happening, and all you could do was look.

you felt his sorrow from across the street, his shaking hands that held his own gun, and you knew you had to do this for the relief of the other, whoever survived.

your phone blinked and buzzed rapidly with the word ‘eliminate!’ on your screen and you knew the decision that you had to make.

so, as cars and bikes zoomed and honked and blared in your ears, your hand lifted to point the gun at him, you knew he would do the same, the principle was survival of the fittest after all.

but as you pulled the trigger and the bullet rang through the air and bolted in his direction, you realized he never lifted his hand.

you fell to your knees as the rain continued its assault on your body. your eyes forgave you by closing themselves so you would never have to see his body on the ground.

your screen became green.

‘successful!’

it shouldn’t have come to this.

the government and all other higher organizations had their eyes on the few numbers of marriages that took place and even fewer marriages that lasted, divorce rates were at an all-time high, and that resulted in the chaos of the world as it was.

because it was a chain reaction.

marriages lead to unhappy individuals, sometimes with children, sometimes with large families, this led to divorces, which led to unhappy and traumatized children, years of therapy that didn’t quite fix anything, unhappy and traumatized children didn’t serve to be responsible citizens who fulfilled the duties that the government needed.

and soon, they had to step in.

they introduced a system based on nature’s most ancient method, the method of survival by elimination. the system had everyone’s data down to the chromosomes that built them and used this system to establish romantic compatibility between individuals. this would allow society, as a whole, to have lasting, emotionally fulfilling relationships.

but they had other motives as well.

the government didn’t care about individuals, they cared about what an individual could offer and they also cared about overpopulation, they couldn’t control society if it was overfilling, so the system was built to kill two birds with one stone.

the system did connect people but the second the relationship seemed to be steering in the wrong direction in any manner, the individuals in the relationship would receive a flashing red alert of ‘eliminate’ on their phones; sometimes they got it at the same time, sometimes they got it seconds apart, and in the time that they receive the notification, they have to kill the other person in the relationship or get killed.

whoever kills, gets ‘aid’ from the government, which was basically tons of money to cover for the trauma that comes from killing someone you loved.

if the persons failed to carry out the elimination for whatever reason, they got three warnings before government-assigned hitmen would kill both of the individuals, if the individuals didn't kill to survive, they didn’t deserve survival.

this, according to the government, was survival of the fittest, eliminating those who weren’t emotionally capable of being in a lasting relationship, and who didn’t provide the government with anything, deserved to be eliminated.

this was naturally met with resistance but as days by and the system reached everyone, people found that they enjoyed eliminating those who made them unhappy, especially because there were no consequences and because romance came with a certain rage, people were finally allowed to quell that rage.

so, the system was implemented and the world paced forward.

but you fell in love with jimin, and he fell in love with you, and the moment you did, your phone flashed red.

december 19nd, 2022.

it was the first warning and he hadn’t died that day, at least that’s what you heard.

it’s been months since your bullet hit him and you still couldn't forget the ringing it left in your head. the same roads that you had coursed through on his bike, so in love, so sure about each other, were the same roads where you left him to die.

it wasn't your fault, you had prepared to die, jimin was a better marksman than you were, so you had expected a bullet to pierce through you as well but it never came, even if you wished that it did.

so, now, here you were, body barely covered in a nightgown that your partner, keith, apparently liked, hands slowly stirring the coffee in your cup and looking out the window, rain clouded your vision and that was enough to take you back.

“good morning, babe!” a swift kiss on the side of your neck had your body recoiling but you forced a smile on your face as you kissed keith’s cheek.

he was dressed up for work in his black trousers and white shirt, he was moderately attractive, a finance guy who liked spending his money as if it meant nothing, you had no idea how you were compatible, but you were living together now and you didn’t see a way out.

“work’s going to be crazy today, so many meetings and we have to close that deal today,” he drawled on, running his hands through his hair as he got behind the kitchen counter to make himself breakfast.

i hope you don’t come back home, i hope your meeting lasts for a week, i hope i never have to see you again.

“i can make dinner for when you come back” leaves your lips instead and his head snaps up with a smile you’ve grown to hate, “you’re the best, babe, i love that on you by the way.” he gestures to your gown and gives you a flying kiss and it takes everything in you to not physically cringe.

i hate this on me, by the way.

it’s not like you care.

“i’ll buy more of them.” you hum, an answer that would satisfy him, and with a sigh, you turn away from him to look out the window again, the sky was still gloomy, the raindrops still coated your windows and you still wanted your partner to die.

then, you notice at the foot of your apartment building, a bike that pulls up, a bike that you know, a bike that you spent many nights on, your heart races as the rider steps off it.

at the same minute, your phone buzzes in your hand and you freeze.

not now.

“we don’t have to make this painful,” you hear from behind you before the steel of your own gun presses against the back of your head, your phone slips to the ground and you catch sight of the red that coats the screen.

‘eliminate!’

seconds apart.

of course, he got it before you had.

from your periphery, you see exactly what keith had been all along, what all you tolerated because you didn’t think you deserved love after putting a bullet in the only man you ever loved, you see keith’s narrowed eyes filled with ambition and malice, his fingers that itched to pull the trigger and his face that donned an evil smile.

he was enjoying this, enjoying the absolute control he had on your very existence.

you just wished he hadn’t underestimated you.

you pulled your ankle back to connect with his crotch, and whipped around to elbow his face and neck, making him weak enough to drop the gun, you pushed the gun away with your leg and dragged him to the kitchen counter, all while he begged and whimpered for mercy, then started shouting in the anger he felt, he had lost control after all.

you grabbed his collar and jammed his head into the sharp corner of the kitchen counter, leaving traces of his blood on it, and got up to retrieve a knife.

you had to do it, you had to kill him, or they will kill you you had to do it you had to kill him or they will kill you you had to do i-

the door to your apartment flew open and the grip you had on your knife tightened as you whipped around to see who it was, even if you knew who it could be.

jimin stood there, helmet in hands, eyes flicking on your body, unmoving, so silent that it made your head spin. as your lips parted to call out to him, to see if he would respond, to see if he was even real, a hand gripped your ankle, keith’s loud groan of ‘bitch’ echoed around you. the knife you had in your hands quickly found its place in his chest; the green light from your phone illuminated a side of your face.

‘successful!’

through the blood dripping down your eyelashes, you looked up, once again to see him, to see if he had moved, to see if he had left, to see if he had come to kill you.

you fell off keith’s body, pushing it away with your feet and the cold ground made you hiss, your head didn’t stop spinning, and your hands didn’t stop shaking, it almost made you laugh that the people in this room right now were both people you killed or tried to kill.

“why are you back?”

we shouldn’t be around each other, you shouldn’t be alive, i shouldn’t be alive-

“i chose to forgive you for putting a bullet in me,” he smirked and your head lolled to the side, a smile growing involuntarily, he was real, he was here, and he was breathing, “i never asked for your forgiveness, jimin.”

i missed you, i missed your voice, i missed your bike, i missed you i missed you i missed you i missed you, i missed us.

“i’m nice like that,” he hummed as he sat beside you, you looked up helplessly, someone’s blood smeared on your face, his blood that stained your hands, you thought you would never see him again.

he was nice like that; he was always nicer than you had ever been.

jimin’s ring-covered fingers pushed the hair that stuck onto the blood on your face back, you could feel your sobs compressed in your chest.

“unless you are here to kill me, get out, jimin.” you didn’t think you could say it but you couldn’t kill him a second time, you couldn't look at him without wanting to lay in his arms and let him kill you.

“i’m gonna say no to that.”

“you must really like dying” you could almost hear the sirens of the government hitmen, they would bust in here, place a bullet in each of your heads, jimin and you would just be eliminated numbers in the system then.

“we’ve only gotten one warning,” his voice and demeanor remained calm and steady, the calm you needed, the steady you craved, everything about jimin, you craved and craved and craved.

but one warning was enough, one bullet was enough, the blood on your hands was enough.

you pushed yourself off the floor, almost gravitating and falling into jimin’s arms, maybe crying for an hour, or two, and then kissing him all over but instead, your hands reached out for the knife that was dripping already.

you stood, with shaky knees, in front of a jimin that didn’t flinch and with the strongest voice you could muster, “get out.”

jimin didn’t make an attempt to move, “i let you kill me once, why do you think this will work?” to anyone else, it would sound like he was provoking you, but jimin was pleading with you, ‘i let you kill me once, i’ll let you kill me twice, thrice, ten times, i would rather die in your hands than be away from you.’

you couldn’t think, you couldn’t breathe, he was right, he was always right.

but you were, again, desperate to make sure his blood didn’t end up on you.

so, you twisted the knife and pointed it to yourself.

that did the trick.

jimin jumped up from where he was, you could hear his breathing, loud, hurried, so worried, you saw his hands instinctively jerk towards you and pausing in the air, unsure of what you would do.

“please leave,” you whispered, eyes gathering tears for the first time this morning and jimin retracted his hand, “you’re being crazy, put it down, p-please.” his calm was breaking, his face boosted a sheen and his eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“the second you turn back and leave, this will be put away.” you shook the knife in your hand, glancing towards the door through which jimin would have to leave.

jimin’s eyes widened in anger, his hands shook at the fury that consumed him, he couldn’t believe that you were willing to do this just to keep him away.

“i came back for you!” he yelled, you couldn’t help but flinch at his eyes that were no longer calm, no longer steady, “after everything, after you put a fucking bullet in me, after you live with some guy, i looked for you everywhere and this is what you want to do? drive me away? make yourself look insane?” his voice bellowed in the apartment, suffocating you, driving you to tears, but you knew it was necessary, it was easier if he hated you.

“get out,” you whispered again, your resolve weakening as the knife nudged into your skin, and at the sight of your blood running down your arm, jimin threw his head back with a frustrated groan, he couldn't touch you without potentially triggering another warning, he couldn’t shake you back to sanity so, just as quiet as he entered, jimin left your apartment, but not without a look that said, ‘this isn’t over, not here, not now.’

you were left with too much air and too much blood around you.

at some point in the evening, the cleaners from the government came in, but none of them looked at you, none of them said a word or offered you a napkin, nothing.

they pushed keith’s body into a bag, cleared up the blood, dropped an envelope full of money on the counter, and left.

but the smell of death perforated around you, as you, once again, looked out the window, a gloomy sky, a gloomy world, and your cigarette was the only light that remained later in the night.

you stared at the reflection of your face which looked sunken in, tired, irritated, so close to dead but unfortunately, not dead, and as you kept scowling at yourself, jimin’s face joined the reflection.

then, both of your cigarettes remained to be the only light in your apartment that night.

august 22nd, 2023.

that night, he smoked with you, taught you how to patch up your cuts, burnt some scented candles, and left after staring at your lips for ten minutes.

it didn’t matter that you were already well-trained to patch up your wounds, it didn’t matter that the candles he left only cleared the air for a few minutes before the smell of death came back, he was there, you were there, and that was enough for nothing else to matter.

though you still shiver at the memory of his eyes on you.

you haven’t seen him since then, you had told him to stay away before any kind of patch wouldn’t save what you do to yourself, but you still burnt the candles he got for you, every day.

you killed five people after jimin last year, you didn’t know if it was dumb luck that you survived every single time or your worst nightmare come true, all of your lovers were now just numbers in the eliminated category, you were waiting to join them too.

but, when your phone flashed red, you couldn't think of anything but surviving, even if you wanted to die, even if you had nothing to live for, that one notification blinded you from everything you believed in and pushed you to protect yourself.

it was the deepest, darkest secret that you held and buried in yourself.

maybe that was the intention all along, everyone wants to die until they are put face-to-face with death.

“i really didn’t expect us to match but i’m so glad that this is happening,” your date, an older man, with thinning hair and too broad of a smile, beamed at you. you felt particularly irritated that he was talking to your boobs but you held on, you matched for a reason, you had to see this through until you could kill him.

“i am glad too.” you smiled with ruby lips, crossing your legs and leaning away from him, you raised your glass to him and he almost jumped out of his seat to cling it, you held back your laugh at his state.

men were too simple.

“let’s get to know each other! we could start with, what scares you?” he thought he was being deep and thoughtful with that question, but he was so wrong.

men, scare me, i haven't decided if you're one of those men.

“i have to say, rats, can’t stand them, they’re disgusting.” you fake shuddered, causing your date to explode into laughter, “oh, you poor thing, they scare you?” he asked as if it was the most ridiculous thing ever.

i am scared that everyone i love, secretly hates me. i don't have many people that i love, that scares me too.

“so, how many people have you killed?” you didn’t mean to ask it out loud but you needed to know how much training would have to go into defeating him, if that day ever came. he looked up with surprised eyes before the surprise melts into poorly executed sensuality, a certain sick kind of glint shined in his face as he leaned forward as if he’s found his prize, his prey, “i have killed 3, princess, what about you?”

it took everything in you to not vomit in his face.

but your eyes roll back instead, this was going to be a long night.

“how about you try to guess?” you whispered back, just as sensual, maybe not as sick but playing the part he wanted you to.

a hidden freak in elegant clothes.

men didn’t have a lot of types; this was usually the most popular.

he, you keep thinking ‘he’, because, for the love of god, you can’t seem to remember his name, blinks slowly, trying to be sexy, only to look mildly constipated.

a swing of the restaurant doors forces your eyes towards the entrance and your throat closes up as you try not to fall off your seat when you see who it is.

you had told him to stay away, to never come back, you told him that you should’ve never given him the lighter that night but he had laughed it off, he had lit his cigarette and gazed out the window without a word.

now, he was here, all flesh and bones, too real, too much, not in your innocent or sometimes, not-so-innocent dreams, he was standing with another woman who held onto his hands, hands that had taught you to clean your wounds, hands that had touched every inch of you.

your hands gripped the tablecloth with a strength you didn’t know you possessed; your eyes threatened to flash red as your heartbeat accelerated.

gone was the bald man in front of you, gone were the people around you, gone was the chaos of the restaurant, gone was the rest of the world as his eyes reached you.

and he had the audacity to bow to you, flash a smirk, throw a smile at your date, and take his seat at the bar as if it was his throne. of course, his seat faced you, his eyes stayed on you as his hands played and twirled with her hair.

“see something you like?” your date growled from the other side of the table.

you had forgotten about him.

“sorry, i got distracted” you mumbled, you wondered if he would figure out just how insincere your words were. he laughed bitterly, fingers tapping incessantly at his wine glass.

his demeanor had changed, his shoulders were tense and tight, and you could feel his leg knocking onto the table, you had pissed him off.

you wish you cared.

“i’ve met your type, you think that looking and acting like a slut will help you get away with everything, don’t you?” his eyes gleamed wickedly as he smiled at you, you felt a chill run down your spine even if you weren't threatened.

all your life, you’ve met all kinds of men, it didn’t help you get used to how cruel and animalistic some of them could be.

your phone pinged and flashed red.

‘eliminate!’

your heart contracted rapidly as your hands tried to search for the gun on your thigh holster, your fingers fumbled to pull it out and you could feel it all slip away.

you couldn’t let him get the notification too, he would kill you, he would kill you in front of jimin, he would kill you and you would never see jimin again, never feel him again, never breathe him in agai-

but then, his head dropped on the table.

your hands fell away from your holster as your entire body stiffened and fell back on your chair.

you hated that you didn’t feel anything as his blood pooled around his head, as people screamed and rushed out of the restaurant, as waiters fumbled with their phones to call the police, you hated that your gaze immediately went to jimin.

his hand was raised, a gun pointed in your direction.

your suspicions were right.

‘successful!’

your screen turned green.

people ran with their children in front of you, people stared in horror at the man whose blood overflowed from the table, people saw you staring at the bar instead of the dying man in front of you.

public eliminations were rare, and most notifications were delivered in the safety of private homes but desperate times, such as especially bad events on a date, would lead to this.

jimin’s date got up, seemed to scream at him, seemed to seek his attention but he peeked and bent around her body to keep looking at you, she turned around with fury in her eyes, only to huff loudly and run out of the restaurant too.

then, it was the two of you again.

how could you feel a touch, months after it’s been on you?

how could you feel him, miles apart?

you hated yourself for how warm you felt now that it was just you and him.

you pushed yourself out of your chair, charging towards jimin with a rage you only felt around him, the rage of wanting him but not having him, the rage of never forgetting him, the rage of not being able to detach yourself from him, the rage of seeing him with another, he watched with a tilted head as you approached him.

“come outside,” you demanded, already turning around to get out but he spun towards the bar, “why? we have all the privacy we want, right here” he tapped the seat next to him with his lips pulled to one side.

you were impatient, out of time, out of your depth, out of control, which urged you to grab jimin by the collar and drag him to the rain-soaked pavements outside.

there was no way you were going to have a conversation when a man lay dead, a couple of steps away from you, a man that he killed, a man that you were supposed to kill.

“what were you thinking, jimin?” you screeched once you couldn’t see blood dripping down the table you left behind. even as the rain soaked you, you felt burning hot anger bubbling in you.

“why do you care? were you in love with him or something?” jimin sneered, adjusting his shirt and looking away to the side, his voice was irritated but his face wasn’t, jimin had ever been good at hiding his vulnerability. there was this nervousness, this tapping of his foot, that gave him away.

“it shouldn’t matter to you, jimin!” you yelled loudly, though your face fell away in unguarded softness. it shouldn’t have been his bullet today, it should’ve been yours, it’s funny to you that it always ends up having to be yours.

“why?” jimin turned back to look at you with a frown so deep, you wondered if he was feeling the strain of the conversation already, if he was feeling the strain of being so close and far.

do you want me in your arms? i want you in mine.

“what do you mean, why?” you threw your hands in the air as a deep exhale left your body, a last attempt to calm yourself, “why shouldn’t it matter to me? as far as i know, i’m the only one it should matter to,” he roared back, chest puffing as he stepped closer to you.

come closer, don’t you dare step back, take me away from this rain, this place, these people, this world, take me to a place where i can hold you and you can hold me.

“you know exactly why” you steeled your gaze to get your point across, though you wondered if he could hear your heart break from where he stood.

jimin watched you with careful eyes, sorrow hid under his eyelashes, sorrow that he tried to blink away, sorrow that barely concealed the anger he felt.

but not at you.

never at you.

he reached for your hand, causing you to flinch and shift a couple of steps away, he felt like a wound that never quite healed, cut itself open again, “what are you so afraid of?”

your heartbeat quickened, “jimin, stay back, we don’t know about the warn-“

“that ship sailed when you yanked my collar, love” his lips pulled to one side as he showed his phone screen that was bright red, and your heart drowned all over again, your phone buzzed in your hand, you knew what it meant.

your second warning.

“why don’t we just take advantage of this?” he whispered so softly, that the rest of the world tapped out, it was just him and his face and his voice and his hands that pushed your hair back.

life filled your lungs in a rush, life so vibrant and bright, life so blindingly fine.

soft soft hands, soft hands that touch me, soft hands that have touched me before, soft hands which i love, i love the man with soft hands.

“we could go back to our place, watch some movies, just talk, you can tell me how terrible your dates have been,” he paused to chuckle a little and it filled you with lightness, you believed you could float, “we could let the warning stretch, we could let it all just ring, i don’t care, as long as you’re there, i don’t care about anything.”

he still calls it ‘our’ place, i have a place in this world.

your phone buzzed and flashed red repeatedly as he held your cheeks and leaned in, just to let his breath fan over your face, just to let his lips brush over yours.

“but don’t push me away, i need you.” you could tell he was holding back tears and you couldn’t tell that you were crying already until his hands wiped across your cheeks, your hands fell on his shirt, unsurely grazing the fabric.

did you want him closer? was that possible?

‘eliminate!’

your phone threw the red onto his face, flashing so rapidly that you wanted to break it, but when you caught his eyes, his ever so tender, ever so loving, ever so giving eyes, you got reminded of the bullet you put in him. now, the red light looked like his blood.

i love the man with soft hands. his soft hands touch me and i touch him, he tells me sweet things when our lives are on a rope, how can i not fall?

i hurt the man with soft hands, i don’t deserve the man with soft hands.

your hands were desperately hanging onto his shirt now but you could feel your stomach in your throat, your heart in your legs, your head in the stormy clouds and you pushed him away.

you stumbled back, hiccupping and gripping your phone.

‘eliminate!’

“please, just listen to me-“ but you couldn’t, all you could hear was the traffic, the people, your phone, and the world, it all returned back to you and you couldn’t hide in his face any longer.

“just stop, jimin!” you let out your cry, heart squeezing itself dry onto the pavement.

i can’t hurt you, i can’t die, but i will die if i don’t hurt you, would you kill me? save me this pain? take me away.

jimin’s rage returned.

“we need to stop this, don’t show your face around me again” you turned and walked away before your heart fell on his feet and you couldn’t pick it up again.

step.

pull me back, don’t let me go.

“how do you walk away every single time?” his voice was low, barely audible but it fell on you like bricks raining from the sky.

your steps stopped, everything in you paused at the tension in his voice.

“how do you live without me? why is it so easy for you to be without me?” he got louder, angrier, more desperate, more of everything, you knew his eyes were burning into your skin and leaving scars that would never fade.

i’m not living, i’m breathing, i’m existing, it's not the same.

“jimin,” you breathed out, your entire body stood confused at the jolts of torments that passed through it, you tried not to fall on your knees at his assumption.

did he think this was easy for you?

did he think that he didn’t haunt every single living thought in your head?

did he think you could ever forget the grief that shot through you when you saw him on the ground, that you could ever forget him?

“do you not remember anything?” he whispered again, a sad smile stretched on his face.

i remember too much.

i remember drifting through these roads on your bike, i remember laughing into your hair and the warmth of your neck on cold nights, i remember the leather of your jacket and the coldness of you necklace, i remember the cat you loved even if you are allergic, i remember the story of your first kiss, i remember the lingering love you hold for her, i remember the greater love you held for me.

i remember the day i died when my phone flashed red for the first time.

i remember everything.

“no, and you should forget it too” you shook off his scent that crawled on your back to choke you.

“i don’t believe you,” jimin narrowed his eyes at you, he could see the memories playing like a videotape behind your eyes.

“i don’t either,” he pulled back at the sad chuckle that left your tear-dried lips and he could only watch as you got into your bike and drove away into the night, once again, leaving him to himself.

your tears came anew as the gush of wind froze them on your face, you no longer had his neck to bury yourself into, and you no longer had his jacket to grip onto, it was just you, the night and everything else burning in and out of existence.

you could tell it all to him, you could tell him that you haven't been alive since the second you held that gun in your hands, you could tell him that you imagined him on every face you kissed but it was easier to not tell it all.

it was easier to pretend that you didn’t know what you felt, it was easier to tell him you didn’t know when you knew it all, and it was easier to go back to your room and stare at the ceiling till morning came.

december 31st, 2023.

six hours were left to new years.

you just killed another person, and this time, you didn’t bother remembering anything about them, their name, their hobbies, their interests, their face just before they died, it only gave you nightmares.

the paper of your cigarette was soaked red as your hands dripped on them, your bedroom was being sterilized and you were once again, wholly surrounded by the smell of blood and death and nothing else.

you would need to get new sheets, a new bed, a new carpet, and new candles.

what a way to start a new year.

your head fell back on the sofa as a dull ache coursed through you, the ache was ever-present now, your only consistent companion, it stayed with you as life threw you from a puddle, to a pond, to a lake, to a river and then, at the deep edge of the sea.

your feet dragged as you closed the door behind the cleaners, you wondered if they were welcoming the new year with someone they loved or if they were too, much like you, rotting around the smell of death.

three hours were left to new years.

you wondered what jimin was doing, and then you laughed into the silence around you, when did you ever stop thinking about what jimin was doing?

but you were two strikes down, another one would only end with you both six feet underground and you couldn’t do that to jimin.

one hour was left to new years.

you were somehow standing in front of ‘your’ apartment, it was really jimin’s but it stuck with you that he had called it ‘our.’

in life, there are logical choices, mapped out, ready for action, the results would be great for you but as humans, we very rarely follow through with logical choices because even if we have a monologue prepared, an argument, a plan of action, we see the face of some people, we see the nights we spent with them, we see the words we never told anyone else, we see our expired love creeping on their backs and it all crumbles.

those choices are always shadowed by, not your heart, as many would like to believe, it’s always you, as a whole, just you. because sometimes, we don’t want the peace that comes with logic, we want the freefall that comes with doing whatever the heck you want and regretting it all afterward.

and you wonder if you will ever make the smart choice when it comes to jimin.

the door swings open, your chest falls in relief at his face and an expectant smile from him, silence riddled around you both, welcomes you into your home.

you felt strangely out of your body, as if you were watching the night unravel and could do nothing but watch, as if you had no and all control, as if you could run and stay at the same time.

on your true bed, you splayed out your arms and legs, you didn’t exhale too loudly, jimin didn’t breathe too much, you pushed your face into the pillows that you and jimin used to lay on, you breathed in the scent, jimin stood back and watched, everything was just silent and perfect and your phones were nowhere near you.

i didn’t think we would be here again, i thought i lost you forever, i thought i would die with your love for me and my love for you, buried deep inside of me and someday, it would all be dug up and i won’t be there to witness any of it.

on your true table, you sat, legs folded on the chair, piping hot food flowing steam onto your face and you ate, jimin sat opposite to you and ate, the television roared with news of parties, fires, danger, sorrow, economy. a word didn’t leave your lips.

who really cares about the government anyway, right?

on your true sofa, your fingers threaded jimin’s hair as you pulled at his scalp, gently, maybe not so gently and he falls apart in your touch, he falls back and grabs you, again and again, you two rise and fall, like riptides that would devastate the shore, like rocks that hit to make fire, like hail that hits your feet and makes them numb, your bodies don’t care anymore, not about some warning, not about some stupid government, your bodies only craved for what the other offered.

why does morning have to come? why do nights like these not show mercy on me and stretch forever? why is this place not where i come back to anymore? how do i leave, with the memories of your feathers wrapped around my back?

at some point, the clock struck midnight and jimin’s twinkling eyes whispered to you, his hands rubbing circles on your waist, “happy new year, my love.”

all of the world’s happiness would have fit in the centimetre space between you two then, you didn’t want to think of how you would die after this, you didn’t want to think of how temporary it all was, you didn’t want to think of how tomorrow might never come.

but you woke up the next day, jimin’s arms on your stomach, a new year shining outside your window and you stumbled out of the bed for your phone, to see if it really was the end because you couldn’t get a better ending than this.

you didn’t get a warning.

you wouldn’t die today.

you sighed out in relief.

february 14th, 2024.

you got lucky that day, too lucky, you had stretched your luck till afternoon dawned. that morning, you got on jimin’s bike and let yourself float in the backseat as wind pricked your face, you had been hoping that the final warning will come, that you could die happy but even as your head rested on jimin’s shoulder and the beach waves crashed in front of you, even as he nestled his face into your head and breathed you in, your phones hadn’t made a single noise.

the next morning, you were back to wanting to survive, jimin tried to keep you in his bed, he had whispered promises to you, he had kissed your cheeks and his hands had gripped onto your arms.

but you had run away, it wasn’t your home and you couldn’t play around with your luck anymore, maybe it was a glitch, maybe it was an anomaly, no one knew how the warnings came, and you weren’t exactly excited to know why you were granted those few hours with jimin.

and you found someone.

someone not like keith, someone not too sick or old, his name was wooseok and he treated you gently, treated you lovingly, he held your hand as you walked, he kissed you on the forehead, he promised to let you down gently if the notification ever came, as per your request.

but his hands weren’t soft and you weren’t in love with him.

you punched the sandbag in front of you, harder than your instructor had told you to, harder than you wanted to, the night fell around you with each punch, no one came around this time and the solitude comforted you.

soon, you had to meet wooseok for dinner, a valentine’s dinner, a night filled with affection and attention, you were looking forward to it, at least you were trying to look forward to it.

the elevator pinged behind you, slowing your punches, you turned around to glare at whoever came in, this was the only alone time you had, you couldn’t have some idiot mess it up.

but then your face relaxed as wooseok walked in, your arms immediately stretched in front of you to wrap around his neck and he chuckled into your neck, “couldn’t wait till dinner, forgive me.” he brushed your cheeks before kissing you on the forehead and you tried to hide the way your body tensed.

“i’m glad, i’ll be done in a bit,” you said with a half-genuine smile and he nodded.

i can be happy without jimin, i can live and not be afraid to love, i can learn to love wooseok’s rough hands and i can live live live

the elevator pinged again; you didn’t bother looking at who it was until you heard the soft thump of a bag falling to the floor. “just two minutes,” he whispered before burying his face in your neck again and this time, your body gave up fighting, you relaxed into him and let out a sigh. hidden by wooseok’s body, you peeked to the side to see who it was.

it was instantaneous, the reaction, the rush of blood to your head and heart, the restlessness that started building in you.

you felt your chest tear, your legs break under you, your hands falling off but nothing happened to you, even if you wished your mental pain could become physical, you still breathed fine, stood fine, lived fine, still clung to wooseok’s neck fine.

just one look at jimin had you crumbling even as someone held you up.

i cannot be happy without jimin.

“i’ll be waiting downstairs,” wooseok whispered, with no knowledge of your intruder, he kissed your cheek and you tried to hide the paleness of your face as you nodded, he leaves with a lingering look at you, so filled with love.

and your throat closes up again as the elevator takes him away.

jimin looks at you, waiting for you to speak, apologize, explain, anything, any words you give, he would take and he tries to hold his ground while his mind assaults him with playbacks to you and someone else wrapped around you.

your content face, instead of fear, your smile, instead of a scowl, your affection, instead of wariness, everything jimin wanted with you, you found in someone else.

he would’ve done anything for all of that, would your new boy do it? would he make you his as jimin had?

once he understands that you were going to ignore this, he walks towards you slowly, taking all the time in the world, you heard his steps but you kept putting your stuff away, determined to leave as soon as you could.

the world spun at your feet when he halts behind you, you felt the warmth of his body and his soft soft soft soft hands holding your hips as he gazed from behind you, into the mirror, you stood frozen.

how easy would it be to just melt into you? how easy would it be to go back home with you, to you, spend my hours breathing with you?

no.

you had someone now.

“jimin, step back,” you glanced anxiously towards where you left your phone and jimin is reckless, out of patience and at the end of the line here, “how does he treat you, love?” he whispers against your ear, in a mocking tone that you hated.

but heat crawls and wraps around you fast, you find yourself wanting to lean back on him, let him carry you away and let everything else fall away, let your life fall away.

not better than you, no one gets me like you do.

“he’s incredible, treats me very well” you turn your nose up in the air, speaking anything and everything to make him believe that you were alright without him, but as always, jimin sees right through you, he hums before leaning his chin on your shoulder and sucking in a breath, that has your knees bucking.

“does he, now?” you nodded, but the rest of your body was so still, you didn’t know if you were still breathing or not.

then, he wrapped his arms around your abdomen, pulled you flush against him, “this is how he held you, isn’t it?” you didn’t answer, “and how much time did he ask for? two minutes?” he laughed again, a sick kind of laugh that you had never heard from jimin before.

“what does he have that i don’t, love? what is it?” he mumbles into your neck, lips flush against your skin and you can’t hold the shiver that passes through you, there’s a daze that dances around you, a weight that holds your eyes down as his hands play with your skin, but you know what you two don’t have.

time. i have time, time that isn’t running out right in front of my eyes, time that doesn’t keep me up at night.

nothing, he has nothing compared to jimin.

“i will let you go only because i know you will kill him one day, and i know where you’ll be once you wash his blood away,” he steps back, leaving you with an ocean of air and a whirlpool room, it takes you a minute to come back to the world.

“actually, he will kill me,” you say finally, jimin turns around from picking his bag up, “i told him, if the warning comes, to kill me.” that decision made you feel lightweight, you would finally be rid of the system, this world, everything once things with wooseok fizzle.

you hadn’t conjured jimin’s reaction, you hadn’t put too much thought into it but a body-shaking laughter wasn’t what you expected at all.

he was bent with hands on his knees, laugh after laugh tumbling out of his mouth as he gasped for breath and you stood there, feeling unsure, humiliated and embarrassed.

and so so naked.

“what’s so funny, jimin?” he held a hand up, steadied himself with a wide grin on his face as he wiped a happy tear from the corner of his eyes, “what’s funny, love, is that you really think you will let him kill you, that is just hilarious.”

you grow red at his words as a wave of shame threatens to shake you off balance, “you know nothing about me, i’ve done enough, i’ve killed enough-“

“and you will do it again.” he says, a hint of a smirk still on his face.

i would.

i wouldn’t.

would i?

you are taken back to all the faces that you had forgotten after they died, keith, the old man, the woman, the memories that died with them, somewhere in you, you had always waited to kill some of them, even if you tried to tell yourself that you didn’t, everyone except jimin, didn’t exist in your head anymore.

“you have n-no idea what you are talking about,” you couldn’t believe that somehow jimin had figured this part of you out, you felt nauseous that he knew the worst parts of you.

“i am the only one who knows, because you loved me most, you loved me like you loved nothing else, you still do and that didn’t stop you from putting a bullet in me, did it?” he clicked on the elevator door as you hurried to catch up to him, stomping after him to prove him wrong, to tell him he had it all wrong but you have no words that are truthful to defend yourself.

i loved you like the soil loves water, like children love lollipops, like waves love the shore, i love you with all of me.

but i killed you and i cried.

i killed you.

you shoved yourself into the elevator with him, chest heaving, mind light and heavy, arms so tired but shaking with restrained anger and he looks at you with, was it pity?

“then, why chase after me if i am so vile?” you scream in his direction, a layer of you was peeled and left to bleed now, you had no idea how to stop it.

your phone buzzed and flashed red.

jimin’s phone buzzed and flashed red.

you look at each other, raw fear flashing just for a second before relaxing, isn’t this what you wanted, anyway?

your third and final warning.

“because i love you too much to care about myself and i’m the only one who can handle it, i’m the only one who would die for you.” he says with conviction, as if it was something he had rehearsed, something he had to repeat to himself. he turns his phone away and tucks it into his pocket.

you wanted to say, i love you too, and i know you’re the only one but the elevator doors open and you’re shoved into the darkness of the parking space, where wooseok stood, hands waving and a bright smile.

“save him and come back to me,” jimin whispers as he leans to give you the shortest, sweetest, most painful kiss on your temple before he’s sending you on your way and stepping back.

wooseok traps you in his arms and spins you around, pure joy radiating off him and you can only gulp and try to smile, “ready for our dinner?” he squeezes your arms with a breathtaking smile, and it takes everything in you to not vomit at his feet.

you nod, he grins and whips around to open the car door for you.

you look back to see jimin, in the elevator, just when the doors start to close, he mouths ‘till next time’ and a slow smirk grows on his face as he disappears behind the metal and you are sure you’ve left your heart in there.

“let’s go,” you sit in the car and watch out the window as it rains again, soft music plays from the radio and your body is rigid, tight, too painful to move and wooseok notices it, he reaches over, brushes your thighs with his rough so rough hands and soothes you with his words.

your phone buzzes in your lap and your heart jumps to your throat.

wooseok’s eyes turn down in sadness and you want to reach over, hold his cheeks and tell him, i love you, even if you don’t mean it but you don’t move a muscle. misunderstanding your silence, he slows the car and his phone flashes red as well, he sighs, eyes so sad, eyes lined with tears and you don’t feel anything.

it hurts that you feel as empty as a shell.

“i’ll keep my promise, i’ll give you a painless end” he mumbles softly, kissing the back of your hands and your feet start to tingle at the guilt that numbs you.

you act as if you are going to cup his face, he leans in with soft eyes and rough hands, you give a sharp tug to the steering wheel and the vehicle fastens towards a nearby tree.

you, so desperately wanted jimin to be wrong but as wooseok’s lifeless face stared back at you, you knew he was right.

you got out of the car, littered with a couple cuts and a lanky step, and walk towards the only place that belongs to you, the only place that you knew would welcome you back with snide smirks and silence and love, so much love, home.

your home.

‘eliminate!’

‘successful!’

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atinylittlepain · 9 months ago

Text

Atlantic City

college!steve harrington x f!oc

part of the girl boy universe

wordcount | 3.2K

content info | 18+ smut, WASPy parental trauma, misogynistic father boooooo, little angst, New Jersey, mostly fluff though

a/n | special thanks to orange anon who isn't anon anymore - apologies this one took a while :')

.........................................................

He can’t sleep. He’s in the plaid room again, close and quiet and suddenly he’s small, young, swallowed up by the thin pall of the past. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if this was such a good idea, but Andy’s not even here for him to tell her that. Down the hall in the guestroom because his mother hadn’t even given them the chance to protest that no, both adults, no, same room is fine. She had already dropped Andy’s bag in the guest room and his bag in the plaid room and given him a pointed look about the whole thing that meant silence, he knows it well.

And he’s considering it, he is, padding down the hallway and slipping in under the covers with her, breathing her in and breathing the detergent his mother has used since he was little out. But something is stopping him, keeping him tangled and curled up in the plaid room, that smalling, that suddenly twelve again thing.

They had flipped a coin before spring break. Which set of parents would be met first, and nobody was winning, really, in this situation. Andy took it in stride when it became clear they’d be paying a visit to Chip and Diane Harrington, shrugging, dramatic warbling of that John Mellencamp song, a little ditty about Chip and Diane, two American kids causing parental trauma in the Heartland. He had laughed at the time. He’s not really laughing now.

Dinner had been as tense and tight as a closed fist. At first, his parents had behaved like Andy wasn’t even there, directing all their questions, all their scrutiny onto him, the usual rundown of yes, decent grades, and yes, how great, the post-grad job he has lined up, yes, mom, yes, dad. And when their attention turned to Andy, never one to back down, ever, the conversation had curdled from a question about her thesis to her asking Diane about her multiple admissions to the state hospital for “exhaustion,” air quotes necessary to connote the dose of skepticism Andy parceled around the word while Chip glared at her and Diane grew skittish, smiling nervous and talking in that high, airy voice of hers.

Steve had managed to steer far enough away from that with a tact that can only be found in the children of parents like Chip and Diane, always on the defense in that way. But when they had gone up to bed, his father had stopped him, hand curled, clawed, on his shoulder and I’m not sure about this one, champ. Not sure about this one, right, and got a mouth, doesn’t she? Something else was said about a firm hand and a tight leash while his stomach started to swirl and sicken. He didn’t say anything, just nodded, the smallest okay, dad, goodnight, dad, and he hates himself for that, tossing and turning in his twin bed because he hates that he didn’t, what? Defend her? Snap and snarl back against the closing hand, closing jaw of his dad? Not that Andy needs anyone to defend her, not that it matters what Chip thinks, not really, but still, but still.

He’s not sure how long he’s been lying there when his door cracks open, the muffled sound of footsteps, a hand curling on his hip, skating up to his ribs and he doesn’t even look over his shoulder, just inches to the very edge of his bed to make as much room as he can for her to slip in behind him, her palm coming to rest splayed over the center of his chest, her lips pressed to the nape of his neck as she settles around him.

“I’m sorry, I think I was a dick to your mom.”

“It’s okay, she’s so heavily medicated I don’t think she’ll remember it in the morning.” She hums, her legs tangling up close with his, perfectly curled into and around each other and barely fitting on this stupid twin bed, but it’s the greatest relief to have her here with him, like the walls aren’t closing in, like his ribs aren’t pinching and pulling taut, her palm over his heart reminding him to pump blood like this, breathe like this. And when she presses a kiss to the shell of his ear, for whatever reason, that’s the thing that finally breaks the thick heat swelling and stuck behind his eyes, water starting to pool and spill, turning his vision into stained glass.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He tries to speak, but a strange sound breaks in his throat instead, a little like a sob, but softer, her hands holding him through the shake.

“I always forget how much I hate being here.” And that is but isn’t all of it. Yes, he forgets how much he hates being here, but he also forgets how small he feels being here, how young. He forgets the fights, and the silence that was somehow worse. He forgets the seemingly constant alternation in those last few years of sleeping in Eddie’s or Robin’s bed simply because he didn’t like being small and alone in this big house. And it’s a good thing, he thinks, that he can forget about these things in the new life he has. But it’s difficult to remember that the plaid room and the silence isn’t his life any more when he’s back in it like he is now.

“Am I making it better or worse being here right now?”

“Better, please stay.” She holds him a little tighter, little closer, her other hand brushing his hair back from his face and of course, baby, of course I’ll stay, and he can’t even feel all that foolish for crying in front of her because she’s not like that about these things, and it plainly feels too good to be held by her for him to think about much else than her hands and the warmth of her body against his.

“Do you want to leave?”

“Right now?”

“Well, I was thinking in the morning. Don’t want those two thinking I kidnapped you and like, ritually sacrificed you to Courtney Love or something. But I’m also not opposed to leaving now if you really want to.” He turns over just enough that he can look at her, the soft curve of her smile, nothing but care, no judgment, no recoil when she sees his bleary eyes, the pull of his frown. She cups his face in her hand, thumb stroking at stray salt beneath his eye, and he knows that she would do it, if he said he wanted to leave right now, she would do it, pack both of their bags and toss them in the car and get them the hell out of here before his parents even woke up. How lovely, how devastating, to be loved like this, to be loved by her.

“My mom said she wanted to take you shopping tomorrow.”

“Steve, to be frank, I don’t really give a fuck about what your mom wants right now.”

“Where would we go, back to your place?”

“We could, but Robin and her girlfriend are watching Sylvia until the end of the week so really, we could go wherever we want to. Anywhere else you want to go?”

“Anywhere?”

“Yeah, I’m paying for gas, dream big, we’ve got a whole week to kill.” And by some strange unfurling in his mind, the first place he thinks of is Cape May, New Jersey, an errant memory of a family vacation, a good memory, young memory, warm and rare memory. Small town and candy-coated storefronts and the beach, of course, the beach. He remembers spending most of that week blowing his allowance on ice pops and roaming the pier alone, sticky hands and sugar-sour stomach, threading through throngs of too tall and too tan legs. He remembers pure, unfettered joy. And if Andy has any qualms about New Jersey she does a good job of hiding it, smiling and alright, baby, we ride at dawn. They don’t really sleep, just curl up close and plot out their grand escape until the light is starting to turn pale and thin, and the plaid room becomes something other than a cage.

She takes care of it in the morning, takes no prisoners and leaves no room for questions, breezes into the kitchen on a long sigh and Robin called, something’s wrong with Sylvia, and he does his best not to laugh as he oh no, should we go back? and Andy’s gosh, I feel terrible, but yeah, we probably should, a veritable production right under the rims of Chip and Diane’s coffee mugs. They get their bags into the trunk of his car in record time while Andy coddles and coos oooh, I’m really sorry, Chip, Diane, but it was lovely to meet you, Chip, Diane, oooh in June? Hmm, I think we’ll both be a little too busy, but thank you, Chip, Diane, let’s not and say we didn’t. That last part, muttered under a quick breath as she ducks down into the passenger seat. He makes a mental note to thank Robin for calling his parents’ house, after he called her and asked her to do exactly that earlier in the morning.

They don’t look at each other until they’re back on the highway heading east, grins splitting into laughter, Andy leaning over the console to press a smacking kiss to his cheek.

“To Jersey, baby.”

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Well, I try. Let’s switch off when we reach Cincinnati, alright?”

And, well, the truth is they didn’t think this through, at least not as well as they thought they had. They stop more times than they should, don’t even make it to Cincinnati before breakfast beckons. A crueler for him, coffee with cream, and a maple bar for her, her coffee black, perfect shards of sugar sifting and snowing over the dash of his car, a little sick and a little giddy kick in their stomachs. A handful of stops in Ohio too, gas stations and rest stops and an admitted music shop because they’ve run out of fresh cassettes by the time they pass through Akron. And Pennsylvania, forget it. A delirious afternoon haze, a strange conversation about the Amish, the lingering smell of pickles from the burgers they shared for a late lunch. But after their third or fourth driver seat switch, Andy starting to nod off on the passenger’s side, he realizes a bit idly that he hasn’t really stopped smiling since they left Indiana.

For the record, they never make it to Cape May. The sun has already set, leaving a vivid wash of orange bruising into blue by the time they’re driving through Atlantic City, and they both seem to have the same thought at the same time. Yeah, like the Springsteen song. So they scrap Cape May and car crawl down to the beach, and it’s cold, March, wind bitten and bitter, and dark, and they cling to each other, hands tucked in close against ribs and chin tucked toward chin as they flirt closer to the water. And because it’s cold, and because it’s dark, they’re the only ones out here on this gray-blue stretch of beach, the slow thrum of the water breathing in and out. Andy grins at him and he feels young in a new way, and when she wordlessly starts shrugging out of her shoes and popping the button of her jeans, of course, he follows suit.

It’s cold, bracingly so, all the air shuttering up still in his lungs, up to his shins, then his thighs, then his hips, Andy holding his hand and it doesn’t count if you don’t get your hair wet before she’s dipping under the dark ink of water, resurfacing with a burst and break of laughter, her hair slicked back and the pooling water on her skin shimmering and shining in the distant light of the city. He does it too, with a yelp, a yawp, coming back up for air to the sound of her laugh and then they’re sprinting out just as fast as they dared and daunted in, teeth chattering as they pull their clothes on over damp skin.

“We’re probably gonna catch some kind of flesh-eating disease from that water.” Shivering words that are almost drowned out by the wheezing roar of the heat turned all the way up in his car, he has to laugh, a little bleary eyed while she winds and weaves through the city streets, eyes peeled for a hotel.

“At least we’ll go out together.”

“Knew you were gonna say something like that. So romantic, we can put ointment on each other’s matching rashes.”

“Well when you put it that way.” Matching grins, turned giddy and bold, and they smell like the sea, and that’s less lovely than it sounds. They smell like brine, like snapping cold, his nose burning a little with it, eyes red-rimmed and weary, but still smiling, her hand in his over the console.

They end up getting a room at a motel with so many lights burned out in its vacant rooms sign that all that’s left is the red neon glow of CAN. It’ll do. A shower for both of them, because when she starts pressing kisses to the soft hook of his jaw, she laughs, you’re salty, Jesus Christ. And she wasn’t wrong, boyish and a little brash when he licks a stripe up the side of her neck, smacking his lips in a barely contained grin while she squawks and squirms. So, a shower, skin tacky and warm, and he feels like something perfect, something preening, is unfurling in his chest as he watches her lay out on the coarse sheets of the bed, bare, the soft spread of her hips, shadows bending and breaking in warm lamplight. She smiles at him, her chin tucked down and shoulder hiked, chipped purple nail polish trailing a line of want from her navel up and up between her breasts, along her clavicle. It becomes more clear to him every time he sees her like this that yes, he’s a goner.

“Hi.”

“Hi, baby, you feeling good?”

“Yeah, you?” She hums, mmhmm, rolling her lips back to hide the stretch of her smile, palms splaying along his ribs when he settles between her thighs, breathing in the close heat of each other. And there are words he would like to say, though they fail him, this feeling too big and buoyant to wrap language around. Good love, giddy love, turning to fizz and foam, and he thanks her, thank you for today, with his mouth pressed into her sternum, nose grazing up along line and ligament, the catch of breath in her throat, her smile.

They move with a patience that’s new to them both. In the early days, the beginning, when they were both still skirting around the edges of this being something serious, there was also a tinge of something a little frantic, a little fear and frenzy laced into their fingertips because, no, never sure if that time, or that time, or that time, would be the last. But neither of them are worried about that any more, whispered promises and easy comforts, staying, and certain in it. For the long haul, for it all. So now, now, they can take their time.

And this is different too, at least for him. He had gotten used to, and good at, the performance of things like this, the putting on of things like this, move like this, moan like this, bodies fitted with bodies for particular outcomes. Andy had seen right through that early on, turning the tables, quick spin and her hands on his chest and an easy grin, and he was no longer thinking about the aesthetics of it, of what should follow what, wrapped up in the sense and sate, and now he blushes when she tells him he makes the prettiest sounds for her, pretty, pretty, pretty, my pretty boy.

Her palms soothe presence into his spine, here, like this, be here, like this, and there’s a beat every time his hips settle against hers, a hiccup, a breath, how nice it feels to be with her, to be feeling this with her, both of them sighing, little keening cries that flicker into breathless laughter because how absurd, how obscene for them to have something as good as this. And he knows that they are the same in this way, two people convinced that no, never anything good like this, not for them, and now getting away with something good like this, good for them, and only them, and only theirs.

The soft inside of her knee pressed against his hip makes easy movement out of turning them in the sheets, languid limbs and him on his back and her draped over him, the curve of her spine and the taut line of her neck when her head tips back, pooling light like flecks of gold and he puts his hand there, there, curled close at the front of her throat, not taking anything, but in fact asking, and accepting. Her hips roll, liquid and lovely, dark hair curled damp between her thighs, and it’s something better than art, he thinks. She sighs his name when his hand slips heavy down to cup the weight of her breast, just because he can, pleasure because he can. Like that, like that, they unravel for each other in the close stillness of the night, and stitch back together in the hazy aftermath, her cheek pressed over the battering ache of his heart, all hers.

“Can I ask you something about your parents?” Her chin propped on her forearm, voice barely above a whisper. He nods, his palm stopping its circuit in the dip of her spine.

“How did they meet?”

“High school, I’m pretty sure.”

“I didn’t think that actually happened.”

“I don’t think it does any more, it probably shouldn’t have between those two.”

“Hmm, made a good kid, at least. Though I think that has more to do with you than it does with them.” And then, an afterthought, agonizingly sweet, her knuckles brushing along his cheek, you made it out, you know, and he does, presses a kiss to the pads of her fingers, making that knowing real.

“What about yours?” Roll of her eyes and sigh, the same, but different.

“Two big Boston families, one marriage of sensibility. Add in a little catholic guilt and you end up with five kids and no hope of divorce any time soon.” She says it with half of a smile, a weak laugh that sounds like something else, something tired and trying. He doesn’t push though, doesn’t ask any more. She’ll tell him when she’s ready, he knows. Instead he nods and says a few simple words that sound a lot like what she told him. Getting out, both of them, making something new for themselves, together.

“You think they’ll like me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t care. I’m not even gonna ask if you think yours liked me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His words crackle and curl with his smile, relief in those words, in believing them. She smiles and something warm splits open in his chest, her palm pressed there like she knows.

“No, baby, it doesn’t.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington au #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington series #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction

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