#he just started this lap on new softs i believe and then aborted it on the straight

[russellius]

2024 SAUDI ARABIAN GP : FP2 | road rage 🫴🇮🇹 🤌

[buckyownsmylife]

hold up - andy barber fluff

The one where Andy gets you pregnant but you’re young and haven’t been dating for long.

Warnings:  Age gap (Divorced!Andy w/ College!Reader, so she’s legal), pregnancy, light angst, supportive!Andy, mentions of abortion, fluff, mentions of smutty thoughts so I don’t think I advise minors to read this, AU! where Jacob is alive and in college and Laurie and Andy are divorced, minor medical scare from Andy’s confusion, miscommunication that leads to slightly asshole!Andy but it’s quick A/N: Special thanks to @navybrat817​ and @angrythingstarlight​ for helping me choose this collage. This fic was requested a while back. I ended up focusing more on the fact that the reader was younger than Andy (which wasn’t even part of the request) than on the fact that they hadn’t been dating for long, mostly because in my mind, this was happening in the same universe as this fic. Hope you guys like it and respect the reader’s decision to keep the baby the same way you should respect it if she decided to abort it or give it up for adoption. 

Andy’s P.O.V.

Another day, another case, another headache. Working in law gets more tiring every day, and yet I persisted. Even through a divorce and its subsequent complications, I persisted. Sometimes, I forgot why.

I missed the days I remembered why I got into law in the first place. Those idyllic mornings, when I still thought I could change the world. Now all I wanted to do was to get home and eat my girlfriend’s pussy until she passed out from pleasure.

Just the thought of her sweet cunt had me licking my lips as I drove back to my place, wishing I could stop by hers instead. It still weirded me out that I was now in a relationship with someone that was my son’s age, someone who was still in college, but then I remembered all the moments we shared and was overcome with the realization that I simply didn’t want to let her go.

I knew it was selfish of me, but I believed I deserved at least this good thing in my life after my separation. As long as she wanted me, I wouldn’t let her go. And I was pretty sure that if she decided to leave me, I’d still fight for her to stay.

I loved her. I loved her enough to get through the hazard that was coming clean about our relationship to Jacob. I loved her enough to dream about a future together, even if it looked too far away for now. 

Still, I’d caught myself daydreaming about coming home to her more and more these days. It seemed that the more exhausted I was, the more I wanted her to be waiting for me when I crossed the apartment’s door, and I found myself thinking about buying a ring too many times for someone who had gone through such a lousy divorce and was dating a girl who still had college exams to worry about.

I knew our future together - if there even was one - was still too far, but I couldn’t help but want it now. Like, right now. So the fact that I wouldn’t be able to see her for another week or so while she prepared for finals was the closest thing to hell I could go through right now.

Which only made the sight of her by my apartment’s door that much sweeter. “Baby girl, what are you doing here?” Not even giving her the chance to explain, I pulled her into a needy kiss, desperate to taste her again.

I didn’t even notice that, in my eagerness to have her in my arms once more, I had dropped my briefcase and coat on the floor, opting to pay attention to the girl I held in the middle of the hallway.

I only saw the tracks of tears in her beautiful face when I released her, too. Immediately, my heart started to pound against my chest. Could something bad have happened to her? Was she hurt?

Cradling her face in my hands, I automatically started to wipe away her tears. “What’s going on, sweetheart? Why are you crying?” For whatever reason, my words only served to cause her crying to become more frantic, her sobs breaking out of her chest freely now.

My heart felt heavy at the sight of her that desperate. The urgent need to do something, to help her, but not knowing what could be done made my throat feel like it was closing. So I did the first thing I could come up with - I picked her up, not caring about my personal belongings at all as I managed to open the door and take her to the couch with me. 

“Shh… It’s alright, baby girl. I’m right here with you. Just tell me what happened, I’m sure I can help you somehow.” Again, it seemed like it was the wrong thing to say. My words took her to the verge of a panic attack if her breathing pattern was anything to go by, so I bit my tongue and focused on what I knew I could do at that very moment to help her, even if it was very little. I pulled her even closer to me, so her head was resting on my chest, and softly cradled her while rubbing her arm with one hand, while the other played with her hair. “I love you,” I repeated, over and over again. “You’re okay.”

It took some time, much longer than I hoped for, but at last her sobs started to come in bigger intervals, her breathing becoming deeper again. Slowly, she started to calm down and focus on me, and I waited until she was ready to speak, terrified of making her start crying again by pushing her to share what had caused such a terror.

“I went to the doctor today,” she started, and if at first my mind drew a blank because I had in no way anticipated this to be the start of her explanation, my heart quickly started to pound against my chest when I managed to process what she had said. 

Was she sick? I knew she had been feeling a bit under the weather recently, even throwing up some mornings, but I thought it was a bug that had been going around. She was in college, after all, and those environments were filled with bacteria, just waiting to spread any sort of illness they could provoke.

Was it something serious? For her to be that way, it had to have been. My hands started to sweat at the prospect of losing her. Automatically, I held her tighter, in desperate need to hear more but terrified of what was coming our way.

But she didn’t seem able to say it, whatever it was. Her eyes that had finally connected to mine since she started crying, suddenly fell down to her own hands, and her sniffles warned me that she had started to cry again.

“Y/N…” I begged, covering her hands with mine. “Princess, please, please talk to me. I’m going crazy here, sweetheart. I feel like I might pass out any second now.” Surprisingly, that granted me a giggle, and then, through sniffles and tears, she finally looked up at me again.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I didn’t know how to drop this bomb on Andy. How do you tell your much older boyfriend, who already has a child who’s your exact age, that you’re pregnant with his kid? I was terrified. Terrified that he wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore, that he would try to force me to get an abortion.

Terrified that I would have to do this alone.

But I had to tell him. Of course, I had. So taking one last deep breath, I squeezed the hand that was holding mine before confessing, in the bluntest possible way, since it was the only one I could come up with right now, “I’m pregnant.”

I don’t know what I was expecting. I hadn’t actually had the time to figure out how to tell him the news - hence my blurting in the simplest possible way - but that also meant I hadn’t really imagined any outcome for this. I had a lot of fears, of course, but no actual expectation. Still, Andy’s reaction managed to catch me by surprise.

At first, there was nothing at all. He just sat there, his huge hands still covering mine as he stared at me with a blank expression in his face. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could even hear it, amidst the silence in the room. Then, out of nowhere, he pounced on me, effectively knocking me back on the couch when he captured my lips with his. 

I couldn’t catch my breath as he enthusiastically devoured me, his hands cradling my face and caging me in as he forced me to make out with him on his sofa, like two teenagers after school. Andy was such a great kisser that it was hard for me not to melt against the soft cushions, instinctively opening my legs further so he could fit perfectly between them.

The way his strong body made me feel when it was covering mine was precisely what had got us in this mess, in the first place.

“Andy…” I tried to speak and push him away, but he was still kissing me desperately, opting for quick pecks around my face since I didn’t let him deepen his kiss again. “Andy!” I admonished when he continued to ignore me, choosing to suck tiny little bruises from my jaw down to my neck, instead. 

“Baby, I’m terrified over here. Can you please stop trying to distract me and tell me what you’re thinking?” That caught his attention. He finally reduced his kisses, slowly going back to his seating position on the couch and bringing me with him, laying me over his lap again.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just… I’m so fucking relieved. First, I thought you’d break up with me. Then, since you talked about going to the doctor’s, I thought something was wrong with you. I was desperate, baby girl. Desperate. I figured, one way or another, I was going to lose you. And I don’t want to lose you.”

Hearing what was going on through his mind while I struggled to figure out how to explain what was happening made my heart feel heavy with guilt. I guess that, in the state I was in I kind of thought he would have realized what I was going to say, or simply not anticipate any sort of information whatsoever, so to hear that his mind jumped to these worst-case scenarios was heartbreaking to me.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” I assured him, reaching out for his hand and squeezing it in a small show of support. “I’m right here. But we need to figure out how we’re going to do this.” Andy blinked a few times before managing to voice his confusion.

“Do this what?” And then it was my turn to be confused.

“This… kid. What are we gonna do about this?” I watched as his nostrils flared, his grip on me momentaneously hardening, before he managed to get his emotions in check through a long exhale.

“You’re not seriously considering aborting my child, right?” The question - the tone - was like a slap to the face. In all honesty, that option had never even crossed my mind, but the way he was saying it, like I had no say in the matter, killed me inside.

“I’m gonna give you the time to figure out what the hell is wrong with you. I know that this is a pretty overwhelming situation and I just sprung this on you, but that is no excuse to address me in such a manner. Especially if you consider just how much I’m the one who’s really going to have my entire life turned upside down because of this.”

Andy’s P.O.V.

I groaned as I watched her leave the room in the direction of the bathroom, knowing this was her way of letting me know I shouldn’t look for her until I was prepared to apologize. But I was already ready. I knew how terrible my words had sounded, but it came from a place of love and happiness with the situation other than possessiveness. 

So, with that in mind, I rubbed my face before getting up and following her, just in time to find her reentering my bedroom. “I’m sorry, princess. I-I just didn’t know how to react when the thought of you getting an abortion popped into my mind. It’s not like you’re a fucking one night stand or a fling to me, but you’re absolutely right. It’s your body and you should do what makes you comfortable. I just ask you to keep in mind that I would love to have this child with you. I’d support you - I’d support the both of you unconditionally. I know we’ve only been dating for a few months, but I’m serious about you. I’m serious about us. I’d marry you tomorrow if it’s what you need to know how serious I really am about this. And yeah, it’s gonna be hard, but I’m here for you. I’m always gonna be here for you, every step of the way.”

By the time I was done with my speech, she had tears in her eyes again, only this time, I knew what it was about, so I only chuckled. “Come here, sweetheart.” I pulled her to me, hugging her close to my body as I caressed the back of her head. “We’re gonna be okay, one way or another.”

“You sure you’re not just gonna abandon me with a small child?” I knew that her question came from a place of insecurity, but I still couldn’t control myself as a growl escaped my chest, my hands tightening around her, as I reminded her, “You’re mine, baby girl. I’m never gonna leave you. Don’t even think that.”

Slowly, she stopped crying, until only a few sniffles were heard every once in a while. “Okay,” she mumbled in a small voice, clearing the bedroom from what was once a silent atmosphere.

“Okay?”

“Okay, let’s do this. Let’s… Let’s have a baby together.”

A huge smile slowly took over my face as I cradled hers in mine to make sure there was no trace of hesitation in her eyes. “We’re gonna be parents?”

“We’re gonna be parents,” she confirmed, accepting my hug again. “Well, you’re already a parent.” The reminder had me chuckling to myself.

“I can’t wait to tell Jacob about this. He’s going to flip.” The mischievous tone in my voice earned me a playful slap on the shoulder. 

“No teasing him more than necessary, Andrew. He’s already going to be pretty affected by this.”

“Can’t make any promises.”

[nonobadcat]

Yandere Mr. Compress X F! Reader

Rating: Explicit - for readers 18+ only 8 chapter story

Summary: Six months into your relationship with the "Incredible Mr. Compress", your future seems as bright as the stage lights under which he makes his name. However, your best friend, Harada Yumiko, has her doubts about this "perfect" stranger who seems to have magically appeared in your life. While he continues to shower you with increasingly serious affections, Yumiko's words make you start to ponder one thing: How much do you really know about Sako Atsuhiro?

TW: Rape, breeding/pregnancy kink, condom failure, unwanted pregnancy, discussions of abortion, stalking. A consensual relationship that devolves into non-con.

Dedicated to Miss_Mystery3

Chapter 1 Excerpt:

"So then tell me, my friend..." Her eyes flashed. "When were you going to tell me about this new man in your life?"

You gulped and sunk back into your seat. Your eyes rolled to the floor. "Ummmm…. Eventually?"

She tapped the table hard enough to make her manicure click. "I had to find out from my driver that my best friend was dating some sort of actor." She laid her head upon her forehead and swooned like a grandmother confronted with a store-bought version of her best dish. "Do you know how that made me feel?"

You twirled your thumbs around each other. "Sorry… you've been so busy lately..."

She smacked the wooden veneer and sneered at you. “I demand details!” She pointed a finger at your nose and narrowed her eyes. “Where did you meet him?"

You cast a thumb over your shoulder. "At a little bar down the street."

She frowned. "A bar? Didn't anyone ever tell you that you'll never meet a good man at a bar."

You shrugged. "Well, he was performing and then he asked me out later." You scratched your cheek. "So it wasn't technically in the bar..."

She fanned herself. "I cannot believe I'm hearing this." She grasped you by the shoulders. "He sounds sketchy! Break up with him, now."

You laughed. “Yumi-chan, you don’t even know him!”

She crossed her arms and huffed. “Is he even cute?”

You licked your lips and a gooey smile appeared on your face. Your cheeks glowed with embarrassed heat. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your cell phone. The lock screen background was a picture of yourself and a handsome man. The two of you had sappy grins on your face. You were making two V-shaped hands just beside your jaw and pouting your lips. He flashed a single set of bunny ears behind your head. His cheek was leaned into your scalp and the other arm was wrapped around your shoulders. His face was a perfect heart with boyish piles of soft brown waves piled on his head. Chocolate brown eyes seemed nearly molten in the hazy light. Instead of looking at the camera, they were looking at you.

Yumiko looked utterly dumbfounded. She stared from you to the picture and back again. Then a sullen frown tugged the corners of her mouth down.

You giggled. “I know, right? He’s super hot.” You rocked from side to side, clasping your hands together. “I still don’t know what he sees in me but I feel stupid lucky to have him.”

She handed your phone back to you and rolled her eyes. “There’s a catch.” She waved her hand dismissively and gave you a wicked side-eye. “I mean, sure he’s hot and all but don’t the circumstances seem a little suspicious to you?”

You cocked your head. "What do you mean, Yumi-chan?"

“I mean you met this guy at a dive bar right?” she asked.

“It wasn’t a dive bar!” You turned your head and poked your index fingers into each other until they arched. Embarrassed eyes found their way to the floor as you shuffled your feet. Out of the corner of your mouth, you muttered: “It was an open mic night.”

“Oh gee, open mic night.” She rolled her eyes. “So much classier.”

You shrugged sheepishly. “Look, I know your ex-”

A dark cloud fell over her face. She gritted her teeth and growled. “Can you just not?”

You winced and waved your hands apologetically. “Sorry! Sorry!”

Your friend crossed her arms and stared down her nose at you. “...besides, we’re talking about your love life, not mine.”

Your lips fell into a frown and your eyes rolled to the side.  It wasn’t like you really wanted to talk about it. She was the one that brought it up all of a sudden.

“How much do you know about him anyway?”

Your eyes sparkled. You began to tick off your fingers "Well… he's blood type B; he used to be part of a circus act with his grandfather." You grinned into the palm of your hand and practically squealed. "Oh my gosh! The third time we went on a date he pulled a bouquet of red tulips out of a hat! How romantic is that?!"

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I mean, how much do you really know about him? About his family? His friends?

You paused, mouth drawing tight. “...that’s…” You forced a grin to hide the queasy feeling flopping around in your stomach. “I mean…” You flipped your hand back and force as an uneasy laugher cracked from your throat like a bull frog’s croak. “Well… you know I wanted to take things kinda slow-”

“Are you having sex with him?”

Your fake smile froze on your face.

She groaned. “Oh, honey... If you’re doing the deed he isn’t taking it slow.” She narrowed her brows. “If the guy gets the milk without buying the cow-”

You gripped your upper arm and pursed your lips. “Yumiko,” you whined. “That’s super sexist!” You prodded your fingers. “Besides, the sex is fine with me. The part I wish he’d slow down is how serious he is about us.”

“What do you mean?”

You frowned and leveled her with a serious stare. “He told me he loved me after only three dates.”

Yumiko set her mimosa down and sat up straight. “That’s a bit fast.”

You nodded and ran your hand through your hair. “I told him it was too much-”

Yumiko cut you off. “And let me guess? He was all like…” She threw her voice into a fake deep murmur which made your IQ drop by several points. “...but baby because I love you I just wanna try anal once. Plleeeeeaassssseeeee.” Then she scoffed and took a large gulp of her drunk. With a dark glower, she snarled: “Men really are animals after all.”

Your eyes went wide and you waved your hands frantically. “Oh no! Nothing like that!” You folded your hands into your lap and squirmed in the chair. Your thumbs danced around each other like two cats in a fight. A warmth filled your cheeks as you bit your lip. “Actually, he was super understanding. He said it was in his nature to live fast but that he would absolutely respect my feelings on the matter.”

Yumiko’s jaw dropped. “You’re not serious?!” She slumped into her hand and groaned. “You actually believed him?! No guy is really that nice!”

Read the rest at Archive of Our Own

@awkward-confused @raygard-elvets @somechick30003 @thicchaco @shigashigashig @teachillvibes

@sadlynikki @the-midnight-slasher-thot @questylousqueer @lynaminroll @crackheadwithtoes @crispyathletepurseduck @shadyfarmcookiefish @bouncing-bunnie @serenesong @kirishimaisthatbitch @oikawascakee @brialoveskbtbb @lisajamie99 @lilypadofthelake @softdumpling @neutralchaosintheworld @asianchubs @lovely92sworld @feral-creep @arie1107 @razormoon

@serenesong @edensblog101703 @all4one @wifeofhandvillain @fallen-baron

@rare-yanderes -though Idk if this is rare enough for you

[jaehyunspeachparty]

daddy jaehyun

iv.xlxi. (a,m)

trigger warning: mentions of abortion

The time when Jaehyun filmed his drama just didn't go by. It was getting harder for you every day. It wasn't easy with the four children either, but most of all you miss your husband. When you heard the door open in the evening and Jaehyun came to bed with you, you never wanted to leave him again. "You're finally here," you whisper and put your lips on his. The kiss was so comforting and full of missing that you didn't want to let go of him. But at some point Jaehyun broke away from you. "I'm so exhausted." He put his head on the pillow and sighed. You stroke his hair and hope he doesn't fall asleep right away. It was the only time you had together at the moment. You just lie down next to him and put your hand on his torso. "I miss you," you whisper to him and look up. "I miss you too and the children, I really don't see them anymore." Jaehyun was still plagued by a guilty conscience. "Hopefully it won't be that long." You sit up and sigh. "Yeah ... hopefully ..." To Jaehyun it felt like an eternity. You then sit on his lap and put your hands under his shirt. You finally wanted to feel love again. You lacked the feeling of lust, of passion. You didn't remember when you last had sex. It was clearly too long ago. "Y/N ..." He gently grabbed your wrists and looked at you sadly. "The children are asleep and we finally have some time for ourselves." You grab his waistband, but Jaehyun stopped you. "I'm really totally tired, I can't do anything today." He stopped you from doing your thing, but you didn't want to give up so easily. You were greedy and you wanted him. You were actually sure that if you would make the start, then he would be quickly convinced. "I'll do most of the work, just relax ..." You smile and slowly and carefully pull down his pants. Most of the time when you were at this point he was a little hard, but this time it was nothing. "Y/N...I don't know..." Jaehyun didn't mean to disappoint you, but he knew his performance wouldn't work down here. But you wanted to try it, you couldn't believe it. You start to take him in your hand, spread a bit of spit along his length and with pressure you move your hand up and down. But there was still no reaction from him. "Y/N ... I ..." He was uncomfortable now because he totally failed. But you wanted to do him something good and you also wanted to experience a few highs yourself. So you draw your last card and put his length in your mouth. Your whole torso leaned down and your butt was up. You wanted to give everything, you couldn't believe that he couldn't be persuaded somehow. But sucking a limp cock really wasn't easy. He was still very soft and it was difficult to stimulate it in this state. You press your lips together, lick his tip and massage his testicles. And as much as you try, he just didn't get hard. This whole thing then became uncomfortable for Jaehyun. He was tired and still under the pressure that he couldn't get hard. "Y/N, stop it." His voice sounded harsher than expected. You look up in surprise and somehow you didn't know how to deal with the situation. You sit up and look at him desperately. You didn't have any bad intentions, but you just wanted affection and love from your husband. You were also stressed out by all of this and you just wanted to take some stress off with him. "I don't mean that, but I'm just tired. The day was exhausting today." "Do you think my day wasn't exhausting today?" You were kind of hurt and disappointed. "Yes, but ... Y/N, I was really busy today." Jaehyun tried to justify himself, but you shake your head. "And should it continue like this for the next few weeks. Should we as a married couple give us up completely?" You didn't know what to think because it was all so confused. "No, but I ..." "Don’t you miss me?" You look at him with glassy eyes and cross your arms. "I miss you, but I can hardly ..." He couldn't go on talking. He was ashamed of himself that he was so limp today and couldn't get hard. "Anyway, leave it. I'm sleeping somewhere else today." You got up and left the bedroom. You didn't want to see or hear Jaehyun. You were disappointed that he hardly found time for you. You knew the drama was draining him a lot of time and energy. But it was all too much. He was hardly there, you were alone with the kids and he was kissing some beautiful actress on the set. Your jealousy was still something very present and you could hardly let go of it. Maybe this time it was you who ruined the relationship?

When you wake up in the morning, Jaehyun was long gone. You had only heard him briefly, but then he went straight to the garage. In the morning you visit Johanna and wanted to know how she was doing after the abortion. When you two were at the doctor, it was just quiet. You didn't talk and you just try to stand by her. But now days had passed and you hope she was better. Johanna was off that day and had the children with her too. This allowed your children to hang out while you chatted. "How are you?" You ask concerned and Johanna looked at you annoyed. "Don't come on me like that ..." she sighed and admonished you. "What?" "You feel sorry for me." Johanna shook her head and looked again at the children. "No, I'm worried. An abortion isn’t easy. It is an invasion of your body." Johanna went through so much the last few years and she had severe depressions, of course you are worried about how she deals with it. "Yes ... it wasn't easy ..." Johanna lowered her head and grabbed her stomach briefly. It was weird that she wasn't pregnant anymore. "But I feel so much relief ... I feel freer ..." Johanna sometimes felt bad for her thoughts, but for a long time she felt as if she could breathe again without problems. "I'm glad you're feeling better now." You smile and stroke her hand. At that moment Johanna was so grateful for your confidence and touch that she hadn't felt alone for a long time. Even when she was with Johnny, she often felt alone. But now she had her life under control again and she could think clearly again. She had her two children, her new job, her own apartment and a good friend like you. She never thought, neither did you, that your friendship would one day become so intimate. "How are you? It seems like something is bothering you." Johanna looked at you and you stroked Geon's head, who was sitting on your lap. "It's so hard right now that Jaehyun is never there." You sigh and look down at your son. "How are you doing with your jealousy?" Johanna knew about your problem and you couldn't say that you were better. "Bad. Oh my god Johanna, I'm going crazy." You throw your head back and you want to scream. Then you put your hands on Geon's ears and start whispering. "I need sex so badly, I can hardly take it anymore. Shit I just want him to grab me, fuck me wild and I cum so hard again that I forget my own name." You were really desperate. "Wow, how long has it been for you?" Asked Johanna, surprised. "Far too long, I don't know anymore. I think since he started filming the drama again." You sigh and take another sip of your coffee. "Hmmm .... okay ..." Johanna doesn't know what to say either. "I'm so horny as I haven't been in a long time. And what the dildo gives me is no longer enough anymore." Johanna had to laugh, because in the beginning you didn't want the thing and now you were glad that you had something to stimulate you. "Can't nobody take care of the children? You can sleep in a hotel for a night and have a good fuck again." Johanna's idea wasn't bad, but there was a problem. "I've already suggested that, but he wants to spend his free time with the children. Which I understand because he doesn't see the children from Monday to Friday." You sigh and were really desperate. "The disadvantage of being married to a good father," said Johanna with a wink. "Am I selfish?" You suddenly ask her and turn to her. "What?" Johanna didn't understand what you mean. "I'm selfish. I want Jaehyun to do something with me without his children for a day and only look after us." You lower your head and you feel bad. Maybe you were too hard on him. "No, you are still a married couple, you need time together." "But we have toddlers, we have to be there for them. They come first." "But you need time together so that you can become stronger as a team and also so that you don't go crazy. You shouldn't neglect yourselves, otherwise you'll end up like me and Johnny." You lean back and don't know what to say or think. Have you been selfish? Should you demand something like this? Was sex really that important? Should you care more about your marriage? You didn't know what was right or wrong anymore ...

In the evening Jaehyun still didn’t come home. It was the usual time, but he just didn't come. Tears came to your eyes, your pulse was high and you did not know how to act. Are you overreacting? Or were you allowed to claim time? But at the same time you miss him. At the same time you were plagued by jealousy. The next moment you take the remote control and turn off the television. You try to sleep a little, because in four hours Kiwoo would wake you up because he is hungry. You lie alone in the big bed. It felt so lonely. A shiver ran down your spine and a sob overwhelmed you. Why were you so full of emotions? Why did you come to tears so quickly? At some point you managed to doze off a little, but you always startle. You reach aside and Jaehyun still wasn't there. You were beginning to worry that something might have happened. You sit up and look at your phone. No message. No phone call. You dial his number, but no one answered. You write him to call you and try to lie down again. But still nothing came. You toss and turn, can't sleep, and start worrying. What if he had an accident? You fell apart in an argument and you would never forgive yourself if something happened now. You feel incredibly guilty. Everything contracted inside you and you are getting closer and closer to a panic attack. You call him again and again. You write to him too, but there was never an answer. At some point it was 3 o'clock in the morning. You go into the kitchen and make yourself some tea. Your pulse was still high and you had thousands of scenarios in your head and you plan to go to the police in the morning. Or that you call Johnny quickly so you can go to the police station and he'll take care of the kids. You didn't know what to do. Maybe you should just call the local police and see if something happened. You take your iPad and look for the number, when suddenly the front door opened. You look over and see how Jaehyun struggled to take off his shoes. He just threw the jacket down and almost fell to the floor. You look at him in disbelief. Did that really happen? "Are you still awake?" He slurred and looked at you in amazement. His cheeks and nose were red and he was having a hard time standing up straight. "Why didn't you answer your phone?" You were done with your nerves, you couldn't sleep. Jaehyun took his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. "Oops ..." He saw the calls and messages, but due to his high alcohol level he didn't realize what was happening. "I just can't believe it ..." You didn't even know what to say anymore. You were disappointed and angry. At some point you just turn around even more and go up the stairs. "Y/N ... are you still angry?" You couldn't stand Jaehyun's streak of alcohol. You wonder why he even made it up the stairs. "Yes," you hissed back angrily. "Come on ... it's not that bad ..." You roll your eyes and you couldn't even listen to him anymore. "You could have called, I was worried." You turn to him and look at him disappointed. The tears were gathering in your eyes and it was hard to hold you back. "I didn't look at my phone. Sorry ..." He snorted and tried to be cute, but that only annoyed you. "I thought something happened to you." You take his bedding and cling tightly around it. "I thought you had an accident. FUCK! Jaehyun, I wanted to go to the police. You always call me when it gets late. ALWAYS!" You throw the bedding at him and your sobs got louder and louder. Jaehyun looked at you confused and his drunken brain found it difficult to process all of this. "I don't want you with me. You sleep somewhere else. I don't care where." You push him out of the bedroom and slam the door. Jaehyun looked at the closed door, the bedding in his hand and only the next day will he realize what just happened here.

daddy jaehyun masterlist

[willowworkswithwords]

Hiii Willow! I saw the new prompt list, and was wondering if I could suggest “Shut up and get over here, we’re doing physical affection.” With crosshair, and the rest of the batch? Have a lovely day :)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Crosshair & Hunter & Tech & Wrecker (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Crosshair (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) & CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, Crosshair & Hunter & Omega & Tech & Wrecker (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) Characters: Crosshair (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, Hunter (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Tech (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Wrecker (Star Wars: The Bad Batch)

Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mental Health Issues, aka Crosshair is not in a good place, Crosshair Needs a Hug (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) Summary:

Fuck, why’d this have to happen now? He should leave. Hunter had practically hinted at the start that he wasn’t expected to stay. Crosshair had thought he had been trying to be diplomatic, but with every one of Hunter’s aborted jerks towards Crosshair he was further convinced he hadn’t been wanted at all.

What did it matter, anyway, if the brother who’d abandoned him once already wanted him to stay that way?

---

In which I ignore the finale and make up my own reality. Crosshair goes with them and here he figures some stuff out.

also available to read under the cut

Crosshair didn’t know if he hated planets like this one or loved them. They were relatively safe with so few people around, but that was part of the issue. They had let their guard down before, had gotten complacent because they were so damned tired and just wanted somewhere they could breathe.

Crosshair couldn’t breathe anymore.

He’d removed his chip on his own, after he’d gotten burned. Cooped up in the medical bay with memories leaking through and wrapping around his heart, he’d slipped out while the AZ droid was occupied and snuck into a small surgical bay.

He hadn’t felt it, before, but he could feel it now.

It’s grip on him lingered.

So, he participated in training but left when they had a holonight. Omega had been trailing him around any chance she got but he was rude and dismissive because she was just a child. His vode had made attempt after attempt, in their own ways, to reconnect, but Crosshair knew the truth.

He’d never be the brother he’d been before.

They’d been on this backwater for a month now, had established a routine and were settling into a new rhythm. Crosshair couldn’t avoid them much, what with their living space being the size it was, but they swapped watch every three hours at night and it was easy to let his watch slip into Tech’s, into Wrecker’s, right into the sunrise without reprieve.

They all knew that he did it, but none of them seemed able to bare to breach the subject, and that suited Crosshair just fine.

Last night he’d lasted until the rain stopped. The sun wasn’t up when he’d stood by Hunter’s pillow, the only thing he needed to do to wake him, but he’d stayed outside the marauder’s ramp, slowly sinking into the mud, for most of the night.

It genuinely hadn’t occurred to him that standing in the rain would get him sick (but maybe it had). Even if he was sick, he doubted they’d care anymore (he knew they would). He could care less what they thought, he’d stay quiet and die before he humiliated himself any further (he was desperate, so desperate, for their care).

Hunter scared the living hell out of him when his hand landed square on Crosshair’s shoulder.

“Woah, woah there Cross, sorry.” Hunter voice was soft, but Crosshair suspected it was because Omega was peeking around his shoulder to stare at Crosshair. Both their brows were furrowed in the same way. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What do you want, Hunter?”

Hunter fixed him with a long, hard stare. Crosshair used to be able to meet Hunter’s eyes no problem. Now he lasted fourteen seconds before he had to fix it on the wall to the right.

“Watch a holo with us? Wrecker’s got first watch.”

“You should, Crosshair, you can’t be standing outside with a cold anyways,” Omega said, reaching her hand out as if she were going to hold Crosshair’s. He twitched back and stared at her.

Hunter put his arm around her and pulled her in close to his side. Crosshair got the message. No matter how much his brothers talked about believing he was safe now, that they wanted him back, he’d never be able to see passed their love for Omega. Omega, who’d sprung up in his place and who’d never be capable of the evils he’d done.

Unblemished. A sacred, innocent child.

Crosshair knew his place.

“Cross,” Hunter’s voice, still quiet and gentle (why the fuck was he still being gentle?) snapped his attention back. “Just c’mon. We won’t make you stay the whole time if you really can’t stand it, but we picked a good one.”

Tech had rigged a holo setup for them all years ago in the bunkroom. The best view had been from Crosshair’s bed, which had been Echo’s since he’d left, and was now full of blankets and pillows and scattered bowls of popcorn.

Echo was on the right end, propped up against the wall and only half awake. They had started to become more like brothers before Crosshair had left, but now with all the space Crosshair had thrown in between them and their shared history of being unwilling tools, Crosshair doubted Echo would want to be closer to him than was absolutely necessary, save himself from reliving his past, so he settled on the opposite of the bed. Omega flew in and practically dove headfirst into Echo’s side, giggling and wrapping herself up in one of his blankets.

Crosshair looked away, the pang in his chest resounding through every inch of his body. Maybe he was sicker than he thought.

“Alright, here we go,” Hunter said, sitting directly in the middle of the space between them all.

It was a fine movie. It held Crosshair’s attention well enough, but halfway through he started drifting, the sound of the movie mingling with the rain on the metal plating of the Marauder and lulling him just enough that he found himself listing sideways. He didn’t even realize he was going towards Hunter until his temple hit soft civvies and he jerked eyes he didn’t remember closing wide open and lurched back towards the bubble of his personal space.

The pang returned, aching, raw, and Crosshair started to think he had a fever.

It happened again and again, and each time Crosshair’s heart crept further and further up his throat until his shoulders were up near his ears and he knew even Omega could read the tension in his back and face clear as day.

Fuck, why’d this have to happen now? He should leave. Hunter had practically hinted at the start that he wasn’t expected to stay. Crosshair had thought he had been trying to be diplomatic, but with every one of Hunter’s aborted jerks towards Crosshair he was further convinced he hadn’t been wanted at all.

What did it matter, anyway, if the brother who’d abandoned him once already wanted him to stay that way?

“Crosshair!”

Chip or no chip, Crosshair was programmed to obey that tone of voice quicker than breathing.

Fortunately it was Hunter calling him and not a Kaminoan, because the less than regulation ‘hhhuh?’ he let slip would have gotten him at the least an extra stint in the labs.

“That’s enough. Get over here, we’re doing physical affection,” Hunter said, that same Sith damned gentleness only barely masked by his command and an underlying ripple Crosshair was loathe to admit was concern.

Crosshair hadn’t thought it’d be possible to be less comfortable sitting on a bed but the new tension seizing each and every inch of him proved him woefully incorrect.

“Shut up, Cross—”

“I didn’t even—”

“I said shut up and get over here,” Hunter said, leaning towards him and this time passing the invisible line that he’d been approaching all night.

His hand gripped Crosshair’s farthest shoulder and pulled him into his side, face squished into the civvies that still somehow smelt like plastoid and held him there. A blanket was being draped over him but Crosshair felt like he had after that damned operation. Something was lifted from him, dark and oppressive and it was so good it was gone but now he felt himself being carried downstream faster than he could take it all in.

Really, it wasn’t a surprise when the first tear fell. He supposed that was what had been building up in his chest, part of that pressure, for days now. But the grip on his shoulder tightening, the shushing and the hand that was suddenly cradling his head, unafraid of the rippling, ugly scars, that was nothing he had ever expected to have again.

Hunter just held him impossibly closer. Everything was blurring, but Omega had reached across Hunter and was gripping onto Crosshair’s hand. He found he was gripping back.

The blurring turned into the good, floaty hazy he so rarely achieved.

For the first time, Crosshair felt safe again.

When he woke up the next morning, not remembering the moment he’d lost the battle with sleep, Tech sandwiching him in against Hunter’s side. Omega was where she had been the night before, but Echo was sitting in a chair taken from their messhall, sipping caf and wearing the most ridiculous handmade sweater Crosshair had ever seen.

Wrecker wasn’t there.

“He kept watch all night.”

Echo wasn’t even looking up from the ‘pad in his lap.

“And yes, he was the one who made me this. Thought I looked too cold all the time for my own good.”

Crosshair snorted.

“I know, it’s ridiculous.”

Silence again. Echo’s eyes darted from the ‘pad but to his caff, not to Crosshair yet.

“They—we – really do want you here, Crosshair. No matter what.” He shifted a bit, sipped his caff before laughing. “I mean, look at me. I’m a screwed up reg you guys picked up without a second thought. You really think they’d give you up that easily?”

But they had, hadn’t they?

Echo finally met Crosshair’s eyes.

“Crosshair, Hunter beat himself up after losing you ever single day until we got you back. Still does. It wasn’t right but it’s what happened. You’re back with us now. You’re with us, so you can stop running, alright? Take it from someone who knows. Running gets you nowhere but alone.”

Echo’s eyes shone with tears but they didn’t fall; Crosshair’s rolled down his cheeks and pattered in a steady rhythm onto Hunter’s shoulder.

All he could do was look his brother in the eyes and nod.

[thewhumperinwhite]

And Then You Kill Me, Part 1

hey, it’s been a hot minute, huh?

been sorta Going Through It, so uh... Vampire Time, featuring Art and Karim from FBI AU. (Though, for the record: this is their original incarnation, hence why fbi au is Called That.)

I’m gonna tag @whumpitywhumpwhump and also @sweetheartblue bc Karim is... her oc once removed, basically, so if you like this, Thank Sweetheart

Blanket Warning For This Story: this story heavily features suicide, including multiple suicide attempts.

TW for: attempted suicide; mentioned/”threatened” murder; slight foot whump; implied vampirism; referenced parental abuse; referenced captivity; prescription drug abuse; drowning mention.

----

Art doesn’t know how far he runs, or for how long, but by the time he stops the air smells like salt water, and also his feet feel like they’re filled with glass.

He hasn’t been out of his room for a full month. Or his father’s house for longer than that. There’s a sharp ache in the center of each of his calves, and muscles jumping in his thighs; he hasn’t used his legs for much of anything in weeks. He hasn’t even paced back and forth within the confines of his room like he did at first. Didn’t even stay on his feet for the entirety of his last few too-long showers.

The maid who let him out is new, at least to his wing of the house. She’s been bringing his meals for three weeks at the most, and collecting the trays after he refuses to eat it with increasingly visible discomfort.

She’s the only member of staff who broke his father’s injunction that no one should speak to him; said “You must eat something” in a soft, accented voice, looking around furtively.

He wasn’t been sure his father had actually given specific orders—thought maybe they all just hated him, or had decided among themselves that he was too much trouble to bother with—but this new girl was so clearly afraid of being caught, just speaking one sentence to him, that he knew his father must have said their jobs were on the line. For a little while he wondered why his father would bother. And then he felt stupid, for still wanting the old man to need a reason for things.

The new maid’s name is Noa. It took her a week to talk to him, and two more after before she felt brave or sympathetic enough to sneak him out.

Which means she probably didn’t know that this was always what he was going to do, the second he was out. Last time he didn’t do it fast enough, and the cops found him before he had the chance; this time he isn’t taking any chances.

Noa might feel guilty when they find his body. He thought about leaving a note—to tell her thanks, and that it wasn’t her fault—but he didn’t want to risk getting her in trouble, if she somehow managed to help him without getting caught.

Anyway, she hasn’t known him very long at all. She’ll get over it before too long.

He hasn’t been to this part of the city before. In fact he’s not sure what part of the city this is; he’s been running through a thick mental fog since he first left his father’s manicured lawn. He makes himself really look, now, blinking in the dim yellow light of the streetlamps.

He’s made it to the edge of the city, near where the river that runs through the center meets the ocean. It’s hard to believe this is the same river where his mother sips martinis and watches races between indistinguishable blinding-white boats (largely captained by indistinguishable blinding-white men, though Art doesn’t have much room to talk on that score, obviously).

Art steps out onto the dock. The wood is damp and rough, ice-cold on his bare feet, but it’s solid, and not very slippery. There’s an old railing along the edge, and he leans against it, wrapping already-numb fingers around the rough metal. The river’s wider here, the city lights on the other side further away than he’s used to. This must be where it starts to open out, stops being the river and starts being the bay.

The railing’s sturdy, but only as high as his waist. It’d be easy to climb over. The water must be freezing, maybe even cold enough to kill him on its own, before he has time to drown.

But he doesn’t know what the tides are like, here. His corpse might wash right out to sea, and then what will have been the point of any of this?

Art pries one hand off the railing—it’s already stiff with cold, and it takes more effort than it should—and puts it in his pocket, wraps his stinging pins-and-needles fingers around the reassuring shape of the pill bottle.

Art closes his eyes, and breathes in. The water smells worse, here—like industrial waste, mainly, with a hint of rotting seaweed. But it doesn’t smell like too-fancy cologne, or any of his mother’s preferred cocktails.

Art figures there are worse places to die.

He’s turning his head, looking around to see if there’s any place to sit or if he should just sit on the ground and lean against the railing—and then he spins wildly on his heel, stumbling back against the railing, his heart stuttering in his chest.

There’s a man standing at the edge of the dock, under the nearest streetlight, watching him.

The man is wearing a full suit, and Art can tell immediately that it’s been professionally tailored and that it’s at least partly silk and for a moment that’s all he can see—neatly pressed trousers and shiny black shoes, with patterns on the soles that leave bruises anyone could recognize if they wanted to, if they looked at Art’s face and throat and hands for even a second—

“—to startle you,” the man is saying, in a blessedly unfamiliar voice, and Art shakes his head, hard, to force his eyes back into focus.

The man is holding his hands up in surrender and looking slightly alarmed, presumably worried that Art is about to swoon at his feet. There’s a red silk ribbon hanging untied around the collar of the man’s shirt, and Art’s father only wears plain black ties.

The adrenaline runs out of Art’s veins in a rush, and this time his knees actually do give out on him, and he slithers down against the railing until he’s sitting on the damp wood, which is very cold through the thin fabric of his jeans.

The man blinks at him. He has big, long-lashed eyes, over-bright against his light-brown skin. His hair is bleach-blonde, glowing white-gold under the streetlamp; it’s mostly slicked back, with a few curls flopping loose over sculpted black eyebrows.

He isn’t standing on the docks themselves, but his suit—now that Art can really see, it’s pretty ostentatious, satin-shiny in the yellow glow, not something his father would wear at all—looks very out of place above the dirty concrete sidewalk, between two dingy, abandoned-looking buildings.

“You’re wearing a suit,” Art says, before he knows he’s going to say anything.

The man blinks his glow-in-the-dark eyes at him. His lashes are so long they cast visible shadows on his cheeks. He looks at Art, and then down at the suit; touches his own lapel gently with black-gloved fingers, like he’s just remembering that it’s there.

Then the man looks back up at Art, and says, “It’s Boglioli,” in a surprised sort of voice, like it’s a conditioned response.

“Ugh,” Art says, with perfect sincerity.

The man laughs, his full lips parting in a startled grin, and—

There’s something wrong with his teeth.

Art is still on the ground. There’s no sound except the river, behind him, water lapping quietly against wood. Art hasn’t slept properly in days. He’s prepared to believe he imagined it, except.

Except that the smile immediately drops off the man’s face, and his gloved hand twitches up as though in an aborted attempt to reach up and cover his mouth.

Art stares.

It was only for a second. But the man’s eyeteeth were too long, surely, poked down over his bottom lip, like they barely fit in his pretty red mouth.

Art’s ears are ringing. He feels cold, and then too warm.

The man takes a half-step back, his eyes not leaving Art’s face.

Art doesn’t move. He’s been out here in the cold for—an hour. Most of him is freezing, is almost painfully cold, but suddenly there’s heat in his cheeks and his ribcage and the palm of his hands.

He’s feeling something too big to identify. It doesn’t feel like fear.

The man is watching his face very closely.

“What’s your name?” he asks, finally. His voice is low and velvet-soft.

That does sent fear up into Art’s stomach like a knife. He shakes his head once, sharply, reaching up for the railing, ready to haul himself to his feet.

The man holds his gloved hands up again, in surrender. This time when he smiles he keeps his lips firmly together.

“No, alright, my mistake,” he says, smirking. It’s much worse than the grin; more controlled, less real. Art liked the grin better.

He liked the man’s smile better with teeth.

“I just, uh,” the man says, and he gestures toward Art’s feet, folded awkwardly underneath him. “That wood’s so dirty. Your cuts’ll get infected.”

Art’s feet do hurt. He’s run half the city with no shoes, they must be cut to shit. But he hasn’t left a trail of bloody footprints, or anything. Maybe the man can see that his feet are bare, but surely not more than that, not from where he’s standing.

When he leans over, a little, to see if his foot is a horrible bloody mess and he’s just missed it somehow, Art wobbles, and takes his hand out of his pocket to steady himself.

The bottle of pills clatters out of his pocket.

Art’s heart clenches painfully in his chest, and his head swims, and the bottle rolls easily across the wooden planks in front of him. The man takes one step forward, and it taps casually into the toe of his shiny black shoe.

The man picks the bottle up, frowning down at the label.

Art stumbles forward, onto his knees. “Give that back.”

“What is it?” the man says, voice nothing but curious. He’s reading the label. Art wants to tackle him and rip it out of his hands.

“It’s mine,” he says, and now he’s almost yelling. “Give it back!”

The man takes a step back, startled. “Huh,” he says, blinking down at Art, who is now kneeling practically at his feet. Art has no idea what kind of face he’s making.

“Really,” the man says slowly, and makes a show of squinting back down at the label. “This says… Honoria Lange, is what it says.” He raises a perfectly-sculpted brow at Art. “That’s you, is it?”

Art wants to rip this guy’s head off. “Maybe it is,” he says savagely, and reaches for the man’s hand; the man laughs and dances easily out of the way. “Give me my fucking pills back—"

“Oh, relax,” the man says, smirking again. “Seriously, what are you so desperate to—” He trails off, frowning down at the bottle. “…Huh.”

The man looks down at Art, thoughtfully.

“These are—what, sleeping pills,” he says slowly, and tips his head, like a curious dog.

Art’s stomach clenches painfully.

“Hey,” the man says. “Are you—”

Art throws himself to his feet.

This isn’t as good, Art thinks, while he swings his foot onto the lowest bar of the metal railing; they might not find his body for weeks, might not find it at all, he might die for nothing, but he won’t go back, he won’t go back to his father’s—

“Hey—Don’t!” the man yells, and he grabs Art by the hood of his sweatshirt, and yanks him backwards, off the railing.

Art gasps in a painful panicked breath and kicks out at the man with his bare, bleeding feet, aiming straight for the testicles; the man moves easily out of the way, not letting go of Art’s hoodie; Art overbalances and falls backward, just catching himself my scraping his hand bloody on the concrete at the bottom of the railing.

“Shit,” the man says, reaching for Art, and Art flails at him, wants to push him away, or to scratch out his shiny glass-marble eyes, or—

The man catches Art’s wrist easily. He’s leaning over Art, now, with one arm braced beside him, and holding Art’s arm; Art’s hand, his wrist in the man’s glove fist, is very close to the man’s face.

The heel of Art’s hand is cut open; a drop of blood trails down over his pulse point, and disappears into the fabric of the man’s glove.

The man’s pupils visibly dilate. When his lips part, his fangs are even more visible than before, like they barely fit inside his mouth.

Art feels his own lips part in response. Feels his fear—he’ll stop me he’ll call the police he’ll drag me back please no please please I’ll do anything—shift, pool lower in his belly.

The man is watching Art’s face—their faces are very close together now. He looks Art in the eye and—parts his lips slightly, so there can be no mistaking what they both know Art sees. Then he wets his lips, delicately, with an almost obscenely red tongue.

“Hey,” the man says, and his voice has gone slightly hoarse.

“No,” Art says—and his voice is hoarse, too, an embarrassing croak. His face is hot; he knows it must be red, now. “I don’t want it. Whatever you’re offering, I don’t—uh—”

Art tries to pull his arm back, as hard as he can. The man’s grip doesn’t budge a single inch. Like he could—like he could snap Art’s wrist, just by tightening his fist. Art swallows, his heart fluttering in his chest. His ribcage feels too tight. And now his pants are starting to feel that way, too.

The man studies Art’s face, very seriously. “I think,” he says, and his voice is softer, almost hesitant.

“I think,” the man says, watching closely for Art’s reaction, “that I am offering to kill you.”

[lunarianillusion]

A change in fate

a maribat fanfic

Chapter 02

Along with the changes to her room, Marinette had also changed her wardrobe. She now wore a cropped baby blue hoodie over a grey-purple shirt, that matched her leggings. Over her leggings she wore a high waisted demin coloured skirt with matching heeled ankle boots. A new larger purse, more a satchel really, hung from her shoulder. It allowed her to carry her sketchbook and other tools more easily. Her hair now mostly hung lose over her shoulders with two braids coming from the sides and connecting at the back of her head.

Once she was ready Marinette walked at an easy pace to the agreed meeting spot. Duusu Had taken to hiding within her hood, so that they could drink in all of the sights. Being both not used for a hundred or so years and being broken, made this a real treat for the little peafowl. Marinette could practically feel the little god vibrating with joy, to be outside in the world again. 

The sun was shining through the clouds and a soft breeze made the early autumn leaves rustle in the trees, as the two reached the park. Marinette could already spot the red-haired omega sitting on a bench close to the pond in the shade of a willow tree. He was fidgeting with a pencil and his sketch book lay on his lap. His posture looked tense.

By the look of it he too had a wardrobe change. Marinette was gonna bet that Marc had helped with the ensemble. Those two were inseparable. He wore a white long-sleeved turtleneck shirt with grey stripes on his chest. Faded navy pants and a jacked tied around his waist. A black and white backpack with rainbow details sat beside him.

“Hey, Nathaniel,” Marinette called out, gaining said boy’s attention as she neared.

“Hey, Marinette,” Nathaniel greeted, his shoulders losing the smallest amount of tension. “Glad you could come. I hope you weren’t too busy.”

“Circumstances made it so that I had nothing scheduled today. But I do hope you were not lying about it being important. Otherwise I will send the Fury’s of art upon thee,” The blue-eyed girl exclaimed in a posh voice. Marinette hoped that it would lighten some of the tension that was flowing through the air and it seemed to work. There was no need for an Akuma today.

“Oh, I beg mercy of thee. Do not condemn me to such a fate, for I would not dare to break my vow,” Nathaniel exclaimed in kind, placing his hand on his heart. It made both of the omegas chuckle and the hidden kwami purr softly.

“So, what is it you wanted to talk about?” Marinette asked, as nonchalant as possible. As she sat down on the bench and pulled out a thermos from her satchel. Which held the gods elixir, coffee. “It sounded quite urgent from your text.”

“Yeah, it is,” Nathaniel said sheepishly, scratching his neck. “But it is not an easy subject to start a conversation with. Or to talk about in general, I believe. So, let me first ask you how you are feeling. I know you have probably had this question asked to many times already. But I know what it is like to be akumatized and of the nightmares that follow so don’t try to say that all is just hunky-dory great.”

Marinette hummed at his words, raising an amused eyebrow at the last bit. Before turning her gaze away from the redhead. Her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any uninvited guests. While she knew Nathaniel would keep to his word the scent anxiety kept her slightly on edge. Paranoia had settled deep into her over the past few years. Only the little hidden kwami’s presence was what kept her calm. For Duusu would inform her if someone with bad intentions was to come close.

After a moment of thought Marinette answered. “I was a bit shaken after the whole event, who wouldn’t? All considered though, I think I am doing pretty good.”

After the whole reveal of her being a true soul, Duusu had helped sort out her emotions. They had given her a few suggestions on how to more healthily coupe with the more negative ones. Who knew writing your problems down on a slip of paper and then watching it burn could be so therapeutic.

She turned her gaze back to Nathaniel. “As for the subject of our meeting. Just be blunt about and we will go from there. Keeping it bottled up and it will only stress you out over time and I really don’t wanna deal with an akuma right now,” She accentuated the last part of her statement.

“Yeah, that would really kill the mood wouldn’t it,” Nathaniel sighed. He took a small breath to collect his courage as Marinette took another sip of her coffee. Then Nathaniel bluntly stated: “I know that you are the original ladybug.”

Cue spit-take from Marinette. Mental panic has reached its peak! Abort!! ABORT!!!

“Uhm…I don’t know wha-”

“Don’t even try Marinette. The amount of times I saw ladybug land on your balcony only for you to leave through the front door and vice versa. Was a big enough give away. After that your physiques just matched up,” Nathaniel boldly interrupted. Leaving Marinette in a stunned wide-eyed stare. “Hey, I might not be a fashion designer, but I am an artist and have an eye for these details just like you.” He said quickly with a small stutter. Since he was feeling a little unnerved at her wide-eyed stare. It was as if she was staring into his soul.

“How long have you known?” The female omega asked tentively, her scent spiked with anxiety. Her body language screamed that she was ready to bolt.

“For maybe seven months now,” Nathaniel replied carefully.

“Did you tell anyone?” Marinette asked further, the tension not leaving her.

“I told no one, not even Marc. I know of the importance and reasons behind a hero’s secret identity,” Nathaniel told her sincerely, allowing Marinette to breathe a small sigh of relief. The redhead then let out a small growl of annoyance. “Unlike a certain tabloid reporter and two-faced liar.” Now that that really got the noir haired girl’s attention even more than him knowing her secret.

“The spell broke,” Marinette whispered as his words settled into her brain as her eyes widened even more, if that was even possible, in surprise. While she had been frightened at the fact of him knowing her secret, but he had not told anyone. She could tell that he was honest in the fact that he had not told anyone.  Since otherwise her identity would have probably been public news by now. Secrets like this would spread around like wildfire with the slightest slip off the tongue.

So, she was now more interested in the fact that he called Rossi a liar. It meant that he had broken through her spell and she wanted to know how he came to this revelation. Had it come after he had fond out about her hidden I.D. or was it something else. She was practically vibrating with a curious need to know and asked him about it.

Nathaniel turned his eyes to the sky, several emotions running trough them. Most prominent was the look of shame and pain. “It did weaken her hold over me, but what really made me realise she was a liar was when she promised to introduce me to one of my idols. One I know to have passed away. I won’t say their name, but that really broke the illusion for me,” He spoke bitterly.

Marinette let out a pained hiss at that. Knowing how painful it is to have someone disrespect your inspirational idols in that manner. She softly rubbed his shoulder in comfort and gave a small apology. Nathaniel let out a gloomy laugh and turned his eyes to the ground.  “You have nothing to apologize for Marinette. I should be the one to apologize. For never mastering up the courage to stand up for you even after I realized Lie-la’s grandeur was nothing more than empty words. And I am truly sorry for that. Because after everything you have helped me with, I really should have.”

Marinette felt her heart flutter at his apology and then he just kept on rambling about how he should have stood up for her. How he should have trusted her. Making her feel hot tears gather in her eyes. She had waited so long to have one of her friends back and here was one. Trying his best to make amends and unlike the rest of her class, he had never hurt her in the same way the others had. He always remained kind to her even before he knew of her secret. He may have been afraid to stand up but did not try to ruin her life like the others. So, she had no trouble pulling him into a hug. At first it shocked the boy, but he gratefully returned the gesture.

“Don’t blame yourself. You did not do anything wrong. You did not turn your back to me like the others did. I don’t blame you for not standing up against Rossi. You would have only painted a target on your back, and she would have made you feel miserable. Like with me,” Marinette whispered. “And I need to thank you for keeping my secret all this time. It means the world to me.” Nathaniel tightened his hold on the girl as a few tears of relief and gratitude fell from his eyes, as the words left her mouth. Duusu nuzzled against her neck in comfort. A feeling of pride washing over the kwami of emotion at his little bird.

_____________________________________________________________________

After they let go of each other they settled back into more comfortable sitting positions. The atmosphere feeling lighter than it had been around them for a long while.

“If it is okay to ask,” Nathaniel spoke carefully. “Is the new ladybug permanent? Because if I am being honest, I don’t really trust her.”

Marinette let outa pained sigh. “I made a grave mistake and because of that this new ladybug has the ladybug miraculous. I don’t know how to rectify this mistake, but I will find a way. That is a promise.”

“You always find a way,” Nathaniel assured. “I’ll keep my eyes open as well. I might not be the bravest, but I want to help. After everything I need to help. Even the tiniest bit.” Marinette wanted to say he did not have to. He did not let her say it. “You have forgiven me, but now I need to forgive myself. So let me help. Paris is my home to.”

It made Marinette smile as she felt the sincere emotion and determination flood of her fellow omega. “Now if only I knew how Lie-la is capable of keeping our classmates and others at her bag and call. That might help take bit of stress of my back,” She sighed. Her eyes scanning the sky, hoping it held the answers.

This made Nathaniel scratch his neck again sheepishly. “Marc and I may have a theory on how she keeps everyone under her spell, actually,” He mumbled off.

Marinette whipped around so fast it was a wonder she did not get any whiplash. She grabbed the redhead’s shoulders and looked straight into his turquoise eyes. Her own silvery blue crystal eyes were ablaze with a cold fire. “Please explain how that two-faced bitch is killing all the fucking braincells of the people around us and turning them into fucking sheep,” Her voice had an icy chill to it that sent shivers up the Nathaniel’s spine.

“I didn’t know you could curse,” Nathaniel said trying to curl away from the internally raging female omega.

It resulted in Marinette raising an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Trust me when I say Chloe can swear like a bloody sailor. So, I learned a few things from her,” She huffed a small smirk on her face. She then let go of his shoulders, giving the redhead some room to breath, as a curios gaze replaced the once cold fire. “Please share. My curiosity is going to kill me.”

Before Nathaniel could start telling her about the theory however, a loud explosion penetrated the air. Both omegas turned to the source of the sound. A good distance away they saw a person a top a glider. They cackled madly as they threw loud explosives around.

Really Hawkmoth, can’t they have one day of peace? 

The answer: Nope.

“How about we continue this conversation tomorrow over lunch. Chloe and Marc can join in on the theory. I do believe Chloe will be thrilled to know how Lie-la is capable of maintaining the utterly ridiculous situation at school,” Marinette proposed. Her eyes never leaving the new akuma.

“You are going to investigate, aren’t you?” Nathaniel asked nervously. Marinette simply nodded not looking at him. He sighed, “I won’t be able to change your mind, will I? How can I help?”

“It would be best for you to get to safety,” Marinette advised. Turning to look him directly in the eye and stopping him from objecting. “You have no need to worry about me. I still have an ace up my sleeve. So, trust me,” She assured with a mischievous look in her eyes.

Nathaniel stared uneasily at his fellow omega before nodding. “Alright but be careful, okay, I better see you at school tomorrow.” Was the last thing he said before grabbing his stuff and turning away to go to one of the akuma shelters. Leaving Marinette alone.

Taking a quick survey of her surroundings, to make sure the coast was clear, she asked Duusu to come out. “Are you ready?” the little god asked. Marinette smirked in reply. Let’s see what they were capable of.

“Duusu, Spread my Feathers”

Authors note: hey i hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. a few people have been asking me about adding them to my taglist and being honest i am not sure of how to do that. i am still very new with tumblr, but once i finally stop being dumb i'll be sure to do that. i hope you will stick around to the rest of the story. stay save.

[songficsbyrissi]

Lost Ones (Spooky Diaz x Reader)

Warnings: cursing, angst, mentions of pregnancy, abortion, and deadbeat fathers.

“And I ain't too proud to tell you

That I cry sometime, I cry sometimes about it

And girl, I know it hurt, but if this world was perfect

Then we could make it work, but I doubt it” - J. Cole

****************

Oscar “Spooky” Diaz sat on the edge of the bathtub, holding the blue and white stick tightly like you didn’t just pee on it. For some reason, he thought staring at the digital screen would change from 1 word into 2. Unfortunately, it was still that one word.

Pregnant.

You, his girlfriend, was pregnant. When you had suspicions that you were pregnant, you secretly went to the store to purchase 3 pregnancy tests and once you took them, they all said that same word.

Pregnant.

You and Spooky were expecting a child and this was not good news at all.

“Oscar, please say something.” You whispered so softly, staring at him with dried tears on your face.

He remained silent, still staring at the test. His head was swimming with thoughts. Maybe you weren’t even pregnant. Maybe it’s a prank and you were lying, but you were not this good of an actress. Besides, you would’ve busted out laughing by now.

Then the thought came to him that maybe it wasn’t his but that thought got shot down quickly in his head. You loved him with all your heart. You wouldn’t do that to him.

Did you purposely get pregnant? What happened to birth control? Then again, if you were to purposely get pregnant, you would be jumping in joy and not sitting on the floor in despair.

You got up from the floor and walked up to him, taking his hands. Your pleading eyes made contact with his.

“Please talk to me. Say something.”

Spooky finally spoke. “How did this happen?”

You sighed shaking your head. “Well when a man and a woman love each other very much or like each other or they’re just drunk enough, they wanna express it in a physical way which happens to produce a baby.”

Spooky had an unimpressed scowl on his face. “That’s not funny.”

“Do you see me laughing?” You shot back, tilting your head. Your head came back into its original position and you sighed once again.

“We need to talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about? We can’t have a kid. Talk over.” Spooky got off the bathtub, tossing the pregnancy test in the trash. He washed his hands and went into the fridge to get a beer. All you could do was watch him do all this in shock. He chugged down the beer and you stared at him with your arms folded.

“Seriously, Spooky?”

He slammed the fridge close, glaring at you. “Seriously what? You really think it’ll be a good idea for us to have a child?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s not like we never talked about it.”

“Yeah, we talked about it. FOR THE FUTURE.” Spooky got close in your face, emphasizing the last 3 words. “The future where we’re older, smarter, making a lot of money and most importantly, married. We are none of that right now.”

“I know that, and I know that this isn’t the ideal situation to bring a baby in, but like it or not, it’s here.” Your arms were folded again. You were hoping he would have a better response to this.

“Not for long because you’re getting that abortion, right?” He questioned taking a swig of beer.

You had a look on your face, as if he slapped you hard across the face and spit in it. You could physically feel your heart break. The man you love doesn’t want you to have his child. You couldn’t believe it. He had to be joking. Spooky saw the shocked and hurt expression on your face and sighed. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He never means to hurt you but he had to be realistic here. This is a life that was being discussed. 

“I’m not trying to fight with you, Princesa. I’ve just been actually thinking. How are we going to raise a kid by ourselves? We are only 23!” He gestured all around you. “Does this seem like a good place to raise a kid? This neighborhood is dangerous. Where are we going to move to? Somewhere safer? Somewhere safer costs more money. Baby, I’m an ex-con. Only the jobs that barely pay shit hire ex-cons. We can’t live off your little receptionist job alone!”

You didn’t say anything. You just kept staring

at him with tears in your eyes. He took it as a sign to continue.

“Listen, I don’t want to bring mi hijo or mi hija in this world if I ain’t got shit to give them. I’m not going to leave but you gotta really think about it. Would it be smart for us to bring a child into this?”

Once your boyfriend finished his speech, you just backed away from him and stared out the window where kids were playing jump rope and riding their bikes outside. Little girls playing patty-cake and hopscotch while little boys played basketball and tag. You couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared on your face.

Looking out of the window gave you a bit of hope but Spooky didn’t see it. Maybe he didn’t want to see it.

“We have less than 9 months to figure something out.” You croaked out, still staring at the scene outside the window.

You heard a frustrated sigh behind you. “You’re not getting it.”

You finally turned around with angry tears flowing down your face. “No! You’re not getting it! You must’ve forgotten all the conversations we had way back! You remember those fucking conversations, Oscar?!”

He stared at you as the flashback hit him.

“It’s really crazy how Toya got pregnant. We’re only 21. We just became legal to drink and now she can’t.” You sighed as you laid your head on your boyfriend’s lap as he watched TV. He cleared his throat and didn’t say anything. He was always a man of a few words. Part of the reason why people feared him so much. Other than his little brother Cesar, you were the only person he would actually hold a full conversation with and talk for hours.

“Baby?” You said as you rose from his lap making eye contact with him. His hooded eyes focused on you. “What if we-“

“We’re not.” Spooky cut you off, already knowing where you were going with this.

“But what if.....we did?” You questioned softly. “And what would we do about it?”

Spooky groaned throwing his head back. “It’s not gonna happen. We’re smart.”

You folded your arms. “Smart people get pregnant too.” Your boyfriend inhaled deeply and didn’t say anything.

“The only 100% effective way to prevent pregnancy is not having sex and we’re obviously not going to do that.” You stated causing your boyfriend to snort in amusement and you elbowed him, rolling your eyes. “Seriously, Oscar. What if I was to get pregnant now? What would we do? What would you do?”

“I would do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are good. No matter what. The baby’s created and we gotta take responsibility because God don’t make mistakes. So if we tried to prevent it and you still ended up pregnant, we would just have to deal with it and make sure our child is born into a good situation.”

You just blinked because you were relieved that he wasn’t dismissing this conversation. He was actually thinking realistically. You saw him clench the bottle of beer he was drinking in anger.

“My father.....left me and Cesar and I still hate him for it. How am I supposed to be a father to him if I never got the chance to be a son? I always told myself that I would never put my child in that situation. It just starts a fucked up cycle and who knows when that cycle will be broken?”

Oscar shook his head as if he was trying to shake tears that were threatening to fall away. He took another drink of the beer. “I refuse to be him. I refuse to be a coward and turn my back on what I created.”

You smiled planting a soft kiss on his lips. “You’ll never be him.”

“Or did you forget that? Did you forget telling me that you wouldn’t turn your back on this? On us?”

“I’m not turning my back! I’m thinking realistically, Y/N!” Spooky began to shout now. He rarely shouted at you. That’s how you knew you were really under his skin.

“Oh really? Your exact words were-“

“I know what my exact words were! What you’re not getting is I changed my mind. People change, Y/N.”

You snorted in disbelief, laughing sardonically. “You sure did.”

“Don’t do that,” Spooky warned in a low voice coming closer but you didn’t back down.

“No! Fuck you Oscar! I should’ve known this is how you would act! You said you love me, now look at you! Singing a different song now that shit got real! I should’ve known you weren’t different from the rest. The rest of those guys who say whatever to get what they want! I LET YOU HIT RAW!” You pushed his chest as hard as you could, with your chest heaving up and down. “I let you fuck me raw, and now, I’m pregnant and you got the nerve to get in my face, talking about some abortion. This is my body, Oscar! I’m not aborting this baby! The only person taking this baby from me is God and last time I checked, YOU AIN’T GOD!”

“Y/N-“

“No! Shut the fuck up! I let you speak, and now it’s my turn!” You shoved a finger in his face as tears continued to roll down your face. “I’m going to love this baby, with or without you! My mom raised me by herself, and I’ll do the same with this child! I still don’t understand how you could be standing in my face, saying that when you said you hated your father and you would never be like your father! That you wouldn’t do that shit he pulled, but look at you! Doing the same shit! You ain’t shit! You ain’t shit to me, and as far as this child is concerned, you ain’t gonna be shit to them either.”

You got out of his sight, still holding a hand to your belly, and headed into the bathroom to continue crying your eyes out.

Spooky took a deep breath, trying to figure something out. He figured you didn’t mean what you said. You were just really upset. He had to make a decision. Stay here and wait for you to come out so you can probably talk about this or go out for a drive, giving you and him some space to cool down. He chose the latter, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

On the drive, Spooky watched the scene where kids were playing and having fun. He began reminiscing about the times when Cesar was little and he would play with him outside. He remembered the tiny smile on his innocent face. He remembered how scary it was keeping Cesar safe on his own but he did it. He managed to raise his brother on his own and seeing that Cesar doesn’t want to be part of the Santos, he’d like to think he did a pretty good job.

Spooky doesn’t know how he did it but he managed to drive right to the park where he and his brother used to play on. There were still kids there. His hazel eyes focused on a little girl being helped by her dad on the monkey bars, giggling uncontrollably. Somehow, the little girl turned a little boy and her dad became....his dad. The little boy was him. He saw his younger self grin as he hung off the monkey bars and his father giving him a small smirk. The grin dropped a little. That memory happened before his father left his life and never came back.

“What about your seed, man?” His younger self looked straight at him and asked. Spooky’s eyes narrowed in confusion and he could’ve sworn he was seeing things.

“What about your seed?”

The vision returned back to the little girl smiling as she finished the monkey bars with her father grinning in pride. She hugged her father’s legs and he lifted her up, kissing her cheek repeatedly as she giggled in happiness. It was a beautiful sound.

He pulled off after he came to the conclusion that you and him had a lot to discuss. Maybe, he was too hasty, telling you to abort the baby. Maybe he was just scared and freaked out that he wanted the easy out but now he’s realizing it’s not necessarily what he wanted. But you were not going to find that out while he was out. He gotta go back home to you.

“Y/N?”

This house was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Spooky began to investigate. He went into the bedrooms and the bathroom. No sign of you anywhere. Your clothes were gone and you left no trace of you anywhere. You left him.

He took his phone out of his pocket to call you when a piece of paper on the counter caught his attention. It was handwritten and it only said two words.

You won.

Spooky clenched the note, falling onto the chair and just kept staring at those two words that managed to completely break his heart. What hurt the most is that he wasn’t sure what you meant by saying he won. Did you leave him for good, dedicated to being a single mother or did you change your mind, got the abortion, and left him because you hated him? Either way, you were wrong.

He was no winner at all in this situation.

TAGS: @karmawaelualani @chaneajoyyy @ctrlszn @witchything @sabrinafey @penguinpower17889 @robingreysantos @namjoonwatcheshentai @pananegra @bloatedandlonly @blackmissfrizzle @chonisberonica @flamingweasley @cynthetic @momobaby227 @this-glitter-pussay

If you wanna be added or removed, just let me knowwwww

[achliegh]

Positive

Month 1

Thank you to: @walking-crisis, @clearsuitcasecookienerd, @blingywitch, @waltzintherain, and @moonofthenight, @onlydreamofmysoul (If I missed anyone who answered my asks please let me know! I know some haven’t answered yet but I am hoping they will)

TW/CW: High school bullies, Coming out to homophobic family, Slurs, Homophobic languages and attitudes, mentions of sex, and pregnancy, teen pregnancy, probably food and drink. Oh! And cigarettes and underage drinking.

Leo and his family belong to: @lumosinlove

This is very long! :)

Chapter 2

The Tests

December 19th, 2015

Cheer practice was a place where Indigo could just lose herself in the feeling of being perfectly balanced. She loved the feeling of flying into the air, clearing her mind when her feet hit Leo’s hands, she trusted him with every cell in her body. He was always there to catch her, never let her fall. That's why today was the day that marked a change.

She still trusted Leo as much as she could but, she was no longer perfectly balanced, her feet hit his hands fully extended and she couldn’t stay. This having never happened before caused the entire team to pause and stare as she started free falling from her perch named Leo. Leo of course caught her with no issues but she was obviously frazzled.

Leo looked at the coach while still cradling Indigo in his arms like she would break if he let her go. Looking at the coach he nodded towards the door leading outside to an ally between the school and gym. It’s where everyone would go to smoke. The coach nodded looking worried. They called everyone's attention to get back to practice while Leo led Indigo outside.

Once the door closed Indigo slid down the wall of the ally and gripped her hair.

“What's up?” Leo sat next to her, resting his arm on her shoulder and acting like nothing was wrong at all. His calm energy made her want to just sink into his side.

“I’ve never been off balance before…” Leo nodded, it was one thing that the coach always praised Indigo for, her perfect balance. Seeing her off was new to him as well.

“Do you think it’s because of the cold you’ve had recently?” Leo was trying to wrack his brain, trying to figure out what possibly could be wrong. She has been complaining about frequent headaches, she said her boobs hurt like a bitch, she has been more clumsy than ever, and her mood changes so easily it's getting scary. “Not to be that guy” He sighs, being on a team of girls has taught him not to ask this question, “Are you supposed to get your period soon?”

He cringes a little and expects her to chew him out for even thinking that but instead she looks at him with pure terror in her eyes.

“What?” She just grabs his arms so tight he thinks her nails are digging in though his shirt. “What!?” He is getting nervous as she just keeps staring at him, her eyes filled with tears for a moment and then she speaks. Just barely loud enough for him to hear.

“I missed my period last month…”

After being excused from practice early, Indigo drank about three full water bottles and Leo casually bought six or seven pregnancy tests from the convenient store. They gave him an odd look and he said he was throwing a baby shower for his sister and thought they would be funny decorations. The real reason he bought so many was because Indigo was paranoid that something would go wrong and she would get a false positive or even worse, a false negative.

After the convenient store stop they headed to Leo’s house, his parents were gone again to follow a wicked storm in New Jersey, so they had the house to themselves. They decided to use the bathroom next to the living room, it was very large and almost never used because Leo’s parents used their ensuite and Leo used his. So if there was anything weird in that bathroom no one would know.

They pulled open a box and read the directions, Indigo kicked Leo out so she could go p-e-e into a cup. Once she was done, she used a Clorox wipe to disinfect the counter and cup on the outside. She put the first test into the liquid for the designated time. Then put the cap on to wait for the result, she did it to two other tests and then called Leo in to wait with her while her heart was beating out of her chest. They sat in the large tub together, Leo holding her close silence falling over the two as they both thought of each possibility. Everything wrong… and right about this situation.

The timer they set was checked every few seconds out of anxiety until Leo took her phone away and set it on the ground. She rested back against his chest, he wraps his arms loosely around her, soothingly rubbing her arms. He would kiss her forehead every once in a while as a way of saying ‘hey, I’m still here’. Indigo was spiraling and he could tell. She was just staring forward trying to keep all the tears in her eyes, one slipping by every once in a while. It would hit Leo’s arm and the guilt he felt would grow with every tear.

The timer went off, Indigo flung herself out of the tub so fast, stepping on Leo’s leg he grunted in pain. He got up a little slower and followed her over to the tests. They looked at each other, then indigo flipped one of the tests over since they laid them face down so she wouldn’t obsessively stare at them.

Positive. Her eyes widened. Her hands shook as she flipped over the next one.

Positive… The next.

Positive. She collapsed into Leo’s arms, completely numb. He caught her, like always. They ended up one their knees facing each other. Leo cupping her face, wiping her tears. He eventually realizes she can’t hear him over her own thoughts, pulling her into his chest, he lets her sob and yell. She thrashes for a moment trying to get away from him but eventually gives up and sinks into him. Like always.

The alarm was still blaring in the background but neither of them cared. Eventually , they pulled away a little and she looked him in the eyes.

“Can we do the rest of the tests?” She was shaking, Leo of course nodded and helped her stand up. They went through the whole process again with the last four tests. Indigo sitting on the toilet with the lid closed as they waited. Leo between her legs letting her fiddly with her hair as she bounced her knees.

The timer went off again and she froze. Leo got up this time to check.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive

Negative… They both were a little shocked to see the negative symbol. Very confused as well. But it was six against one. They were each laid next to the box they came in and Leo checked the date on the negative one.

Expired. Fuck.

Leo turned to her, still sitting on the toilet looking completely distraught. Her eyes were wide and bright, red from crying. Gnawing on her fingernails she just painted a few nights ago, flakes of white paint rested on her bitten lips. Her other hand was gripping the leg of her shorts, leg bouncing, hair falling out of her messy bun. Leo couldn’t deny how rough she looked.

“Let’s go sit in the living room, yeah?” He holds out his hand for her to take, she grabs it like he's pulling her up front he side of a cliff. It breaks his heart. He leads her over to the soft pleather couch he knows is her favorite. They sit down, Indigo pulls a pillow into her lap and hugs it to her chest. Looking up at Leo asking what to do. “We need to have a conversation, this is your decision a thousand percent, but I know you need to talk about it. Do you plan to keep those cells?”

“I don’t know, my parents will kill me if they find out I’m… I’m” She swallows and Leo takes her hand again giving it a squeeze. “Will they be even more angry if I get an abortion?”

` “I think you need to tell them, but this is your choice not theirs, not mine, not anyone else's, it is your body. You get to decide. Okay?” He is trying to get her to understand that no one owns her body but her.

“Do you want a baby?”

“I have no say either way, I’m not the one having to carry.” He kisses her knuckles and smiles a little, just a sad smile. He wants her to know he will always be there but he knows she doesn’t believe it. “Talk to your parents, maybe that will help you decide? You never know, they might realize how harsh they are on y’all and cut back a little.” It was a stretch to think her parents would back off a little but he couldn’t tell her what he thinks will actually happen. It would scare her too much.

“Okay… Okay I’ll talk to them.” She takes a swallow from the glass of water they left on the coffee table earlier. “Tonight” She then stood up abruptly, putting the pillow back on the couch. “Will you drive me? I left my car at the school.” He nods and is up grabbing his keys before she can even finish her sentence. Walking towards the door, he holds it open for her. They climb into his Jeep and start off towards her house. No music, no talking, just holding hands in silence.

He pulls up to the curb outside her house, both her parents were home as their cars were in the drive-way. Leo kisses her cheek before she gets out of the car. She hesitates for a second still gripping his hand while standing outside the jeep with the door open. She looks at him with her big brown eyes and lets go, his hand falling on the seat. She closes the door.

“Should I wait for you?” He yells before she walks away. She shakes her head and gives him a shaky smile. He nods slowly, swallowing the lump in this throat and driving the twelve blocks back to his house still in silence.

Indigo’s entire family was sitting at the table, saying grace before they ate their dinner. She felt sick to her stomach. She slowly moves to sit in the empty chair next to her brother Peri, she stares at the food on her plate and swallows a lump forming in her throat. This might be the last meal she ever has for her family, she might not always agree with her parents but her family is everything to her, family is one of the big things she lives for.

She feels a kick under the table and looks up at Peri who is sending her a worried look, his head still looked weird from when their parents forced him to shave his head after the whole ‘pink incident’ as her father likes to call it. She doesn’t realize she is crying for the fourth time today until he gestures to her face, her parents are busy taking care of the smaller children to even notice her. She quickly wipes her face and starts to eat, forcing her to stomach the food in front of her even if her anxiety is making her nauseous.

After dinner she is washing dishes with Veridian, he also notices she’s off, but she refuses to mention anything. She just gives him an oddly tight hug and a kiss on his forehead without a word. He stands there confused.

She goes to talk to the twins for a little bit, helping them with their homework. Once they are done, the two get into a petty argument and She just sits back and watches with a neutral expression taking in the fire her siblings have. They look at her and raise the opposite eyebrows, usually she tells them to stop being annoying instead she hugs them both and hisses their cheeks before whispering. “sigan luchando…” Then walks away. Leaving them stunned.

After a couple of hours of staring at her room, knowing she was either going to be locked in it or locked out of the house completely she realizes it's time for the two youngest to go to bed. She goes to their room and sees both already tucked into their tiny beds. Thunder rumbles outside as a night storm falls over New Orleans.

Washing away sins as her mother would say.

She walks into the room and tucks them both in more snuggly and kisses their sleepy foreheads. Then she goes to find Peri, he and her are the closest of the siblings besides the twins. She finds him watching tv in his room. She knocks on the door frame and smiles sadly at him. He gestures for her to come in and sit on the bed. She does.

“Todo cambiará después de esta noche.” She says while looking at the tv, he turns and looks at her surprised, blinking a few times.

“¿Por qué?”

“It just will…” She looks over at him and hugs him so tight, she feels tears in her eyes again, there were more to come and she knows that. “Be good” She kisses his forehead and gets up leaving his room before he can answer her. Closing his door, all she has left is her parents.

She finds them together reading in the sitting room and she stands in front of them, silently waiting for their attention. She knows better than to distract them from their reading. Once they finish their pages and look up at her, the realness of the situation sets in. This is it.

“Estoy embarazada.” Her mother drops her book and her father slams his shut.

“¡Era que Leo no era así! ¡Supe que ese chico era malo en el momento en que lo vi! ¡Has cometido uno de los pecados más imperdonables que podrías cometer! ¿Por qué? ¿Para fastidiarnos? ¿Para causarnos vergüenza y dolor?” Her father stood up, throwing the book into the couch next to his wife, making both women jump. He gripped Indigo by her shoulders and backed her up to the wall so she couldn’t get away. He kept screaming in her face about how she would be a disgrace to the family, how she was a sinner and a slut. Unruly child, delinquent. He was yelling loud enough that some of her brothers were peaking their heads around the doorframe to see what was happening.

Then came the slaps, slapping her twelve times in the name of the Father, the Son and The Holy Ghost. Benign backhanded ten times for Hail Mary. He was acting as if she was his rosary that he threw across the room when nothing was going his way. Her mother pulled him off her. Indigo could feel her cheeks swelling, there would definitely be marks. More embarrassment but need punishment in Francisco’s eyes. Valentina looked down at her, her hard brown eyes showing no mercy, spitting in her face she turned her back. Looking at her husband bubbling over with fury, they make a silent agreement. Walking to the front door, a storm raging in full, she opens the door. She silently gestures for Indigo to leave. Not sparing her another look or another glance.

Indigo looked back at her brothers for a moment, wishing she could take them with her, knowing she can't. She takes a deep breath and walks out the front door, no phone, no clothes besides the ones on her back, nothing. She walks into the rain and is about to look back at Francisco and Valentia, but the door slams before she is even done with her thought.

The walk back to Leo’s house was hot rain and bright lightning. She had a lot to think about, her feet were bare but she just kept walking those twelve blocks. She had a lot to think about, but all she could think about was how she just lost her whole family… All because of a group of cells. Those cells were going to be her family now, and she would love them with all her heart, treat them with respect, there is nothing they would do that would make her kick them put in a storm. When she looked up finally, she was at Leo’s front door. Before she even knocked it swung open and was pulled into Leo’s dry arms. He was her family now. She couldn’t help but laugh a little.

She was free.

[slightlymore]

Rumours | Part 1

Thank you love!! I hope you like this

Part 2 Rumours were that Johnny Suh was very good in bed. Those whispers travelled all around the university campus caressing the ears of every student, standing in pairs while covering their mouths, eyes wide and curved lips, drinking in the juiciest gossip of that year.  

“I’ve heard he can make you cum all night and you have to beg him to stop”. “Greg never manages to make me moan as he’s already shaking by himself”. “God, Fiona, dump his ass already, he’s not even that great”. “The guys said that his penis is the biggest one on campus” “I would sell my soul for him to touch me with one single finger” “I’ve heard that he is able to fuck all night” “His pussy eating technique is impeccable” And many more. You’ve heard all the rumours possible and sometimes you inserted yourself in those groups of people on purpose, just to feel up to date. Johnny here, Johnny there, all of this information, but no real witnesses. You were amused at the whole situation and wondered what the truth really was.  How come everyone swore about this information but no one actually slept with Johnny before? Where did all of this come from in the first place? The thing is, Johnny never addressed any rumours about his out of world cock or god-tier skills and no one explicitly asked him if it was true or not. He would only laugh as someone complimented him or gave him knowing looks. It was just like that. Canon. But you wanted to see for yourself. You had to know the truth. You were waiting for the right moment to go and ask. Deadass.  And thanks to the universe, the opportunity came when you least expected it. When the professor told you that for the new semester you’ll have to work in pairs everyone groaned and rolled their eyes. There was not a single soul happy to work in teams. Yet, weird energy lingered around the classroom as the professor was about to share your partners. Because Johnny was there as well. The silence was total as if everyone kept their breath in while on the edge of their seat. Was it because Johnny was mysterious and no one could talk to him? Was that the only chance to have him around? No. You could go and talk to him and he would raise his honey eyes at you and smile widely. It was because everyone was shy out of their own mind and they didn’t want to admit that they dreamed about fucking Johnny every night while humping their pillows. This situation was ideal because it was inevitable. “I’m not hanging out with him because I want to get into his pants” people would comment. “Pfft, I’m not that type of person. We’re just working on a project together” they would explain. Even though everyone knew. Everyone knew that Johnny Suh was the most desired man in the whole university. “Fuck, I hope he’s bi” you heard a low whisper behind you as you were all waiting for his name to pop up.  You kept in a chuckle. You couldn’t lie and say that you weren’t curious to talk to him as well. You wanted to know. The funny thing to you was the fact that people took for granted that they would get laid in the first place. You weren’t that conceited. You didn’t want his dick. You just wanted to know the truth. 

“Johnny and Y/N,” the professor said with a monotone voice, unaware of what he has just announced. You felt your eyes widen at your luck and didn’t even feel the multiple light slaps you received from people around you, as congratulations, or, who knows, maybe envy. Johnny looked around as to search for you. He didn’t know who you were, obviously. When he linked eyes with yours you raised your hand a little as if greeting him. Hey, yes, YN is me, haha. God, you’ve never felt so awkward in your whole life. He smiled at you though and imitated your gesture before turning his back again. 

“What’s your favourite prompt?” a voice asked while the chatter of people leaving the room intensified. You ignored it, sure it wasn’t directed to you, but then the voice said your name. “Huh?” you raised your head, the pencil case in mid-air as you were packing your bag. “For the project” Johnny explained after letting out an airy chuckle. “Did you look at the list already?” he asked. He was standing on the stairs, at the side of the room, hands tucked inside his pants’ pockets, polite smile on his lips, bag wrapping his chest. “Oh-” you babbled not expecting him to approach you that way and you grabbed the paper. You could swear that it wasn’t written in a language you were able to read. “Uhm-” you hummed again. “I have no idea. Do you have something in mind?” you asked instead. There was no reason for you to feel this nervous. You didn’t want to sleep with him. You just wanted to know the truth. Calm the fuck down, Y/N.  He went silent as if he indeed had something pop up in his mind then he looked down at you again. “Let’s have lunch together if you don’t have other plans” he suggested. 

Your hands were tightly wrapped around the backpack straps as you were walking towards the corner of the campus Johnny choose as his lunch spot. “I like to eat outside” he explained seeing your confused face when you walked out of the main building. “It’s fine. It’s a nice day” you reassured him. Even if your heart has never beaten that fast before. Having to eat with him in the hall as everyone was staring would have been terrible. Eating with him alone where no one could see you? A dream come true but terrible as well. You weren’t ready to sleep with Johnny Suh. Who were you kidding? What were you thinking? Pairing you both wasn’t a blessing. It was a curse. You were already regretting it. You would be such a disappointment. You could count the number of dicks you’ve sucked before on one hand and you didn’t even need all 5 fingers to do so. Deep in your thoughts you almost missed Johnny as he indicated with his chin the place, saying that you’ve arrived. It was a nice spot, high up on top of a little knoll that accommodated a big tree as well. You sat in the shade on the soft green grass and looked down at the campus. “Quite nice, isn’t it?” Johnny asked. His hair was being caressed gently by the breeze and the little rays of sun poking through the leafage made it shine brightly as if it was gold. Then he looked at you. There it is, you thought. Here it comes. That’s it. You gulped down and tried hard to stop yourself from ripping the grass around you. What were you about to do before? What were your intentions with Johnny? Talk? You had no idea and you didn’t care as his scent inebriated you.  He leaned in slowly. You let your eyelids close a little as he was approaching. Your pulse was throbbing inside your ears and your palms got suddenly sweaty. “So, I was thinking, number 6? Or we can read all of them one by one and decide” he spoke after a while as he finally reached his bag near you. He unzipped it and took out a beautiful bento box that he put on his knees. You gasped for air, trying hard to not get noticed and silently cursed at yourself. Okay, rewind. You really thought that Johnny Suh would kiss you after knowing you for 5 minutes?  Of course, he wouldn't ask you to suck his dick. On campus! In the middle of the day! God, you were so embarrassed. You tried hard to escape all the prejudices around him and there you were, panties wet just like every other person.  Talking! Just talking. That was your mission. Focus.  “Does it bother you?” you asked on a whim after a while. Having decided that number 6 was indeed the best choice, you finally started to eat. He let you taste his food and you excused yourself for not offering your sandwich as well but it was quite terrible and he wouldn’t want to experience that. “What?” he asked even if the little line around his mouth told you that he knew what you were talking about. “The rumours” you answered with a little voice. You were so eager to know the truth about it. Like it was a mystery, not the life of a real person. But now, in front of him, you realized how stupid your intent was and that it wasn’t your business. He didn’t answer for a while and just put the lid back on his bento box. Then he smiled. “Believe it or not, you’re the first person to ask me that”. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t ask since we barely know each other-” you started to excuse yourself, afraid to come off as rude. You really wanted to abort the mission and run away.  “No, it’s fine” he assured you. “I actually appreciate it a lot” he added. You swallowed the last piece of sandwich you had and just stupidly looked at him. “It does bother me a little” he answered your question. “Because it makes me just that” he added. You nodded seriously. “A sex god”. He went silent for a split second then laughed as if not expecting such wording.   “Yes, I guess you can say it that way” he spoke again when he was able to breathe again. You smiled timidly as well, noticing his slightly red cheeks. Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t hate you if you asked. Maybe it was fine. Maybe you could finally get the answer to that big mystery.  “So…” you started, feeling more confident already. “If it’s true or not?” he surpassed you. You hummed, unable to stop your heart from racing. So close. You were about to know.  A little leaf danced on top of your head, swirling until reaching your face and hitting your nose. You closed your eyes and chuckled surprised.  The leaf then fell on your lap as you touched your face. Johnny’s hand appeared in your peripheral vision. His fingers brushed against your thigh with the intent to retrieve the leaf, but for some reason, they kept on casually lingering there. You turned your head and looked at him but the sun was right behind his head and you couldn’t quite see his expression when he spoke again. “I think you need to discover the answer to that by yourself” he whispered. You continued to stare at him as if under a spell and you thought of nothing besides the way his body got up and slowly descended the hill. When he turned his head to you while waving, you could swear that he winked at you.

[yikesharringrove]

Umm, I accidentally deleted the request for this while moving it to my inbox, so here it is. (Also this is like, four months old).

I’m gonna rec this fic which is super well written and adorable

Steve is ftm. (Personally, I’m not a big fan of mpreg unless it’s like, biologically plausible 🤷‍♀️)

Under the cut bc it’s long and there’s a little bit of smut.

-

Billy’s hands were shaking as he raced out of the house.

He had a bag slung over one shoulder, had already put two others in the Camaro.

His dad had gone in hard today. Three days after Billy graduated high school and he’s already calling him a deadbeat, a fuck up. Telling him to get a job like he hasn’t worked every summer and most weekends since he was fourteen.

He lit a cigarette as he slid into the driver’s seat.

He was gonna make one stop on the way outta town.

-

Steve had given Billy a spare key months ago, after he was tired of always having to go downstairs and answer the door.

He liked it when Billy just made his way up, started kissing whatever skin was already exposed and asking Steve if he’s wet.

Tonight, Steve thought, was no different.

Billy was kissing up his calf, mouthing along his knee, a few fingers creeping up the leg of his shorts.

Billy was the best sex he’s ever had. Not a lot of gay guys will go down on Steve, some won’t even fuck him. He had been real hesitant to tell Billy, start having regular sex with his best friend, because he didn’t think Billy would want anything to do with him when he knew what he was bringing to the table.

But Billy had told him not to be an idiot, ate him out, and pounded him into the mattress.

And Steve was in love.

So he let Billy fuck him whenever he pleased, because at least Billy was giving him the time of day, at least he was getting some.

He opened his eyes, smiling lazily down at Billy.

“‘Time is it?”

“Almost two.” Billy was curling two fingers into his waistband, slowly pulling down his shorts, like maybe Steve wouldn’t notice.

Steve lifted his hips, and Billy whipped off his shorts, diving right in for his pussy.

He ate him out with the same fervor he did everything. Making all these gross slurping sounds, sucking on Steve’s cock and shoving his tongue inside him.

He made Steve cum twice on his face, as was the norm, before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and getting right to business.

He fucked Steve like he was mad at him.

He often did. And Steve knew he wasn’t mad at him, moreso mad at the other him, the him that’s ruined Billy’s life since before he was even born.

Steve wasn’t as dumb as everyone thought. Knew that when Billy snuck into his bedroom at odd hours of the night and absolutely ravished him, something bad had happened with his dad.

So when Billy finally rolled off of him, and lit a cigarette, Steve knew better than to ask.

“I’m leaving.” Steve just hummed at him. Billy sometimes stuck around after sex.

But Billy didn’t move.

“Like, leaving Hawkins.” Steve just hummed again. Billy talked a lot about leaving Hawkins. Steve had always secretly dreamed of running away with him. 

Billy just studied his face in the dark, stubbing out his cigarette and rolling over to hols Steve close to his chest.

Steve closed his eyes, let himself pretend.

Pretend that Billy loved him back.

-

He woke up to rustling, Billy getting dressed to leave as weak sunlight began to trickle through his curtains.

“Oh shit, didn’t mean to wake you.”

He smiled lazily at Billy.

“You comin’ back over tonight?” Billy looked stiff.

“Probably not. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah. Later.” Billy was sitting on the end of his bed, had just finished tying on his boots.

And then he moved, quick as a flash to kiss Steve softly before he was thundering down the stairs.

Steve was just falling asleep as the Camaro roared away.

-

Billy had skipped town that night.

And Steve never forgave himself.

-

Steve was leaning over the counter, his head pressed into the cool top of it.

“I threw up all last week, and I just feel like shit.” He had been whining to Robin practically all morning at Family Video.

“Do you think you have the flu?”

“I don’t know, Rob. I mean, my stomach hurts a lot, but like, it feels like I’m just having awful cramps.”

“Are you on your period?”

“Nah. Don’t get it very often with the hormones anymore.”

“Normally I’d suggest pregnancy, but I know you’re in a bit of a dry spell.” He rolled slightly to look darkly at her. “Still no word of Billy?”

“No. The one person in Hawkins that isn’t too transphobic to fuck me, and he skips town.” Steve sighed. “I should’ve known, too. He was being super weird that night.”

“Whatever. When you and I skip town, we’ll have the time of our damn lives, and get you laid.” He laughed softly.

“I’m just gonna go to the doctor this weekend. Get a full physical.”

“Let me know the verdict at and I can come over with some medicine, if you need.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

-

Steve was lying back on the stiff exam table.

He had already given blood and urine samples, and was just waiting for the doctor to tell him what the fuck was wrong with him.

Sometimes his hormones had to be adjusted, and caused all sorts of weird shit to go haywire in his body.

Dr. Mauch was a kind woman, always been pleasant and accepting of Steve, even referred him to an endocrinologist for his hormones.

She didn’t smile when she came in, though. Just sat down at her stool.

“I’m going to go out a limb here and say that this is not news you’ll be happy about hearing.”

Steve felt his heart drop to his stomach.

“You’re pregnant.”

He blinked.

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. But you most definitely are.”

“But, but I’m on blockers, and testosterone, and I haven’t had sex in months.”

“I’d say about six months.” His mouth was dry. Billy had left in late May. About six months ago. “And being on hormones is not an effective method of birth control. Some men still get pregnant after taking them.”

“I’m not, I don’t look pregnant.”

“Some people don’t really show their pregnancy. My sister was rail thin the entire time, had a perfectly healthy baby girl. It’s all about your body type.”

“So, so you’re telling me, that I’m six months fucking pregnant.”

“Yes.” He slumped back onto the exam table.

“What are, what are my options?”

“Well, unfortunately, not many. Abortions are only legal in Indiana up to 20 weeks, or five months, or unless the person pregnant is facing severely compromised physical health. There’s always adoption.”

“No one’s gonna want a baby from a trans guy.” She pursed her lips.

“I think that’s a harsh statement. Many people are desperate for babies.” Steve just stared at her.

“So, if I have to take it to term, should I like, go off my hormones.” His stomach gave a lurch at the idea.

“I would recommend it. There’s very little research one pregnancy in transgender individuals. We really don’t know how hormones can affect the baby.” Steve sighed. “I would say, get in with an OB/GYN. I can recommend a few I know and send them your medical history. Your name change and hormone therapy is part of all of it, so hopefully they will be kind.” Steve sighed.

“Thank you, Doc. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry for the disappointing news.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” She gave him a copy of their appointment notes, a list of OB/GYNs for him to research, and a hug before she left.

He drove home slowly, feeling exhausted, like the weight of the fucking world was on his shoulders.

He got home to find Robin sitting on his front porch, her nose buried in a book, a pizza box sitting next to her.

She looked up at him, and he burst into tears.

-

“Look, Max, if he contacts you in any way, tell him to call Steve, okay? It’s important.” Robin was yammering to Max on the phone, trying to get a way to contact Billy.

Steve was laying on the couch, had his shirt rucked up over his stomach, pushing it out and sucking it in, trying to see any change in his body.

“Just give him Steve’s phone number and tell him he’s an asshole.” She hung up the phone, perching on the armrest at Steve’s feet.

“She know where he is?”

“No. She said he ran off and hasn’t contacted her at all. She didn’t even know he was leaving.” She slid onto the couch, let Steve put his feet on her lap. “You think he’d come back? If he knew?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really asking him to. I mean, I don’t think I’m in a place to take care of it, but I kinda just want him to know it exists. Like, I think he deserves that.”

“I get it.” Her voice was soft. She watched Steve stare at his tummy some more. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this is just, dysphoria out the wazoo.” Steve huffed a laugh.

“I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. I think ‘cause I’m not showing. I don’t look pregnant, so how can I be pregnant, you know?” He sighed tugging down his shirt. “Going to the doctor’s gonna be a damn nightmare, though. They’re too used to dealing with women. It’s gonna suck.”

-

Steve was right.

Even though his primary care doctor had sent his medical history, he still got deadnamed and misgendered at reception, and intake, and by the nurse, and the doctor when she finally arrived.

They gave him a pelvic exam, getting him in for a sonogram as well.

And as the doctor was moving the imagining wand around on his tummy, and he heard the heartbeat for the first time, something caved inside of him.

A baby. He was having a baby.

And part of him, a really fucking big part of him, was starting to love it.

-

His parents were home for four days.

And Steve had waited for the final day of their homesteading to tell them.

He’s glad he did.

Diner was as quiet as always, and Steve had nearly choked on the words.

“I’m pregnant.”

His father had gotten out his wallet, asked how much an abortion costs.

“I’m too far along for that. Nowhere will legally do it.”

His mother had just stared at him. His father asked how far along he was.

“Close to seven months. I didn’t even know until like, a week and a half ago.”

And his father had stood up, and the yelling began.

“I can’t believe you. You kick up this huge fuss, make us change your name, and the way we refer to you, go around telling everyone your a boy, and you get pregnant like the little slut you are.”

And he had told Steve to back his shit, told him he was not welcome in my house anymore.

And Steve didn’t have a lot of shit he cared about, the clothes he liked fit in one duffel bag.

His mother didn’t look at him as he left.

-

He had called Mrs. Henderson from a payphone.

Nobody else could give him a ride anymore, and he wasn’t expecting her to drop everything and drive him somewhere, but she had freaked out at the words kicked out and for getting pregnant, and told him to stay where he is.

She was there with a tight hug and a travel mug of honey lemon tea within twenty minutes.

Steve had asked for a ride to a youth shelter he had read about, but she shook her head, said you’re coming to live with me and Dusty and Steve had cried in her passenger seat, and again in her guest bedroom.

-

Steve groaned.

He had finally begun showing, just a little bit out a mound near his belly button.

But he felt like shit, had taken to spending most days in bed.

He bat away whoever was shaking him.

“Go away.”

“Steve, it’s Max.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I found Billy, you asshole. I have his address.” Steve sat bolt up straight.

“You, where is he?”

“Boston. He went east, for some reason. But he sent me a letter, out of the blue, and I told him you had something important to say, but he said he doesn’t have a phone.” She handed him a slip of paper.

“Thanks, Max.” He gave her a weak smile, found her chewing her lip.

“Is he the father? The other father, I mean.” He had told the party about the pregnancy, figured rumors would begin spreading soon enough.

“Yeah. He’s the other father.”

“He wouldn’t have ditched you. If he’d known.”

“I know.”

“He’s not like that.”

“I know.” She stared him down. He kept his face open, honest.

“Are you gonna write to him?”

“Yeah. I just, I don’t really know what to say.”

“Just keep it simple. Tell him he’s got a kid. Let him choose what he wants.”

-

It took Steve almost a month to draft a letter.

He didn’t really know what to say.

He settled on the bare minimum.

I’m pregnant. And it is most definitely, without a doubt, yours. I’m not expecting anything from you. I don’t want money, or for you to move back to Hawkins. I just thought you deserve to know about your kid.

He read the letter about three times, one hand pressed delicately to his little bump.

I’ve decided to keep the baby. I’m going to raise them. You’re welcome to meet them, and be in their life if you choose, but if not, I’m not going to hold it against you.

He sealed the envelope, leaving it on his nightstand.

And then his contractions started.

He didn’t get around to sending it.

-

Claudia was the only person in the room with him when he gave birth.

She held his hand the whole time, coached him through his breathing.

And when his son was born, she pet his head, told Steve how beautiful he is.

-

Steve was slumped face down on the bed.

He had just gotten Oliver down, calmed him down enough for him to finally sleep.

He rolled over, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He had barely slept all week. But Oliver had smiled at him for the first time yesterday.

He turned to lay on his side, zeroing in on the envelope on his nightstand.

He sat up quickly.

Fuck. He needed to send that letter.

He didn’t bother thinking about it, just wrapped his sweater tighter around himself, and hurried to the mailbox. He put the little flag up, leaving the letter in the little inner clasp.

He looked back down at Oliver, running one finger over his fuzzy little head.

-

He didn’t hear from Billy for three weeks.

He knew the letter wouldn’t take more than a few days to get to him, and it would take just as long for Billy to get him back.

He had pushed Billy out of his mind, figured if he wanted to be part of Oliver’s life, he had given him enough of a chance to be.

He put on a thick sweatshirt, had taken to wearing baggy tops to hide his tits, too sore, too big to bind anymore. Oliver squealed at him when he leaned against the side of his crib, reaching out for him.

He strapped him into his stroller to take him on a walk, stopped dead in the doorway.

Billy fucking Hargrove was in the driveway, standing next to the Camaro like he had just gotten out of it.

His eyes were wide, trailing from Steve, to Oliver, and back again.

“Is that my kid?” Billy’s hair was shorter than when he had left.

“Oliver. His name is Oliver.” Billy stepped around the car.

“Can I, can I see him?” Steve brought the stroller down the driveway, taking Oliver out of the stroller.

Billy held him like he was made of gold.

“He’s beautiful.”

“I think he looks a lot like you.” Billy smiled at him.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here, I was waiting for my semester to end.”

“It’s okay. I just, you know. Thought you deserved to know about him.” Billy stared at Oliver, his smile going soft as Oliver squealed, tugging on Billy’s hair.

“I want to be in his life. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. He’s your son too.” Billy brushed his thumb down Oliver’s nose.

“Thank you, Steve. And I’m, I’m sorry about how I left. I was going to-” he cut himself off, looking back at Oliver. “I was gonna ask you to come with me. Chickened out last minute.”

Steve’s heart was banging against his rips.

“I would’ve gone with you. Used to dream about running away with you.” Oliver started getting fussy, making disgruntled little huffs. Billy passed him back to Steve. “I was in love with you. You know that?”

“Yeah, I knew that. Was to chicken shit to do anything about it.” Billy was still looking at Oliver, the way he nestled into Steve’s neck. “He loves you a lot.”

“It’s been the two of us for awhile.”

“You’re a good dad. Always kinda figured you would be, though.” Billy took another breath. “You know, you could’ve told me sooner. I would’ve come back.”

“I don’t want you to, to change you life. Don’t quit school, or something.”

“Steve, I got a kid. I want to change my life for him. For, for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No never did. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing my family.” Steve hesitated.

“Would you like to come in? Have some breakfast? You could give Oliver his bottle, If you wanted.” Billy’s eyes lit up.

“I’d like that.”

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) pirunir sur'haaise STAR WARS

(belated) Whumptober no.26 - If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad...

Comfortember no.5 - Cuddling

Wolffe had expected to be sent off for decommissioning the moment he had been pulled out of Ventress’ torture chamber. The moment it was no longer the pain in his body that he was focusing on, Wolffe had known that the Kaminoans would have him recycled for more genetic material. They had no use for a half-blind clone - Vode had been decommissioned for less - and the Republic would never pay for an expensive surgery when it would be cheaper for them to just replace him. He’d be taken away to the labs to be taken apart, the Kaminoans would probably tell his General that Wolffe had experienced complications with his injuries and replace him quickly and quietly, and he’d be nothing more than just another name said during Remembrances.

Drugged up to his gills, Wolffe had spilled all of this to General Koon as their ship flew them towards a med center and the fear bubbled up, tears in his remaining eye as he thought about leaving his Pack and brothers like this. His Jedi had gone still and quiet, hand tightening on Wolffe’s shoulder, but he hadn’t left Wolffe’s side, not until the cocktail of drugs Cub had given him started to take effect and finally dragged him under the inky sea of unconsciousness.

When he wakes up, he isn’t in a Republic medical facility, and he isn’t on Kamino being prepped for decommissioning. Instead, he’s laying on a cot more comfortable than he’d ever experienced, smelling of bacta and disinfectants, with a hint of some sort of incense that he remembers his Jedi liking. There’s a hand stroking through his hair, three-fingered and clawed, and a harmonic voice hums mindlessly.

Wolffe stirs, his only eye blinking open and, mind still foggy from bacta and drugs, he reaches up to poke at the gauze wrapped around his head. A thick-skinned hand catches his fingers gently, and Wolffe forces his eyes to focus.

General Plo watches him, eyes hidden by his goggles, and tusks twitching in the way Wolffe had come to associate with relief. “Commander Wolffe,” His General greets warmly, “It is good to see you awake once more.”

Wolffe opens his mouth, ready to respond, but the only sound he can make is a choked croak that has him flushing in embarrassment. General Plo only chuckles, resting a parental hand on Wolffe’s shoulder, the other hand reaching out to catch the glass of ice cubes that float over to them.

“You’ve been asleep for quite some time, Commander.” General Plo tells him, gently spooning a single ice cube into his mouth, and Wolffe accepts it with a dark blush that has the Jedi’s tusks twitching in the equivalent of a smile. “It was well deserved, I assure you.”

“I-” Wolffe coughs, “I didn’t tell her anything, General.” His voice is rough from disuse, but the chill of the ice is soothing the pain.

His General pats him gently on the shoulder, “I know, Commander.” The Kel Dor soothes, “I never doubted it.” Wolffe swallows, and silently accepts the next ice cube. “I’m sorry I did not get to you sooner.”

Wolffe stares at his General, confusion buzzing in his fuzzy mind. Why would he be sorry for that ? He hadn’t even expected to be rescued, much less to have woken up somewhere other than under the hands of the longnecks, so why would he be apologizing? “General - you got me out.” He says, still feeling the shock deep in his heart that he was still alive. “That’s more than I was expecting.” Stiff fingers knot in the soft blanket laying on his lap, and he ducks his head, not wanting to meet General Plo’s eyes as he speaks, not wanting to see the heartbreak or disappointment. Plo Koon loved his men, and Wolffe knows that their status as Non-Beings hurts him immensely. “I’m just a clone, sir. A damaged one at that.” He bites his lip, letting out a slow, heavy sigh.

“ Not to me .” General Plo says without hesitation, reaching out to gently take Wolffe’s hands in his own. “You are not damaged, Wolffe, merely injured, and you will recover.”

Wolffe chokes, feeling his eye burn, and he looks up, wide-eyed. “The Senate will never pay to get me fixed, General.” He tells his Jedi mournfully. He’d come to accept that he didn’t have a future, or any hope for one, a long time ago, but the truth still hurts. He’d be leaving General Plo behind, Boost and Sinker too - the survivors of the original 104th would be down to three. His batchmates would be furious; Ponds would cry, so would Bly. Cody would work himself to death, and Fox would drink himself to an early grave, if they hadn’t already.

“You will not be decommissioned, Wolffe.” His General tells him passionately, “None of you will, not if we can help it.” Wolffe lets out a shuddering breath, and General Plo squeezes his hands. “The Jedi Order will cover all the costs for your prosthetics, as well as any prosthetics or long-time care your brothers will need.”

This is - so much more than Wolffe had ever dared to hope for.

“I-” Wolffe flounders, at a loss of what to do. “I don’t - what ?”

His General hums, leaning forward to gently press their brows together, “You will heal, Wolffe.” He says, strongly enough that Wolffe believes him. “You endured something horrible, something you didn’t deserve, and I am proud of you, son.”

Wolffe whimpers - though he’d never admit it outside of the embrace his Jedi had gathered him into - and he leans into his General’s touch. “Thank you.” He whispers, voice gruff, thinking of all the Vode this will save. “ Thank you .”

“You have nothing to thank me for, Commander.” General Plo assures him, and Wolffe laughs, somewhat hysterical.

He had so much to thank his General for, more than he’d ever be able to explain or repay. He didn’t even know where to start, or what to say.

“Now,” His General’s voice grows lighter, pulling away to pat Wolffe’s shoulder, and the injured Commander misses the warmth of the touch after it’s gone. But then he speaks, and Wolffe perks up in excitement, “I believe there are two fine young men here to see you. They will be glad that you have woken up.” The Kel Dor steps away, moving towards the door to Wolffe’s private room , and slides the door open to let two clones in greys into the small room. He aims a smile over his shoulder, voice warm, “I will see you soon, Commander.”

“You too, General.” Wolffe says absently, his eye on his brothers as they stand at attention while the Jedi leaves the room with a polite greeting to the other Commanders.

“Wolffe, you Force-damned bastard !” Fox barks the moment the door closes behind the General, brick-brown eyes snapping around to pin Wolffe with a thunderous glower. Beside him, Cody is quiet, staring at Wolffe with a calculating gleam in his amber gaze, studying his injuries, before his broad shoulders slump in relief, and he’s marching over to Wolffe’s cot with a fiery purpose.

Wolffe bares his teeth at his brothers in a grin, ignoring the left-over prickle of tears in his eye and pain from his mangled face, “I lived, fuckers.”

Fox makes an inarticulate noise of rage, but it’s a better look on him than the exhaustion that had been lining his face since the war broke out. Cody, on the other hand, huffs out a faint laugh as Fox makes an aborted move - most likely to throw himself at Wolffe and start a brawl, much like they had been prone to doing as cadets.

“Budge over.” Cody says, pushing at Wolffe’s shoulder, and Wolffe sends his little brother a glare.

“No, this is my hospital bed.” He growls - and it’s a comfortable bed too, he doesn’t want to share it with any ungrateful brats. “Get your own.”

“No, no.” Fox says, like the smug little shit that he is when he isn’t worked up into a frothing rage, approaching like a hunting Tooka. “Kot’ika’s got a point, sharing is caring big brother, move over.”

“Besides,” Cody adds easily, jimmying himself into an open space at his side. It looks comical, watching his little brother, now a solid mass of muscles from toating his sniper rifle around and fist fighting clankers, fold himself into the space under Wolffe’s armpit and along his ribs. He tucks his head against Wolffe’s collarbone, like he had back when he was the smallest and lightest of their batch - back when Alpha could pick him up by the collar of his reds and carry him around like a wet kitten. “Pace will be angry with me if I end up in medical on shore leave. He might actually throw himself out the airlock this time, and it’s hard to train up a new CMO.”

“Wouldn’t want to upset your medic.” Wolffe grumbles sarcastically, and Cody smirks up at him, amber eyes bright with mischief.

“Exactly.”

Unlike Cody, Fox doesn’t curl up against his side, instead, the Guard Commander throws himself dramatically across both his batchmates, covering them with his body. It’s a protective motion, one that Fox had always been prone to do, to make sure he was the first defense between his brothers and an attacker.

The look Wolffe slants his younger brother is annoyed, but fond, “Where did you learn about sharing, you greedy little shit?” He grumbles, the warmth of his brothers’ bodies pressed close to his own, tempting him to close his eye and drift off to sleep once more. “Couldn’t have been those Senators.”

Fox huffs out a sardonic against Wolffe’s temple, “Of course not.” He drawls, “Senators sharing is more likely than Cody confessing his undying love to his General.”

“Shut up .” Cody hisses, and Wolffe carefully leverages his legs over his little brother’s knees to stop Cody from kicking one of them as they laugh at his expense. “I hate you.”

“Love you too, baby brother.”

“Not a fucking baby.” Cody grumbles on instinct at the same time Fox lets out a disgusted snort,

“Ew, affection .” Then, sensing something to tease their brother about, Fox’s attitude takes a complete 180. “You’re definitely a baby.”

“No-”

“Don’t make me call Alpha.” Wolffe grunts, and Cody curses, before burrowing deeper into his side as Fox snickers. Fucking shits, the both of them. “Now go to sleep.” Surrounded by one half of his batch, feeling safe and warm, and protected by the knowledge that his General wouldn’t let the Longnecks decommission him, Wolffe lets himself drift back to sleep, listening to the beating of his brothers’ hearts.

[kilyra]

Grounded

A/N: This is my first venture into the land of Star Wars fic, but the inspo just wouldn’t leave me alone, so here we are. EDIT: Part 2, “Still Grounded” can be found in the masterlist!

Although you two have become close, things get heated after a mission when Poe confronts you for disobeying his order. 

Warnings: Kinda bad language and flaring tempers . No spoilers but it takes place after The Last Jedi. I did do a bit of research so hopefully there’s nothing jarringly out of place!

If you want to be on my tag lists, (all or just a character) just let me know! (Credit for this amazing gif goes to @isaac-oscars​. Thank you SO much!)

As your X-wing gently kissed the ground, you could hardly wait to throw open the canopy but your fingers had turned into a fumbling mess. Your body hummed with the adrenaline that flooded your veins, and there wasn't a single part of you that wasn't shaking. Up until the smooth landing, you had kept it under control but...but landing at base changed everything. You were back home. And your mission was officially a success.

The warm but fresh air of Ajan Kill filled your lungs as you hopped out of the cockpit and scrambled to the ground. Your feet hardly seemed to touch the steps, you were just flying into the waiting hands of your fellow pilots who were already roughly patting your back and helmet.

“You did it! I can't believe it!”

“You're crazy! I wish I coulda seen the look on their faces when you raced through all their loading bays like that! Ha!”

“When those First Order bastards showed up, I thought we were done for sure.”

In the chorus of praise and marvelling, it was hard to tell who said what in the group crowding around you. You did notice one face that was missing though...Poe Dameron.

Looking back, you saw one of the ground crew extracting your droid from the back of the ship. “Hey! Hey, careful with him, alright? Everything we got from those guys is sitting in his data banks.”

She absently nodded but was suddenly using both hands to guide the unit to the ground.

Pulling your gloves off and tucking them under your arm, you pushed your helmet back off your head and scruffed your fingers over your hair. As exhilarating as it was to be in the thick of it, it was always nice to peel everything off and let the air dry the pooling sweat. Dropping the gloves in the helmet, you cradled it against your side as you chatted with your peers and waited for your droid.

If any of them knew you were about to face a world of trouble, they didn't breathe a word of it to you.

With your droid at your side and a few of the other pilots trailing behind, you made your way to the communications centre. No one knew exactly what information you had been sent to extract, but that team would know what to do with it. You were already inside when you heard it.

“Y/n!” Poe barked your name so sharply, you nearly jumped out of your flight suit as you turned towards his voice.

Your stomach dropped when you spotted him marching up from a side hall. Not only was the vein on the side of his neck pulsating so violently you could see it from where you stood, but the fury in his eyes was burning a hole right through you. Even his dark curls seemed to bounce with anger from every stomp. When he came closer, he growled, “Tactics room.”

“But I'm taking my droid to commun-”

“Now!”

He didn't even slow as he stormed past you and the others after shooting you a final, withering glare. Swallowing back your sentence, you blinked rapidly and looked down at your droid who was still and watching you. Looking from the droid to the others, your mouth dropped open but you couldn't form words.

“You'd better be following, L/n,” Poe added without glancing back to check.

There was a firm nudge on your arm as one of the pilots muttered under his breath. “I got this, just go.”

Numbly, you hurried to catch up, trying to ignore how your boots suddenly felt like they were lined with weights. The door was still open to the small meeting room as you sat down, but Poe circled back to slam it shut. Snapping your eyes closed, you failed to stop the flinch.

But you managed to keep your voice steady. “Commander, what's going on?”

Spinning back to face you, his eyebrows shot up as he tilted his head your direction. “Oh. So now I'm Commander?”

It was a trap.

You knew it was a trap but, as he stared expectantly at you for an answer, you had no idea how to get out of it. The wince was already on your face when you finally answered. "Yes?"

Nodding, he ran his tongue along the edge of his lip as he hummed an agreement. “Mhmm, great. And so what was I when I ordered you to abort?”

It was a bewildering slap in the face. Your fingers clenched the edge of the helmet in your lap as you forced yourself to stay seated. “Are you serious? That's what this is about? But I got the intel we've been after for weeks! I-”

“You're not answering the question. What was I on that mission, hmm? When I ordered you to abort?” The edges of his calm words vibrated as he paced at the front of the room, pressing his palm to his forehead before letting his arm drop.

“I was right there!”

“So were they!” Lurching forward, he shoved the chair at the head of the table, sending it crashing against the wall as it landed on its side.

Colour pulsated over your vision, and you had to speak over the rushing in your ears. He pulled the plug shortly after the First Order ships showed up and made it clear it wasn't a coincidence. Someone had either sold out the Resistance or gotten careless, but you had already made contact with the informant and were about to start the data transfer. Poe endlessly repeated himself to abort and get out, but you turned down your comm and finished. Apparently he didn't like that...

But dammit, you knew it had been the right thing to do.

“Yeah! They were! That was the risk we all knew we were taking. A risk, by the way, that the informant was taking too. I wasn't about to let all our efforts be in vain when I was already at the drop point.”

His eyes flashed at your defiance as he gripped the edge of the table. “And what good would it have done to download everything into your droid if you were shot down or captured trying to leave, huh? The smarter play, the play I wanted, was to misdirect and try again.”

It was all you could do to stop your eyes from rolling back. Instead, your insides knotted tightly. “Right, and how far back would that have set us? Assuming the informant resurfaced at all. I don't get what your problem is, everything worked out just fine.”

“Just fine? Your joy ride through all of their cargo bays was just fine?” The breathy tone tumbled from his lips as he pushed himself back from the table.

Before you could jump in, he continued his rant, gaining more heat with every word until he was yelling again. “Sure! Fine. And I'm sure people will be just thrilled to try and help us again. I mean, other than the damage you caused their base and the explosions from downed First Order ships giving chase, it was just fine! Never mind the fact that you could have - you should have - died from that stunt alone!”

This was getting ridiculous. You gripped your helmet tighter and steeled yourself against the creeping guilt.

“Maybe I would have crashed if I was anything less than a damn good pilot. But I am a damn...good...pilot,” you said through grit teeth.

“A damn good pilot that can't...no, that refuses to listen!”

“I was right there!”

“Yeah? Well, now you're grounded!” Poe shouted as leaned over the table, loudly pounding it with his gloved fist before shoving his finger your direction to drive the point home.

“What!?” Jumping to your feet and slamming your helmet down, your chair toppled behind you and crashed onto the floor.

Not even batting an eye at your outrage, he moved closer and continued with a raised voice. "Oh, you heard me. We can't afford to lose damn good pilots. Especially not to their own ego.”

Scoffing, you threw your hands up. “So you're grounding me? You're still losing a pilot!”

“Only until you learn to leave your comm on and listen to orders!” The vein in his neck looked ready to burst as his dark eyes bore into yours.

“This is bullshit! I saved the Resistance from weeks of trying to set up a new drop. Maybe from losing this intel altogether! I did good today and you damn well know it!” Heat flooded your face as you shouted. It was all you could do to stop yourself from flying across the table at him.

“And you could have died!”

Smashing your helmet into the table, you pressed on. “You're always coming down on me, but if Ello or Nien had been in my place, they would have done the exact same thing! You telling me you'd ground them too?”

“No.”

“Why n-”

“Because I don't love them!”

Poe froze at his own words, staring at you with wide eyes before shifting his gaze to the side. His chest heaved as he sharply exhaled. “I-I...don't...”

For a moment, the rush in your ears won and all you could hear was your own heartbeat hammering away. All those times...all those moments in the conferences as you hatched plans or the cantina when everyone was relaxing, but you seemed to just stay focused on each other. The laughter, the lingering stares, the way it was just so much easier to talk to him than anyone else at base...it was all real. He felt the connection as strongly as you did, even though neither of you dared to voice it.

And, instead of those feelings coming out in a sweet moment to cherish...they came out in a heated, twisted mess.

“Y-you don't love...them...” You echoed.

Rubbing his hand along the stubble of his chin, he chewed his bottom lip as he looked back at you. His eyes were glued to yours, but he stayed silent.

Your heart fluttered at his stare, but your stomach rolled as a quiet anger continued to needle you. “So you don't....love...them. And...and so I get punished for that? You have feelings and I get punished? How...how is that fair?”

Sighing, he ran his fingers up into his thick curls, giving them a soft tug before resting his hand on the back of his neck. His free hand went to his hip, pushing his jacket back as the fight visibly drained from his body. Soon, his gaze shifted to the floor, although his eyes didn't stay still. He was utterly lost in deep concentration, clearly sifting through his racing thoughts.

The silence stretched out for several moments before he huffed another sigh through his nose. “It's not.”

His soft statement was enough to stop your attack, but frustration still thrummed through your body as you waited for him to at least take your punishment back.

Swallowing heavily, Poe scanned over the room before his gaze settled on the door. Your hands balled into fists. He wouldn't dare...

His eyes quickly darted back to yours before snapping back to the exit. “I have to go.”

Before you could protest, he was out of the room in just a few long strides. Dumbfounded, you stared out the open door, too stunned to call after him.

A growl ripped from your throat as you grabbed your helmet with both hands and smashed it into the table.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

As you lifted the helmet, you saw a small dent in the table's metal surface. Letting out a frustrated grunt, you threw it as hard as you could across the room, dumping your gloves on the floor as it crashed against the chair Poe had turned over.

Grabbing a chair that was still on its feet, you shifted and sank into it as you cupped your head in your propped hands. It was impossible to tear one feeling from another as everything swirled into a muddled mess inside your chest. There was only one thing you knew for sure.

You were grounded.

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries​  @flower-two​  @getlostinyourparadise​   @selfishkiddo​  @angelicshinigami​  @parkersbabey​

[chimswae]

BTS Caretaker CH33

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 3,595

- Author Note: There is a small text exchange between Seul and Jin in this chapter, so i put the text up.

Previous | Next

Chapter 33

“Seul, what is the matter? Why with the sudden notice?” Wongeun placed the letter down on his lap, expelling a long sigh. Once again hesitation ripped off the confidence that she had earlier. She had given this into a thought, even Jin would give her a call without fail despite not being there physically by her side. Ever since her encounter with Mr Kwon, she had never seen him lingered around the shop. God knows, when he decided to make his appearance again.

Wongeun snapped his fingers to bring back her attention to him “Am I talking to wall? Is there something that I must know? You are a little off these days” Seul smiled meekly adding to his suspicion.

“It is nothing. I think mother needs me by her side. Her health is deteriorating, it is best to pay more attention on her” she lied. It was an established fact that she quit after finding out the truth about Mr Kwon.

She needed to- no, she must stay away from him as far as possible.

“Seul.. if this is about your mother, you know we can help you. You don’t have to resign” he reasoned.

“Oppa, I think it is about time to focus on something that is more important in my life. I have nothing against this place, hell I have been working for two years with you. It is not easy for me too, but I hope you understand” her cold lips emitted a heavy sigh. She looked at him sadly “Please?” Wongeun leaned back in his seat.

He was morose and kept his mouth shut making her anxious for no reason. “It is hard to let you go Seul. You are a good employee and a good friend of mine. Just so you know, the door is opened for you anytime. Hit me up, and you can get that apron of yours back” he lightens up the mood earning a small chuckle from the girl.

“Thank you oppa, I know I can trust you with this. Don’t worry I will come to visit once in awhile to check on you guys” Wongeun said quickly “And to buy a box brownies” she laughed softly.

“Yes, a box of brownies. I will never forget you, for all the things that you did for me. So, thank you again” Wongeun shook his head and eyed the girl closely. “Don’t sound like we are not meeting each other anymore. Seul just don’t-“ a voice spread across the room, pausing the conversation that they had.

“It is stated in the contract; all employee must give two months’ notice before resigning”

That voice again. Seul’s breath hitched when his eyes laid on her, scrutinizing her from head to toes.

Why is he here? She mentally groaned in dissatisfaction.

Surprised by their manager sudden appearance, Wongeun stood up almost immediately and bowed politely “ Sir, I didn’t know you will be coming today” he murmured while giving an eye signal to Seul demanding her to greet the important person in front of them.

She rose from her feet with so much reluctance didn’t want to appear suspicious, so she gave the old man a little bow without sparing any look at him.

Dressed in navy blue suit, he had round dark shades to cover that two pair of evil eyes which she hated the most. Not long after, he took off his shades, keeping it inside his pocket with an unreadable expression “ Miss Ji, your resignation letter is invalid. I will not accept it. Draft a new one as an advance notice, you may leave the job in two months” his voice was mocking her, to flaunt his power that he had on her.

Seul’s jaw tightened, letting the anger sipping in “I don’t remember having that kind of terms in the contract?” she snapped.

A mischievous smirk spread across his face “ Keep the job for two more months or pay the penalty, your call” Wongeun blinked confusedly sensing the tension in the air as though these two were playing with fire, getting ready to throw it at each other.

“I will pay the penalty fees” said Seul confidently.

“I reckon you can afford those fees. It may cost you fortune. I suggest the first option anyway” the tone of his voice was so snobbish making her fuming in anger. She pondered upon this matter again. If she insists on quitting the job and pay the penalties, where to find the money?

As much as she wanted to seek help from Jin, that sounded impossible. This would only make her to appear like a gold digger. She was not that desperate.

She couldn’t believe it with her ears that after so many years, he still had the audacity to pull such threat on her. This simply means she had to put up with him for two more months before freed herself from this evil lair. How was it possible to survive that?

“Miss Ji, I am waiting” he tapped his finger on his branded wrist watch.

“Fine, I will hand in the new notice tomorrow” Wongeun sent her an apologetic glance considering he didn’t have much say in this. He too didn’t understand why Mr Kwon seemed so interested in this business recently. All these years, he never showed up and would contact Wongeun occasionally through phone call.

Something is fishy, he thought.

“Good. Enjoy your last two months here, you never know what awaits you” those last sentences sent chill down her spin. You never know what awaits you, it rung inside her head in loop. She couldn’t simply forget it just because it came from the nastiest human being alive, Evil Kwon.

Without wasting any more seconds to breathe the same dirty air as his, Seul excused herself to tend her job. Wongeun watched her back leaving the scene with a heavy heart. There were unanswered questions inside his head that need to be answered soon.

Satisfied with his successful plan in keeping the girl under his radar, he was ready to leave. “I want her letter by hand and she must submit it to me personally. Tell her to come to my house tomorrow, I will be working from home” he ordered.

Wongeun nodded, trying to be optimist since the older man made Seul to submit her notice all way to his house without any solid reason. How odd was that?

 ------------------

Two more days till home. Just two freaking days, then he could recharge back the energy in him. He already missed his odeng and eomuk though, for the time being Seul would be keeping those two cuties with her during his absence.

Jin decided to laze around a bit considering the practice for their concert tomorrow had taken almost 13 hours of his time straight without break. He plopped himself on the comfy king-sized hotel bed and expelling a tired sigh. Massaging his aching shoulder, he released another loud grunt not liking the pain that took over his body.

His roommates, Jungkook and Namjoon were out to get food with Jimin. As soon as they reached their hotel, he went straight to his room without wasting more time outside. Jin prioritized his sleeps more than anything. He fished out his phone from his pocket and decided to text Seul again.

He bit his lower lips muffling the small chuckle from his mouth. Nowadays, the mere thought of Seul became the source of strength in him. Even though this feeling that he had for her started way back then, but he’s too afraid to admit it.

Someone needs a love counselling session.

Joyfully, his fingers moved swiftly against the screen and typed a quick hi to Seul.

Damn, why is he like this?

   Seul was reading his last message and her eyes flew open in surprised to see his name appeared on the screen. Jin’s quick reflex was no joke, he acted as if Seul was at the brink of death. Giving Seul no time to process, Jin bombarded her with questions which almost knocked her sense out from her body.

“Where are you meeting him? With who??

“Are you by any chance alone?”

“Don’t tell me your best friend refuse to follow you there!”

“Seul don’t go! It is dangerous! The last time you’re breathing in the same room as his, he almost ripped your dress apart. Goodness woman!”

“Geez Kim Seokjin. One at a time. Your words fly faster than bullets. I am alone, no, Hwasa is working. She can’t ditch her job because there’s only her and Sera working this shift. And, about the first question, I am heading to his home” Seul swore to god Jin’s high pitch yell could be heard miles away. This was the exact reason she didn’t want to tell him about her plan meeting the old man alone. Jin would react this way.

“YAH ARE YOU INSANE? DID YOU JUST OFFER YOURSELF TO THE EVIL MAN VOLUNTARILY? ABORT MISSION. RETURN. HOME. NOW!” he yelled angrily through the speaker earning a soft hiss from the latter.

“Are you mad?”

“No. I am so happy that you are now on your way meeting Mr Kwon, what a beautiful reunion!” his sarcastic remark sounded so Min Suga. When she thought about it again, they must be spending too much times together as a roommate.

Seul snorted “I know but like I have a choice. I just need to submit this and once this reach him, I will leave immediately. I will take care of myself Jin” her voice softened at the end. Her heart skipped weirdly at the attention that he showed to her, like when he sounded so protective over her it drove her wild heart to edge.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but I don’t trust him Seul. Think about this again? His threat is empty, about the penalty fees I can help-“ she blurted quickly before Jin could say more.

“I don’t want you to help me. This is an issue that I can solve by my own. I only need your morale support and I don’t need your money. Jin, I can handle him. I will contact you as soon as I am out from his house alright?” for some reason her assurance did not sound tempting to him at all. Jin didn’t feel good about this.

The end of the line fell into dead silence worrying the timid girl. Angry Jin was not pretty, and she knew it would lead to more harm than good. “Jin..” she called him out softly meting his heart.

Aish, how can I stay mad at you, woman. Jin rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Under one condition, don’t hang up on me until I make sure he won’t do something inappropriate to you” she frowned and stopped in front of the beautiful bungalow house. For a second, the size of the house took her breath away but realizing who’s the owner of this property, she cringed in disgust.

“That is impossible. International call is expensive Kim Seokjin, are you mad?”

“I can afford that, just listen to me, will you?! Stop being so stubborn!” Seul sighed and glanced at her phone screen before pressing it back near her ears.

“Look, my battery barely survives this phone call Jin. I will call you as soon as I am done, it wont take long. If I didn’t get back in 15 minutes, you can reach Hoon and tell him my whereabouts” she suggested to ensure Jin wouldn’t make fuss over this again.

Jin paused for a second before responded “15 minutes is too long! Why do you need 15 minutes when you can just leave the letter at his doorstep and leave immediately?” as expected from Jin, he wouldn’t take things lightly.

“Every step that I take is more than one second you moron. To add to those delay is my hesitation, can you just spare my life for 15 minutes and reconsider my offer. Gosh, you are impossible!” she exclaimed.

“Ji Seul, I don’t like what you are doing” he scowled.

Seul rubbed her head, with a small sigh “Do you trust me?”

“I always trust you but not now. It is not a good idea, you still have time to change your mind and take off from there. I..just that- I am not there for you Seul. I don’t want anything happen to you” low murmurs could be heard clearly and Seul found herself smiling shyly. This different side of Jin always make her looking forward to spend more time with him in the future.

“I promise, I will be back in 15 minutes without scratch, can you wait for me till then?” she bit her lower lips nervously. Did she sound like she’s flirting with him? Why was she worried over her choices of words and tone of voice? This is sickening.

Jin finally gave in and nodded “15 minutes not more. If you don’t give me a call within that time, I am calling cops”

“Hoon” she corrected.

“Hoon has no gun, cops have one”

Seul whined “You are not calling the cops! I forbid you in doing so, just call Hoon” he chuckled softly picturing Seul’s pout in his head.

“Fine, Hoon”

“I have to go, I will be back in 15 minutes max alright?” she hung up without bidding a goodbye and annoyed the hell out of him. He glanced at the clock in fear, 15 minutes from now Seul must be out safely from that home.

Or else, Jin..

 --------------------

Entering the luxurious lavish home, her eyes scanned the interior admiring it along her way. The maid brought her to another wing of the house which she assumed where his office would be. Taking a deep breath, she dragged her heavy legs entering the office and not to forget thanking the maid before the woman disappeared from her sight.

“You made it” the old man tore his gaze from the pile of document in front of him to Seul. She wished how earth could just swallow her right now rather than being in the same room as his. Seul mustered her courage and approached the wooden table slowly, “I am here to submit my letter as you requested” placing the letter on the table, she took a step back.

“I will get going now” she mentally screamed to quickly exit the suffocating room and normalize her breathing. Mr Kwon smug, taking his time to say this one thing that could stop her from walking away through that door.

She reached for the door knob and before she could open the door, Seul heard him chucked lowly “I know what you are looking for. It is your biological father, right? What if…” he stood up from his leather swivel chair, walking stealthily towards Seul.

Her brows flinched as he continued “What if, I know who your real father is?” he minimized the gap between them.

Seul’s eyes shot open realizing what this man tried to offer her, “Wh-at… nonsense is that…” her eyes threw daggers as she backed away, pressing her back against the cold door. The older man cackled in delight watching how much power he had on Seul.

“Not nonsense, but I do know where to find your real father”

“I don’t trust you”

“Really? Did your mother ever tell you about your real father?” he brought his face closer to her, teasing the girl in process. Her lower lips quivered in fear “I know… he is one my father’s best friend” she held back her tears from hitting the ground.

He nodded “True, but have you seen any photo of him?”

“Why does it matter?!” she snapped.

“You have such a loud mouth, it could be used for better thing in the future” he rubbed his thumb over her lips only to be slapped away by Seul harshly. “Don’t touch me” she gritted her teeth in anger, feeling offended by his sexual remarks.

“Alright, I won’t touch you. But that won’t change the fact that I know where to find your real father” he tilted his head studying her expression. It was a mixture of pain and anger. “Your dad is closer than you think” he whispered in her ears.

Seul shook her head frantically “I will never listen to a bastard like you, stay the hell away from me” Mr Kwon let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Stay the hell away from you? Even blood can’t tear us apart Seul” he snorted. “I will spare you for now but remember, my arms always open for you in case you need me” he twisted the door knob, opening the door for her.

With one final glance, she scurried off the room using the last ounce of strength in her body afraid that the bipolar man might change his mind in the middle and decided to lock her up or kidnap her. Once she felt the cold wind hit her skin, she was relieved to survive the battle with demon inside.

Thinking about his words earlier, could it be true that he knew who’s his father. Hence, there was a chance for her to find him. She realized it was too early to put a trust on his word especially it came from Mr Kwon.

Seul still had her mother, she is the key to every questionable thing in her life.

If she could dig it from her mother, then she didn’t need Mr Kwon’s help. He wouldn’t do it for free, there’s always be an exchange of something every time people seal a deal with him.

Her loud ringtone brought her out of her trance, and she answered without even bother to look at the caller id “Seul! Thank god you are alive. Have you met him? Did he do something? Are you okay?” his panic voice rose from one octave to another.

“Nothing happen so can you calm down? Save your voice for tomorrow’s concert. I delivered the letter and leave before he could say anything” it was not the perfect time to tell Jin about the things in relation to her father. She would tell him when she’s sure Kwon’s words were not a mere bluff.

Jin disagreed “I can’t stay calm knowing you are with him! Don’t do that again. You are scaring me woman. Are you on your way home?” she hummed a soft yes and started walking.

“Then I will give you a company until you reach home” his crazy ideas made her smile.

“Don’t be silly, I am perfectly fine. Go to sleep Jin”

“This woman.. It is 9PM and you are sending me to bed already?”

Her nose scrunched up in annoyance “You have to wake up early tomorrow nevertheless, it is not a bad idea to sleep at this time” she defended her earlier statement.

“I am walking you home, that is my final decision! Now, how’s your day?” her eyes were rolled back digesting his cliché side, though deep down inside she could say this was a romantic gesture. With Jin’s soft voice rang in her ears along her journey back home, she feared nothing in this world.

His voice was gentle and soothing enough that it drove a part of the fear away.

With his voice, it shortens the distance to her home. Not to mention, every time she laughed at Jin’s silly dad jokes, half of her burdened were being lifted from her shoulder. Entering her building, she climbed the stairs tiredly unlocking the door. Kicking her shoes at the corner, she promised to clean it up the first thing when she woke up tomorrow. Seul hurried inside her room with Jin voice nagged in the background urging her to head to bed as soon as she reached home.

“Are you in your room?”

“Yes, Mr Kim. I am in my room” she threw her exhausted body on the bed, throwing arm over her head.

“Good, now get changed and rest. Text me a good night when you are done” Jin let out a soft chuckle.

“You are so demanding. Not even my boyfriend but you are acting like one” murmuring with eyes closed, she stretched a little.

He argued “I just walked you back home so appreciate me” Seul’s soft giggle tickled his heart. He sunk on his bed, laying on the cold mattress with a foolish smile across his face.

“So full of yourself, why I am not surprised”

“Consider this as our first date” he muttered.

“What?” bewildered, Seul sat up trying to brain the meaning behind those shady words. She heard his heavy breathing at the end of the line, as he continued “About, me walking you back home, consider it a date” out of a sudden his voice turned fifty shades darker and romantic, enticing every part of her body.

What the hell Kim Seokjin? That is cringy! Jin facepalmed.

“Don’t say anything, pretend that you misheard that. Oh gosh, I must go. Don’t forget to text me a good night! Bye Seul!” he spat the words out like flying bullets without giving the girl a chance to say anything and hung up.

Jin rolled on his bed, screaming in the pillow blaming his sloppy and foolish action. He was worried if that scare the girl away. Grunting in frustration, he felt like he just screwed up his blooming relationship with Seul.

Just what is wrong with me, Jin was frustrated and feeling a little remorseful over his action.

This work belongs to  Chimswae © 2021. All Rights Reserved

[sombreboy]

Love Maze »14

Previous  » Next Series Masterlist ▎ 18+ ▎ pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ▎ genre: School AU, crack humor, smut, angst, ETL, slow burn, fluff. ▎ word count: 6.8k ▎ ch.warnings: cursing, mentions of tae’s father being abusive, crying/mild angst, smut, Top!JJK, Bottom!KTH (these boys switch it up a lot hah), rimjob, fingering, anal, some fluff dw and they’re still dumb for and to each other but hey what’s new.

Co-writer: @velvetwicebang​​​ ♡♡♡

The door immediately flung open, and Jisoo had to remind herself to stop answering when she looked like.. Shit.

“Jung— oh my goodness.. you’re soaked!” She stated the obvious, ushering the boy into her home without exchanging another word.

“Jungkook-ah.. what happened?!”

The woman jogged into her bathroom, coming back with an extra towel at hand.

As if it was never there in the first place, the tiredness didn’t linger any longer. Instead, Jisoo was wide awake as she focused on drying Kook to the best of her abilities, wondering if this was Taehyung’s doing.

Jungkook silently allowed Jisoo to guide him inside, running his fingers through is wet hair as he watched her pat him dry,

Technically he could have just gone home to change first, but the cold clothes were nothing compared to the swirling thoughts occupying his senses, eyes still stinging from both the rain and previous tears.

''Noona, you don't have to...'' His hoarse voice from yelling tried to say, his hand reaching for the towel, ''I can do it.''

Jisoo thought about ignoring his pleas at first, but she ended up granting the towel to Jungkook, not aiming to overstep past any invisible line.

She couldn’t help it.. Kook meant a lot to her.

The woman dragged a chair next to his, resting her drumming hands on her lap.

Jisoo caught a glimpse of the boy’s face, spotting the obvious hurt in his puffy, reddened eyes.

That’s it, she couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

“Jungkookie.. do— do you want anything to drink or eat? I can whip something up quick!” The woman hadn’t even noticed she’d been rambling.

“I’m just.. I’m worried. Where’s Taehyung?”

Somehow, she knew the latter had something to do with this. Hence why her voice weakened at the brief mention of his name.

“Hey.. you can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?”

Jisoo scooted closer to the younger boy, the pads of her thumbs wiping at the wetness underneath his doe eyes.

"I'm not hungry," Jungkook whispered. He had already eaten, and even if it was a while ago-- he had no appetite left.

Jisoos question about Taehyung's whereabouts wasn't surprising, of course she'd ask. She cares about him, and she's so attentive.

"He uh..." Kook inhaled a sniffle through his nose, the cold clothes not helping. "We fought.. again." His shoulders sank. "I just... can't tell if I'm being too sensitive about things. He just gets on my nerves with the shit he does sometimes.."

Her hand perched on one of Jungkook’s shoulders, thumb massaging deep circles into the dampened fabric as she listened to the younger’s troubles.

Honestly? The name ‘Taehyung’ was starting to sound sour.

She knows from experience that couples fight— to some extent. But Jisoo began to question if Jungkook’s relationship with the elder was the right fit. Hell, Kook punched a hole in the wall and showed up at her doorstep late into the night, soaked from the rain.

All because of Taehyung..

“What did he do this time?” The woman exhaled, eyes landing on the towel in Jungkook’s hand.

She carefully took it back from his hold, seeing that he wasn’t putting it to good use and started to dry his wet hair like a mother would do, looking out for his health.

“I’ll beat him for you,” Jisoo chuckled to herself, wanting to enlighten the situation no matter how dark.

Jungkook's lopsided smile was a result of Jisoo's promise to beat his boyfriend up, a breathy snort pushing through his nose. ''Maybe he needs it.''

But just as quickly, the smile fell once more, closing his eyes to focus solemnly on the towel rubbing his head. It was really soothing, it felt like a mother's love... He felt himself calm down before he opened his mouth to answer the question at hand.

''He surprised me with this amazing date night... He got all dressed up, he looked amazing...'' Kook sighs at the memory before continuing. ''And he took me to the arcade, it was tons of fun, honestly...'' he left out a few details to speed the story up, including the mcdonalds. She didn't need the cheesy parts. ''At the end of it, I wanted this.. Dumb fucking teddybear, and we didnt have enough points to get it, right?'' His eyes open to make sure his noona is keeping up. ''He flirted with the cashier girl to get it, and it just..... made me really angry. It hurt, because..He can barely hold my hand in public, but shamelessly lets a stranger touch his hand, even wrote his number down on her palm.. Obviously, it was an act.. But it still hurt! And I told him, I was angry, my temper is shitty, I know... And it just blew up into a thing, I was just so fucking angry I couldnt think!'' He was getting riled up just talking about it, breaths quickening as both anger and the anxiety kicked in.

Now Jisoo was definitely going to beat Taehyung up.

What kind of person does such a thing?

Why would he voluntarily put his boyfriend through the pain of seeing him flirt with someone else? No matter what Tae’s ulterior motive was, it was still a shitty thing to do.

“It’s understandable that you’re angry, Kook. I would be fucking fuming..” The woman comforted, now using the towel to gently pat at Jungkook’s skin.

“If you’d like.. we can talk about something else?” She noticed the way his body automatically began reacting to the memory; distressed was one way to put it.

“Stay here for as long as you’d like. Yuna’s sleeping, so we should have some peace and quiet for a bit..” Jisoo squeezed the boy’s hand, a genuine smile grazing her soft features.

Jungkook nods, her infectious smile causing him to mirror it.

''I should go get changed first, though.''

He was surprised by how easily Jisoo's comfort calmed him down already, the thoughts of Taehyung slowly drifting off to be able to relax.

He did wonder, though, what Taehyung was up to…

''I'll be right back, noona.'' He squeezed her hand back as he stood up before leaving to head to his own apartment.

~~~

Taehyung didn’t stay at his house for long. Only long enough to receive a harsh slap to his face, paired with a series of harsh profanities in the form of ear-piercing shouts.

Yes, he stole money from his father.

But Tae didn’t think a red mark on his cheek was the answer.

He didn’t think him bawling his eyes out whilst he recklessly drove towards Jungkook’s apartment— searching for much needed comfort— was worth it.

His father didn’t possess common parenting skills, that was so fucking obvious yet it still dug a hole in Taehyung’s heavy chest. Every single time.

He’d much rather have his electronics taken away, have been forbidden from hanging out with friends!— not this.

The boy’s chest heaved with every shaky breath he took, warm tears endlessly running down his face, staining the collar of his shirt.

He felt worthless.

‘You’re a fucking nobody, Taehyung!’

‘Should’ve forced your mother into getting that abortion— you’re a disappointment.’

‘If she was still here, your name would bring her shame.’

Taehyung was lucky he’d managed to stop in front of his boyfriend’s apartment in one piece, his vision had been blurred with tears. So much so that he nearly stumbled over with every step.

“K-Kook..” Taehyung weakly called out, attempting to roughly wipe the tears away, only for more to come streaming down.

“I’m sorry.. I’m sorry I’m a disappointment.”

The elder knocked on the door, jaw clenched in anticipation.

Taehyung wanted to see Jungkook’s face, feeling like that’d be the true remedy.

~~~

Jungkook had just changed into dry, comfortable clothes when he heard the knock on his door, imagining it was probably Jisoo who'd grown impatient or wanted to check on him. He took a moment, combing his fingers through his mess of a hair before opening the door.

It definitely wasn't noona.

It was Taehyung, but... it also didn't look like him at all, in a sense. He was crying, eyes reddened and his entire posture was as if he'd shrunk.

He looked broken.

And suddenly it felt like Jungkook's heart shattered into a million pieces.

''Taehyung, what's wrong?''

Jungkook didn't hesitate to pull the elder in by his wrist, closing the door shut behind them for some privacy.

“I-I’m sorry..” His voice cracked, unable to meet Jungkook’s eye. Partly because of the blurriness, and partly due to his internal shame.

He was such an idiot.

“I’m so, so sorry!” The elder threw himself into his boyfriend’s arms, broken sobs muffled against the crook of his neck, eyes crinkled shut as he cried.

He felt worthless. Unloved. Taehyung was hurting, badly.

“He— He hit me.. a-and told me how I was unw-worthy of love and fuck.. I believe him.”

The elder let out, never once pulling away from Jungkook.

Jungkook was speechless at the sudden... well, everything. He'd never seen Taehyung in such a state of devastation, the normally strong man now crying in the youngers arms,

''Who-- your father hit you?'' Kook asked, wrapping his arms around Tae in a tight hug, one hand stroking the back of his head in a soothing motion.

''Hey, hey, calm down, please baby.'' The pet name came naturally, nuzzling his nose into the elders hair. ''He's wrong, Tae.. he's so wrong. Don't believe him...You're okay, you're here.''

Taehyung melted deeper into Jungkook’s comforting embrace, soaking up the younger’s reassuring words like a sponge, feeling like he’d gotten enough of a grasp on his emotions to withdraw from Kook’s touch.

“Thanks..” Taehyung weakly drew out, breath still shaky, but definitely not as bad as before.

For one, his chest no longer ached, and being by his boyfriend’s side was all he needed.

He was right to come here.

"Come, let's sit down." Jungkook said. It wasn't a question, so he pulled Taehyung with him to sit next to him on the couch, hands unable to stay away from the elders face as he swiped away the tears staining his cheeks, just like Jisoo had done to him just a moment earlier.

"I'm sorry..." Kook whispered, leaning in to press a chaste kiss on Taehyung's cheeks, as if hoping it would stop the tears. "You don't deserve to be treated that way... but you have me, okay?.. You're loved... by me..." their previous fight long forgotten-- or at least forgiven? There were more important things than that right now.

"We're okay..."

Taehyung slowly looked up from his lap after growing tired of blankly staring at the color of his jeans, now gazing into his boyfriend’s eyes with an unnamed emotion.

Fondness.. perhaps.

He really likes Jungkook— he wouldn’t know just what to do without the younger boy.

Kook is so.. Him.. and Taehyung loves that.

The elder loves everything about him.

The way his nose scrunches when he laughs, how the corners of his eyes crinkle up and never cease until he’s no longer smiling..

Is.. is this what young love feels like? Because if so, he likes it.

After the soft, ‘we’re okay..’ Tae just about lost it, tears immediately welling up in his hurt eyes.

God.. he fucking adores Kook.

“We’re okay..” Taehyung repeats, reaching over for his boyfriend’s smaller hand, tangling their fingers together.

Taehyung remembered his mother telling him he was one day going to find someone that was meant for him.. his person in the midst of the world’s chaos.

She used ‘strawberries’ as a simple reference, aware of how much her son loved the fruit.

‘Someday, you’re going to love someone as much as you love strawberries. Then, I’ll get to meet them~!’

It was straightforward, but Tae didn’t know what it all meant.

Now, he’s maybe not so clueless..

Jungkook was his person— his ‘strawberry’ in a sense.

Shit.. Taehyung’s in love with him.

“I-I..”

Now that Taehyung had admitted it, all of these feelings came rushing back to him. His heart was beating faster than before.

Who else could make him feel so calm? Who else had his back like no other?

His boyfriend did. His Jungkook.

“I.. I love you, too.”

For the first time in his life, Taehyung was 100% sure about something.

He loves Jeon Jungkook. He couldn’t deny it.

“I love you.” Tae said more clearly, squeezing the Kook’s hand in his.

Jungkook swore that he felt time freeze for a moment as the words left Taehyung's lips, staring at him with wide eyes. He squeezed the elders hand in his, just to ground himself and actually make sure that this wasn't merely a dream, because if it wasn't then--.. Taehyung loves him too.

"Yeah?" Jungkook doesn't know why those few words held so much power, but they did. As soon as he absorbed them, it was as if he was ignited from the inside out, his heart felt so full, and his body ached to feel Taehyung.

"I love you.." Jungkook finally said himself. He's done it before, but none of the times were truly this clear, and this time he didn't worry about the rejection.

"I love you so fucking much, Tae.." his voice lowered, hands removing themselves from his hold as they instead snake around Taes waist to pull his body closer into a hug, nose pressing against his neck. The nice smell Tae had put an effort into having today still lingered...

"I'm sorry for getting angry... I just... I get very jealous." Kook chuckles as he starts pressing kisses against Tae’s neck, the possessiveness behind them growing.

"Jealous when somebody wants what's mine.. and thinking they will get to have it."

Taehyung wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s neck, forehead perched on the latter’s shoulder as he giggled. Tae’s always been a bit ticklish on his neck, and having his boyfriend pressing kisses onto the skin was torturous. Good torture, if that made sense.

The elder’s eyes fluttered shut; just like always, Kook was paying close attention to the spot that drove him crazy.

“It wasn’t your fault..” Tae murmured, lips slightly parted as the slim hint of pleasure began to kick in. Taehyung’s fingers played with the strands of hair on the back of Jungkook’s head, his hand then slithering down the latter’s back. He gripped at the fabric of his baggy shirt, warm puffs of air freeing themselves from his lips.

There was little to no space between them— Taehyung could feel the heat of his breath waft back to his face.

“I love you so much.. I’m only yours.”

Jungkook smiles against the skin on Tae's neck before pressing one last open mouthed kiss against the prominent vein that trailed down the elders throat.

''Yeah?'' His own breath was hotter, voice several octaves lower as he spoke.

''Why is it that it feels like we've been apart for weeks when it's only been a few hours... Fuck, I missed you.'' He murmurs as he withdraws just enough to look into Tae's eyes, wasting no time in kissing him on the lips, the part of him he'd missed the most.

Well, that'd be a lie... There's other parts he missed just as much, and his hands weren't shy to let the Tae know of it, as they trailed underneath his shirt to get a feel of his torso, smoothing his calloused fingers over the soft, firm skin. ''Want you...'' He paused, eyes piercing through his boyfriend with a new spark in his gaze, ''Bed, now- please..''

Every time the younger bossed him around Taehyung’s caramel skin flushed, overtaken by the sudden drive to do as he pleases. He wanted to endure whatever Jungkook had in mind— he wanted to feel his boyfriend inside of him.

Just as much as Taehyung was enamored with Jungkook’s Bambi eyes, he also fell victim to his naughtier aspects. He enjoyed listening to his boyfriend’s frustrated grunts.. his sensual moans.

Taehyung loved the way Jungkook’s noticeable girth stretched him out, making him squirm in his spot.. hips twitching the deeper he nailed into his ass.

What was there not to like?

He was highly anticipating what was to come.

Taehyung didn’t need to ask, he knew the younger would be the one in charge this time. The way his sultry voice rang, commanding him to do as he wished— Taehyung turned into a submissive puddle. With a shy nod, Tae walked towards Jungkook’s bedroom, hips swaying provocatively while doing so. He sat himself on the edge of Kook’s bed, biting down on his lip whilst he discarded his shirt, carelessly throwing it to the side.

“I want you to make love to me..”

The elder pushed himself from off the bed, hands traveling up Kook’s chest before settling on his shoulders. “Please?”

Jungkook flashes his genuine bunny-like smile as he looks down at his boyfriend, the sweet boy peeking through his layers of desires. He nods, towering over the elder as he presses another chaste kiss on his lips before using his muscular frame to force Taehyung to back down on the bed, guiding them both to scoot up on the duvet until the elder was on his back, Jungkook on his knees above him.

"I'll make you feel so good, I promise," Kook murmured, his face morphing back into his dominant persona as he discards of his own shirt, leaning down to immediately begin kissing Taehyung on the neck, down to his shoulders, alternating between his tongue, teeth and small sucks. This time, he was the one marking the other-- and he was going to take his sweet time with him.

Taehyung worshipped the boy’s muscles with his roaming hands, hips rocking on their own from the way Jungkook’s sauntering lips stained his neck, chest, and shoulders.

“A-ah..” He gasped, one hand gripping at his boyfriend’s longer curls, feeling the soft texture in between his fingers.

“I can’t get over how strong you are.. hmm!” Taehyung’s dull nails dug deeper into his boyfriend‘s bicep, throwing his head back into the pillow.

Shit, was there such a thing as a muscle kink? Because the elder was sure that’s what he was into..

Completely blindsided by lust, a long, drawn-out moan bounced against the walls of the quiet room. It was as if he felt the blood clot underneath his skin, squirming at the way Jungkook’s tongue effortlessly flicked against it.

A low growl vibrated in Jungkook's chest, he could feel his blood rushing down straight to his cock with every reaction and sound he drew out of his boyfriend. He pressed his clothed bulge against Taehyung's, feeling the obvious; they were both already rock hard for each other.

"Keep touching me, fuck... you're so delicious, and all mine." he murmurs into Taehyungs collarbone before giving it a harsh suck, tainting his skin with purple.

Both men were turning into breathy messes, the tortuous aching between Kooks legs only spurring his greediness further. He desperately needed to be inside of Taehyung.

But, there was no need to rush, he wanted Tae to turn into a needy, squirming mess underneath him--- and he loved being a tease.

"So beautiful," Kook growls, flexing his muscles deliberately for Taehyung to see-- and feel.

"So loved." His voice smoothed out with the words, a drawn out moan pushing through his lips as he started to grind their hips together, kisses trailing back up to the elders lips. He took the chance to slip his tongue into Taehyung's mouth when his lips were parted in a moan, the taste itself allowing low, needy grunts to rumble in his throat, muffled by the kisses.

“Jungkook..! A-ahh.. j-just like that, baby.”

Taehyung’s head snapped to the side, face scrunched up into a delightful mess as all his senses were able to detect was Jungkook’s clothed cock rubbing up against his own.

“Fuck.. make love to me already, I need to feel you inside..”

His needy hole clenched down on its own, the pure image of his boyfriend’s dick rearranging his guts was effective— maybe a little too effective as Tae merely moaned at the thought, hips meeting Jungkook’s with every rocking motion.

"I will, baby, be patient.." Jungkook purrs into his ear before he sits up straight on his knees, admiring the view beneath him as he smoothed his hands down the elders torso until his fingers curl by the hem of Tae's pants and boxers in one go, tugging at them for a bit, teasing a second too long before he gives in-- peeling the fabrics off of his boyfriend, using his strength to easily lift Taehyung's hips up as he does so.

Taehyung’s rock-hard cock sprung up and whipped against his lower stomach, making his body shiver from the sudden contact. The boy wasn’t hard to please, finding every touch of Jungkook’s fingertips intoxicating.

He stared up at his boyfriend with hazy, dimmed eyes— love clearly swirling from within the irises as he shamelessly brought his knees up to his chest, giving Kook a wide view of his puckered hole.

“Use me..” Taehyung whispered, wiggling his hips invitingly, loving the attention he was getting.

The day’s shitty events were long forgotten, instead they were consumed by the lust he felt towards his man.

It was eating him up inside, antsy as he waited for Jungkook’s next move.

It was weird to think that at the beginning, Taehyung felt.. anxious in the bedroom. In a way, the latter didn’t want to open himself up to the younger too much. But now, as he flashed all he had to offer to his boyfriend, Tae grew more comfortable.

Love really does that to you, huh?

The sharp inhale didn't go unnoticed by either of the men as the younger's eyes admired the view, spreading Tae's hole further with his thumbs. Jungkook dropped down to his chest momentarily, there was no way he'd let this simply be a feast for his fingers.

No, he wanted a taste.

Without a word, he did as he pleased, placing warm, wet kisses on Taehyung's hole, the delicate skin so tasteful to his mouth that he moans at the sensation himself, along with the addicting sounds the man above him makes.

Taehyung’s hooded eyes widened in surprise, not expecting his boyfriend to kiss him somewhere so.. private.

“Shit— baby, that’s embarrassing..” The elder moaned out loud, still keeping his legs in place whilst he watched Jungkook, infatuated with the younger’s mind.

“Ah..” He bit down on his lip, blushing a significant amount.

His outgrown fringe fell over his eyes, skin moist from utter suspense.

Tae was an embarrassed mess. Yet, he didn’t mind.

Kook is his boyfriend, he’s supposed to see every part of him no matter how personal.

''You've got nothing to be embarrassed about, baby,'' Jungkook glances up at his boyfriend with eyes blown wide with lust and awe. Maybe a part of the younger did enjoy when Taehyung became a bit flustered, but as long as he was actually comfortable and pliant with what was going on, that's what's important.

Jungkook sticks his full tongue out, using the wet muscle to circle the elders hole that was now soaked with saliva, prodding the tip of his tongue against the opening to draw more reactions. Just a little bit more teasing... Taehyung was delicious.

“Baby..!” Taehyung‘s body was extremely responsive, hips jittering as he clung on to a handful of his boyfriend’s hair. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw slack as he focused on his heavy breathing.

Jungkook’s tongue felt wonderful.. fuck, how would it feel like if the younger ate him out?

The tempting imagery made Taehyung’s pink entrance clench, then proceed to unclench in a pattern. His legs were shaking the slightest bit, toes curled as he snuck a quick glance down at Kook.

“So good.. so fucking good..” Despite his vulgar language, the elder’s voice wasn’t anywhere near as confident. It was soft, close to the form of a strained whisper. As if his hips had a mind of their own, they slowly rocked into Jungkook’s mouth. The sensation was so new yet so.. not. Taehyung fell victim to it, hard.

Jungkook was a little surprised by how well received his ministrations were, so incredibly responsive to him-- it made the younger more desperate for his body, feeling his cock twitch and throb with every shudder from Tae's body.

He pushed the tip of his tongue inside of Taehyung's hole, the slick from his saliva making it easier-- so he did it again, and again, and again until he was able to practically fuck his tongue into Tae. Meanwhile, Jungkook used one hand to reach down to unbutton his pants, the sound of the zipper echoing in the room to indicate what's to come.

Every time Jungkook’s slim tongue thrusted into him, a cry of pleasure erupted from the back of the elder’s throat.

His legs visibly struggled to stay put, thighs lightly closing in on his boyfriend’s head— both hands placed on the crown to steady himself in the midst of the overwhelming rapture.

He was in heaven..

“Fuck.. I-I like that..” Taehyung breathily admitted, smoothing his fingers over Kook’s messy hair whilst he quivered for him, slyly directing his ass closer to the other’s feasting mouth.

As if it was a natural reaction, Tae’s naked body shivered with anticipation at the familiar sound of the zipper coming undone, grunting in disappointment when his boyfriend’s fat dick had yet to push its way inside of him. Taehyung was impatient, but the sensation of Jungkook’s tongue kept him engaged during the meantime.

Jungkook wiggled his pants down below his hips, just enough for him to be able to pull his throbbing length out to immediately stroke himself to the sounds of the elder, still indulging in his ass for a moment longer until he deemed it enough. He withdrew his mouth for a bit, spitting on Tae's already soaked hole for good measure.

''Gonna have to do that to me next time, I'm getting jealous..'' Jungkook jokes, but his voice was smooth and low. He sat up straight to finally discard of the rest of his clothes, making it even in terms of nudity,

''Keep holding your legs up just like that, baby.'' He murmurs, one hand still lazily stroking his cock, tip reddened and eager for the elder, while using the fingers of his other hand to begin stretching out Tae's cute little ass. One finger easily slipped inside thanks to the previous tongue fucking, so it didn't take long before he managed to slip two-- even three inside, until it became a tight fit. A part of Jungkook wondered, and almost craved, to fit all of them, just like Tae had done to him.

Taehyung did as his boyfriend instructed, legs holding up on their own as his slender fingers parted his sloppy entrance, widening the rosy area to grant Jungkook clearer access.

“Fuuck..!” A sharp cry of initial pain, the younger’s never stuffed three digits inside of him before.

The soreness in his legs was nothing compared to this.

Meanwhile, his fingers had a hard time staying in place, the wetness from around his hole making it difficult to get a nice grasp on the moist, sticky skin.

The boy’s raven hair tousled even more when he arched his spine off the bed, carelessly throwing his head back with a loud moan, hips swiveling as he attempted to fuck himself on his boyfriend’s hand.

“I-I’m ready for another one..” Tae lowly pleaded, beads of precum staining his soft lower stomach.

''Good boy,'' Jungkook cooed, his eyes wide with admiration of how good he's stretched out Tae's hole, the rims of it turning a darker shade of pink from the constant friction. He adds a fourth finger, jamming the elder full of his long fingers until he reaches that one spot he knows will drive him towards madness.

''Fuck, you're taking my fingers so well..'' Jungkook groans at the sight, the slick sounds of his fingers now pumping into Taehyung, his other hand jerking himself off with more greed, smearing his precum down his length. He was practically ready for Kook's fat cock, and the younger couldn't wait to give it to him.

“I’m— I’m a good boy..” Taehyung verbally replayed his boyfriend’s low praise, melting further into a puddle of submission as he allowed Jungkook to toy with his worn-out entrance.

No matter how his peers perceived him to be inside of the bedroom, Tae loved letting the younger boss him around— belittle him, in a way.

Taehyung felt so small whenever he was under Jungkook’s control; it was pathetic how much his persona shifted in the snap of a finger. The boy was no longer the grumpy, asshole of a jerk that dismissed how others felt.

No, instead he became.. sensitive, breathless for air as he laid underneath Kook’s far more muscular body.

“Baby! T-that’s so— a-ahh.. so good..” Nonetheless, Tae was desperate to wrap around the veiny cock that ripped him away from his virginity, showcasing a whole new world of pleasure that Taehyung didn’t know even existed until Jungkook came along and showed him.

“Please.. please put it in me, Kook.. please.” He had tears in his eyes, finding the younger’s fingers filling as they quickly fidgeted inside of him.

Taehyungs begging was exactly what Jungkook needed to lose the last bit of patience he had left in him, not wasting a single second longer to pull his fingers out with a wet pop. He moved up into position on his knees, leaning over his boyfriend with his muscular body to get a good close up of the mess he's made of the man, all while using his fingers that were coated with Taes juices to run it down his veiny cock.

"You want this, hm?" Kook made it sound like he was about to tease again, but within the same second he drove his hips forward, letting the thick head of his cock push inside of Taehyung's stretched hole.

"Ah, fuck...yes.." he groaned, slowly filling the other male up until he was fully inside. The warm tightness made Jungkook's cock throb inside of Taehyung, keeping himself still for a second to relish in the feeling, "shit... four fingers stretching you and you're still so tight for me.."

Taehyung’s arms wrapped around his boyfriend’s neck as the latter gradually screwed deeper into him, moaning into the sweaty skin. His hole welcomed the younger’s pulsating cock with a compressed clench of his walls, the warmth securely wrapping around the shaft.

He circled his legs around Jungkook’s small waist, nudging him closer until he felt his boyfriend’s heavy balls press against him. Even then, that wasn’t enough.

“I love you so fucking much..” Taehyung mumbled into the crook of his neck, softly kissing at Jungkook’s Adam’s apple, prodding his nose against the clammy skin.

“You’re t-the best boyfriend in the world..” By now, Tae was simply spilling truthful nonsense.

He couldn’t seem to think clearly when Kook’s dick was planted inside of him, the tip resting against his prostate.

Jungkook felt his entire body shudder, well earned by the man below. The younger loved verbal confirmations, and the way Taehyung said every single word it was as if it gave him an eargasm.

Still warming his cock deep inside of Taes wonderful ass, he slowly begins to move as he hovers over his boyfriend. He keeps it gentle for now, his heavy breaths steady.

"I love you too...ah.." Kook withdrew his hips all the way, until just the tip was inside before snapping them forward, drawing out a low moan of his own. Taking it slow like this after such a buildup made him feel every little clench and throb of Taehyung's insides.

"You like this?" Jungkook asks, finding his slow rhythm to continuously hit that sweet spot-- but without any rush or intensity. This wasnt like before, he wasnt just fucking his boyfriend... this was them having sex-- making love.

Taehyung loves him.. Jungkook was savoring Taes body with his own all while the overwhelming emotions were swirling in his eyes.

Taehyung withdrew his arms from around the younger’s neck, instead softly cupping Jungkook’s face in between his hands, gazing up at his boyfriend’s concentrated eyes while he made love to him.

In a sweet moment like this, he noted how the space between Kook’s brows creased up in attentiveness, how his growing hair effortlessly fell down to his face— things Tae wouldn’t have normally taken notice of if he was getting hammered onto the bed.

“I like it, a lot..” He opened up his legs a little more, enjoying the slower pace this time around.

It was.. alleviating, in some way. To have Kook care for his body with such delicacy in his actions..

The elder craned his neck upwards to press a soft kiss onto the boy’s pouty lips, muffling a strained moan in the meanwhile.

“So good.. I love this— a-ah.. hmm..”

Jungkook's eyes fluttered shut, a quiet rumbling moan getting caught in Taes mouth as the younger kept coming back for more. He couldn't get enough of his lips.

"Feels so good," Kook breathes out when he withdraws from the kiss, his strong arms holding him up with a hand on each side of the elders head, his torso hovering over the male below him. Gradually, the movement of his hips sped up-- using his core strength to drive his entire length in and out of Taehyung,

Eager to draw more sounds of the elder, he kisses down his neck, once more giving the purple marks adorning his skin another addition to the collection before moving down further, his lips encasing Taehyung's nipple-- he wondered if he was just as sensitive as he was. Tonight was all about finding more ways to make his boyfriend feel absolutely amazing, to keep his mind off anything but Jungkook.

The elder’s fingernails grazed along the strong muscles in Jungkook’s back, squeezing and clawing at the latter’s shoulder blades whenever he was met by a harsh prod at his prostate.

“Ah fuck..”

There was not a remaining inch in Taehyung’s body that wasn’t sensitive under the younger’s commissions. He lewdly studied the way his boyfriend engulfed his perky nipple into his mouth, torso stuttering when Kook began to deliciously flick his tongue. That boy knew what he was doing..

“B-babe right there..!” His hips continued to meet Jungkook’s halfway, moaning his little heart out with every precise thrust. Taehyung forcefully lowered the younger’s body, feeling the boy’s chest heave against his own as the elder’s nails dragged along his back, sure to leave a few scratches.

“I-I’m gonna cum soon..” He breathed out against Jungkook’s temple, inhaling his scent whilst he readied himself for the upcoming explosion.

"Me too, shit... please, can I--fuck.." Jungkooks clammy chest rubbed against Taehyungs, providing a friction between their bodies, his stomach pressing against the elders cock with every thrust. His movements were precise, powerful yet soft. Full of love and the desire to make the man beneath him cum just from his cock consistently prodding at Tae's prostate.

"C-can I cum inside? Want to fill you up so badly.." he allowed a whiny moan to escape his lips, burying his nose in the crook of Taehyung's neck, his rhythm slowly losing it's consistency and instead replaced with needy thrusts.

The warmth of his cock getting squished in between their sweaty bodies drove Taehyung insane, jaw hanging slack whilst he roughly dragged his nails across Jungkook’s back.

“Y-yes,” He whined, “fill me up..”

Fuck, he was so close..

Tae’s shaky legs wrapped tighter around the younger’s waist, the heels of his feet digging into the latter’s sides for physical support— emotional, too.

His high-pitched moans were silenced by the bite on Jungkook’s shoulder, teeth gradually sinking deeper into the flexed skin as he held his boyfriend close.

Jungkook cried out a throaty moan at the various sensations driving him absolutely mad. Everything from the elders teeth biting his shoulder, to the scratches on his back, even their sweaty bodies just grinding together. But the best sensation of them all was the way Jungkook’s cock was tightly squeezed by the warmth of Taehyung's insides.

A few punishing thrusts followed, fucking into his boyfriend as deep as he was physically able to, low grunts and curses slipping past his lips,

"I love you, I love you, I fucking love you..!" Jungkook mindlessly repeated over and over in a barely audible whisper between his breathy groans, a particularly loud one following when his hips stuttered as he finally came inside. He kept his cock lodged inside of Taes ass, desperate to fill him up properly as his cock pulsated with every rope of his cum, filling him up with everything he could give.

Taehyung’s long, drawn out moan followed soon after, the skin of their lower stomachs covered in a puddle of his sticky mess.

“Ah..” He moaned at the feeling of the younger’s cum spilling into his insides, clenching down on his boyfriend’s limp cock to squeeze out whatever may be left.

His legs droopily fell to his sides, disconnecting themselves from Jungkook’s small waist.

“Babe, that was amazing..”

Taehyung’s nails were no longer clawing at Jungkook’s skin, instead he smoothed his palms over the fresh marks on his back, slender fingers occasionally grazing over the agitated spots.

As if it was the last time he’d ever see him again, Tae wrapped his arms around the younger, pulling him all the more close.

“I love you,” he whispered, wanting to permanently ink the words in Jungkook’s brain.

Taehyung didn’t want him to ever forget.

He didn’t mind that his boyfriend’s dick was still inside of him, the elder’s persona shifted to a more caring chapter.

“You did so good,” he pressed a wet smooch on Kook’s rosy cheek, brushing his fingers through his tangled hair.

“Thank you for loving me..” Taehyung glanced down at his face, giggling a little before focusing back on his boyfriend’s hair.

Jungkook grimaced at the burning sensation of the claw marks on his back, the feeling of them grew as he came back down from his sexual high. It was quickly forgotten however, when the elder pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek, the youngers shy mannerism crawling back to the surface in the form of a blush on his cheeks and a coy smile.

"I like this new side of you..." he exhaled quietly as he slipped out of his boyfriend, moving to lay down next to him on his back. His hand that was the closest to taehyung reached out to find his hand, intertwining their fingers as a sweet gesture.

"I always knew I loved you in a sense," he suddenly confessed, "but I think... since that first night in the gymnasium... you've grown so much, you know?" Jungkook glanced over at Taehyung, squeezing his hand affectionately, "And so did my feelings.. it's crazy."

Now it was Taehyung’s turn to blush, pushing through the itching nervousness as he continued to hold unwavering eye contact, carefully listening to Jungkook’s every word.

He squeezed the younger’s hand back, smiling at the compliment.

Every time Tae hears his boyfriend admit how much he’s grown.. it tugs at his heartstrings.

That phrase reassured him that he was capable of additional change, and by the sounds of it, change wasn’t an unattainable milestone for him to reach.

Taehyung wanted to be a better man than his father ever was.

That was something that's always scared him— ending up like his deadbeat of a dad.

Now, the elder was sure that would never happen to him.

He was growing little by little everyday, something his father never did.

“I.. I think I knew I had feelings for you all the way back in elementary school,” Taehyung chuckled, staring up at the ceiling whilst he reminisced.

“Remember that day, uh.. was it during recess? I don’t know, but I fell.. and you shared your banana milk with me? Saying how it’ll magically make me feel better or something like that..?” The sound of the elder’s amused laughter echoed in the otherwise quiet room, turning his head to look at Jungkook.

“I remember thinking, ‘this isn’t magical at all, I still feel like shit.’ I don’t know.. it’s stupid, but.. I guess that’s when I started wanting to talk to you more? I wanted to hold your hand.. and kiss you, and share your magical banana milk.”

His smile grew, turning over to his side to snuggle up against Kook’s chest.

“Anyways, I guess all I wanna say is.. ha, I loved you first~”

Jungkook's toothy grin widened at the memory, his heart beating faster at the elders counter confession. They've been through so much, done so much, and yet Taehyung managed to make Jungkook's heart race.

''I guess so, but I said it first,'' He embraced his boyfriend, stroking through his messy curls before placing a kiss on his head. Exhaustion gradually hit him, the day had been eventful after all. He was just glad it ended well.

''Babe?'' Kook used the pet name in a coy manner to draw Tae's attention to him, ''I just wanted to say... You can stay here as long as you'd like, okay?''

Preferably Jungkook would just say, move the fuck in with me, but... yeah, why not?

Just the thought of Taehyung going back home was frustrating. Especially after what had happened today.

Jungkook would do anything to keep him safe... And this is something he could offer.

Now he definitely would need that part time job he's been putting off for too long.

Taehyung snuggled closer to his boyfriend, looking up at him with so much profound adoration in his tired eyes..

Jungkook was the only good thing in his life at the moment.

“Okay,” the corners of his lips curled up into a thankful smile, draping one leg over the younger’s as he closed his eyes to the warmth radiating off of his chest.

“Goodnight, Kook.”

Taehyung pressed a kiss onto the boy’s neck, sooner than later allowing sleep to take over him.

That night, he slept like a baby. No worries, no tossing, just.. soundly.

Jungkook wraps his arm around Taehyung, responding immediately with a kiss at the crown of his head, murmuring his sleepy words.

"Goodnight Tae."

Jungkook stayed awake for a while, even though he was exhausted, chest heaving up and down slowly, the gentle movements rocking the elder to sleep.

His eyes fluttered close, but opened just as quickly when he remembered something.

'I'll be right back, noona.'

He’d forgotten about Jisoo.

Ah, fuck.... But she would understand, right?

© sombreboy 2020. Do not edit, repost or translate.

[rhetoricandlogic]

By: Catherynne M. Valente

Art by: Thais Leiros

Issue: 7 September 2020

9199 words                                                                                   

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Variations in Luminance

Big Edie was a useless piece of shit.

Johanna Telle found the most significant relationship of her life on a Saturday afternoon in late May, sitting on one of those excruciatingly handmade quilts crafty stay-at-homes used to make out of their precious baby’s old clothes and putting a deep, damp dent in the buttercup-infested lawn of 11 Buckthorn Drive, Ossining, New York. A four-pointed Arkansas Traveler star radiated out around her, each of the four diamond patches so exquisitely nailing the era of the quilter’s pax materna that Johanna pulled out her Leica and snapped a shot before the homeowners could stop her: The Pretenders, Captain Planet Says No Nukes, Got Milk? and a Hypercolor tee subjected, as so many had been, to the indignity of a commercial dryer until it finally gave up the thermochromic ghost, its worn cotton-poly blend permanently stuck on a sad blown-out pink.

And Big Edie in the middle, ugly as all the sins of man, with a box of Advanced Dungeons & Dragons: Second Edition modules on the eastern point of the compass, a mint condition Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Sewer Lair Playset to the west, a working laserdisc player up north, and down south, one beefy hardcase Samsonite in Executive Silver with a handwritten sign on it promising a complete set of signed first edition Danielle Steel hardbacks inside. A steal at $300, suitcase included.

Still life with late 80's/early 90's. Johanna loved it.

But she only had eyes for Big Edie. The absolute and utter trashbeast technological abortion winking up cheekily at her from within a nest of vanished childhoods.

She’d driven all the way out into the golden calcified time-bubble of the Hudson Valley after the ephemeral promises of an estate sale. The people here had so much money they never had to grow or change or evolve past the approximate epoch of their children’s most precocious years. That’s how Johanna had gotten a Hasselblad for $90 and a fake phone number a couple of years ago at a fuck-Gam-Gam-just-get-rid-of-this-junk free-for-all in Stonybrook. You just crossed your eyes and hoped the kids were the type to tell everyone who never asked that social media was a disease and didn’t sully themselves with Google or eBay.

This was clearly the case on that late-May Ossining afternoon. The card balanced against Big Edie’s case read:

Does Not Work. $50 OBO.

Johanna Telle smiled in the perfect post-processed sun. The EDC-55 ED-Beta Camcorder retailed for a cool $7700 in 1987. Just over sixteen grand in 2015 funbucks. It could produce over 550 lines of resolution in an age where high definition was barely even a phrase. Automatic iris control, dual 2-3 inch precision CCD imaging, Fujinon f1.7 range macro zoom, on-the-fly audio/video editing, capable of recording in hi-fi stereo and most impressively for its time, native video playback. Angular black and matte silver bug-ugly design. The last glorious 13.5-kilogram gasp of the Betamax world, still in its hardcase shell, that particular shade of tan that meant Serious Business for the Terminally 80's Man.

In digital terms, Big Edie was prehistoric. Big Edie was fucking Cretaceous. If there was a camera set up on a tripod to record what happened when the primordial soup stopped being polite and started getting real, Big Edie would have been a top-tier choice for the discerning prosumer.

Big Edie was archaeology.

Johanna whipped her faded seafoam-green hair to one side and hefted that machine corpse onto her dark brown shoulder. She was comically heavy. The weight of a dead world, its concerns long quieted.

Johanna Telle, when she was paying attention, when she was happy, in those moments when she was most definitively Johanna, saw down to the deeps of things. It was all she was really good at, in her estimation. She saw that world, le regime ancien, projected onto the back of her skull like a drive-in theater screen.

When she was little, she’d sat criss-cross applesauce in her mother’s lap in a kind of mute blue nirvana, watching a crew send an unmanned submersible in a metal cage down the icy miles to find the HMS Titanic. Before her father left them, before they lost the house, before the hundred little fatal cuts of getting from one end of childhood to the other. Long beams of light broke the black water of forgetting and scattered across that ghostly bow and found what had been lost. Impossibly lost. Forever. Johanna had barely been able to breathe. She knew herself then, in that terrifying way you know things when you are small. The warmth of her mother’s chest rose and fell behind her, an entire universe of protection and presence. A gentle little prick of the aquamarine pendant she always wore against Johanna’s scalp. The familiar smell of Pink Window, her mother’s signature Red Door knockoff, pulsing off her clavicle. The tinny voice of a rich man floating out of the blue ocean. Later, when the neighborhood kids played games on their unforgivably Spielbergian suburban streets, hollering I’m the Incredible Hulk or I’m the Pink Ranger or I’m Tenderheart Bear, Johanna would call out something nominally culturally appropriate but whisper the truth to herself, which never changed, no matter the game or the streets: I am the exterior lighting array on Robert Ballard’s Argo ROV unit.

Johanna put her eye to Big Edie’s viewfinder. The black cup pocked gently against her cheekbone. Such a nice feeling. Like holding a girl’s hand for the first time. She stared into inert darkness.

“It only takes these weird old tapes,” someone said from outside Edie’s warm lightless innards. A friendly, well-hydrated, nicely-brought-up male voice, full of solicitude, exhausted, heartbroken, hanging in there, like the orange kitten in the old poster.

Johanna didn’t look up. She amused herself picturing the kitten putting its paws on its hips and whistling regretfully through its sharp teeth at the $50 OBO paperweight before them. She suppressed her not-very-inner snob. Yes, dear, ED Super Beta II and III series cassettes. You can still get them, anywhere between $35 and $50 a pop. You can still get anything if you don’t care what it costs.

“There’s one stuck in there. Made a nasty sound when I tried to lever it out. I don’t have any others, though. Dad didn’t stick with this one for very long. I put his digital cameras around by the hydrangeas, way better. You want me to show you?”

“Does it turn on?”

“Nope. Well, not unless it’s a Tuesday and the moon is in Pisces and you’re standing on one foot or some shit. I keep the battery charged up, though. I heard you have to do that or it degrades. I’m Jeff, by the way.”

Of course you are. That’s what they always name soft orange kittens like you.

Johanna’s fingers slid down Big Edie’s flank and found the raised plastic goose-pimple that marked the power button as easily as a practiced accordionist settling onto C Major. She pointed the lens at the bereaved child of its former owner and hit the big red square.

A firehose of light white-watered through the generous 1.5” black and white viewfinder into her cerebral cortex. In the middle of it stood, not the hang in there kitten, but a tall handsome guy in his late twenties or early thirties. Big emotive eyes, tennis shorts, dark polo shirt, with a shimmer of beard-stubble six or seven hours deep, hair the cut and style of debate team and law school and firm handshakes and warm decades ahead in a secure center-right Senate seat.

A shard of glass punched through his chest. Black monochrome blood sheeted down over his shorts and his long, grey, summer-muscled legs. His neck whipped hard to the side, like he’d suddenly seen an old girlfriend and was about to call her name, but when he opened his mouth, a jet of dark liquid spurted onto the quilt of his so-loved childhood clothes. It cut across the white block-print Pretenders in a clean spattered line.

“What’s the verdict?” Jeff asked. That voice like a clean fingernail cut through Johanna’s attention. She yanked her face up off the viewfinder. Jeff’s fine blond eyebrows arched curiously before her in full color, waiting to find out if that old Betamax monster still had juice. If the moon was, in fact, in Pisces. He shoved his hands in the pockets of a paint-splattered pair of jeans.

Johanna glanced back down into Big Edie’s gullet. It was waiting down there, that death-image of silver and ichor.

“I like your shirt,” she said. The walls of her throat stuck together. Inside the camera, that charcoal polo dripped silent-film blood onto his new white tennis shoes. Outside, he wore a slim-cut celery-green tee with Newport Folk Festival 2010 stamped across his chest in a faux-rustic font. She could look back and forth between them. Back and forth. Black and white. Color. Black and white. Grey and green. Green and grey. And wet, dripping jet-onyx blood. All that faded thermochromicity blazing back onto the scene to react with the not live but definitely Memorex heat-death of Jeff from Ossining.

Big Edie went down for the count.

The image guttered out like a pilot light, a sound both grinding and whining shook through her, and she rather ungracefully peaced out.

“$30?”

“All yours,” Jeff grinned.

He took Johanna Telle’s money and strode off across the mown lawn, through the labyrinth of his late father’s obsessions, the sun on his shoulders as though it would never leave him.

Aliasing

It’s much easier to pry a stuck tape out of a machine when you’re not that bothered if you break it. Get a screwdriver and a Sharpie and believe in yourself. It came free with significant but impotent protest, trailing a tangled mess of ropy ED Supra Beta II behind it. Johanna wound the mistreated tape back through the cartridge with the pen the way kids would never do again, and she would have been perfectly content for the rest of her days on this maudlin, over-saturated planet if she could have said the stupid suburban sun got in her eyes and that’s all she really saw.

But Betamax tells no lies.

Johanna sat on the floor of her apartment like the kid from Poltergeist all grown up, heavily medicated, and a cog in the gig economy. A massive daisy chain of converter cables hooked Big Edie up to the living room flatscreen, each one coaxing the signal five or six years forward from 1987 to the slick shiny present day.

The reflected video image washed her face in color. A forgotten pleasure, like the taste of ancient Egyptian beer. You used to always see your shot in black and white when you looked through the viewfinder. You only got to see the colors when you reviewed the footage. Inside the camera was another planet. Color was a side effect of traveling from that world to this one. Step from Kansas into Oz, cross your fingers for fidelity, saturation, hue, hope those shoes still look as red as they did before you crammed them through a lens.

So. No more black and white artsy viewfinder image. Now it was straight outta Kodachrome. But this tape sat in Big Edie’s time-out box for thirty years. Chromatic degradation slipped and popped all over the image, sickly green blooms, hot orange halos, compression artefacts, uncanny edging that rimmed this and that object in weird chemical colors.

Johanna watched a factory-direct 70's mustache-dad with tennis socks up to God’s chin helping his small, yet unmistakably Jeff, son unwrap a record player on Christmas morning. Big Edie came standard automatic fade-in and fade-out, so everything transitioned elegantly, creating a subtle sense of deliberate editing where none truly existed. Fade to black, then a slow melt into a hopeless lacrosse game, small children running nowhere, hitting each other with sticks too big for them to hold properly.

Another bloom of darkness.

A school play, reedy, vulnerable pre-adolescent Jeff dressed as a cloud fringed with silver tinsel rain, twirling and twirling, technique-free, his arms stretched out. Then another and Johanna presumed this was Jeff’s mother, the maker of the T-shirt quilt, 80% Diane Keaton, 20% Shelley Duvall, a white-wine flush on her cheeks, smiling up at the man with the camera in frank, unguarded affection and not a little desire, her shoulders bare above a strapless summer dress the color of the hydrangeas she probably hadn’t even planted yet.

Such wildly un-special moments, clichés of heart-beggaring authenticity, carefully cut out of the flow of time and pasted into the future, selected for immortality for no particular reason, random access memories transfigured into light that cannot die—but can get stuck in a metal cage for want of a Sharpie and a flathead.

Time travel. The only real time travel, unnoticed and uncredited because it was so unbearably slow. In the present, you use this astonishing machine to freeze the past. And you send it to the future. One second per second.

The image cut to black and then it was 2015 and Jeff selling off a lifetime of his father’s lovingly dragon-hoarded objets d’American masculinity. Standing on a lawn with catalogue-ready light and dark green stripes in the grass. Talking not to the man who produced and directed his childhood but to Johanna. She can hear her own voice on the recording.

Does it turn on?

He makes a joke about the moon and tells her his name. Sitting alone in the dark, Johanna realizes he was flirting with her, and she has a second to wonder what his mustached father’s name was before the glass smashes through his sternum again and blood streams down to soak a just out-of-frame blanket stitched together from mass-marketed polyester and lost time.

Johanna ran the tape back. Then she watched it again.

Back. And again.

She was still doing it when the morning broke into her apartment without announcing itself.

Five weeks later, she’ll be down to two or three run-throughs a day. An article will swim across her feed.

Late Night Four-Car Pile Up on I-84 Leaves Two Dead, Seven Injured.

Jeffrey Havemeyer of Westchester County, NY, 34, remains in critical care.

Johanna will feel nothing. She’s seen it a thousand times already.

Overclocking

“Sit there,” Johanna tells her cousin’s daughter, pointing at a cracked leather barstool.

Anika is nineteen, in her second year at Columbia. She is everything Johanna is not: mentally stable, tall, good hair, vegan, grounded by parental encouragement and affection, prone to healthy relationships, able to commit to an exercise regimen. The twenty-first-century girl. Johanna has always found her fascinating. Scientifically. It’s like hanging out with an alien. Your whole ecosystem is based in carbon and abandonment and trash, and you just always assumed those were the essential building blocks of life, but it turns out they’re totally unnecessary and sentient beings can just as well be made out of palladium and love and sensible choices instead, look at this actual good person right here, you have the same nose.

Johanna’s arthritic Great Dane watches them coolly from his massive fluffy bed.

“Your hair looks like a badger,” Anika says.

It’s been some time since Ossining and quilt and the hydrangeas and what Johanna has come to think of as the glitch. Technical difficulties. Runtime error. It’s late summer. Sweat darkens Anika’s hairline under the expected carefully messy topknot. The boroughs are one long incessant screech of twelve million window-mounted air conditioners and the smell of warm garbage bags, round and shiny on every doorstep.

Seafoam green softheart mermaid look out; icicle-white collarbone-length brutalist bob with black tips in.

“I like to think of it as ermine. You know, royal cloaks and all that.”

“Did you know ermines are just regular stoats with their winter coats on?” Anika helpfully informs her. “Not special at all. Fancy weasels. Glam weasels.”

“That’s perfect. I myself am a decidedly unspecial glam weasel.”

Johanna adjusts the tripod under Big Edie. It took Johanna weeks to gut the old girl, order parts, and convince her that modern life truly was worth living. Nothing really wrong with her at all, other than the audio-visual equivalent of osteoporosis and a bad back. Johanna loved the work. Data was invisible now. Stored on sand, transferred on air, transcending physical form. Light talking to light. But not Big Edie. She was very visible. Gross and awkward and tangible. The girl would never be good as new again. But she was good enough.

“No you’re not, you’re amazing,” Anika says softly, and Johanna can hear the little girl she’s known in that grown-up, gonna-save-the-world-with-believing-it-can-be-saved voice.

Johanna ignores this obvious lie.

They’ve already done a few shots with the Hasselblad, the Leica, a couple with her phone. She doesn’t really know why she’s putting on a show. Anika wouldn’t question just sitting in front of an old Betamax camcorder for a few minutes and then heading off for Hungarian pastries and a good full-body-cleanse political rant. But it feels important that today has the appearance of a plausibly professional kind of thing. Not that Johanna is using her.

Which she is.

Johanna doesn’t have access to a lot of people at the moment. They find her offputting. Not user-friendly. An unintuitive interface. Carbon-based.

“Can you let the blinds down halfway?” she asks.

Anika does. Slats of August light and dark slash down her face and torso (like glass slicing through skin) like an old pre-lapsarian end-of-programming test screen. It would be a gorgeous shot even if the shot was the point.

“I mean it. This apartment, your work. Margot. Mapplethorpe.” The Great Dane’s floppy black ears perk up at the sound of his name. “I love it here. You’re living the dream.”

Johanna hesitates with her forefinger over the record button. God, she remembers how much she hated it when people told her college wasn’t the real world and she had no idea what it was like out there, as if studying and working full-time wasn’t more work and less fun than the barren salt flats of adulthood between your twenties and death. But she wanted badly to shovel the same shit for Anika now. The only way you could look at this place and see a dream was through a lens that had never touched reality.

This is fine, she tells herself. The Havemeyer Glitch is not a thing. Just a shill for Big Coincidence. It’s not like he died. And besides, nothing bad can ever happen to Anika. She is a palladium-based life form. So this is fine. It’s for science. You will take beautiful footage of your beautiful niece-once-removed, and buy her a walnut kolachi, and she will tell her mother what a nice time she had.

“Margot moved out last week,” Johanna says without emotion. Margot moved out three months ago. She left a purple brush in the bathroom. Long black hair still tangled up in it. Johanna can’t bring herself to move the last cells of Margot that exist in proximity to Johanna’s cells.

“Oh,” Anika replies gently. “So that’s why you changed your hair.”

Johanna hits record.

For eighty-seven seconds, the only thing Big Edie has to say is that Anika Telle was born for the camera, a portrait of her generation, artlessly artful, a corkscrew of loose dark hair hanging forward to catch the light, one grey bare leg tucked up beneath a billowy sack dress with small elephants printed on it, the other not quite long enough to touch the peeling floor. Her expression genuinely, infinitely, but entirely temporarily sad for the misfortunes of someone else. See? This is fine. Tell her to say something. Recite Shakespeare. Or Seinfeld.

Deep in Big Edie’s viewfinder, Anika’s left eye crumples in a wet gush of pearl and black. Her head rockets back, shrouded in mist. She coughs, gags, tears streaming from her remaining eye. She’s still sitting on the barstool in Johanna’s apartment with silvery botanical wallpaper behind her, the tall window, the August sun, the half-drawn blinds. But the Anika in the camera wears black leggings, a puffy black winter coat, a black surgical mask. White duct tape criss-crosses the back of her jacket to form the words: #NOJUSTICE. She’s older, the lingering baby softness in her jaw gone, her hair a buzzed undercut. The cords on her neck stand out as she runs, her face ruined, blind with pain, stumbling, looking over her shoulder as she bolts on the video feed from one end of the living room to the other. Out of nothing, a cop in riot gear steps out of Johanna’s kitchenette, grabs the back of Anika’s skull in one hand and shoves her down. Anika-in-black falls to her knees, sobbing, puking into her mask, holding one hand to the hole where her eye used to be, screaming silently into Johanna’s (Margot’s) red paisley rug.

Johanna yanks her head up out of the sucking desaturated pit of the camera.

Mapplethorpe snores loudly. Trucks beep in reverse outside the apartment building. Anika sighs softly, bored but not rude. She scratches a mosquito bite on her knee. “I really am sorry. I liked Margot. She was good for you, I think. Got you out of the house.”

All the blood has either rushed to or drained from Johanna’s head. She can’t tell which. All she can hear or feel is her own pulse slamming itself against her eardrums.

“Do you … want me to do something?” Anika asks uncertainly.

Johanna shuts the camera down quickly. The image at the bottom of the viewfinder clicks out of existence. She tries to talk, but there’s no talk to be found. Just the burning hot green-on-red afterimage of a crystal brown eye collapsing in its socket, over and over.

“Come on, Auntie J,” Anika says finally, hopping lightly off the stool and bending down, scratching Mapplethorpe between his spotted shoulder blades. “Dinner’s on me. Malaysian okay? Maps can have a curry puff, can’t you, baby?”

Test Pattern

An experiment that cannot be repeated is evidence of nothing.

Johanna establishes a beachhead in Owl’s Head Park. Back supported by a black walnut tree. Bare toes clenched in a sea of tiny white flowers and clover-infiltrated grass. Big Edie propped against her breastbone, lens stabilized by knees on either side. Mapplethorpe’s yellow lead loops around her ankle, but the big fellow has long passed his days of running off after unsuspecting children. He munches philosophically on a pricey organic broth-basted rawhide shaped like a braided ring.

She finds a target, hits the button, rolls footage for a few minutes, tracking them as they throw frisbees for far-inferior dogs or kick soccer balls or kiss on picnic blankets or drag giant wooden chess pieces across a giant board or just walk aimlessly, whatever Saturday afternoon moves them to do. She doesn’t look through the viewfinder into that hellworld of black and white. Just presses buttons.

Turn it on.

Shut it off.

Find someone new.

Repeat.

She chooses at random. No more Anikas. No one is special, or unspecial. It doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like. They’re just data. That man, that woman, that child, that set of twin babies, those skaters, that guy sleeping with a James Patterson book over his eyes. Compressed data to be converted later.

Johanna’s brain checks out and begins a speed run through the five stages of grief over the death of a reliable reality. Denial: you’re losing it, change up your medication, girl, it’s not real, it’s not anything, just a stupid old camera that you bought because you are stupid, at best it’s old footage coming through on an old tape.

Stop recording. New person. Girl in green skinny jeans with a sketchbook.

Anger: fuck this, fuck you, fuck estate sales, fuck Robert Ballard, fuck the Columbia School of Law, fuck sad elephant print fabric, fuck hydrangeas, fuck curry puffs that make my dog poop out his soul, fuck Betamax you dumb drooling obsolete idiot tech, fuck me, fuck my dad, fuck Jeff Havemeyer’s dad, fuck I-84, fuck Margot, fuck the linear flow of time, fuck everything, life is garbage and this is proof. Why is this happening to me?

Stop. Scan. Record. Lanky white-dude dreds fuckboy in a vest but no shirt.

Depression: Of course it’s happening to me, because I am garbage and this is proof, and whatever cosmic hazmat disposal dump site got its back end trapped in my camera would only open the gates to a warped maladjust like me.

Stop. Scan. Record. Old man on the bench with god-tier eyebrows and a yellow plastic sunflower in his lapel.

Bargaining: I’ll just watch this back tonight and whatever happens, afterward I’ll tip Big Edie in the bin and never tell anyone. And then I will straighten up and clean my apartment and go on Tinder and eat leafy greens five times a day and see Anika more often and make amends and buy an exercise bike. Okay, Elder AV Club Gods? Deal?

Stop. Scan. Record. Kid on a dirt bike with (elephants) puffins on her dress.

Acceptance.

Acceptance.

Acceptance is Johanna sitting cross-legged (criss-cross applesauce) on Mapplethorpe’s bed while he snoozes jowlfully on the couch. She braces herself for red slicks of gore and bone. For Jeff and Anika redux. Once is luck, two is coincidence, three is a pattern … or at least time to wake up and smell what your inevitable descent into psychosis is cooking.

But that’s not what Big Edie has for her.

Not entirely, anyway.

Entropic Coding

Gloppy August sunlight washes out the image. Everything is overexposed, too bright, unforgiving. His thin chest rises and falls with his breath. He watches a small blue and white bird hop nervously down the iron rail of his park bench. A cerulean warbler, Johanna notes with supreme irrelevance. Closer to him, then further away, then close again. He crumbles a crust of brown bread on his tweedy knee and waits knowingly. This goes on long enough that Johanna starts to relax. It isn’t going to happen again. The bird will give in, and eat, and Johanna’s life will resume the program already in progress.

Then the sunlight cools, then it darkens, then it is a dim nothing-watt lamp with a tacky early 60's cherry pattern on the shade. The branches of black oak and Dutch elm in Owl’s Head Park still reach into the frame like kids who’ve spotted a news crew, showing off in the background, dying to get on TV. But the bench and the octogenarian perched on it have become a mustard-colored corduroy sofa and a young man with his head in his hands. Vaguely Scandinavian mid-century wooden end tables bookend the couch. A clock with thin brass spikes radiating out around it ticks over a clearly decorative fireplace. Above the man hangs a proto-Bob Ross painting of standard-issue lake/pines/mountain/lonely boat in a dizzying array of shades from brown to brown. Children’s toys cover the floor. At least one boy and one girl. Maybe more. Wooden blocks, a rocking horse with yellow yarn hair, green plastic army men. Donald Duck and Bugs Bunny and Snoopy staring lifelessly at the ceiling in a triple rictus of frozen grimaces. A book of Connie Francis paper dolls with most of the smiling valium-glazed Connies already carefully cut out hiding under the formica coffee table. A Funflowers Vac-U-Form Maker-Pak Johanna recognizes from a box of crap her grandmother let her play with the year they had to live with her because, no matter how she tried to pretend it was an adventure, her mother had no options left. You squeezed out perfumed lucite goo into molds and made “Daffy Dills” and “Tuffy Tulips” that looked like crystals in the sun until you got bored and broke a vase just to get some attention. A Spirograph and stacks of spiralled paper, scattered across the avocado shag carpet like ticker tape after the parade has gone. Like mystic offerings before the massive, inert cabinet television that probably weighs more than everyone who lives here put together. The kinds of toys you lift off a flea market shelf with joy and reverence, despite the peeling paint and chipped edges and missing vital organs.

But these are all new.

A wind moves through Owl’s Head Park and dappled shadows in the jaundiced light of the living room move across the man, the sofa, the table, the TV, the toys, the cherry lampshade.

The man on the yellow sofa looks up.

He is so young. Perhaps thirty-five, perhaps not even that. His incredible, architectural eyebrows are dark brown now; he has all his hair. He’s still wearing a suit, but this one has wide lapels, no tie, a plaid pattern that will crown endcaps in Goodwill until the sun burns out. He looks exhausted. Someone’s been smoking all night and it was probably him. maybe not just him. Butts overflow a pink pearlescent ashtray under the cherry lamp. About a third have frosted coral lipstick prints glowing on their filters, each one fainter than the last.

Johanna braces herself for the shard of glass or the ruination of his eye or gunshot or gas leak, whatever is about to break this poor soul in half. Her heart rate spins up into the rhythm of a jet propeller carrying her into nothing and nowhere. Her stomach muscles clench for impact.

But: the man gets up. Wipes his palms on his wrinkled pants. Walks across the room. Stops. Bends down to pull one perfect yellow Vac-U-Form Funflower out of the pile of misshapen attempts. Slides it into his lapel. The man leaves the house. He closes the door behind him so gently it doesn’t even click. No sound at all until his car engine starts outside, and then that’s gone too.

In the margins of the image, the cerulean warbler flies off with a cry. The shadow of his little body flickers over the empty room.

Fade out.

Fade in on the girl in the green skinny jeans and peasant blouse lying with her sketchbook under the willow tree.

Johanna makes it five people and ten minutes sixteen seconds deep by the overlarge alarm-clock-style timestamp before she scrambles off the dog bed and shuts the whole rig off.

An hour later, she gets out of bed and pads back to the living room on tiptoe, as if afraid to wake Margot’s brush. Blue light washes her cheeks and her hands and her walls and Johanna doesn’t move until it’s over.

Then she hits rewind and starts over from the beginning.

Image Burn

Mapplethorpe makes it another year before turning his creaky back on that big dog life. Since Johanna got to keep him through the quiet post-apocalypse of their union, they agreed Margot could have his ashes.

She looks the same. Just the same. As if Margot stepped out of the day she left and into today with no interruption in continuity. Johanna knows that dress, the navy blue vintagey thing with white piping and a little too much room in the torso, but that she refused to take in or give up on, because at thirty-seven, she might still have some growing left in her.

“Your hair,” Margot says softly. She steps gingerly over the map of cables and playback devices that have replaced living breathing life for Johanna and sits uncomfortably in the old bisque-colored armchair (falls asleep re-reading Harry Potter in it during a snowstorm five years ago; Johanna drapes a crocheted blanket over her and squeezes the bare foot hanging over the overstuffed arm gently, fondly). She sits as though she is trying to hover, as thought it might burn her to stay.

“What about my hair?”

“It’s … shocking.”

“It’s my hair.”

“I assumed you would have gone puce or checkerboard by now. Your actual hair hasn’t seen the light of day since high school as far as I know.”

Johanna only dimly recalls that she used to care about things like wilding her hair. It seems like a fact about a stranger. Like something she would see on Big Edie and use to pinpoint a date.

They make small talk. Margot is leaving the city soon. She’s bought a house in Providence with her wife, two blows Johanna absorbs expressionlessly as a cascade of words concerning Victorian architectural flourishes and small, private ceremonies patter down around her ears like raindrops. Mrs. Margot was apparently called Juniper, because of course she was, bet you call her June-bug too, gross. She was joining the obstetrics team at Rhode Island Hospital. Margot would teach very well-scrubbed scions of the even-better scrubbed at a private prep academy in the fall. Plant heirloom squash. Adopt three-legged rescue Labradors.

What are Johanna’s plans? If she has a gallery show before September, Margot would love to come. Anyone new in her life? How is Anika?

Well, Marge, I plan to shoot weddings and graduations and bar mitzvahs in which the cakes have significantly more artistic value than my entire self until I die alone pitched face-first into my takeout massaman with no dog and no stomach lining and no friends except a magic camera, can I get you a 40%-off Pinnacle buttered-popcorn-flavor vodka straight up, because that’s where I am right now.

But she doesn’t say that. She would never say that.

Instead, she decides to ruin Margot’s life. And in that moment, she genuinely believes it’ll work.

“Can I show you something?” Johanna says.

“Of course. Always.” Margot brushes her hair out of her eyes, now and a hundred thousand times in that chair, in this light. “New work?” Miss M was always her first audience, first viewer, the only other eye she trusted.

“Sort of. Mostly I just want you to tell me I’m not crazy.” And she doesn’t realize how entirely true that is until it’s out of her mouth and loosed on the dusty air.

Margot frowns. “You don’t look well. I didn’t want to say. Are you still drinking?”

Johanna laughs bitterly as she flips through the input options on the flatscreen. “Why would I not be drinking? Drink is friend.” She shoves delivery detritus off the couch to make a space: receipts, plastic bags, black takeout containers, breath mints and fortune cookies and after-dinner toffees.

And they watch together. Side by side. Just the same. Like it is before. Like she will pick up her purple brush again tonight and run it through her hair and come to bed and tomorrow will be years ago and the film of them will run forward from the splice.

Rather, Margot watches. And Johanna watches Margot.

The colors waver on her face like she’s underwater, staring up at the parade of strangers fading in and out before her.

The old man/young man on the park bench and the mustard-corduroy sofa.

The girl in the green skinny jeans under the willow and sitting at a bistro table with fake electronic candles as a man walks in, says her name uncertainly, kisses her cheek, orders an old-fashioned.

The guy with white-boy dreds and a vest with no shirt steps off a bike path and into a gorgeous apartment in no way decorated by a man who would wear a vest with no shirt even once, all minimalist monochrome, and a woman in pajama pants and jade chip earrings sobbing get out get out not one more minute I’m done get out.

A kid in a Spider-Man hoodie swinging upside down from a jungle gym and lying on his couch, a teenager, playing Madden on XBox, yelling to an invisible mother that he’ll mow the lawn, yeah yeah, just one more game.

And worse. A boy’s face fades into his forties on the subway. He asks why he’s being pulled over. A gash blooms on his beautiful brown neck. A student drinking alone in a bar ages fifteen years and loses twenty pounds between sips of house red. She waits for someone with frantic energy and when somebody shows up, gives her a little wax paper packet, leaves her to it, her fingers start to turn the color of corpses on the wine glass. A volunteer museum docent grows red rings and bags around his eyes but loses his wrinkles. Somewhere between the Ancient Greeks and Mesopotamian pottery, gets out of a Camry, locks it, and runs toward an appointment, wholly unseeing the baby in the backseat, asleep in a puffy lavender knitted hat.

“What is this?” Margot says. “Glitch art? Datamoshing? Like Planes and Jacquemin? What program did you use? It’s really seamless.”

“No program.”

“What do you mean ‘no program’? This is a practical effect?” Johanna chuckles mirthlessly. The screen shimmers. “Where did you find all these actors?”

“No, look, you’re not seeing. You have to look. The calendar in the apartment. The clothes the girl in the bistro is wearing. Do you recognize any of the players in that Madden game?”

“You know I don’t care about sports. I wouldn’t recognize any player’s name five minutes after I heard it.”

“Okay, fine. The song on the radio when the guy gets stuck in traffic.” She pauses it, waits for Margot to catch up, to see the faint cursive 2026-At-A-Glance calendar on the inside of the pantry door in that perfect sleek flat, the unfamiliar controls on the car dash. “I’ve never heard that song. You’ve never heard that song. Because that song doesn’t exist, on any service, in any catalogue, anywhere.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Come on, you couldn’t possibly know that for certain, Jo.”

But Margot doesn’t see. Margot isn’t Robert Ballard’s submersible lighting array. She doesn’t know how to crawl into an image and live there. What she does glimpse in Johanna’s pleading eyes is the weight of time. Time she has spent searching for these things, for connections, hoping, honestly hoping, to find that song buried on some indie compilation CD with some revoltingly photoshopped jacket art and a discount sticker. And a thousand other objects like it. Books on televisions, limited edition toys, tie-widths, license plates, worse, more scattered, atomized, randomized information that never coalesced into anything but Johanna’s increasing silence and solitude. She vibrates so intensely it looks like she is sitting still.

And so, slowly, knowing how it sounds, hating how it sounds, Johanna explains about Big Edie as more strange moments unfold before the not-really-that-long-lost love of her life; naked bodies, and there are a lot of them, in embraces violent and lovely or both or neither, strangers meeting, over and over, in different clothes, different hairstyles, different seasons, a child abandoned in an airport in Reno, calling for her mother, surrounded by slot machines ringing in cherries and oranges, tears rolling down her face. And at the end of the reel, Jeff and his glass heart, Anika and her shattered eye, the long staircase into images that has become Johanna’s life.

Margot says nothing for some time. It is a terrible, sour nothing that lingers far too long in the air between them.

“So you think your camera shows … what? Death?”

“Maybe. Sometimes. But not always, not even often, really.”

“Then what if not that? The future? Like the calendar.”

“That’s closer, I think. Better. But at least a third of them are the past.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, the man in the living room is 1970. You can tell by the Updike book on top of the TV. That was the first edition cover, and it’s pristine. You can figure it out, sometimes. If you care about these things. If you know too much about garbage. And you know I know too much about garbage, M.”

Margot smiles faintly, but it is very faint.

“But also I went back to the park and talked to the guy. His name is Antony.” Johanna scratches at the back of her hand. “Antony left his family. In 1970. Just up and walked out on Grace, Walt, Irene, and Amelia, who he’d married when she was fucking seventeen. The proverbial running out for a pack of cigarettes. Left them like they were just … a skin he was molting.”

Margot looks for a way to shut it off, but Johanna doesn’t help her find it. Why should Margot get to turn away from it? Why should she escape?

“Fine,” she says coldly. “What is it then?”

Johanna takes a deep breath. “So whenever you transfer or transmit or store data, especially a lot of data, like audio or video or both, it gets compressed, and in the process, you lose a little bit of it. Maybe a lot, like MP3s were always straight garbage compactors for sound. Maybe only a little bit. Maybe so little you wouldn’t even notice. But in order to fit the storage device or the bandwidth, in order to save information or share it, you have to … you have to harm it. And that creates distortion. Halos. Noise. Warping. Busy regions in the image. Blocky deformations called quilting, and visual echoes called ghosts. They’re called compression artefacts, and that’s … that’s what I think these are. Distortions created by the present and everything else getting compressed, crushed into one stream. Halos and noise and warps and quilts and ghosts. A lot of words for damage. Just damage.

“But the answer is: I don’t really know what it does. Technically speaking, it’s a problem of parallax. Catastrophic parallax. A vast difference between the apparent object and the actual object. And for awhile, I thought it showed the worst day of your life. Which, odds are, for some percentage of people, is going to be the day you die. But not for everyone. Not for Antony. See, nothing ever went right for him after he left. Two more divorces and a dried-up retirement fund. Grandkids he isn’t allowed to meet. Lung cancer he picked up working a big gorgeous free man’s HVAC repair shop. But it took him almost his whole life to understand any of it. To process where he fucked up. What he lost when he thought he was barreling down the highway to a big gorgeous free man’s life. Big Edie knew it in an instant. She had his number faster than a speeding therapist, and that number was 1970. So it seemed to make enough sense. When I shot old people, Big Edie usually spat out the past. Young people mostly turned up older on playback. The future. That kid playing Madden. Madden 23, to be exact.” She points to him on the projection. The hole in his sock. The length of his hair. The name on the Patriots’ QB jersey.

“Do you actually expect me to believe your camera recorded something in 2023? Jo, come on. I’m really busy, and frankly, I’m not in the mood.”

“Just listen. Because then there was this. A wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel and Lucy Vaclavik.” She fast-forwards through scene after scene. Johanna can tell just the sheer number of them is starting to look bad on her, and the manic sizzle in her voice isn’t helping, but she can’t stop herself.

The creams and golds and pops of understated rose-shades of a high-end matrimonial spread flood the screen. The bride waves her lily-dripping bouquet in the air. The Hudson River throbs with sunset behind her. Her hair sparkles with carefully applied glitter. Eyeliner and brows that date her nuptials as surely as a library stamp. Her new husband, in a grey tux, bends down to kiss her expertly neutral-frosted lips and their unified families clap like a gentle river of approval. The picture flows smoothly to the edge of the frame. No ghostly picture-in-picture. No shadows cast from other places, other times.

Margot smiles politely. Johanna knows she is losing her (has lost her). “I don’t get it.”

“I didn’t either,” she confesses softly. “I shot this no differently than the others. But what you see is what I saw. What Big Edie saw. No parallax. No difference in images. I rolled tape and the wedding marched right through the lens and back out again and it was just a wedding, no more or less. Nothing else has been like that. And the next day we got right back to business-as-horrible. I couldn’t figure it out. Why was it special? What was different? The thing is … he killed her. It made the news for about thirty seconds in April. They found her in the woods in Connecticut. But, you know, hedge fund guys aren’t that good at forensics, even if they’re 100% current on all CSI franchises, so they caught him pretty fast. So maybe … maybe Big Edie doesn’t record the worst thing that ever happened to you. Maybe it’s something so much smaller than that. The moment when the worst thing that ever happens to you sees you coming. Turns toward you in the dark. I think, once she married him, he was always going to hurt her. Because that was in him, an egg or a seed or a tumor, whatever you want to call it, a future that no longer has the option of not happening. The flowchart flows until you meet that person at that conference and then there’s no more choose your own adventure, you’re going to fall in love and they’re going to bankrupt you or betray you or just … disappoint you until there’s nothing left but cynicism swirling around at the bottom of your heart like tea leaves. Or leave you in the woods in Connecticut. I don’t know, maybe it’s just a huge ugly regret machine. And mostly I will never understand these. What happened to the Madden kid or the girl in the bar or why getting stuck in traffic on that particular day was so important to that man’s whole trajectory, or any of them, because that stuff doesn’t come across the AP like Mrs. Vaclavik. They’re just moments, unconnected, pulled free of every other moment.”

The wedding fades out and the two women wince together as a man they do not know pushes a woman they have never met against a wall. Blood trickles down her temple where she hit a picture frame and she looks up at him with unbelieving eyes.

“Enough,” Margot says. She grabs the remote. Shuts it all down. Turns to Johanna and touches her face. Touches her. No one has touched Johanna in a year. It is an alien burn. It is Margot. It is the past and the future and death, stroking her hair and making enormous eyes at her while the constituent atoms of their dog look on from the coffee table.

“I miss you so much,” Johanna whispers, and wishes she could have thought of something better, more elegant, more memorable, but her need banishes pretty words.

“Don’t,” Margot answers with finality. The finality of Providence, Rhode Island and heirloom squash varietals and Harrington Preparatory School and June-Bug and poor Mapplethorpe in a box.

“What do you think?” She cannot help that either, the need for her approval, her regard, the perfect full absent moon of her gaze on Johanna’s work, Johanna’s self.

“Honey … I think you need help. This is … this is nothing, J. It’s a bunch of slice of life shots of nothing in particular and three or four gory jump-scares. You taped over some movie of the week with a lot of nonsense. And I’m supposed to believe it’s what, magic? It’s you stalking strangers. Listen to yourself. Catastrophic parallax? You’re manic, you need care.”

But Johanna can’t hear that. “Okay, but that’s just exactly what I mean. Do you know what catastrophe means? It’s Greek. It just means a turn. A turn down or a turn under or a turn inside. A turn away.”

“Jo, this is basically a conspiracy theorist wall and you’re unspooling more red yarn. This is not an X-File. This is you not coping. As usual.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’ll show you. Just stand over there, I’ll shoot you for a few minutes, a few seconds, and you’ll see.” And what will Big Edie see? Margot leaving that hot, humid, unretrievable night, Margot packing up boxes for Providence, Margot right now, right here, telling Johanna she will never believe her? One of them, maybe, surely. What else was even possible?

“No,” Margot whispers firmly. “You don’t need me. And you definitely don’t need to ride that camera any harder. I’m not going to enable this. You just need help, baby. Professional help. That’s all. I have to go.”

“Wait—”

“I have to go.”

There is a disentangling, a hurry to go back, edit, remove even the idea that physical contact was made. Margot excuses herself to splash water on her face and Johanna sees herself in the mute black monitor, sees as the ex-moon of her night sees: a woman so thin her clothes don’t fit, who smells sour, whose hair hangs limp and unwashed, whose face has grown lines it didn’t have even a few weeks ago, degradation lines, juddering through the frame of her face.

Margot emerges awkwardly, chagrined, her familiar elfin face not one cell altered from the day she left, her voice echoing against every surface: I’m so fucking lonely, Jo, I’m lonely even when you’re here. Especially when you’re here. I’m lonely right the fuck now and I’m looking at you.

She holds up something in her hand. Something purple. Something precious.

“Forgot my brush,” she says softly.

And then she is gone.

Ghosts

Johanna puts it off for a long time.

Why bother? What use could it possibly be to her? What use is any of this? You couldn’t do one single thing with it. The shot was too tight to predict the future. Fight crime? Protect the innocent? No. The camera crowded the subject, an unbearable idiot intimacy that took away everything but the seeing itself.

But eventually, she was always going to do it.

Johanna watches herself on the flatscreen. Watches herself get up in Big Edie’s face. Fix the focus, back up to sit on the same barstool that held Anika all those ages ago, shifting awkwardly as she looks into the lens like an actor breaking the fourth wall.

She knows what she will see. She is calmly certain of it. She shouldn’t have bothered running the tape back for this little screening. She saw it the first time, when she was seven. When she was thirsty in the middle of the night and padded quietly out of her room to get a glass of water. Out of her room and past her father sitting alone in his armchair, the moonlight crawling in after him through the window, grasping at him just before he shot himself and her life … turned. There never was any hope for her. She was turned before she got one foot in the world. It wouldn’t be a prettier shot now.

The compression artefact burns out from the center of her nuclear-powered selfie. Her stomach muscles seize up the way they do when she just barely reaches the tipping point of a roller coaster and enters freefall, down the rails into her old house, the rugs, the stain on the ceiling, the off-kilter hang of her bedroom door. Her father’s face. Her mother’s soft snoring from the bedroom.

But that’s not what she sees.

No moonlight. No armchair. No 3 a.m. drink of water in a seven-year-old girl’s hand. It is just Johanna, seafoam green hair and all, walking on the lovely light and dark stripes of green on a lawn in Ossining, in sunlight direct from a photography lab, approaching a quilt made of old T-shirts and the objects it carries. She bends down and presses her warm thumb into the patch of Hypercolor shirt, waiting for the fabric to change color, to unsuffer the damage of too-constant exposure to the very thing that it was designed to react with, which of course it will not, can not, ever again.

Johanna touches her own face on the television, that seafoam green girl who still had Margot and Mapplethorpe and opinons about everything, that familiar face, yet better-fed and better-loved and almost obscenely untroubled. An ancient version of herself, suddenly unearthed at the bottom of the sea.

Finite State Machine

Johanna puts Big Edie up on Craigslist, all her specs laid out like a personal ad: enjoys long walks on the beach, getting lost in the rain, composite video output, and turning everything you point me at into an avant-garde film-school short. If you can’t handle me being haunted, you don’t deserve me being way more work than the camera app on your phone.

She lowballs the price. She means it. She can change her artefact. She can let it all go, like Margot said. Get care. Be normal. Cope. She can take that moment in Ossining and make it nothing. Make it just another random memory on a compilation tape of the decades fading in and out, like the little tinseled cloud boy turning and turning on his forgotten school stage, meaningless, untethered, beautiful and sad and without connection to anything before or after.

And then anyone could. The boy who doesn’t want to mow the lawn. The girl meeting that man at the bistro. Lucy Vaclavik. Antony. Jeff. Anika. Anyone. The long white beam of the Argo’s exterior lighting array sweeping through that dark and missing the great hulking skeleton in the blackness, brushing gently by, just barely, just by inches, finding nothing but open water.

She doesn’t answer a single query.

Six months later, Johanna doesn’t even remember what it’s like to leave the house without Big Edie. The pockets of her original-issue carrying case bulge with new tapes.