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anashins · 2 months ago

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Too Hot for Snow

Pairing: Jaehyun x reader x Jaemin

Genre: angst, drama, romance, smut, love triangle

Word Count: 17k

Warnings: There are two smut scenes with the same mc, but nothing that really needs a tw. If you aren't here for him, you can skip them without missing out on anything tho! The other mc won't come short in terms of romance either, trust the process! But it's a bittersweet ending.

Summary: When your husband decides to file for divorce, you find yourself back in the arms of your first love. After all, things are different now and you're not kids anymore. But after a weekend lost in heavy snowfall and wishful dreams, you come to the painful realization that some people don't want to change, and others change too much.

A/N: I wrote this inspired by my own experience from a time where I had to decide between my situationship and now-bf. I thought I could pass this message on to ones who need this as well. Sometimes, we make the right decisions, sometimes the wrong ones. Sometimes, it's too late, sometimes it's not. (Also, I miss Jaehyun :( D-497)

Three years. That was how long your marriage had lasted.

“I want a divorce.”

These words shouldn’t surprise let alone hurt you - but they still did. After all, nothing could prepare you for the day your husband decided to divorce you.

You had talked about it before Jaehyun had moved out and mutually agreed on seriously thinking about an official separation while taking this six month break from each other.

Yet, hearing this final decision out loud from your own husband’s lips made it real. And even though it had been foreseeable and up to a point even inevitable, you hadn’t been prepared for reality, for the fact that now, this was indeed real.

Your husband didn’t want to be married to you any longer.

How was that even possible?

We walk down the aisle, thinking it will be forever. Donned in our white gown, the veil in our hair and the flower bouquet close to our chest, we are full of hope, light and love for the person who awaits us by the altar.

“Till death do us part” is considered the love line of our lives as we all desire to vow it one day to our partner.

But thinking about it, it sounds morbid. We stand in front of witnesses and promise to the heavens that it will literally take a terminal illness, a fatal accident or another forced act of nature to tear this love apart.

The painful truth is that it takes much, much less.

It often takes minimal profound, heroic and inspiring reasons for two married people to never look at each other again. Oftentimes, love doesn’t get torn apart by death. It gets torn apart by pent-up arguments, lack of commitment and the belief that everything you already own still isn’t enough.

“What about Kang Kang?”

Your throat was so dry, you didn’t even recognize your own voice, and Jaehyun ran his fingers through his hair. He had dark circles under his eyes and his clothes were wrinkled, hair completely askew.

There had been a time, back then in university, where on weekends, you both had looked like that, but for entirely different reasons. You were just staying at home, playing games and watching movies together. It had been the best and most carefree time of your lives. The strict business man Jaehyun had turned into throughout the years would have never left the house looking like this.

At this moment, you could see your past boyfriend in your husband again, who you had long deemed missing, and you wondered where you both had taken the wrong turn in your once fairytale-like relationship.

“He’s your dog on paper,” Jaehyun said nearly matter-of-factly. “You can keep Kang Kang.”

You bit into your bottom lip, so hard that you swore you could nearly taste something metallic. “Is this your final decision?”

In the break of the second that he needed to answer, you grew hopeful again. Hopeful that your husband would admit this decision was wrong, that he wanted to work on things for you two to be happy again.

Because this was the conclusion you had come to last night. You didn’t want a divorce, you didn’t want to give this all up. You wanted your little family, you wanted your husband and your dog, and children of your own in the future.

But instead, Jaehyun said with a tired, but determined voice,

“It’s my final decision.”

____

If Jaehyun were a season, he’d be summer.

He was the feeling of getting woken up by sunshine tickling the tip of your nose. He was the salt on your skin when you emerged from the sea, the sand beneath your toes and the water dripping from your hair tips. He was the shade under a tree on sweltering days and flowers blooming in all colors.

He was everything good, fair and bright.

… Until summer vanished and you were left alone when seasons changed. It didn’t only become clear by change in weather, but also by the fact that Jaehyun had taken every last piece of himself out of your once shared apartment.

By the next week, he had officially filed for divorce.

Summer had come to an end.

____

If Jaemin were a season, he’d be winter.

He was the feeling of thick sweaters when you got dressed on a cold day. He was the sound of snow crunching under your boots, the cup of hot chocolate you drank while watching the icebound lake. He was the snowstorm that came overnight and locked you in, causing chaos and destruction.

Jaemin was charming, tempting and dangerous.

But who, after a hot, sweltering summer, had never not anticipated a beautiful winter wonderland?

Luckily, winter came early that year.

____

“Why are you calling me at this hour?”

You stared at the skyline stretching in front of you. The few cars passing by were only recognizable by their headlights, but apart from that as well as a handful of windows reflecting some light in the building across from you, it was a quiet and dark night, the clock showing 3am.

“Why are you picking up?” you asked.

A light hearted laughter that made your heart jump followed. “I will always pick up when you call, you know that.”

“I know.”

A beat of silence passed by as you opened the balcony door and stepped outside, closing it again behind you. You turned your head to the sky and watched the moon, and you knew Jaemin was doing the same right now.

“Did you already sign and send out the papers?” Jaemin questioned.

“Yes,” you answered, and as you spoke, you could see a small cloud forming in front of your face. “They are at my lawyer’s now to get checked. So perhaps, by next week, his lawyer will get them and send them out to him to sign too. Then, I’ll be a divorcée.”

“Don’t use that word.”

“Why not?”

“It sounds like you’ll be a lonely, sad woman.”

“Well, if anything, I’ll be a lonely, sad dog-mom.” Your gaze wandered aside to the balcony door from where you could see Kang Kang sleeping peacefully on this dog bed in the very corner of the living room.

“You’re neither going to be a lonely, sad woman nor a lonely, sad dog-mom. You’re going to be free. You should be happy.”

“I can only be happy with you.”

Jaemin let out a chuckle that came in unison with a cool winter breeze grazing your skin, and only now you noticed how icy it actually was outside, only dressed in your pajamas and a bathrobe. But right now, you didn’t mind the cold. You only tried to remember the last time you had felt so… like Jaemin had said… happy.

It had been half a year since Jaehyun had come to you to file for a divorce and already a full year since you had actually started living in separation. That was enough time to move forward when you had been long unhappy before.

You could finally quit pretending, quit fighting, quit caring. You had finally reconnected with the man you had always referred to as your first love, willing to start all over again with him.

Then why, when you looked at the night sky, the only thing your mind wandered back to was still the night Jaehyun had proposed to you?

Back then, he had just graduated from university and you had been working in your job for two years already. He had saved up all the money that he had earned while being enlisted to buy you the perfect engagement ring that was now kept hidden in your drawer along with the wedding band. A very beautiful ring that had once been a symbol for a very beautiful relationship.

His proposal had taken place under the night sky too, in privacy like you had wished for, with only the moon and stars as witnesses. It had hurt to look at the night sky for a very long time after your separation. But it didn’t anymore now, it was more of a nostalgic feeling.

As though Jaemin could read your thoughts, he said, “Don’t worry, when we get married, we don’t have to go through a divorce, I’ll get you an even more striking ring.”

“Stop joking.”

“I’m not joking,” he obliged. “I mean it.”

“Jaemin…” You swallowed, hard. “What are you even saying?”

“I’m saying,” you overheard him taking a deep breather, “if I had done things right the first time, we would have stayed together after high school and you would have gotten married to me instead, and you wouldn’t need to go through all this now.”

You both knew that this wasn’t true.

There had been grave things that had led to the downfall of your first relationship and you into the arms of your soon-to-be ex-husband. Things that had been totally out of your might to control as you had been so young. But that was long in the past and you had both grown enough as people to pick up where you had left off and do it better this time.

After all, Jaemin was your first love. That meant something, that was something special.

You sighed. “We were only kids. But now we’re adults. We now have the chance to do it better than back then, Jaemin, and that means to always be honest with each other.”

“I mean every word I said.”

You felt your heart turn heavy. “But for me, it means that I don’t think I will be ready to get married again in the next few years. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about that.” His light-hearted laughter took the weight from your chest at an instant. That was what had always fascinated you about Jaemin. Everything seemed so easy and carefree with him. “I’ll wait. One year, two years, five years, ten years… I’ll wait until you’re ready again.”

“Back then, you never wanted to get married and always dreamed about getting famous, moving to America....” You only then realized that it could be taken as an insult and wanted to correct yourself quickly, but he preempted,

“Back then, I chose foolishness over commitment. But this time, I mean it and I will come get you next week.”

“Get me?” You raised a brow. “To where?”

“To Jeonju."

“To do what?”

“To be with me.”

“I can’t move to Jeonju so suddenly, Jaemin. I have a job here, my apartment, my dog, my family, especially my grandma…”

“Then only for the weekend. Bring Kang Kang with you. And the rest, we’ll figure it out together.”

Silence from your end, but he was being patient. “Do you mean it?”

“I mean it this time too. It’s been two weeks since we’ve last seen each other and we only met twice overall since back then. I know there is so much going on in your life right now, but I need more of you. And you could need a break from your daily life. So come to me.”

A romantic weekend in Jaemin’s home in Jeonju sounded exactly like what you needed right now.

So you answered, “Okay, let’s do it.”

You were looking forward to winter.

____

The first family gathering without your husband took place two days later, the weekend before you planned on leaving for your short trip to Jeonju.

You had informed your mother about your separation two weeks after the official decision via a text message, very short and dry. You hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone as to why and when, ignoring all upcoming calls from every family member since the news had spread like wildfire. It had been hard enough the first time already when you had to explain why your husband had moved out. You couldn’t do this all over again.

Not because you were rude. But because you were still hurting and you feared that speaking about it stirred up feelings you had long locked up deep inside your heart. Only now, you were ready to face everyone again. Because half a year later, you were fine again.

Your big family adored Jaehyun so much, especially your grandmother, so you still met her with a heavy heart. To her, Jaehyun had been the perfect grandson-in-law, everything she had ever wished for you, and the feeling had been mutual since you had rarely seen your own relatives act with your grandmother as closely as Jaehyun had.

Whenever you had visited, he had brought her gifts, helped her with the chores and told her stories that made her laugh her heart out. Nobody else had done all this with such sincerity and continuity as Jaehyun, and it broke your heart to know that you had robbed her of this experience forever.

Your grandmother was celebrating her 80th birthday that Saturday, and with her declining health you didn’t know for how many more birthdays she could still be around, so you wanted to spend the remaining time with her, even if it was only you alone.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?”

You were sitting on the couch in her living room while everyone else was still dining, chatting and laughing.

“I think I’m doing quite fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She reached out her weak, fragile hand and touched your cheek. You started to wonder when your grandmother had aged so much. The woman who had watched over you when you were still a child, had driven you to school, had made you food, and had let you spend the weekends with her. The one who had dried your tears when you had gotten your heart broken in school, who had picked up every single broken piece of you throughout the years.

She couldn’t do all that anymore, but she still could tell how you were feeling just by taking a brief look at you.

You couldn’t deceive your grandmother, so you just shrugged and her hand slipped from your cheek right into yours, squeezing it meekly.

“It’s alright to still mourn him, sweetheart. If, at some point in your life, you realize that you have made the wrong decision, don’t hesitate for a single second and tell him.”

“What do you mean?”

You didn’t believe in the term ‘the one that got away’ which people would commonly use to describe a lost lover they were still thinking about all the time. You believed that you could grow to love someone just as much as you could grow to stop loving someone. If humans could never move on, how were they supposed to continue living?

“Your grandfather…” Around your grandmother’s thin lips played a mild smile that gave her face back something very youthful. “He was and will always be the love of my life. I married him young and I stayed loyal to him until he passed away. I loved him with my whole heart and he was the only person that had ever evoked such feelings inside of me.”

It tightened around your chest as it reminded you painfully of Jaehyun.

“But there was a time before our marriage,” your grandmother continued, and although the smile around her lips was still present, it wasn’t quite merry anymore, but rather pained, “where we were separated, because we didn’t know whether we should get married or not. There was still so much to see in the world, so many people to get to know. Why would we settle so early? So we decided we wouldn’t.”

“Grandma, you never told me that.” You squeezed her hand back to comfort her.

“I got back with my first ever love from when I was still a teenager. The timing was just right, we both seemed to have evolved so much. Maybe fate wanted us to take this path and meet again much later.”

Now, warmth grew in your heart as it reminded you of Jaemin.

You had gotten to know each in the second year of high school when he transferred to your school, and the two years that followed was a whirlwind of ups and downs that, looking back at, you wouldn’t have wanted to miss a single second of. After all, it had forged you into the person you were now, and also into the one that had met Jaehyun and had now led you back to Jaemin.

But you feared your story would separate from your grandmother’s at this point. “How did you then end up with grandpa?”

You now understood why your grandmother was wearing that expression. It wasn’t a fully happy core memory anymore, nor a completely sad one either. It was bittersweet. “It didn’t work out the second time around as well.”

“...May I ask why? You sounded so happy. What happened?” It wasn’t like you wanted to push her boundaries, you were genuinely curious as you secretly found yourself in a similar position now.

“When one day, I returned home, I encountered your grandfather by my house. Apparently, he had waited two days and nights for me and refused to leave unless I talked to him. So I did and he officially proposed. I wanted a week to think about this, and when I, following this event, wanted my first love to make a decision, he couldn’t.”

“He didn't want to marry you?”

“Even after all these years, he didn’t know whether he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. And I wanted a man that knew.”

You inhaled deeply. “And you never went back to your first love.”

“I never went back to him,” she repeated. “Not because I didn’t love him, but because I knew your grandfather would show up in ways he could never. And that was what I wanted.”

You were asking yourself whether your grandmother told you this story on purpose. But then again, she never did anything without a purpose. She wanted you to learn something from it, and it actually hurt you quite a bit that she was questioning your decision.

“I don’t regret it. Do you regret it, grandma?”

“I don’t regret anything either, sweetheart, absolutely not.” You were worried that she might conceal the truth from you, but from her voice alone and the way her mien changed to the one she was always wearing when she talked lovingly about your grandfather, you were assured that she was being honest and always had been. “Sometimes, I still think about him and wonder where he is, what he’s doing if he’s still al-... And it’s normal. Sometimes, I wonder what if. But if I could turn back time, I wouldn’t have chosen differently.”

Your grandmother’s gaze wandered to the coffee table where you spotted something very familiar for the first time since you had arrived: a pink bouquet consisting of different summer flower arrangements. The one Jaehyun and you usually got together and brought over to your grandmother whenever you visited.

This time, you hadn’t had time to bring anything, and admittedly it had also slipped your mind completely. Yet, the very same bouquet was standing there on the coffee table.

“Jaehyun was here?” you breathed.

She nodded. “This morning.”

You weren't surprised. This was typical of Jaehyun. He always thought about others first, never missing an event, always reliant and considerate. With your own mind always wandering, you had very much relied on him and he had never complained about taking matters into his own hands.

“Grandma, I-” You didn’t know why your heart suddenly felt so heavy.

“I’m not telling you what to do, sweetheart. I’m just wondering if nowadays, before a couple decides to divorce, they have already given everything. There is a reason you were married in the first place. That’s all. That is something you should always think of.”

Yes, you had given everything, every day and minute of your marriage.

When Jaehyun had stayed for work longer, then worked during the weekends and then rarely came home anymore. When you had started to feel lonely, not appreciated and unheard of your feelings. When, every time you had still seen each other, every minor thing led to an argument where one of you needed to leave the house.

You had tried, over and over again.

“I have given it my all, grandma. I have.”

“If you can confidently say that, then move on, sweetheart.”

____

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

You followed Jaehyun into his new apartment, Kang Kang passing by you. He was jumping up and down, circling around Jaehyun like the happy labrador he was. As you had figured out, there were no dogs allowed in Jaemin’s apartment, so you had asked Jaehyun to take care of him this specific weekend.

You wondered whether it was selfish of you and quickly came to the conclusion that yes, it was, and cruel on top of that too. That was why you hid the truth from your soon-to-be ex-husband and had told him you had work in Jeonju this weekend and no other family could take Kang Kang. At least the latter was the truth as you had earnestly tried it everywhere before, but to no avail.

At least, you knew Kang Kang was in good hands, and he hadn’t seen his human dad in so long either. You put your dog’s belongings in the living room, which consisted of his bed, a few toys, his bowls and other necessities.

“Don’t you have to work this weekend, though?” you asked Jaehyun politely.

You still didn’t know how to behave in front of him whenever you had to interact. This was actually the third time you met since your official separation half a year ago with the first two being the time he had to pack his stuff and move out completely. How did one interact with the person you were soon to be called ex-husband?

You were nervous and anxious, but also somehow happy to see him, because you hadn’t seen each other in three months. Jaehyun was still Jaehyun, he hadn’t changed. You wondered whether he was dating someone new now too, though.

“I actually requested time off this weekend when I knew Kang Kang would come,” he answered almost nonchalantly. “Do you want something to drink? I’m sorry, I only have water.”

You weren’t sure whether the water would help the lump that had built in your throat to disappear, so you declined. And just like that, Jaehyun had requested an entire weekend off when you had had begged him in the past to do so over and over again. You were hurt, once again, and it showed all over your face.

“I’ve started a new job, actually,” he quickly explained, but you didn’t know whether it would make it all better, truth to be told. “Less salary, but since I’m living alone now, it’s fine. They still pay well enough and I have more time to myself.”

You deadpanned, “Good for you.”

It shouldn’t bother you anymore, it really shouldn’t. But you couldn’t shake off the fact that Jaehyun had changed his work and lifestyle almost so easily right after separating from you when he hadn’t been able to do exactly that while still with you. What had hindered him all this time?

Jaehyun, sensing already where this conversation would lead to since you had been there over and over again in the past, quickly changed the topic. “How is your grandma?”

You unpacked Kang Kang’s stuff while he arranged the bed for him where he thought your dog would like it.

“Quit playing, I know you visited her.”

He let out a shy laugh. “Did she tell you? I purposely told her not to.”

“She didn’t have to, really. I saw the flowers and knew immediately.”

You turned around to him, and even from the side, while he was kneeling down and petted Kang Kang, you perceived how shy he had gotten as his ears had turned slightly red.

“I was worried about her since she hasn’t been feeling well these past months. So I wanted to check up on her. I didn’t want to break tradition, you know. Yet.”

“I know,” you admitted and quietly added, “Thank you for that.”

“I hope she’ll get better soon.”

He shifted in your direction and smiled, and this reaction made you longing for easier times where you didn't have to deal with the fact that this was the last time he had seen your grandmother.

Had you been too greedy, wanting too much that he hadn’t been willing to or couldn’t give yet? Had you pressured him too much and driven him away instead? Should you have been more patient with him and supported him, even though you hadn’t condoned any of his actions? Had it only been a rough patch and you would have come over it by now?

Those were questions to which you would probably never get an answer. It was all too late now anyway. The papers were signed from your side.

“Jaehyun…” you whispered and wondered whether he had heard it as he suddenly interrupted you with,

“Ah, I’m sorry but you have to leave now.” He arose from the crouch and scratched the back of his head. “I actually have a visitor over the weekend and she’ll arrive soon.”

“She…?”

He nodded with a hint of reluctance.

You couldn’t explain why this revelation hurt almost just as much as the day Jaehyun had opened up about wanting a divorce. You were seeing someone else too, probably for longer than him, but you didn’t want him to be dating anyone else, giving her everything you had been asking of him for so long.

You should be happy for him to have finally changed and wanting to make it better with the next woman he would grow to love. Yet, all you could think about was that he had never been able to give it to you.

You were so selfish.

“Okay,” you said breathlessly and grabbed your purse, moving to the entrance door.

“Hey.” You heard footsteps, and before you could grab the handle, Jaehyun was already holding you back by your arm. “I’ve known you for too long to unsee the fact that you’re upset. And let me tell you, I understand why you’re angry.”

You lowered your head so that he couldn’t read your exact expression. But he didn’t need to. He never needed to. To him, you had always been an open book. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Jaehyun…”

“You’re probably asking yourself why I couldn’t change my job to have more time for you too. Just like I’m asking myself why you couldn’t have been more independent and wouldn’t rely on me only. We’ve both come quite a way, haven't we?”

You took credit for the not independent enough part. After all, since freshman year, you’ve only had Jaehyun. He had been the center of your life, of your universe, and this view had shifted into a toxic direction you never wanted to look into again. You truly had turned codependent at some point, you owed that part.

All that was left to do was not letting these negative traits affect your new relationships. That was a promise you didn’t only need to make to yourselves, but to your new partner, too.

“Do you think… Do you think we could have reached this point too if we had stayed together? This is what we have wanted, right?”

After all, it didn’t matter anymore. But you really wanted to hear this opinion, whether he thought the same.

He admitted, “I don’t think we could have evolved like that if we had stayed together.”

“I think so too.” You shrugged off his grip and pulled down the door handle.

“If you ever need something… I’m always here, okay? Call me, text me, no matter how late, I don’t care. I will always be here for you.”

After all, he was still so good, fair and bright.

It was unfair that you couldn’t offer the same kindness in return. Envy never looked good on anyone.

You switched to a cold business-tone. “My lawyer told me you received the papers already.”

“I did yesterday. I’ll sign them this weekend and pass them on on Monday.”

“See you on Sunday then when I come to pick up Kang Kang.”

And then, you left without another word.

____

“I have a gig tonight, but don’t worry, we can drop off your things first and head right there,” Jaemin declared. “I already told them to start the soundcheck without me.”

“Gig?” Jaemin had picked you up with his car from the train station and you were currently on your way to his house. “I thought we were going to spend the whole weekend… you know, at your place.”

“We will, we will!” he repeated and put his hand on your thigh while the other was still holding onto the steering wheel. “Don’t worry about that. It’s only tonight. Besides… you’ll get to know all my friends and bandmates too, so that’s gonna be fun!”

You should actually be excited about getting involved with his life right off the bat, but you couldn’t help but to feel more anxious about meeting new people when all you wanted to do was to spend a cozy weekend at Jaemin’s place, just the two of you. You wanted to take your sweet time, learning about each other, and only each other, again.

Jaemin had always been an extrovert while you were the complete opposite, and in all these years, this fact hadn’t seemed to have changed at all - just like him always forgetting how hard it was for you to come out of your shell. But you decided that you weren’t going to be hurt over this and see it as a compliment to get introduced to his friends and lifestyle so short into the relationship.

Perhaps, this was also a sign for you to break out of your shell that had only hardened throughout the years you had spent with Jaehyun as he was very similar to you. You couldn’t always live that way and accepted Jaemin offering to show you a new lifestyle.

“I’m looking forward to it!” you exclaimed and shifted your head back to the street, swallowing your anxiety and just hoping it wouldn’t resurface.

____

But it did later that night when you stood by the bar in that very small club, the crowd dancing and singing along to tunes you had never heard before, and you suddenly felt so alone and lost.

Back in the days, Jaemin had also been in a band, just one of many self-formed ones in school, but his band had always been the most popular, because, well, he himself was so popular. And even now, he was remaining true to his image, flirting with the crowd through his mimicry and gestic, radiating a charisma that would have all girls on their knees in front of him if only he asked.

Since he was with you now though, you felt proud and a bit haughty that he was still so popular and you had him all to yourself. But also, on the other hand, you were questioning if the negative feelings from your teen years would resurface…

The irritation when he hadn’t looked at you even once during his performances. The doubts when he had always winked at another girl during his solos. The jealousy when he had eventually talked to said girls after his performances, treating you like air.

But this Jaemin… he was different. Just when he finished and you viciously feared that it all would be repeated again, he passed by the entire crowd, not sparing his female fans even a single glance, and walked straight up to you.

“How was I?” he asked with a beam and you fell happily into his arms.

“Amazing!”

He laughed. “I’m so happy you liked it! Here, let me introduce you to my bandmates.”

So many new faces, but you were feeling welcomed from the very first moment on. There was no need to be anxious about feeling left out and to be nervous about nobody wanting to talk to you. You were having so much fun and everyone wanted to talk to you, wanting to know more about Jaemin’s girlfriend.

You hadn’t known he had already introduced you as such and felt very honored.

“Let’s have a toast!” Jaemin then raised up his shot.

“This will be our fourth toast!” a band member pointed out. “What do we still have to celebrate?”

You felt Jaemin’s strong arm around your shoulder, claiming you in front of all his friends and his entire band. “We’re celebrating her divorce. I’ve waited many years for her to separate from her husband, and now I can have her all to myself, for my entire life!”

You blushed at his loud confession. That didn’t seem like your Jaemin who you had known for so long at all. He had always been openly flirty and charming, but love confessions were never really his thing. Until now, apparently.

“So you want to marry her and spend the rest of her life with her?” someone teased. “What happened to Jaemin and when do we get him back?”

You quickly shook your head and waved aside. “Please, he’s only joking!”

“I’m quite offended you think I’m joking!” Jaemin objected and turned to you to make the conversation more private. “I mean it. We will spend the rest of our lives together. No matter where.”

This had suddenly turned into such an intimate moment, and all of his band mates sensed it which was why they pretended to be occupied with each other.

“You can’t say things like that so casually here!” you chided. “You’re probably drunk.”

“I’m actually quite sober and can think straight, and these thoughts currently always lead me to one desire: I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t care if you marry me or not, I just want you to always be with me. We will make it work. With your job, your dog, and your family. Even if it means I will have to come to you and live in the capital.”

“The Jaemin back then wouldn’t have uttered these words at all. He was always talking about going to America, getting famous with his music…”

“Well, I can still go to America. But with you. And one day, when you decide that you’re ready, even if we’re old and grey, we can get married.”

He then kissed you, and you dared to daydream just a little bit. In one possible future, you actually saw yourself watching your husband, Jaemin, standing on the stage of a big stadium in America while the crowd cheered, but he only had eyes for you who stood in the first row.

One faraway possible future, you didn’t dare to venture in further, because in this one, you were still married and it would take so, so much time until you could actually think of accepting a proposal ever again.

Forgotten was the toast still, and you and Jaemin called it an early night. You were surprised, because back in the days, he would have partied until the sun went up, and longer.

“I want to spend the remaining time with you,” he only said and led you out of the venue by your hand.

Maybe, just like you and Jaehyun, Jaemin had evolved too - to the man you had always needed him to be.

____

The next morning, it had started snowing.

The blanket slipped from your naked shoulder when you arose, the mattress giving in under you as a result of you bracing your hands against the surface. Jaemin was still sleeping soundly next to you. Of course, because a brief look at your phone told you that it was only 7am on a saturday.

Yet, you didn’t want to miss this beautiful, quiet hour and slipped out of the bed. Throwing on Jaemin’s t-shirt from the night before, you walked to the big window that offered a panoramic view of the landscape.

There were only a handful of high rise buildings in his city and no skyscrapers were seen far and wide. The horizon was a bit cloudy, but the beautiful landscape was still recognizable through the falling snow.

You had been to Jaemin’s hometown only once when you were together as teenagers. He had been sent to Seoul to attend a better school and eventually university, but had moved back after his degree.

You loved it here, it was the entire opposite of the bustling and ever lively capital. But living here, you wondered, would you get bored eventually? It was quite the contrary to your personality, but you had always enjoyed your environment being fast and never sleeping while you stood still. It gave you the feeling of never being alone while actually being alone.

A kiss on the back of your neck let you shudder, but in a good way. You giggled and turned around to Jaemin who had his arms wrapped around you now. His muscles were well-built and tense in your grip.

“Look Jaemin, it’s snowing!” you pointed out. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Mhhmm,” he muttered, but he didn’t look. “I know a more beautiful view, and it’s also in front of me.”

His voice sounded so sexy when he had just woken up. He embraced you tighter and kissed your temple. “You’re so charming as always.”

Jaemin chuckled. “Why are you up so early already?” he then asked you and gently rocked you in his arms. “You can still sleep.”

“I know, it’s just…” You shrugged. “I want to spend as much time with you here as possible.”

“Oh, does that mean I have to get up now too?” he seemingly wailed. “But what if I don’t want to get out of bed yet? Is there something we can do in bed together?”

You didn’t need to be told twice, but let yourself get carried, with both of your legs hooked around his waist, back to the bed. Letting out a laugh, Jaemin threw you onto the mattress and then crawled on top of you. He was still naked from last night, his muscles flexing nicely in the dim morning light.

You stretched out your arms and placed them around his neck. Gently, you pulled him close to you so that your nose tips touched, and smiled. You wanted to stop time right here and now, and bathe in this intimate moment for a while longer.

Jaemin didn’t know the words ‘enjoy’ and ‘patience’ though as not much later, sweat droplets started to collect on his chest, making his skin glisten with every shift that he performed on top of you. Your breathing came in hitches and caught every time he pushed himself deeper into you.

“You like that?” he whispered into your ear, causing goose bumps to spread all along your neck.

“I lot…” A gasp passed your lips when his wet tongue licked your earlobe.

It had slipped your mind when you had last felt this deeply satisfied. What Jaemin was doing right now even topped the events from last night when you had returned to his apartment, even though you had thought that it was impossible to top that.

You stretched out your legs and placed them around Jaemin’s waist, pushing your hips up.

“Hm?” He raised his head and locked eyes with you, revealing a sneaky smile that was accompanied by a cocked brow to emphasize his feigned surprise. “What’s that? You’re impatient already?”

“It’s you,” you said. “I just can’t get enough.”

Jaemin lowered his head again and started sucking on the side of your neck. You were sure you would be able to see a few faint bruises later on, but it was the time to wear scarves anyway and you wanted him to mark you in every way possible.

Your fingers entangled in his soft hair that then slipped through the gaps between them, and after a few bypassing moments of absolute stillness from his side where you slowly grew even more impatient, Jaemin started to move inside of you again.

When you were a teenager, you had lost your virginity to Jaemin after a few months of dating. He hadn’t been as insecure, nervous and awkward as you, because of course, the most popular boy from the band had already gained experience. And it seemed like he hadn’t lacked keeping to do so.

Or how else did he know to slip out with only the tip remaining so that you could quickly catch your breath, just to thrust back inside you with full force again? You couldn’t help but scream every time he penetrated that sweet spot, and he made sure to hit with every single motion.

The sheets grew wet under you as you were sweating so much, and in the peripheral of your blurry vision, you noticed that it had turned a bit lighter already in the apartment. God, for how long had this been going on, and how much more could you take?

You were already calling out, “Jaemin, Jaemin, Jaemin!”, mixed with dry screams that only grew more hoarsely, but you couldn’t seem to reach the anticipated release. Whenever you faced him, you only encountered his wicked, charming grin, and were assured that release was nowhere near yet.

Time and space blurred together for you and your mouth hung open, longing for air as he ripped you off it with his thrusts, again and again. The neverending string of a nearing orgasm was always graspable, but remained out of reach as each time, Jaemin took a brief pause by halting his motions and never pulling out entirely.

“Please…”

You didn’t know why he was doing that or where he had even learned to be this skilful to drag it out for so long, and truth to be told, you also didn’t want to know. At this point, you were only worried that he was punishing you on purpose, for dumping him back in the days, and for letting him wait for so long. Fair enough, you accepted this kind of punishment over anything else.

Jaemin drew his face close and licked over your dry lips. “I want to hear you beg.”

You didn’t care anymore at this point. You pressed him close to you, drawing your thighs even tighter around him. “Please, Jaemin!”

“Louder.” A low growl into your ear. But eventually, you felt him moving again.

“Please, Jaemin. PLEASE!”

“Louder!” he summoned.

“JAEMIN, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, I BEG YOU, PLEASE!”

The next moment, it felt like a wave came crashing down over you after trying to swim away from it all this time. It only took Jaemin two more skilled thrusts at the right angle until you let out a long-lasting scream that was on the brink of waking all the neighbors up, but you didn’t care.

You felt your insides clenching around him, your legs shaking in the aftermath while your fingers simultaneously dig deep into his skin as though you were holding onto a lifeline, nails grazing along his back and leaving long marks that would also be visible for quite a time.

Jaemin followed almost directly after you. He was gracious and quiet about it, but you knew him well enough to see that he was still enjoying it a little too much as he revealed himself by a low whimper that he tried to hide in the side of your neck, followed by a long sigh. His arms were shaking as he lost all strength and limply fell on top of you.

Your fingers were still on the back of his head, slowly stroking and comforting him while he was coming down from his heights. Your sweaty chest heaved up and down with Jaemin’s head on top of it.

For a moment, it was silent, only your regular breathing rhythms audible.

In that moment, you wondered when you had last felt this happy.

____

“Are you with Jaemin this weekend?”

Jaehyun’s anger was palpable through the phone. You moved away from the queue, signaling Jaemin that you had to take this call while he was lining up to buy you octopus skewers.

“Uh… I-”

Your still-husband had caught you red-handed and you didn’t know what to answer, because you hadn’t been prepared for this kind of situation. Only now, you realized that it would have been better to not have picked up the call at all when you had seen his name popping up on the display - ‘hubby’ and a heart. You still hadn’t brought yourself to change it to his government name.

“Answer me,” he demanded when your stuttering slowly grew uncomfortable and you settled for a quiet corner to talk to him.

“Jaehyun…”

“Someone sent me a video of his stories from last night and you were in it. I should have known the first thing you’d do would be running to him.”

How was that possible? You didn’t have mutual friends anymore from back then who would have cared enough as all contact had started to dwindle down at some point. And as far as you knew, these two had each other blocked everywhere. Unless they didn’t anymore and Jaehyun was lying to cover up that he had been digging.

“Jaehyun, that’s not fair at all.”

You heard a snort, followed by dead silence, but he didn’t hang up. “When did you want to tell me you were spending the weekend with my best friend?”

Dead silence again, but this time from your side of the line. Eventually, you reproached, “You haven’t been best friends for four years.”

“You told me you weren’t in contact anymore since he tried to creep back into your life even shortly after our marriage and I had to nearly physically fight him when he suddenly stood in front of our door.”

“We weren’t in contact!” you defended yourself. “But he had gotten wind of our separation and then hit me up again. Initially, it was just small talk, how I was doing and dealing with the situation. This is only the third time we've seen each other ever since. I really wasn’t in contact with him all this time, Jaehyun.”

“You never blocked his number or his socials as you had promised or otherwise, how could he have reached you?”

“I did! I told you I did, and I immediately did so back then! He contacted me from another number as he had changed his phone contract. I’ve never lied to you throughout our entire marriage! Don’t doubt me now just for me to fit your narrative, Jaehyun.”

“Hm.” He always let out this sound when he was at a loss for words, but didn’t want to drop the topic just yet. “I see.”

Somewhere in the background you heard Kang Kang and suddenly felt so guilty. Yet, you shrugged it off. You were too happy to get dragged down by his double standards right now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about why I wanted to go to Jeonju. But honestly, Jaehyun, you also have a female over this weekend, don’t you?”

“I told you straight-forwardly. Also, she’s not an ex or your best friend, and certainly not my first love.”

He was right. The way you had handled this situation was certainly not pretty or fair at all. Why hadn’t you told him the moment you asked him to take care of Kang Kang?

Perhaps, because Jaemin had always been a threat to your relationship, long before your marriage and after it too. And it had always been your fault, even though you had complied with Jaehyun's requests about blocking and deleting him.

Somehow though, whenever Jaemin wanted to find you, he always did. And he was lucky to now have found you at a time where you had wanted to be found as well.

“Jaehyun…”

He let out a long breather and you imagined him shaking his head at this very moment. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I’m calling. I just thought… It’s not even my right anymore to know who you’re with and what you’re doing, but… really, him out of all people?”

“Jaehyun…”

He hadn’t been in Jaemin’s band, but in the same class. You had always seen him around, but never interacted as you had rarely hung out with Jaemin’s friends. He hadn’t wanted that. And when you had finally had enough of his shenanigans after suffering in your on-off relationship for two years, you moved on in university - with your ex’s best friend who had happened to be the complete opposite, and everything you’d ever asked for.

In the beginning, you had tried to keep it a secret, but eventually came clean with Jaemin after a few months, who had reacted in a very mature way. Or so you had thought. You didn’t want to be friends with him as you rarely saw him anyway, but you let them be friends. Eventually, you warmed up to this new dynamic as Jaemin had once been a huge part of your life too. Nothing had seemed weird at first and Jaemin seemingly was okay with it.

Until it all went downhill.

“Do you remember the day you told him we were engaged?” Jaehyun then asked.

Of course you remembered. Jaemin hadn’t let his true emotions slip, he hadn’t thrown a tantrum, he hadn’t said anything more than,

“Good luck. But you won’t be married for too long, because she’ll be mine again.”

And ever since then, best friends Jaehyun and Jaemin had never spoken a word to each other again.

It was eerie and sad how this prediction had eventually turned out to be true.

“I chose you, because you are kind, dedicated and warm, Jaehyun. Jaemin was fickle, unreliable and unfaithful, yes, but we were almost still kids! He’s changed.”

“That’s what you also said when I was in the army and he tried to test the waters with you again. That he’s changed, when you went back to him shortly. And look how that ended.”

“Are you bringing this up again? We were never involved in that sense again! You were in the boot camp and could only text me for one hour on the weekend, I felt lonely and we wanted to meet up as friends! I was young and stupid, how many times do you still want to hear it?”

“... And he never turned up.”

You bit into your lower lip. If you didn’t know it better, Jaehyun was hurt and jealous. But there was seriously no room for him to feel this way anymore. You were separated and it was only a matter of days until it was official. You didn’t even need to talk to him right now, but somehow, you also couldn’t bring yourself to just hang up.

“This time, he did turn up. Among many other things.”

Only then did you realize that tears were pricking behind your eyes. In your peripheral, you could watch Jaemin ordering the skewers already, he was not supposed to see you cry.

“And you know that from a day of spending with him?”

“You know, I don’t have to justify myself in front of you, Jaehyun.”

‘If you still love me, then say it out loud!’ that was what you wanted to tell him. You wanted to grab him by his shoulders, shake him and ask him why he hadn’t told you so earlier. Why Jaemin had to come in between you again for him to finally open his mouth.

At the other side of the line, it had suddenly turned quiet.

“Are you sure about it?” you whispered into your phone. “About the divorce.”

“What is this about?” Jaehyun almost seemed angry now. “We’ve talked about it over and over again. This is for the best.”

“Then stop bothering me!”

Finally, you hung up and took a deep breather. Wiping a tear from your cheek with the back of your hand, you turned your head against the sky. It was still snowing, and the flakes melted immediately on your hot cheeks.

“Everything alright?” Jaemin asked when he had reached you. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head and accepted the skewer he was holding out to you. “No, nothing. Let’s go.”

____

Jaemin rolled his head back, his mouth falling agape.

“Yes, just like that.”

You felt his fingertips grazing over the back of your head, and then, with a firm tug, he had your hair between his fingers, tightly pulling on it. You swallowed a pained squeal, but the discomfort passed quickly as you realized it even added up to the sensation of sucking Jaemin off.

You let it slip past your mouth, only trapping the upper part between your lips, and then halted. With the tip of your tongue, you pressed down into the slit where you already tasted his sticky precum. You smiled when you heard him groan.

This time though, Jaemin didn’t let you get away with teasing him so easily. He pushed your head down his length, and as you didn’t have time to prepare yourself for this sudden action, you almost choked at him hitting the back of your throat.

You weren’t trained in deep throating at all, the only time you had tried, you had wanted to gag so badly. Even now, it wasn’t really a cakewalk for you to suppress the reflex. But as you turned your gaze up and caught Jaemin stretched out gloriously on the couch, enjoying it with angelic moans, you gladly complied, no matter the circumstances.

Jaemin set the rhythm with his fingers still entwined in your hair. He pulled on your strands and lifted your head up his length just to slam you all the way down again until you nearly met his pelvis with your lips. It took you three tries to get rid of the gag reflex and another two to adjust to this submissive act.

“Now, suck it.”

You happily did so as it meant having a break from the excessive motions earlier, and only dedicated yourself to the upper half, sucking him off like a lollipop. You also used your tongue with which you teased him again by letting it glide over the smoothest part, just passing the frenulum. The sound he let out as a result was the loudest you had ever heard pass his lips during an intimate act.

“What was that?” he asked almost breathlessly, and looked down at you.

“You like it?” you wanted to know shyly.

“I love it!” he exclaimed and laughed. “Do it again!”

You felt Jaemin releasing himself into your mouth without a warning not much later, though you felt it pumping past your circled lips. Patiently, you waited until he was done and only let him slip out of your mouth then, falling back into a crouch and wiping over your stained mouth.

With a smirk, Jaemin patted the top of your head, then dropped his hand and angled your chin with his index finger. You faced each other, and you observed his expression changing.

“Now, your turn?” he asked with a bit of danger in his voice.

You swallowed, but didn’t hold him back. You were in for a wild ride.

That was until Jaemin’s phone rang and he needed to interrupt your act. You wanted him to ignore it, but he had already told you beforehand that he was expecting an important call. Just talk about timing…

You wondered what it could be about when you arose after Jaemin had left the room to go to another and take the call. It was kind of a long conversation as you only remembered how you went on to lie in bed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone and losing track of time. The next moment, when Jaemin came out again, it was already dark.

You were standing by the window now, the snow still hadn’t stopped falling. As a matter of fact, it was snowing even harder, and you wondered whether by tomorrow morning, the snow would have put a white blanket over the whole country.

“What happened?” you asked, unsure what to read out of Jaemin’s undefined expression.

That was until he broke out into a beam, closed the short distance between you and swept you off your feet. He had his hands placed under your ribs and swung you around with your feet dangling above the floor.

You laughed and asked, after he had placed you down again, “Will you tell me what happened now?”

“Great news!” Jaemin declared with your hands remaining in his. “That was a producer who’s called me. I’ve been sending demos to different companies for years now, and finally this one is interested in my music! The producer wants to meet me tomorrow, isn’t it great?!”

“Oh, Jaemin! That’s amazing to hear!”

“I know, right?I have to prepare a few things for tomorrow since I have to drive to Gwangju where the company is located, do you mind?” He suddenly drew his brows together and looked very concerned. “I know we had dinner plans, but…”

You immediately shook your head. Of course, disappointment sank into your stomach as you had especially looked forward to this fancy dinner with him. It was your last night together as you were supposed to go home the next day, but another part, a bigger part, didn’t want to be so selfish. She knew that music had always been Jaemin’s dream, and if he could make it his main occupation, who were you to stop him?

“I’m gonna make up for it!” he immediately apologized, led your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “Tomorrow, fancy brunch or lunch before you leave?”

You nodded, very well aware of the fact that knowing Jaemin for the passionate man that he was, neither brunch or lunch would take place tomorrow. Somehow, it was all high school again, but you were more mature now and there was no room for your own, selfish needs.

Jaemin let go of you and dedicated himself to his music station where he gathered together a few documents. “Imagine,” he then summoned, “if it’s really going to work out and I am really going to be big with my band, we could play so many shows or even do a tour - maybe internationally too! And I would take you with me of course! To America!”

“Jaemin, I have a dog to take care of and a job I’m really dedicated to, you know that. I cannot be on the road for months.” Had he forgotten the words from last night where he had offered to move to the capital for you? Had your wants been overshadowed by his daydreams once again like back in the days?

“Oh yeah…” He scratched the back of his head, but then beamed again. “Don’t worry, we’ll find a solution!”

Again, he was proposing something so far off into the future without asking what you wanted. Aside from the fact that you liked living a domestic life with a stable job and a routine, you didn’t want to be separated from your dog. Or your family, especially your grandmother yet.

And that was what Jaemin didn’t get… again. Just like the fact that you couldn’t think of another marriage already when you were still with one foot inside your current one.

He was impulsive, dreamy and so demanding. But this was what you had wanted, right? Someone to take things into his own hands and consider you in his future, whether you fit in or not.

“Yes, we’ll find a solution,” you eventually replied as he was expecting an answer. And who knew, perhaps you would really find one.

Jaemin turned back to this work and rambled on about how great of a life you two would have together.

Would you, though?

Your current life as it was, was already perfect for you. Just the man in it hadn’t been.

____

With shaking hands, you swiped over your phone screen until, from your blurry vision, you finally saw your husband’s name pop up. Hubby and a heart next to it. You still hadn’t changed it, and for now, you were glad for that as it had made finding his contact easier.

It was only 7am on a sunday, but you knew Jaehyun would pick up no matter how early or late, no matter what, regardless of your dispute from the day before. He had promised.

“Grandmother is in the hospital,” you cried into the phone the moment the ringing stopped. “And I- I can’t go back. I-I don’t have a car and I’m in J-Jeonju, the trains are not running because of the heavy snowfall and I don’t know how to get back, how to get to my grandmother. Jaehyun… C-can you-”

It was rustling on the other line and from your peripheral, you could see Jaemin watching you with a displeased face.

No questions asked. Jaehyun’s voice was still so deep and raspy as you had just woken him up, but his head was as clear as ever. “Send me the address, I’ll take the car and come pick you up.”

“Th-there is snow everywhere! It’ll probably take hours.”

He didn’t ask why Jaemin wouldn’t drive you or why Jaehyun himself should do this even though you were separated. At this moment, none of this mattered except the fact that he needed to bring you to your grandmother.

“I don’t care.” There was some noise on his end of the line, and you could have sworn you also heard a female whispering something, but none of this mattered. “I’ll get going now and will text you the estimated arrival time.”

He didn’t care about the weather, the amounts of snow blocking the streets, whether he would even get through the traffic, none of this mattered.

“Thank you,” you whispered through your sobs.

It was like he still wanted to say something, but only brought himself to end the call with, “See you.”

Jaemin waited for you to finish typing the address for Jaehyun first before he spoke up. “I wish I could change things.”

“You can!” you yelled at him, having suppressed your anger for an hour already.

At 6am, you had been unexpectedly awakened by a call from your mother that held unfortunate news you never wished upon anyone to ever receive: Your grandmother was in the hospital as she had fallen in the bathroom that night and had been unconscious for a few hours before she could call anyone for help.

And Jaemin’s reaction?

He fell into silence again.

“You can change things, but you don’t want to,” you repeated through tears and fled out of the bed as you couldn’t physically bear being close to him anymore.

“That’s not it…” His feeble attempts to defend himself were all to no avail as expected. “It’s just a once in a lifetime chance, if I need to cancel, I might not be able to…”

“My grandmother can also live just this lifetime! I only have her for one lifetime,” you hissed, not sparing him a single glance as you started to throw your belongings into your bag. “She’s fighting for her life in the hospital and you think your music appointment is more important than driving me there? It’s only in the evening, and you’re worried you won’t make it back to your appointment on time, because of the snow?”

“We called your parents and the hospital already.” His voice got louder, more determined now, though it was nothing compared to yours. “She’s fine. You can probably take the train by midday, maybe even forenoon, anyway. I’m just being realistic.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you? Probably because no one has ever been this important to you.”

The moment you had spoken the words out loud, you already regretted it, but an apology refused to pass your lips as Jaemin only said,

“You are this important to me.”

“I don’t believe you as you cannot even do this for me.”

His music was more important, his career and everything connected to it. It would always, always come first, and this was something that was never going to change, and had never changed, you saw it clearly now.

Your relationship in your adulthood was merely a projection of what it had already been in high school.

Nothing had changed.

____

Jaehyun picked you up from a nearby café four hours later.

You had directly left Jaemin’s apartment the moment you had gathered all your belongings and hadn’t looked back - neither had he. He hadn’t changed his mind about the situation and he hadn’t tried to hold you back, no matter how much you had wished for it.

You were standing in front of the café, still in your joggers and with tousled hair, freezing to your bones as the snow touched your naked ankles, but at least Jaehyun was here, regardless of the weather, his appointments and the time.

He was here.

He had always been here.

You had just been too blind to see it.

The moment he opened the car door at your side, you broke out into tears again, unable to move, and it caused him to actually get out of the car himself to then approach you.

Suddenly, it got so warm around you despite the weather, and even with your teary eyes closed you realized that Jaehyun had pulled you into an embrace. With his slender fingers, he brushed over the back of your head in a comforting gesture as you sobbed into his jacket.

“Your grandmother will be fine,” he whispered into your hair, unaware of the fact that you were currently not crying over your grandmother anymore, but over the fact that he was here regardless of how ridiculous it might sound.

He had made it through the snow chaos and traffic just to bring you home safely. If this wasn’t what your marriage vows had been about, then what was? Was that what your grandmother had been talking about?

You had two hours to think about it as you made your way back to the capital. There were many things you wanted to ask Jaehyun. How serious it was with that woman, if she was mad he had suddenly left her for his soon-to-be ex-wife and if he himself was mad that he was here now. But first and foremost…

“Why did you come?”

“I told you, you could always call me. No matter how late… or early in this case, I’ll always be there. Despite that, I care about your grandmother and your entire family, too. For a large part of my life, they were also my family.”

“They will always be, Jaehyun.”

“I know.”

His gaze was too focused on the street ahead of you as though it was taking him everything in his might to just keep his eyes averted from you. The majority of the snow had been cleared from the streets already so that cars could drive without many obstacles again.

“Are you sure about it?” you repeated from your disrupted phone call the day before. “Are you sure about the divorce?”

“Why does it matter?” he asked back strictly. “Haven’t you moved on with my former best friend already, this time for good, because he’s changed so much?”

“That’s not an answer, Jaehyun.”

You had no reason to feel so attacked, but it still hurt, because he was wrong, even though Jaehyun didn’t know it yet. Jaemin hadn’t changed at all, and you were too proud to admit it. Perhaps though, you had overreacted as well. Perhaps, everything would have gone so well if only you had been calmer and more rational, and had actually listened to Jaemin. Perhaps, you had done Jaemin so wrong.

But Jaehyun was now in the car, driving you back home, and not Jaemin, right? Jaehyun was here, and not Jaemin.

“On the way to Jeonju,” he started, “I had a few hours to think about everything. Have we given it all? Was a divorce really our last solution? What could I have done differently, what could you have differently for us to avoid this outcome. And I just… couldn’t come up with an answer.

“Which means, on the contrary, perhaps a divorce was not a solution either,” you concluded. “But we’ve lived in separation for half a year at that point, Jaehyun. And we were fine with it. We’ve had many talks, so why are we here, ripping open this wound again? What’s the purpose? I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that it only took one weekend for us to doubt this decision.”

“Perhaps, there is none,” he said, and shrugged. “Perhaps, it’s all about what makes us happy, after all. And finding out you lied to me and spent the weekend with him, didn’t make me happy at all.”

Now that he was so honest with you, you could be honest with him too. “I also wasn’t happy when you told me you would get a female visitor this weekend.”

A long pause followed the conversation before you confessed,

“But you picking up the phone and being here with me now, makes me really happy.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “I’m also happy you called me and didn’t rely on him.”

He didn’t ask what exactly had happened with Jaemin, and you also didn’t ask him about the other woman when you arrived at his empty home much later that day to pick up your dog after having visited your grandmother together first.

She didn’t get hurt except for a bruise by her hip and would be fine after being taken care of in the hospital for a few days. You visited her every day for one week straight, but on neither of these days did you see Jaehyun or Jaemin.

The fact that you were disappointed would be an understatement, but you were too caught up with everything going on at this point that you couldn't waste too many unnecessary thoughts in their behaviors.

____

A week later, you and your mother returned home with your grandma. Despite her refusing your offer, you had still insisted on taking one week off from work and living with her, just in case something could happen again and until she regained her health.

Nevertheless, you as a family had all agreed on hiring a caretaker that would look after her half a day and who would start right after your week off with her. After a few attempted protests from your grandma’s side though, she had eventually given in as well.

“Where’s all the food I requested?” you asked in astonishment as you opened shelf after shelf in your grandmother’s kitchen, but each of them you found empty. “Didn’t father and uncle do grocery shopping? I made an entire list for them and they knew she’d return today.”

“Oh, they were busy last night,” your mother explained after she had taken your grandmother to her bedroom. “They’ll do it later today.”

You rolled your eyes as you tried to fight the wave of reproach against your family. “Busy with watching football all night long probably. What did they think would happen when we came back home with grandmother? There are no ingredients to make food for her and when I looked into the bathroom, she had also run out of toilet paper. What were they thin-”

“Honey…” Your mom placed her hands on your shoulders to calm you down, but somehow, her not getting as heated up as you was making you even more disappointed. Were you the only one who cared? “Please be reassured that everything is going to be fine.”

“How?” you asked back, a tinge of anger in your voice. “We come back and the sheets are not washed, we have nothing we can make food of for her and we cannot even-”

Your mom exhaled deeply as she tried to convince you again, “Let’s just order the most important necessities online, okay? Then your father and uncle will bring the rest later today, it’s really not a big deal.”

“Sweetheart, will you come here, please?” you heard your grandmother suddenly disrupt your conversation.

You let out a long sigh, threw another glare at your mom and then left for the bedroom.

“I’m sorry, grandma,” you apologized as you popped into her bedroom with your head first. “I will go to the store right now to bring you the necessities. You don’t need to worry about this, please relax.”

“I do not worry about this,” she reassured you. “I feel so fine here. And you do not need to worry that much either, it’s all going to be fine.”

“No,” you cried out and shook your head, tears welling up on the brim of your eyes. All your feelings came crashing down on you at once, feelings that you had tried to push aside for an entire week. “Nothing is ever going to be fine again!”

You sat down by her bedside and dropped your head. Her soft, warm hand found your fingers and gave them a comforting squeeze. “Is this about your husband?”

“Yes,” you admitted, and ‘no’ you wanted to say simultaneously as this wasn’t about your husband alone. Perhaps, now ex-husband on official papers even. “Why did he never show up again after going to the hospital with me the first day? I thought… he still cared, not only about me, but about you too. I’m so disappointed. I thought he was different.”

The last sentence was dedicated to both of them, though you confessed silently to yourself that you had never expected this from Jaehyun, out of the two.

“But dear… he did come.”

You lifted your head and wiped away a tear that had dangled on the corner of your eye as you faced your grandmother with much surprise. “What are you saying, grandma?”

“He came every single day in the morning before work, we talked for half an hour when I was awake. I thought you knew?”

You had no idea, and looking at your grandma now, who was grinning widely and also a bit sneakily, made you assume that perhaps, she had kept it a secret on purpose - because the effect, when you found out, would be so much more impactful.

And it was.

“Grandma, I had no idea…”

“That’s why I asked you, before you decided to separate, did you really give it your all and tried everything possible to fix your marriage before moving on? Because, as far as I can see, you’re not the only one not ready to do so entirely.”

“I… I can’t say. I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter anymore, grandma,” you eventually said. “Even if we both wanted it, it’s too late. He has probably already signed the papers and sent them out.”

“Fine. But don’t forget my words. If, at some point in your life, you realize that you have made the wrong decision, don’t hesitate for a single second and tell him.” She leaned back into the pillows. “It’s almost afternoon, I want to sleep. Can you close the door behind you then, dear?”

“Of course.” You gave her a kiss on the forehead and quietly walked out of her room.

Back in the kitchen, you saw your mom sitting at the table, scrolling through her phone. Why was she not up and about yet to do some grocery shopping or at least call your father to do the trip? You were fed up by now, fueled by your grandmother’s words too.

“Mom, I’m going to the store and I’ll take your car.”

“Okay.”

That was it. You knew she had had a lot on her plate too, but why did everyone not take this situation seriously enough?

When you put on your jacket as it was freezing outside, you wondered whether you were overreacting and just putting all your time and energy into this situation, moving here and taking care of things, just so you didn’t need to think about how your own life was falling apart. As long as you could take care of someone else, you didn’t need to face your own problems. Hadn’t this been the root of your downfall as well?

After all, when you returned home after this week, you would get a call from your lawyer to confirm that the divorce was through. You had specifically requested for him not to call while you were here.

What then, after that? Then, you were a divorced woman, and you weren’t ready to settle with this term yet.

“Careful!”

You nearly ran into a tall figure when you opened the entrance door. A familiar scent touched your nose, strong hands holding you by your arms so that you could keep your balance after the impact.

“What are you doing here?” you asked Jaehyun as your gaze simultaneously scanned his appearance, and you spotted two big bags of groceries to either of his sides on the floor.

“I thought since your grandmother would come home today, you would need a helping hand,” he stated and pointed at the grocery bags. You saw toilet paper, rice, water, and other necessities peeking out. “I didn’t know what to buy, so I just brought a bit of everything. Is that… okay?”

You couldn’t help yourself but fell into his arms, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulder, and suddenly, this entire situation didn’t seem so difficult and hopeless anymore.

You had felt so left alone, like you had overreacted and that your feelings weren’t valid. But now your husband was here, having shown up in ways nobody else was. Your feelings were valid, they had always been to him.

Perhaps, your grandmother had been right all along.

No, you hadn’t tried everything possible, because this clearance came way too late now, and you couldn’t apologize anymore for sometimes being a selfish, spoiled brat that had demanded much more from her husband than he was able to give. And always, you had wanted more and more.

Your views on life and the way you wanted to live it had started to take separate roads and you had thought this was not fixable anymore, but was that really what mattered after all?

It wasn’t about who was there for you all the time. Your problems couldn’t have been solved in that way either. That was why it couldn’t have worked out with Jaemin too. It wasn’t about this at all.

It was about who showed up during the times you truly needed someone. And it was always Jaehyun. When you needed support, a helping hand or someone to call during an emergency, he had always been there.

If you needed someone at all times, it could be anyone. But if you needed someone when times were hard, it was Jaehyun.

It had always been Jaehyun.

“Your grandma is going to be fine,” Jaehyun whispered and gently patted the back of your head.

But you weren’t crying over your grandmother anymore, but about your failed marriage.

Because yes, you regretted it deeply and had not given it your all.

Because now, it was too late.

Neither of you spoke about the divorce papers that day.

____

Jaehyun didn’t come over anymore and neither did you reach out to him during the week you lived with your grandmother.

You were determined to make it on your own from then on. Very soon, you were an official divorcée and single dog mom, so it was better to start early with this new lifestyle. Knowing you too well, Jaehyun might have already sensed it as he was leaving you completely alone during that time.

You brought Kang Kang with you to live and thus your days started with walking your dog before helping your grandmother get ready and preparing breakfast that you eventually ate together just like the other meals. Even though your grandmother was still able to do most things by herself, you noticed how slower, shakier and sometimes disoriented she had become.

Time was not stopping, for nobody.

During the day you were occupied with doing chores, taking care of paperwork as well as your grandmother and Kang Kang. At the end of each day, you fell into your bed, absolutely exhausted and tired. Your mind was always occupied as well and there was no space for other things except for those brief moments during nighttime when you were alone and neither busy in a physical way or in your mind.

Then, you stared at the ceiling and wept.

Because you missed Jaehyun so badly and wished for him to be with you. You would have done anything for him to be here right now, but your marriage was over and you needed to move on without him.

Everyday with this realization was hard, but luckily, no day grew harder than the day before. Eventually, they would only grow brighter.

That was your silver lining.

____

Realizing that you wanted to be with Jaehyun after all, meant in retrospect that you couldn’t be with Jaemin. And just because you couldn’t be with Jaehyun, didn’t mean you should be with Jaemin. That was not how it worked, unfortunately.

“Hey, it’s me,” you spoke on the phone, watching the skyline from your window the first night you had returned to your home.

He had promised to always pick up when you called, but this time, he hadn’t. You were struggling to come to terms with the fact that he indeed didn’t want to be reached by you either this time. Perhaps, not anymore at all.

You remembered why you had married Jaehyun.

You had married him, because he took care of the people he loved, because he made things seem more bearable when they weren’t and because when he said he would pick up whenever you called, he actually did. That was not a void Jaemin could just fill.

You would always search for a Jaehyun in his eyes, and that was not fair, because he was not. He was Jaemin, an entirely different person. And there was a person out there that would be perfect for him, too.

“I just wanted to tell you that this is the last time you will ever hear from me.” Softly, Kang Kang was snoring in the corner, filling the pause that then followed.

Maturing was realizing that just because you wanted to be with someone, you shouldn’t be with them. Maturing was realizing that only because you didn’t want to be alone, you should be with someone. Maturing was realizing that even on the third try, some people still weren’t meant to be together.

Tears sprang from your eyes, but your voice gave no hint of it. “Truth to be told, I am very disappointed that you never showed up again… called me, or at least sent a message, asked me how we are. It was a very hard time for me and you just… weren’t there.”

But someone else had been. You dried your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“Yes, I could have messaged or called you too… but why should I have when I was the one suffering? Admittedly, I also didn’t need to. I handled it all myself very well. That made me realize… I wanted this, Jaemin. I wanted this so much, with you. But I didn’t need it. I don’t need you. And the past weeks made me realize that you feel the same. You don’t need me either.”

You could live without Jaehyun and you could live without Jaemin, you just had to be strong enough to make it on your own now that you had neither.

And you would make it on your own.

You had the drive, passion and strength all within you, you just had failed to notice for so long. After all, you had been able to take care of your grandmother, dog and everyone around you for the past weeks. So taking care of yourself wouldn’t be harder than that.

Had you broken down and experienced weak moments? Yes, several times. But that had only made you stronger.

“I’m strong and not afraid, I will always make it on my own. And you will make it too. Go out into the world, perhaps even travel to America where you always wanted to go, make your dream about music come true… I wish for you to achieve everything you’ve ever wanted, with my whole heart.” You swallowed hard and added, “It’s just not going to be with me. I don’t know where my place is yet, but it’s not by your side.”

For now, your best companion was yourself. And your dog. And actually, that was enough.

You finished speaking on the mailbox with, “Goodbye, Jaemin.”

You didn’t hesitate to delete his number and block him all across social media. This time, for good.

The fact that you cried yourself to sleep that night would be your own little secret to keep, but it would also be the very last time you would find yourself in a position to cry over Jaemin, ever.

The next morning, you felt free. The air was clear and crisp. It was cloudy, but not snowing. Thank god.

____

“I apologize for having to tell you this, but Mr. Jeong hasn’t signed the divorce papers.”

“Pardon me?”

It had been a dreadful feeling to take the call from your lawyer the next morning. The more surprised you were about the actual message he had just passed down to you. Your breath caught.

“His lawyer told me he refuses to sign them and sent them back to me unsigned, that’s why I couldn’t send them to you yet.”

You frowned as you suddenly turned utterly confused. “But why? What did he say? Is there something he still wants to negotiate over?”

“They didn’t tell me, just that he refuses to sign them. I’ll resolve this for you, be at ease.”

“Don’t,” you held him back. “I’ll do it myself.”

“You’re not allow-”

But you had already hung up and were halfway out of the door, he didn’t even come to end his sentence.

____

Not even an hour later, you were standing in front of Jaehyun’s apartment door, ringing the bell like a maniac. He looked at you like he had expected you already as you stood in front of him with your arms folded in front of your chest.

“Took you long enough.”

“Care to explain to me why you sent the documents back unsigned?”

“Come inside,” he invited you calmly.

Your eyes narrowed. “Your girlfriend doesn't mind?”

“We haven’t seen each other since that weekend… and I rather want it to stay this way.”

Your heart jumped. That basically meant they weren’t together anymore, you concluded as you followed him into his apartment and took your shoes off in the corridor.

“What about Jaemin?”

“Same.”

It seemed that you both didn’t want to talk about your past lovers, and even though you were curious, if he had to elaborate, then you needed to as well, and there was no way you would ever want to live through the past weeks again.

“I was thinking about our conversation in the car back from Jeonju,” he began as he shifted around to face you the moment you arrived in the living room, “about what makes me happy. When we were separated, we didn’t see each other, and I was happy living a life I haven’t gotten a taste of before. I was happy doing new stuff, trying out new things, being untied from you. Because what made me unhappy… was you.”

Your eye twitched as you didn’t know whether you should feel offended now. But when you let the words sink in and contemplated them, you felt exactly the same. Seeing and spending time with your husband had dreaded you of all your energy and happiness as you two had forgotten how to be happy together anymore.

And you told him exactly that now.

“I agree.” He nodded. “And then I thought about what made me really unhappy. Because up until two weeks ago, I was really happy. And then came you, and you made me feel so miserable.”

You drew your brows together, not quite sure if you had heard right. But you had, and it stung. No, it actually hurt very much that it took all your might to refrain yourself from crying right now. “I… still make you unhappy?”

But Jaehyun’s facial expression didn’t match his words as he nodded. His features were soft, a slight smile playing around his lips. There was no way he could find this amusing?

“It makes me unhappy to see you unhappy. It makes me unhappy to see you suffering because of your grandmother and simultaneously getting mistreated by the guy who is supposed to make you happy. Because if he can’t do it, who will? I was just too blind to see this.”

You dropped your gaze. Jaehyun had. He had shown up in ways nobody else ever had. Just to… see you happy, because he couldn’t stand the thought of you being sad and miserable?

Knowing he was pushing so far, he didn’t wait for you to reply, but instead wanted to know, “What makes you unhappy?”

“When you’re not with me.”

With slow steps, he approached you until he stood tall and calm in front of you. You lifted your head and looked into his clear and sincere eyes.

“Please don’t ask me what will make me happy, Jaehyun,” you pleaded him straight-forwardly. “Because I’m not sure whether you’d like the answer.”

“What if I’d like to hear it?”

You furrowed in worry. “At all cost?”

Jaehyun inhaled sharply as though in tension, but his soft features remained.

“What if you don’t like it?” you asked.

“You will never know if you don’t try, right?”

‘If, at some point in your life, you realize that you have made the wrong decision, don’t hesitate for a single second and tell him.’ You remembered your grandmother’s words too well.

He didn’t expect it though when you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him down to you.

He still tasted exactly like in your memories.

____

“Are you excited, Kang Kang?”

Your dog yelped and ran around in circles. You patted his head when he eventually came to a standstill in front of you and looked up to you with big eyes.

“Are you excited to live with your dad again?”

As though in response, Kang Kang started to whirl around again and you laughed. Lately, you found yourself laughing very often, and every time it came from deep within you with all sincerity and happiness.

In the past two weeks, your grandmother had started to settle with her new caretaker so that you could cut down your visits to once or twice a week, because you were currently busy moving houses. But each time, Jaehyun came with you, and your grandmother was overjoyed.

You had decided to move into a new home together that wasn’t riddled with memories of a very unpleasant phase in your marriage that had almost ended it for good. It was just as big and beautiful as this apartment, but you had already agreed that that one would only be a temporary home as well.

Maybe, not too far in the future, you could move outside of the city where Kang Kang would have a garden to run around in and where he would have playmates, maybe both, a boy and girl.

You blushed at the thought and looked at the engagement ring and wedding band that you had been wearing again since the day you had found out that your husband had never signed the divorce papers.

Just because you could make it on your own didn’t mean you wanted and needed to. After all, you had given a vow to each other, because somewhere in the past, you were so happy, you had agreed on spending the rest of your lives with each other. And that meant something, so much more than anyone not married could imagine.

You weren’t walking down the aisle thinking you’re going to get divorced. You got married, because this was supposed to be forever.

Yes, it was right that it took much less to turn “Till death do us part” into “Till your lack of time for me do us part”, but unlike the worst case scenario, everything else was fixable.

The movers were busy carrying down the last boxes with your stuff while you put Kang Kang on a leash. Looking around your old apartment for one last time, you bid farewell to this home of yours that not only bore bliss, but also destruction. But you had come out of it stronger, better than before.

You wouldn’t say that all your differences were now solved by deciding to get back together. Love alone couldn’t magically make them disappear, that was not how it worked. But you had talked long about this, what you needed to get back to where you had once been.

You had thought of your grandmother’s words every so often. No, you had not given it all yet, you eventually had to admit to her personally too, and she had only smiled, as though in knowing. Jaehyun and you both still had, apart from love of course, the passion, the determination, the strength. And hope.

As long as there was that, your marriage was fixable.

And this time, you would make sure nothing would do you part again.

“The movers are ready, so we should get to the car. Here, let me take Kang Kang.”

Your heart was full of love and hope too when Jaehyun appeared at your door with a smile and took the leash from you after giving you a kiss on your cheek.

Jaehyun was a husband who took care of things, so that you wouldn’t need to. Wasn’t this what marriage was about? Making each other’s lives easier and happier, because life itself was already hard enough.

Your grandmother had realized this very early. What a woman.

You didn’t think of Jaemin that often anymore. Only every now and then, he involuntarily crossed your mind and tugged on your heartstrings as a strong memory that day by day slowly faded, too. His face became blurry when you tried to remember his exact features, and eventually, he would only be a flash of a picture among a string of memories when you thought back to this time. As it had always been.

The only difference was that you had shut down every possibility of reaching out on either side. When you caught yourself wanting to unblock him and look him up on social media, you put your phone aside and let the feeling pass. It really worked wonders.

And one day, even this urge would perish.

When you stepped onto the streets that were still layered with a thin sheen of snow and ice, you noticed that the sun was shining and a touch of spring lingered in the air. The temperature would start to get warmer soon as well.

Your husband helped Kang Kang into the back of the car before he circled it and opened the door for you. And that was it, the huge difference. So subtle, but so grave all at once, it nearly made your heart burst.

“Are you ready to go home?” Jaehyun asked.

And finally, you answered, “Yes, I really want to go home.”

Winter was still here, but in your heart, it was already summer when your husband took your hand.

You wanted rays of sunshine, warm breezes, salt on your skin and the chanting of crickets.

You wanted it to always be summer.

You wanted your husband.

____

One month prior

Jaemin had followed you all the way back to Seoul that very same day your grandmother had been admitted to the hospital, ditching the biggest opportunity in his entire life after all.

After he had seen you so disappointed and sad, mostly because of him, your expression hadn’t left his mind for hours. When it dawned on him what he was doing to you, letting you down in a very crucial situation, he wanted to beat himself up for being such a selfish idiot once again and had directly made his way to the café where you had fled to. But when he had arrived, you were already gone.

Following you all the way to Seoul, he had been thinking of all the ways he could make it up to you. He had booked a hotel in the city and prepared to stay there for as long as you needed him. But when he had arrived, he saw you in front of the hospital and you weren’t alone.

You had been with your husband and he had held you close as you cried in his arms, he had seen it all from his car.

He was too late again, he had thought. But when he had looked closer, the way Jaehyun was holding you and consoling you, he knew that timing wasn’t the problem, it had never been.

You couldn’t be hugged like this by anyone. Jaemin couldn’t embrace you the way Jaehyun did, and it turned out to be a painful realization for him. It couldn’t be him, it also couldn’t be anyone else. It had to be Jaehyun.

It had always been Jaehyun.

___

“May I come in?”

Jaemin stood in front of Jaehyun’s door later that fateful day after you had left with your dog, facing his former best friend in person for the first time in many years.

Occasionally, he would look at his social media after he had found out on a random day that Jaehyun had unblocked him and vice versa. Somehow, they still wanted to know what the other was up to, who they were up to with. The irony of that.

Jaehyun remained quiet, but pushed the door open for him.

“Why are you here?” Jaehyun then asked him when they reached the living room. “She’s not here.”

“I know,” Jaemin answered. “I came for you.”

“So?” He braced his arm against the table and leaned back. “The invitations for the tea party are not out yet.”

“There is no need to be so condescending.” At this point, Jaemin was just so tired and wanted to leave this all behind him. “After today, I will be out of your lives, forever.”

“Sounds tempting. But as you know, we will be officially divorced soon, so she’s all yours to have.”

“But I’m not the one she needs.”

Jaehyun drew his brow together. “You’re the one she wants to be with.”

He smiled mildly and repeated, “But I’m not the one she needs. We don’t need to be together a fourth time to figure this out. You show up in ways I will never be able to, you’re the one she needs, even if she doesn’t see it yet.”

“Well… you’re too late.” Jaehyun shrugged. “I’ll sign the papers and will send them to my lawyer tomorrow. You think she’s some puppet you can toss around when you’re done playing just to pick her up again when it’s convenient for you? That’s not how relationships work.”

“I know.” Jaemin dropped his head in regret. “I’ve never wanted all of this. I’ve always wanted the best for…”

“...yourself,” Jaehyun ended the sentence aloud.

“... her,” Jaemin ended the sentence in his head.

And even though everything was different now, even though he had evolved and grown so much as a person, it was easier to let them believe that he was still the selfish, hard-headed Jaemin from the past.

After all, he couldn't hold her like Jaehyun to make her feel so happy.

It had to be someone particular. It had to be him.

And if he would be gone, then no one could make her happy anymore.

So Jaemin dashed forward and grabbed his former friend by the collar. Jaehyun was too perplexed to instantly react and just faced his opposite with a shocked expression.

“Listen up,” Jaemin growled, “if you send out signed divorce papers, I will come for you in the worst way possible. If you don’t rekindle this marriage with her, I will make your life a living hell. We might not like each other anymore, but we both love her, and if I ever see you making her sad again, you can dig your own grave. You will fix this marriage, no matter the cost, are we in the clear?”

He slowly let go of Jaehyun after luring out a reluctant nod from him. Latter cleared his throat and asked, “... but, do you think she even still wants to be with me?”

This time, Jaemin’s smile was sincere. “I’m absolutely sure about that. Show her again the reason why she was picking you over me, again and again. Remind her of all the traits that make you so much better for her than me, and she will choose you again. If she hasn’t already. Or do you not want t-”

“I do!” Jaehyun blurted out. “I absolutely do.”

Jaemin stretched out his arm and gave his former friend’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Very well.”

When he made his way to the door, Jaehyun stopped him with the words, “Thank you. Honestly.”

Initially, he wanted to turn around, but it was starting to burn behind his eyes, so Jaemin kept his back turned to Jaehyun and said,

“Don’t make me regret this.”

____

Jaemin threw his phone into the bushes on his way out.

So, what now?

He turned his head to the sky, and even though the tears started streaming down his face now, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and smiled through the blurriness. The wind was cold and burned his wet cheeks, and suddenly, it started snowing again.

This pain would vanish, he was sure of that. When you had fixed your marriage, got children and grew old together, his pain would eventually pass in this timeline.

Yet, at that moment, it felt like it ripped Jaemin’s heart to shreds, even to the point where he wondered if he was actually tricking himself into believing that he would be fixed again or had to live the rest of his life with this ache slowly eating him up from the inside until there was nothing left of him anymore except for the frayed edges of his once so lively soul.

Jaemin took a deep breather and swallowed the next wave of tears.

He had no regrets, despite everything. And he still had hope. As long as there was that and he was able to hold onto these faint strings, he would continue on.

A fresh start, that was what he needed now as he trotted to his car. Far away from you and Jaehyun so that your paths would never cross again in this lifetime. That was the last selfless act he could still offer to you.

America sounded good.

547 notes · View notes

slafastri28 · 2 months ago

Text

I Hope You're Doing Well - LN4

Note: I literally pulled this out my ass, but it just flowed!

Word Count: 2.2k (yes that is a lot for me) Warnings: Idk a lot of kissing at the end, little angst

“Hi Lando, it’s Y/N, I hope you’re doing well, I figure you are considering you just won the constructors championship, call me when you want to catch up, I miss you, okay bye,” you hung up the phone. You turned to face your parents along with Lando’s,

“Sorry kid,” your dad said rubbing your shoulder. The four sat you down in the middle of the F1 season telling you their concerns for their son, complaining of being homesick and lonely, which was not Lando at all. You had known each other as long as you could remember. Your parents all went to university together and forced you and Lando into a friendship like parents do with kids. It was awkward at first, but you were very social as a child, and hanging out with a boy a year older than you was cool to you, and if it made your parents happy you would do it. Despite being a year older than you, you were always the same height as Lando growing up. You fit perfectly in his kart, but he never trusted you to drive it. He was always on about traveling in Formula 1 eventually, and he was fine his first couple years but this year was different.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t expecting an answer,” you gave the parents a half smile. You and Lando had lost touch after the first race of the year, after spending all of the winter together something shifted, but you didn’t know what you did to make him ignore you. You called him at the first sign of concern from his parents, but no answer, his parents even urged him to call you but they were rarely hearing from him as it was. Little did they know he would sit listening to the messages you left all the time thinking about home and being with you.

Last winter your parents threw a big party, all their friends were there and of course Lando. There was no one else really your age there so you two find yourselves alone in your childhood bedroom sitting and talking.

“I’m confident this year, we will perform better I know it,” he nodded.

“Well of course you will, and you are going to get that win, I just know it,” you smiled.

“Yeah I hope, thanks for the belief,” he said.

“What are friends for,” that word friends hit Lando hard. He thought he had made so obvious these past few years about how he felt about you, but he was only a friend to you. The rest of that winter he was not his usual self leaving you questioning, he barely even said goodbye before he left for testing. You sat alone in your apartment finding yourself wanting to pick up the phone and ask him what you did wrong but you accepted he needed space. You soon felt something was missing as he didn’t call you after every race like he did last year, you missed seeing his smile, which you always thought was cute. Now without his constant presence, you discovered your true feelings for Lando. You sent him messages getting responses two days later, he wouldn’t take any of your calls due to being busy, but it was the time you would normally call last year, and you knew what was different. You began to leave messages when his parents went to see him. Each message started and ended the same way.

“Hi Lando, it’s Y/N, I hope you’re doing well,” and ended with “I miss you,” or something along those lines. After his first win, you called,

“Hi Lan, it’s me, I hope you’re doing well, and celebrating this win, I’m so proud of you, I wish I could have been there, I miss you.” Your calls continued after each win he earned this year, each podium, each race he scored points, even in his worst races you still left messages, none being answered or getting a callback, making you long for him more. The season came to a close and there you were surrounded by the people near and dear to him leaving the same message again.

This winter he had not come back to visit his family yet, meaning you didn’t have that chance to see him in your time off from work. There you sat around the most important people in your life, as one was missing, holding back tears. His mother rushed out of the room picking up her phone and scolding her son in a message. You went to bed that night looking through the scrapbooks your Moms made of the two of you when you were younger, pictures of you hugging, your arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, pictures of you forcing a smile onto his face and him doing the same to you, so many memories. The books continued as the years went on, you at age 15 with a sign at one of his races and him hugging you after, your high school graduation, your college graduation, he was always there. Now this winter here you were alone a year from that night wishing he would come home.

You woke up the next morning with a voice message lighting up your phone. You were stunned to see the contact picture, you and Lando as little kids. You put in your headphones and hesitated before pressing play on the message.

“Hi Y/N, it’s Lando, I hope you’re doing well, I am doing well, thank you for all your congratulations, I’m sorry I’ve ignored you this season, I will tell you more when I get home tomorrow, I miss you too, see you probably a few hours after you listen to this,” his voice was sincere and you could hear little cracks knowing he was upset. You could feel your heart racing, your mind was spiraling, what could he possibly have to say to me? This is going to be so awkward. What do I even say to him? Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on your door. You quickly fixed your hair before pulling the blanket up over your pajamas hiding any possible embarrassment.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you heard your mom’s voice outside, “can I come in?”

“Yes, come in,” you put the blanket down, “what is it?” Your Mom looked unusually happy for it being eight in the morning, she must have already had her coffee.

“Lando’s flight arrives in an hour, and we are all going to surprise him at the airport, I know you’re upset with him, but please maybe it will change things,” her eyes were pleading, and after the message, you knew it would be the right thing to do. You hopped out of bed grabbing your morning coffee before changing. You conveniently lived close to the airport so an hour was plenty of time. As you stood with your two families in the terminal waiting you began to think again, you had seen him on social media, which was easier to bury your feelings, but in real life, you didn’t know what you would do.

You watched the hallway, seeing several people go by, none were the faces you wanted to see. It had been a few more minutes since you were distracted by your phone, but you chose to look up at the perfect moment.

“Here he comes,” his mom exclaimed. You shoved your phone in your bag immediately, putting on a smile. He dropped his bag greeting first his parents, then your parents, and froze when he got to you. It was like time stopped, and no one else in the airport existed. He stretched out his arms as you rushed into them. He pulled you so close, you felt your feet lift off the ground.

“Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry, I’ve missed you so much,” he began to cry into you.

“Lando, Lando,” you sobbed feeling his warmth. The two of you pulled yourselves together as you made your way out to your cars.

“Why don’t you two ride together, you have some catching up to do,” his mom winked in your direction. The two of you did as you were told riding in the “kids' car” back to his parents’ home. You got home before them leaving you two some time after your silent car ride, both of you trying to keep it together. Once you got to their house, you made your way upstairs to his room. You watched him unpack his things before you noticed the stack of books next to the bed, the same ones you had looked at the night before. Something in your gut told you to open one, and it was right, it struck his attention.

“Wow look at us,” he said joining you sitting on his bed.

“I know, we were so cute,” you laughed pointing at a picture of you two at Lando’s 9th birthday, you were blowing out his candle with him.

“Still are,” he said softly, the look in his eyes showed he wanted to continue. You closed the book and took a good look at him, you saw pain in his body language, emotional pain. He was different than the Lando you saw the previous year.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you said resting your hand on his shoulder, “what did I do,” you thought back to last year knowing exactly what hurt him.

“Y/N, hand me the book,” he pointed to the one from your high school years. You handed him the book and he began to frantically flip through it, finding one specific picture. You stared at it, then at him with a faint smile on your lips.

“The dance,” you nodded looking ashamed.

“That’s when it started Y/N, and ever since then I have loved you, I thought I made it obvious, but you only saw me as a friend, I couldn’t take it anymore, I was hurt, and didn’t want to waste my time,” his eyes stayed locked on the book.

“Lan, I feel the same, it took me not having you present constantly to finally realize I have loved you,” you smiled. His eyes picked up from the book,

“All those messages were cries for you to call me so we could have this conversation, I started to think you moved on after the constant lack of response,” you sighed.

“I should have answered all those calls, I should have called back, I should have said something-” you cut him off pressing a kiss to his lips. His hands quickly found your face as yours found his hair, running your fingers through his curls. You both gasped for air after that, your foreheads resting against each other’s. Your hands moved slowly from his hair to his hands which remained on your face. He let go interlocking his fingers with yours as your hands moved to your lap.

“This, this is how it was meant to be,” he smiled, before kissing you once more.

“So should we tell our parents, who definitely have their suspicions already,” you laughed.

“Not yet,” he said laying down in his bed and pulling you along with him. You two lay there your head on his chest with your hands locked over your heart. You were at full joy in the moment, a moment that you didn’t know you needed until now. You flipped over laying on top of him.

“So despite my horrible dancing that night, that’s when you knew,” you laughed running your fingers through his hair again.

“I wasn’t much better,” he laughed, “despite your clumsiness, you still were beautiful,” he said grinning. You pressed another kiss to his lips as his arms found your back pulling you in tighter. You two continued, intensifying the kiss as you both lay now on your sides. His lips moved from your face, down to your jaw and eventually reached your neck, letting you sigh.

“Kids dinner!” your mom called from outside the door. Lando continued moving back up to your lips.

“Lan,” you repeated whispering, pushing him away, “come on,” you smiled.

“Just a few more,” he begged.

“Later,” your eyes showed promise. You fixed your hair in his full-length mirror where he stood behind you wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Come on,” you laughed opening the door. You two walked hand in hand downstairs meeting your families in the kitchen. They all turned to face the two of you standing there with intertwined fingers, both with red cheeks. The Dads gave nods of approval to Lando and the Moms squealed gesturing for you to both sit.

“Finally,” his mom clapped as you sat at the table.

“Come on give us a little kiss,” your mom added on. The Dads rolled their eyes but still watched. Lando pulled you in by your neck pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You heard your Dad’s whistle, you shot him a glare after the kiss ended. It was just like old times in the winter when you would have dinners, the conversation flowed naturally as you felt Lando’s smile beaming on his face. This was secretly what you always desired.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norizz #lando norris fluff #ln4 #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #ln4 mcl #mclaren #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren racing

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linkcharacter · 3 months ago

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Oh I have so many thoughts on aroace Curly, I think it brings so much on the table when analyzing the game's story.

Amanormativity ties in with the reoccurring mentions of the nuclear family, from Wrong Organ making 1950s mock advert posters, to Swansea talking about how getting a wife and kids didn't bring him any fulfillment in life.

In the cake cutting nightmare sequence, where Jimmy talks with Dream Curly about the mediocre cake, Dream Curly begins to talk about how sometimes you can only get the subpar stuff in live. Sometimes he'll get promoted, buy a house, fall in love. But other times he'll just have some awful fucking cake with his friend.

I think there is that subtle implication that Jimmy does buy into Amanormativity, with him projecting his beliefs on Dream Curly that a platonic relationship is lesser then a romantic one. But we never see Curly suggesting that he wants such a thing in the pre-crash.

With Jimmy thinking that Curly has everything in life, except for the desire (although I think Jimmy would view it as Curly not having the skills for it) to get a romantic partner, he would heavily lean into getting the one thing that Curly couldn't get in life to one up him.

THATS EXACTLY WHAT IM THINKING!!! AMATONORMATIVITY BE DAMNED!!!!

Looking at Mouthwashing through an aroace lens is interesting

"Jimmy thinking that Curly has everything in life, except for the desire", well said, well said! And references to the nuclear family fit in very cleanly thematically for Mouthwashing.

Jimmy leaning into amatonormativity is a smart observation. Jim internalizes all the social norms and standards on what you have to do to have a normal and desirable life, who sees everything Curly has and what Jimmy wishes he had, and is offended that Curly isn't satisfied, that he has the "audacity" to be unhappy. Curly meanwhile only wishes for his life to be something he doesn't have to run from, because by all means, he has already reached a point where he should feel accomplished, but isn't. Curly doesn't want to be a freighter captain his whole life, he doesn't want to settle with his sustainable position, he just wants to be happy. Like Swansea who has reached the "ideal" outcome of his life, having a wife, kids and a good career, it will never feel as good as embracing all what society deems undesirable yet right for you.

Jimmy does imply to seeing himself as lesser as a friend, "fall in love" being a goal and a "cake with a friend" being something he "has to settle for", it's all in the subtleties with underlying themes of "what you're "supposed to want" by society's expectations" against "what feels right for you". Jimmy is frustrated that Curly is going to "leave the dirt behind him", when in actuality, letting the crew and him go is the last thing Curly wants. Curly wants to be with his friends, he deeply cares about his crew, and about his close friend.

Mouthwashing as a whole reads to me as platonic through and through. Swansea and Daisuke having such a meaningful familial bond, Curly and Anya being sweet, playful and caring without romance, Anya and Daisuke having something of a siblings dynamic are dear to me. Also it's really rare to get to see representations of "toxic friendship" in media. Its always toxic romance this, toxic yaoi that, toxic family there, however in reality, friendships aren't excluded from being as rotten and abusive as the others, yet they're often overlooked. Jim and Curly are especially unique in this way. It's very impressive how they managed to showcase Jimmy's mistreatment of Curly in such a platonic way (at least that how I read it). Jim too, like Curly, in general avoids hints at romance and attraction explicitly related to him during his gameplay, not with Curly, nor with Anya (dear god thanks for that at least). It's all spite, annoyance and parasitizing off of these two. (That man's dry and lowkey hates everyone and everything) No attraction attached, no desires except hoping it hurts.

Curly to me is very much aroace, or at least on the spectrum. Like, the trivia fact that one of Curly's fondest memories is that of his friends putting in effort to make a shitty awful cake, tells us all we need to know on how dear his friends are to him. Platonic relationships mean so much to Curly, even when it's Jimmy fucking Mouthwashing, the worst friend ever imaginable.

#apologies I'm gonna rant a bit too #amatonormativity runs rampant within this fandom as well it seems tho #looking at you jimcurlers who think #“there's no way Curly and Jimmy were ”JUST“ friends there has to be something ”MORE“ to their relationship”#“because obviously two guys can't be close and toxic and NOT be having say gex with each other”#on the other side there's people who undermine or dismiss their friendship entirely #on this note I wanna say that as long as the ship isn't romanticizing abuse and consent is present it's not that much of a crime #and harassment of real people is worse than questionable fictional saygex #i just think it's heavyy mischaracterization of at least one of them #like swinging and missing the mark #I'm saying this to curlya enjoyers too despite me being one #they care for each other they're playful they're teasing #but they don't have to be in a romantic relationship to be just as friendly or doomed #but i don't get to judge on which is the correct way to enjoy characters #I love these characters #hooollyy yapp #would you guys also hear me out on demiromantic demisexual anya #mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #asks

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queenimmadolla · 1 year ago

Text

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

“Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around.

Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

“I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.”

“Wha’?”

“Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

“Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair.

While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him.

Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him.

The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention.

Someone.

Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side.

Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie.

He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

“It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

NOW, 1989

“Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

“Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand.

When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying.

You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job.

You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan.

So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

Your mother was murdered.

Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional.

The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery.

Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself.

You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace.

The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells.

He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting.

So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead.

“Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

It was a little odd, but you did.

When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

“I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

“I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him.

You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

“Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

“Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

“YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring.

“He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

“Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

“Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.”

Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss.

“I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked.

“I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

“Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.”

You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

“It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that.

“That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.”

Didn’t feel like it.

Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

“No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

“Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

“You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands.

“And I can. Please, let me do this.”

You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

“It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it.

You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

“So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university.

Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

“See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?”

You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, spill.”

Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

“Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!”

This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.

“Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush.

“Steve Harrington.”

“STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

“Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

“Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

“Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

“And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again.

“Does he flirt with you?”

“No.”

“See him flirt with any girls?”

“Nope.”

“Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

“Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

“He’s on the spectrum?”

Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

It got quiet for a few moments.

”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most.

She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

“Reefer Rick?”

“Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

Munson.

You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

“I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

“Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

“Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

“No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

“How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

“H-He’s your favorite…?”

“Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

“You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you.

“Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

“He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea.

“Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

Maybe a drink would calm you down.

You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

“The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now.

“What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

“Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

Oh, shit.

Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

”Funny seeing you here.”

You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off.

“It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

“I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

“Oh.”

He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

OH, THANK FUCK.

“Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

“So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

“Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

“Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

“Hey, Carol.”

Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

“You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl.

“Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

“Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

“You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

“I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

“Oopsie.”

But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

“Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy.

Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning.

You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

“You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

“You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

“You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

“I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

“Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

“Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it.

Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

“You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

“Wall.”

“Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

“Great Wall of China.”

Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

“Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense.

Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

“Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing.

“Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

“Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

“Does that feel good?”

You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.”

Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

“I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within.

She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

“Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you.

His right arm was out, palm up.

He was waiting for you.

You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

“Sissy. . .”

“Sissy…”

“SISSY!”

You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect.

What the hell?

“You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways.

You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

“It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

“Oh my god…”

“So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

“Ooh, your knees…”

You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

“I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

“Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

“You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist.

“Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once.

“Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

“It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

“Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

“Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

“It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

“Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

“That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

“Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

“I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

“─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

“And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing.

“That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning.

You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

“I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

“Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

“THAT WE DO!”

You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

“What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

“Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

“Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

“Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

“Mm. White wine?”

It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

“Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

“He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

You shot him a glare.

“Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers.

You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

Then your eyes snapped open.

Oh, god. You were a loser.

After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

“Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

“Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

“Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation.

“She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

“I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

“Yes, we got a free soda!”

Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

“Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

“Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

“Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

“You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

“All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.”

“Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

“I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

“I bet you can.”

After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house.

Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder.

And it was coming from outside your front door.

You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home.

You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

“Uuuhhhnng…”

This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

“Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

“OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!”

You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs.

You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

“Stop it!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Go away, I’m just a girl!”

The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located.

On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature.

You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it.

Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

“It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.”

He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation,

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

“Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

“I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

“Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

“Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

“C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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the-daydreaming-show · 1 year ago

Text

❝never a tear, baby of mine❞ — Jason Todd

dick's version

Jason was a quiet kid. So quiet and calm that he didn't was totally a child, more was like a mini adult.

NOTE:

This is like REALLY late, because I had problems with my internet and the power on me going out, so I apologize for that.

As always, thanks to our beta reader: @igotmessymind.

And wiht no further ado, I hope you find wait worth it, I apologize again and that you for reading!!

XOXO ELLA.

This story is part or the BATMOM SCARLET WITCH UNIVERSE that I have create. I hope you enjoy!!!

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

WARNINGS: Mentions of child neglect; Jason (not his actual) mom death.

Contrary to popular belief, Dick was always the son who kept you and Bruce on the edge of your seats.

People were always surprised when you told them this. Probably, because with those blue eyes and adorable dimples, your eldest son knew how to fool people so easily. But the boy had grown up in the circus and had more energy than a thunderbolt. You couldn't count the times you found him hanging from the ceiling lamps, practicing his pirouettes. He was the reason there was a strict rule at Wayne Manor about not taking your feet off the ground without adult supervision.

Jason, your baby, he was easy. People were shocked at this statement as well.

People expected him to be a little savage whenever you guys made a public appearance, whether it was at a gala or going to the market.

Yes. You had to keep him from talking to the press, because he had a habit of being verbally deadly, but other than that he was always the calmest of kids in public and in private as well.

This unfounded popular belief probably had something to do with the boy being taken off the streets by you and your husband. Literally.

Your husband kidnapped a child from an alley in Gotham on a given winter night.

You weren't in the batcave that night, so Alfred was the one supervising the computer. But when it got particularly late, just before the sun began to rise, you woke up to find that your husband still wasn't sleeping clinging to your waist like he usually did. So you decided to go downstairs to see what was going on.

Mmmh, maybe Bruce was your most chaotic boy and not Dick like you thought.

You meet Alfred, waiting with a tray with three cups of freshly brewed tea.

“Are we expecting someone, Alfred?” you asked as you approached the man preparing everything with elegance.

“That's right, Miss” the man said, looking up with amused eyes “Master Bruce has found company on tonight's patrol” he gave you the look of a father disappointed but not surprised by his son's actions. But before you could say more or ask questions, the sound of the Batmobile in the distance made you approach the platform where the car typically parked.

Bruce jumped out of the car, in his Batman suit, without any injuries that you could see, then leaned over to help a small body out of the vehicle. He was a boy, skinny to the bone, in your eyes, dressed inappropriately for the weather, and looking around with startled eyes. You looked at your husband in confusion, Bruce could practically see the question mark on your forehead. So he walked over to you, while the boy was too gawking at the cave to notice that you guys were talking to the side.

“¿Did you kidnap a child again?” you asked in a worried whisper.

“No” Bruce defended himself, pulling off the hood of his suit so that you could see all of his beautiful face in front of you. “His name is Jason” he explained to you while you both looked at the boy for a moment. Jason had stepped away from the Batmobile to look down at the edge of the platform at the void below you, his cheeks against the metal of the railings. (You were mentally grateful to have convinced Bruce to put those railings all over the cave, after that Dick started spending more time there years ago). “And I found him trying to steal the tires from the Batmobile. He was alone, and he told me that he intended to sell it to buy food” he told you, and you instinctively looked at said car.

That beastly car had almost been desecrated by the little hands of a hungry child, who didn't seem at all affected by the idea of almost robbing THE Batman. You found the situation amusing.

“Really?”, you asked your husband, smiling amused.

All while Jason was looking fascinated at the ceiling of the cave and wondering: ¿Where did the lights hang from?. He couldn't see the roof of the place.

“Yeah. And he almost got away with it.” Bruce seemed almost as proud of the boy's actions, and you feel the same way. Press your lips together in an attempt not to laugh out loud.

“¿And how does all that explain your kidnapping him?” you asked teasingly, to which Bruce rolled his eyes in exoneration and giggled impishly at it.

“You are Bruce Wayne's wife” the boy's voice made them both look at him, but the boy was not intimidated and kept talking. “Which makes sense, because if Bruce Wayne is Batman, obviously his wife will know.” He said, more like a thought out loud than a conversation with you. “My mom used to say that she would die from one of the shoes you put up and that they showed on TV, but in the end she died from the drugs, not your shoes. ” He explained naturally. To which you threw your head back a bit in surprise at such a natural statement about something that must have been very sad. Looking at your husband and his eyes told you it was the first time he heard about this. “I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Wayne.” the boy apologized quickly, suddenly very aware that he was talking to two of the richest people in Gotham (and the world as well) “B told me I could spend the night here. But don't worry tomorrow, in the morning I'll leave without causing any problems, ” he quickly explained to you.

You looked at your husband again, and he left a memory in his mind for you to see as an explanation. He showed you how he had found the boy, how Bruce had talked him into agreeing to let him buy something to eat and then offered him a place to sleep, because the boy admitted that he was all alone. With a dead mother and a father who was in prison, the boy lived on the streets of Gotham, surviving as best he could. Jason hadn't trusted him at first, which was understandable. Who knew what he had seen living on the streets of a city like Gotham. So Bruce did the only thing he could think of to gain the boy's trust, so he could get him to safety, as he took off his mask. And Jason, faced with such a show of honesty, agreed to get on the Batmobile to return with Bruce to the cave. (Or, Bruce put the boy in the car before he could get over the shock of the news. It depends on how you look at it.)

“Oh honey. Don't worry, it doesn't bother me at all, we have plenty of space available” you assured him with a sweet smile to which the boy smiled back. It was true, since Dick had moved in with the Titans, there was too much empty space for your liking. “Come, sit down and have some tea, it will help with the cold” you said, pointing up the stairs to the main platform of the cave.

“Cool!” the boy exclaimed as they started walking. Bruce instinctively reached for your hand, not wanting you to stray too far from him, just because.

Then Jason ate a dozen of Alfred's cookies, drank all his tea, and at the end, Bruce let him touch the batcomputer, watching the boy's fascination with all the buttons. (Of course, the latter was under your and Bruce's watch. You didn't want the boy to activate some self-destruct protocol or something). He played with the satellite map for a while, showing you the places he had been and the school he used to go to before his mother died. Then he started to yawn, and you were sure the sun should have risen outside by that point.

“Well, it's time to go up” you said when you saw him yawn widely for the third time. “Come on” you stood up from your seat next to him to offer him your hand. The boy frowned at you, severely confused.

“¿Up where?” he asked, looking at your hand suspiciously, but rising to take it and follow you nonetheless. You had that effect on him. You were so pretty, and warm, and kind that he thought to himself, there was no way you were real, surely all of this must be a cruel hallucination of some kind.

“Up home, Jay” you told her as you turned to be greeted by a Bruce who had already come out of his suit and was waiting for them both on the stairs to the elevator. “We're below Wayne Manor” you explained, thinking that he was confused as to what was above your heads and why they would go there.

“Will you let me sleep in your mansion?!” the surprised boy asked. There was definitely something wrong there, there was no way two of the richest people in the city would let him sleep in his house, in one of his beds, with expensive mattresses and even more expensive sheets. Impossible.

“Of course” you said with a sweet smile, “We have many empty rooms and now one of them is yours”

“Your room is ready, young Jason.” Alfred told him, joining the walk to the elevator. “Though maybe an extra cookie or two was left in the room by accident. I hope that's not a problem for you” he said, smiling complacently, at which the boy laughed mischievously. You gave him a look that Alfred pretended not to catch, and they all went on their way while.

“I didn't think you would let me sleep at your house.” the boy admitted shyly, looking at his shoes, once again thinking aloud.

It took you a second to realize that Jason had thought she'd leave him sleeping in the cave, like a stray dog, and it broke your heart. You promised yourself to do everything you could to make that little boy feel like he deserved nothing less than the best in the world.

Jason didn't leave the mansion after that day.

Social Services didn't put up much resistance to the adoption, for two reasons. Firstly, you and Bruce already had a pretty good record of adopting and raising Dick. And second, stirring up the issue too much would show how they hadn't looked for Jason after he had run away from his last home. From what you've seen, his file only contains basic information leading up to the fact that he was supposed to be in foster care with 10-15 other kids, but clearly they've been on the streets for quite some time. And Jason seemed to have adjusted quickly when the caseworker came to visit for the first few weeks, at least to her standards. But in your eyes, the child was far from having adapted to the idea of being part of the family.

Jason gets up early, before everyone else in the house.

You had learned from the experience with Dick that establishing a strict bedtime schedule was important in the long run. So you knew he was sleeping because you watched him before you went to sleep yourself. So the boy sleeps well and you could confirm it. He had admitted to you that it had been difficult in the early days to sleep at night because he could never really be asleep while living on the streets. Something about the heavy blankets over him made him fall asleep peacefully. His lights went out before he could even finish laying his head on the pillow. Of course, this one you had invested a lot of money in more blankets for the child, which was the only thing that Jason had allowed to be bought for his room.

He assured you that the room was fine as is, and it did not need to be changed. What you'd called bullshit all along, because there was no way a kid would like a room that was the closest thing to a blank page. But you hadn't pushed him, waited until he was more comfortable in the new environment.

So the boy was sleeping in a guest room he didn't want to make entirely his own. He was up before anyone else in the house, even Alfred. He would get ready and go down to breakfast alone. He got what he needed by scaling the counter and cabinets if necessary, leaving Alfred to clean up the marks on his slippers. This until Jason overheard him, after which he started taking off his sneakers before climbing up to find the cereal. He ate breakfast in silence, looking out the kitchen window at the patio, then washed everything he had used by hand, even though there is a state-of-the-art dishwasher in the kitchen. He then left the kitchen and got lost in the mansion.

Bruce found him in the mansion's library a couple of times. Jason said that he was trying to practice his reading, since he hadn't been to school since before her mom died because he had to take care of her when her dad was arrested. Your husband offered his help, but the boy refused. And since Jay realized that his hideout had been discovered, he began to roam the mansion, picking random rooms to hide in during the day when you and Bruce began to keep him company in the library.

The child hides and avoids both of you. You at first thought that was a repeat of Dick's first few months, that Jason was mad at the world. Consequently, you would expect anger and yelling anytime you ran into Jason around the mansion. You mentally braced yourself for the thought of all that chaos again, how he would sneak out of school when he started once the holidays were over and the whole package was over.

This time, you were ready and prepared to help him with that rage. You won't let it consume you like Dick did for a long time because you didn't know how to handle it. This time you will do well.

But Jason's eyes would light up when you or your husband greeted him in the mornings after meeting him at the house. He clung to the hands of one or both of you every time you went out into the street. He would hug your waist when you hid him from the paparazzi in the park. (You had a no-photos rule for your kids, only official photos approved by you and your husband, so you and the paparazzi didn't have the best relationship in the world.) He let you guys hug him and look at him without problem. He never initiates affection, but he clung to it when it was given to him, both from you and from Bruce, or Alfred even.

So you were confused, to say the least.

However, you had learned your lesson with Dick. There were situations in which you had to be active and aggressive to help your children. So you talked to Bruce and you both decided it was time to talk to Jason about this peculiar pattern.

Then Alfred told you that if they both faced him at the same time, it would be too intimidating for the boy, causing him to shut down more than help.

Blessings be Alfred. He has always been the smartest in the house (don't tell that to Bruce).

Like every night, Jason had already gotten ready and tucked themselves into bed. Also, he had offered to help Alfred with the cleaning like every day, but the butler had refused as he did a lot lately. So he decided to do the whole night routine without bothering you: he brushed his teeth, put on his pajamas, got into bed and read a book, like you usually offer to do. It cost him less than before, but still some words were complicated.

You arrived shortly after he had finished reading his fourth story of the night and had accidentally gotten hooked on reading another one. You knocked on the door softly as you opened it.

“Oh, you're already in bed,” you commented, surprised that the boy had done everything himself. Usually, he lets you help with all of this without a problem, so you're disappointed that he won't let you help him.

“Yes, and I just read one story,” he said, quickly trying to hide that he had disobeyed the one-story rule. Jason didn't want you to be angry. He knew you wouldn't hurt him, but he feared your disappointment more than your fury.

“Really?”, you asked excitedly. You knew how hard he had worked to improve his reading these past few weeks to prepare for school. “That's amazing, honey,” you told him as you closed the door softly and walked to sit next to him. Jason smiled happily at your tone of pure joy and pride in his accomplishment.

“Yes,” Jason said as he closed the book and left it on the nightstand, excited to tell you about his progress, “I still have a hard time with some words. But I will fix it before school starts.” He made it clear to you right away, so don't worry.

The truth is that Jason didn't want to bother. Not you, not Alfred, not Bruce. In his mind, that was the way to be a good son. That was what his parents had taught him.

Willis Todd hated it when Jason was in the way. He always ran into him around the house (although that was probably beer-related), and that ended badly for Jason. So Jason learned quickly to stay out of the way so as not to be in the way, not in the sight of his parents, because that was good. His mother never said anything against that arrangement, so he always assumed she agreed.

When his dad left, disappearing without any notice (Jason eventually found out on the streets that he had been arrested and sent to prison), it became difficult for his mom not to see him since she had to do everything. But she was too high to notice half the time. And the other half, when she was aware of him, she wasn't aggressive towards him, she went from hugging him lovingly to crying on her shoulder. As if Catherine were the child and Jason was the father, she was comforting. Then she didn't get up after one dose, and the police came after he called an elderly woman who lived next door to her to ask her to call an ambulance. Then they put him in a couple of foster homes. But no one paid much attention to him, and it wasn't worth putting up with the other children, especially the older ones, who enjoyed tormenting him for being smaller. So he ended up on the street, taking care of himself. It was more natural for him to depend on himself alone than to let them take care of him.

“Well,” you said, settling next to him against the headboard, “but there's no need for that. That's why you're going to school — to learn,” you explained as you ran your hand through his curls. “It's okay if you don't know everything before that.”

“But I don't want to be behind the rest of my classmates, they surely already know how to read very well,” he explained regretfully, somewhat embarrassed.

Only once had his parents been called to the school he had gone to in Park Row. The teacher meant well, for sure. But telling her father that Jason seemed to need a little more help than usual with his reading and that it would be a good idea to move him to a school with a special program for kids like him only made her father see it. And that was never something good. He didn't want you to feel upset with him for that, either.

“It doesn't matter what other children know or don't know, Jason,” you assured him lovingly. “It matters that you learn without fear of not knowing. It's not a bad thing to not know how to do something that's hard for you to do, sometimes,” you tried to explain, and the boy nodded slowly, processing the information you had given him.

Jason thought for a moment, absorbing what you said, but he was not sure how to respond in a way that would make you happy but not be a nuisance to your daily life. But you didn't let him get to a question because you asked him one in return.

“Jason, my dear,” you called, breaking the boy from his thoughts, who looked at you with big, blue eyes. So precious your baby was. “I have a very important question for you, and I need you to answer me honestly,” you asked him seriously, to which the boy adjusted himself with a worried frown to face you more.

It reminded you of Bruce, who made the same gestures when you talked to him seriously.

Your heart tightened with pride at how your two boys, Dick and Jason, were beginning to imitate Bruce so soon after meeting him. Despite all of his doubts, he was someone the kids immediately looked to as an example. You reminded him repeatedly, despite his complaints, because he needed to be reminded that being Batman wasn't the only way he could make a difference to people. He did it every day in his home, with your children, and with you.

“Yes, Mrs. Wayne - Sorry, y/n,” he corrected himself quickly, but you thought nothing of it despite the way he cringed in place at his own mistake.

“Jay, do you like being here with me, with Bruce, and with Alfred? Are you happy being part of this family?” you asked a little fearfully, sounding as soft as possible so that it didn't feel like an interrogation.

Jason was stunned. His blue eyes looked at you in confusion: Why would you ask such a question? Of course, he was happy, Jason had everything he could need to survive and the company of you and Bruce. Why would you think he wasn't happy with you?

You saw the confusion painted on his face the moment you asked, so you decided to elaborate a little more on the situation.

“You see, Bruce and I have noticed that you don't seem to be around the house much even though you're here. You even get up to have breakfast alone. It seems like you are hiding from us, Jay. Which is why Bruce and I are worried” you began to explain in a soft tone, “Did something happen? Is there something bothering you?

“No, there's nothing that bothers me,” Jason assured quickly, so worried about the situation. “I just don't want to be in the middle,” the boy explained, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Which made your heart break, and you wondered why he would believe that.

Would there have been any comments from you or Bruce?

Or something you guys did that gave Jason that impression?

Whatever it was, it needed a solution because it couldn't be further from the truth. Personally, you had missed having a child in the house, and so had Bruce, despite his attempt to pretend that Dick's departure hadn't bothered him.

Your husband and eldest son had a very ugly fight before he went to live in the Teen Titans Tower. He had arranged for you and Alfred to serve as intermediates. But that didn't change your oldest son's decision to move out of the house. A lot of his stuff was still at Wayne Manor, but he wasn't, which made it a little depressing for you.

“Why do you think you're in the middle?” you asked sadly.

“Well, I know it bothers adults when kids are all over them needing things and asking questions. So I try not to be too intense with you because I am very grateful because now I am part of the family.” Jason shrugged as he looked at his hands, trying to remove his cuticles. A nervous habit that you had noticed.

Unsure of what to do, you played it safe and hugged Jason over the shoulder with one arm, holding him close to you, while with your other free hand, you stopped the suggestion of pinching your cuticles by taking his hand and caressing his plasma instead.

You thought for a moment about how you could handle the whole situation without the need to abruptly destroy the belief system and give it a crisis. You also didn't want all of this to sound like a reprimand for believing something that couldn't be further from the truth, because it wasn't his fault. But you weren't going to leave things like that.

“You know, Jay. Bruce and I are not like other adults," you started feeling a little like Mean Girls' mom and her 'I'm not a regular mom, I'm a cool mom', which made you want to roll your eyes, but you kept going. “We love having you around. Dick got us used to that, you know, so we’d love for you to get in the middle as much as you like Jay,” you explained, and the boy looked at you with wide eyes, a gleam of hope in them.

“Really?” he asked doubtfully.

“Really serious,” you assured him with a smile, which Jason couldn’t help but quickly spread. “Besides, you can always know without a doubt that as long as you are in the middle of your father and mine, you will never have to worry about anything. Because you will be safe and sound,” you assured him gently, moving a hair from his forehead and then kissing the area lovingly.

“I like that,” Jason whispered, as if the thought had escaped him, looking at you with stars in his eyes. He really liked that idea.

Jason ran down the stairs while you calmly entered the house with bags of clothes in hand. Alfred was behind you with more bags and resigned to the fact that you had once again bought extra clothes for the whole family. Yes, you also bought him a couple of new sweaters, the kind he liked, but he insisted they were too expensive.

You didn't finish passing through the living room towards the stairs when Jason ran up and hugged your waist without thinking twice. Now, at thirteen years old, it would probably be time for you to start asking him to take care of the force with which he threw himself into his arms whenever he saw you. But the truth is that you didn't want him to. If you two fell, so be it, but you would never ask Jason to walk away. Not after what it was like the first time your son was in the house.

“Hello, sweet boy,” you said to Jason while hugging as best you could with the bags in your arms. “I got you another one of those hoodies that you said you liked. I got it in red, I thought that color would look good on you”.

Jason didn't stop hugging your waist as the three of you went upstairs to leave the bags so he could try on what you had bought him. Nor when, after trying everything on and being satisfied with his new clothes, you went back downstairs to have tea and eat cookies in the library. Not even when the two of them left there to greet Bruce when he arrived late from the Wayne Enterprise, and he received the same hug, but with more balance than you. Dick arrived, and Jason was still clinging to your waist until all sat down to eat dinner.

“Was I like that?” Dick asked in a mocking whisper to Alfred.

“Was?” mocked back the butler “Master Dick, you are still exactly like that”

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz @otchae @d3m0n8ch1ld @marsenbie @mynameisnotlaura @andieperrie18 @igotmessymind @amarawayne @kodzukenmaaa @mellowdiy @noah-uhhh-what @blarba-girl @dead-sane-stuff @huhuhhuhh @kimmis-stuff @undecided-shipper @poppyalice2001 @lafrone @voodoo-writer @lilvampirina @astrial @maliagurl @kazhaelfuhghi @poppyalice2001 @totallynotme420 @calsjack @igotmessymind @pato-spoiler-27 @urminebutidontwantyou @cluelessteam

#batfamily x reader #jason todd x batmom #batmom #tim drake x batmom #batmom!reader #batfam x reader #dick grayson x batmom #scarletwitch!batmom!reader #scarletwitch!reader #batman x scarletwitch

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bowditch · 2 years ago

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every time i see a post talking about how alfred pennyworth failed bruce for not getting him into therapy as a kid i want to scream.

it did not exist. the idea that children could have PTSD was just starting to be discussed in the late 80s/early 90s at the FRINGE of child psychology, and then trauma therapy even for adults spent an unhelpful 2ish decades dominated by forced-conversation talk therapy. that's a thing that is detrimental to trauma recovery, because if someone doesn't feel safe or in control of the dialogue about their trauma and is repeatedly asked to describe their trauma when they're uneasy, it COMPOUNDS TRAUMA AND FEELINGS OF DANGER.

when bruce was a kid, even the best psychs available would have had training that taught them kids bounce back, that kids don't respond to or handle trauma the way adults do, and that any behaviors post-trauma were almost certainly unrelated mental illness.

i see this esp in fandom circles but a gentle reminder that therapy even when it's good doesn't fix everything. even if bruce had HAD access to good childhood PTSD therapy, he would still have grief, he would still potentially be socially awkward or withdrawn, he might have still decided to be Batman because it's a comic book where being a vigilante isn't as wild as it is irl.

therapy requires honesty, readiness, safety, sound application of theory, an accurate picture of life outside the therapy room (self-reporting is often flawed!), consistency, and more! it can help but it doesn't erase trauma or grief. it's dismissive of the history of trauma therapy to say an adult "should have" had a kid in a therapy approach that didn't exist, and it's dismissive of the actual work of therapy to act like therapy would have made everything ideal. bruce isn't going to be a normal, well-adjusted adult because his parents were murdered in front of him. he could be happy! he could have coping skills! but honestly it would be weirder if he didn't wrestle with residual trauma and grief throughout his life.

and maybe this is just because i love Batman, and love specifically Batman as a symbol/figure of hope and sacrifice and the belief that every life matters, but I don't think the worst ending here is Bruce deciding to give up a lot of his time, energy, and health to work in Gotham AND then choose to parent a traumatized child and actively meet his needs. like you think the alternative is that Alfred is a better parent by getting him into non-existent therapy and then he stays comfortably wealthy at home and is just another rich dude? that's the ideal version? the one who can't help Dick Grayson because Dick Grayson wants to run away and murder a man?

anyway tl;dr alfred should have flaws, yes, but there's a big gap between "flawed human parental figure" and "man who massively failed Bruce in multiple ways, one of which was not putting him in therapy."

#rant #therapy #history #batman

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celestie0 · 5 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony drabble no1. new neighbor

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ drabble summary. you visit your new next-door-neighbor's house to welcome him to the neighborhood only to find issue with the fact that's he's insanely hot (note to any potential new readers: you can read this before starting the main storyline if you'd like!)

ᰔ main storyline summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ words. 2.4k

a/n. hiiiiii welcome to this first ihm drabble!! i just had an idea of writing a small scene of when ihm gojo & reader first met so :0 cracked this out in an hour. hope you enjoyy!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

There were a great deal of possibilities you had expected to see when you rang the doorbell to your new next-door-neighbors house, but none of them were quite what you had ended up seeing at the front door when it had swung open.

Perhaps it could’ve been a newlywed couple, looking stressed beyond belief with thin lines under their eyes over the agony that comes with moving into a new home with a partner. It could’ve been a teenager, possibly a broody one, because your parents moving the family out to some random town right in the middle of your high school years would’ve made any kid emo. Or it could’ve been an old wrinkly man, grumpy and a little sore to the eyes and entirely too irritated by someone ringing his doorbell because it fucked up the frequency transmitter on his hearing aids.

Instead, when the door flew open, your neck craned up to meet the eye contact of the most stupidly hot and handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. Well, at least certainly in all of this smalltown in Dayton county. They don’t build men like that here. With stunning blue eyes that stare deep into yours, hair that’s boyishly shaggy yet looks so soft at the same time, tall, muscular, broad shoulders. And the soft cotton of his pajama long-sleeve shirt with the matching plaid pants clinging to the curves of strong biceps and thighs has you full-fledged staring at this—…dare-you-say, incredibly husband-material of a man.

You almost forget you have a boyfriend for a second. And, for the record, your boyfriend is a sexy piece of ass too (Choso if you’re reading this please know that I love you very much and Gojo would have to fight a feral bear to steal me away from you). But, god, was it a crime to find another man attractive occasionally?

He blinks at you, eyes wide like he was equally as shocked to take in the appearance of you. You’re also sure the last thing he expected was a visitor right now at 2:33pm on a Tuesday, but you had finally seen all the UHAUL trucks pulled up in his driveway and the men moving furniture into his house leave the neighborhood, so you felt now would be a good time to introduce yourself.

“Hi,” he finally says to you, rubbing the back of his neck like it’s sore, “uhh…can I help you?”

You’re momentarily speechless. “Oh! I’m—” you take a pause to breathe because words are suddenly unspeakable without at least a gallon of air in your lungs, “I’m y/n, I live next door.” You point to your house. “I just saw you moving in and so I…wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!” You hold out the paper plate wrapped in tin foil that you were holding. “I made some pumpkin bread for you.”

The corner of his mouth curls up slightly, eyebrows raising pleasantly. “Oh, that’s really sweet, thanks,” he says with a tone that suggests he’s surprised by the hospitality and you briefly wonder where he’s moved here from. He takes the plate from you and balances it on his palm.

An awkward silence.

“Uh, did you wanna—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind himself, “did you wanna come inside?”

You blink at him.

“I mean, the place is kind of a mess right now, but—”

“Yes,” you cut him off.

He smiles at you, relaxed now compared to that hesitance from before, and he uses his back to push the door open more while stepping aside for you to walk inside, and walk inside is exactly what you do.

The house is a little cold, with no heater running, and incredibly empty. It’s pretty much the exact copy layout of your house, as all houses in the neighborhood are, except the color tones within this one are much brighter. The foyer is crowded with stacked cardboard boxes, some open and some not, with styrofoam sprawled all across carpet and hardwood, and you take a moment to admire the seafoam green loveseat pressed flush up against one of the walls.

“Got it on Facebook Marketplace,” he tells you, and you glance over at him to see him watching you assess his furniture, “lots of surprisingly good finds on there.”

You smile at him and stand up straight.

“I’m Satoru, by the way,” he says, leaning his shoulder against the door now before crossing his arms, “sorry, I don’t think I introduced myself to you earlier.”

“Ohh, no worries. You’re probably tired from moving in?” you ask, trying not to feel awkward in this essentially-a-stranger’s house.

“Very,” he laughs.

“What made you move here?”

“Oh, just, uh, my job. My family’s out here too, so figured it’d be nice being a little closer to them. But I was in a bit of a rush to close on something out here, so I just bought the first place I could find.” He peers in towards the house, eyes darting across his empty dining room. You notice slabs of deconstructed wood are leaned up against the wall. “But it’s nice. Neighborhood’s nice too.”

“Oh yesss we have wonderful people maintaining it!” you tell him.

He flashes you one of those smiles again. “You’ve lived here a while?”

“Yes! I was born and raised here, actually,” you say and then point a finger in the direction of your house, “that’s actually the only house I’ve ever lived in.”

His eyes widened. “Wow, that’s rare.”

“Yuppp. Just my mom and I now.”

“Oh, is your mom the one that was out gardening yesterday?” he asks. “Pulling out weeds on the edges of the driveway?”

You sigh. “Yes. That’s her. Er, at least I’m pretty sure it is, because I always tell her not to garden anymore, but she never listens to me.”

He lets out a well-meaning scoff, and you wonder if he’ll ask you more questions about it, but he lets the conversation settle into a silence instead. You discretely steal a glance at his left hand when he untucks it from his crossed arms to scratch at his jaw, and you notice there’s no wedding ring on his finger.

“Do you want some coffee?” he asks.

You blink at him. “Oh, I—…sure.”

He leads you into the kitchen, which you notice is mostly set up with all the appliances out on the counters and glass cabinets filled with ceramic sets of mugs and plates. He has an espresso machine set up in the corner of the stover counter, and you follow him right up to it.

“Woooow an espresso machine, I’ve always wanted one of these.”

He flits his gaze to you with a smile on his face before he grabs the handle of the portafilter, twisting it to release it from the machine, and then he presses some button that pushes steam out of it. “It’s worth it if you’re a daily coffee drinker.”

You sigh, leaning your elbow on the counter as you watch him. “Oh, I survive off of coffee, please. I work as a night shift nurse at the ED over on Main Street, so I need all the caffeine I can get.”

“You’re a nurse? That’s good to know,” he says, measuring out beans on a small digital scale. You turn to face him a little more, entirely intrigued by the process now. “If I’m ever in a life or death situation, can I give you a call?”

“If you’re still able to give me a call, then you’re not in a life or death situation.”

He gives you another one of those smiles, a little cheekily lopsided this time, like he’s really enjoying this conversation with you. It’s probably something that’s pleasantly mentally stimulating to his exhausted mind as he’s likely spent the last three days or so talking to no one except the UHAUL truck people and the melancholic memorabilia within his boxes of stuff. It was as easy as any small talk could be, this conversation, and it’s coming a little too naturally for your own liking as well.

He puts the beans in the grinder, and you hear a whirring sound as they are ground into fine particles that release a rich aroma of bitter into the air.

“This seems awfully tedious. I take back my desire of wanting an espresso machine,” you comment, pushing your knuckles into your cheek now as you perch yourself up by an elbow on the counter.

He laughs as he sifts the grounds into the portafilter, breaking up any clumps, and then he twists it onto the espresso machine before placing a mug underneath it. “Yeah, there’s a steep learning curve with it, but once you perfect it, it’s pretty easy. A lot can go wrong that can affect the quality of the shot though, for sure.”

“Like what?” you ask, a little too interested.

“Uhh, you can over extract, which leaves kind of a bitter taste, or under extract, which makes it taste sour. Usually depends on the ground size or the tamping. Plus, when you switch beans, you’ve gotta experiment on the settings all over again.”

You hear the whirring of the machine plus the delicate steady drip of the espresso into the mug. “I have a headache just listening to that. Why bother at all?”

He nods his head slowly, glancing at the watch on his wrist, and after a set amount of seconds has passed, he turns the machine off then peers into the mug. “Well, taste it and see if it’s worth it,” he says, handing the mug to you.

You take it from him, the fragrance of coffee immediately making your mouth water. And you take a delicate sip of the coffee, a slight bitterness hitting your tongue followed immediately by sweetness from the crema that has your eyes widening.

“Oh. Oh wow. Incredibly worth it,” you say.

He laughs. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Gosh no, I’ll just have it like this, please.”

You both chat a little bit more as he makes himself a cup too. You notice that he has his coffee black, as essentially an Americano, which he pours over ice in a shiny glass even in the cool of autumn.

Apparently he’s a real estate agent, selling properties a little out further than the county line, in more posh areas than here. Like all those cliff-side homes you see when you’re driving further out of town and always sigh to yourself wondering if you’ll ever get to live in a pretty house like that someday.

His parents live nearby as well as his younger sister’s family and he has a niece who’s four years old. And you want to ask so badly if he has a family of his own as well, but if he did, wouldn’t they be here with him?

“Holy shit this is amazing,” he says through a muffled mouthful of the pumpkin bread you brought for him, “you made this from scratch?”

No. You used a pre-made mix. “Oh gosh, yes, I’m something of a little baker, if you will.”

He nods, letting out an indulgent sigh as he chews, eyes shutting close tightly in satisfaction of the taste and you find it amusing. He has a physical build that you could only assume requires an immense amount of discipline, but it’s kind of cute to see he’s somewhat weak for sweets.

You glance at the time on your phone. “Ah, I have to get going. I need to take my mom somewhere, but um, it was really nice meeting you! Hopefully I’ll see you around in the neighborhood?”

He nods his head, “oh, yeah, definitely.”

Your cheeks warm a little.

He walks you to the front entrance, and you briefly glance out the window into his driveway. “Oh. There’s a boat.”

He walks up right next to you, his arm pressed against your shoulder as he stands close, and you note that he smells so nice, like shampoo and clean laundry. The softness of his pajamas brushes against your skin and it makes you borderline dizzy.

Choso would be pissed off to the nines if he knew you were feeling things for your next-door-neighbor. Cut it out already, you think to yourself.

“Oh they finally brought my boat in,” he comments, “sweet.”

“That’s yours?” you ask, turning to face him in surprise, “it’s huge!”

“Yup, just bought it,” he says, shoving his hands in his pants pockets as he walks up to the window to peer out the blinds. “A beauty, she is.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a she, it’s an it.”

“To you, maybe. But to me?…she’s so much more than that,” he says, but there’s some self-regarding hint of satire in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” you say, slipping your shoes back on at the door. “It’s kind of…lengthy though. Where are you going to park it?”

He shrugs. “Probably right out there. Where it is right now.”

Where it is right now?!?! The hull is dangerously close to the entry of your driveway. There’s no way that would be agreeable with you. How are you supposed to pull your car in?

“Um. I’m pretty sure I’d have difficulties pulling my car in if you parked it there,” you tell him politely as he opens the door for you and you step out onto the concrete step of his front entrance.

You turn around to face him and see him squinting his eyes at his boat with inspection of your concern. Sorry for sounding repetitive, but it's seriously shocking. The way he looks. The way that small little expression—his eyes narrowing, brows furrowing, bottom lip slightly jutting out, all paired with the haphazard way his hair falls over his eyes—makes you stare at him like he’s some Grecian sculpture. It was a little concerning.

But, at the end of the day, attraction is merely cognitive, is it not? A social construct, if you will. Something that can go away just as easily as it comes, and then arrive once more as easily as it went away.

A pattern you’ll eventually realize a lot with your new next-door-neighbor, Gojo Satoru.

“Nah,” he says, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

[end of drabble]

a/n. alternate universe where they fuck on the marble countertop of his kitchen island on first encounter pls

🏷️ @tremendousbouquetflower @semra4 @noctuaism @gojonegs @reinam00n

@bloopsstuff @bbyxxm @yungbloode @elloredef @spriteshawtyy

@joemama-2 @luniunia @4y3sh4 @ironhottubstranger @lushafterglow

@hermizery @manyno @idiot-juice-enthusiast @fairyflorasworld @teramisuyhin

@mmeerraa @bnha-free-writing @xenop0p @spaghettinewt @pngjpn

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@electrckchild @vi-ola666 @arishaxml @lavender-hvze @starmapz

@sxnkuna @billiondollarworth @fallintothechasm @mavvsmm @satorubluu

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@ifartmangos @andeverden @13-09-01 @lindyloomoo @tvdumarvelhpsimp

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pomegranateshrimp · 1 year ago

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hi!!! How are you? Could i request a James Wilson x reader were she’s at the hospital working with children (and we all know that james has a breeding kink) so like he sees her being caring with the children and gets turned on

Hi!! Tysm for being my first request, I’ve been a lil busy so this is coming out a little late I’m sorry 🩷🩷 I hope you like it!!!

A/N: (Sorry if this is too short!!) Do hospitals have play rooms for kids? They do now! Also do heads of pediatrics have time to play with kids? They do now!

CW: public sex, p in v, breeding (obviously), pet name baby

⚕️You’re going to make such a good mom.

James Wilson X Fem!Reader Smutshot

———————————————————

You were head of the pediatric wing and married to your beautiful, amazing, lovely husband, James Wilson. He would always stop by your office to give you gifts and small kisses. The job could get stressful at times, and he just wanted to make sure it never got to be too hard on you. You didn’t take it for granted either, returning every kiss he gave you and repaying him for the little gifts he got you after work. Today though, he couldn’t wait.

You were working with one of the children you had been treating for the past few days, nothing too bad fortunately, he was diagnosed with diabetes. Both of you lay down in the play room as the little boy made car noises with his mouth. “Zoom!” he hummed as a hot wheel jetted across the room. Wilson was looking for you to give you your usual afternoon kisses, and because he had a particularly hard case that he wanted to talk to you about. It was really weighing on him it seemed. When he couldn’t find you in your office, he assumed you would be in the play room with one of the patients. He hadn’t often found you here, and when he did he looked at you with such adoration, but this time he looked at you with something else as he peered through the glass door of the play room. Lust. James knew he wanted kids and he knew you were the one that he’d have them with. You were so good with them after all, and he knew that, but seeing you care for kids made him hard. He wanted that so badly. He wanted to see you make his kid laugh and smile with you; and he wanted it now.

You noticed your husband peering at you through the glass, and you gave the kid the toy car you were playing with and told him you’d be right back, along with the nurse who supervised the play room as well. You pushed open the door and stood across from James.

“Hey baby I—“

Your sentence was quickly cut off by a kiss planted on your mouth. But this kiss wasn’t like how it was any other day, this kiss was needy. Hungry. He didn’t want to wait for you to finish your sentence he just wanted to fill you with his seed right now. You were still in the hospital corridor and you pulled away.

“James, can you wait until we get home?” When the kiss was sloppier, messier, hungrier, you knew he wanted more, and you weren’t sure that you could give him that in the middle of the hospital. He wasn’t happy with you pulling away, he needed you right now. He took your hand and dragged you into a corner of the hospital no one went to. The thought of being caught was still in your mind, but at this point both you and james were turned on beyond belief. He always knew what to do to get you horny.

“No.” He hissed, and you weren’t used to him speaking to you like this, but fuck you could adjust. He titled your head to the side and started marking you up, planting deep kisses on your neck as his hands wandered on your waist, he sat down on a nearby chair and pulled you into his lap. With the case he was working on now, he needed a distraction, and you were just that. “You’re so good..” he moaned onto your neck, sending vibrations down your spine, earning him a small moan back from you.

“James…” your hands found themselves moving up into his hair. His hands found themselves moving down towards your panties. He looked up at you with glimmering eyes, “Can I?” He asked. Despite your previous worries you nodded eagerly at him and a small smirk appeared on his face as he tugged your underwear to the side. Quickly, he fumbled with the zipper of his jeans and pulled down the waistband to his boxers. His boner sprang to his stomach and he made haste in getting himself inside of you. That was his goal. You’re off the pill, you’re ovulating, and you’re ready to be pumped full of his hot, sticky, cum.

“I think we should have kids.” He says dominantly and you nod in agreement, not wasting any time. Even though you were okay with it, and he knew, he always made sure you were accepting before he did anything.

You moan out as he pushes himself inside of you, without much warning. He covers your mouth with his hand for only a second, reminding you where you both were. The thrusts that were usually so slow and soft and patient were now eager, fast, and yearning.

His cock stretched your cunt and you tightened around him, earning small grunts in return.

“You’re gonna look so fucking gorgeous when I cum inside of you.”

Even with his already fast pace it somehow quickened, earning more muffled moans from you and heavy breaths from him. He added his thumb to your clit, circling as he thrusted, wanting to make sure you were feeling just as good as he did. In the middle of the hospital, on his lunch break, he was going to make sure your walls were painted white with his cum.

“Fuck James, you feel so fucking good.”

You clenched on him and felt a familiar knot in your stomach tighten, and he knew you were close. You both were about to finish at the same time, his throbbing cock begging to cum inside of you already.

“I’m gonna—“

“Me too baby.”

Your back arches and your legs shake; you crash into James’ shoulder and after a few minutes of heavy breathing he pulls your soaked panties back up to you and plants a small kiss to your forehead. “You’re going to make such a good mom, I know it.”

You just had to hope your kids didn’t ask how it happened in the future.

#fanfic #house md #gregory house #james wilson #oneshot #hate crimes md #headcanon #dr wilson #smutshot #smut #breeding k1nk #pediatrics #james wilson x reader

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blackjackkent · 3 months ago

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Jaheira is Not a Deadbeat

I am, as always, deeply in love with the kids' ambient dialogue while waiting for Jaheira to come inside. And it's time for me to have Opinions.

FIG: I saw her! I swear! RION: Are you sure? Maybe it was just a laborer holding a shaggy grey mop! FIG: Be serious, Rion! Who puts braids on a mop?

FIG: She'll be here any second. Maybe she's sneaking! RION: Doubtful. We'd hear her knees cracking.

And of course my favorite:

RION: Enough, Fig. There's no point getting your hopes up. She'll be back when she's back. FIG: You don't think she will! RION: I know she will. But we'll wait a little longer, if you like.

😭😭😭😭

Rion absolutely knew perfectly well what she was supposed to do from Jaheira's instructions. She just didn't want to. She's been hanging on to the desperate belief that Jaheira was going to walk through the door and make it unnecessary - and, as it turned out, she was right.

OK, fuck it, I'm doing a post about this now. :P

Despite what the Tumblr BG3 fandom would have you believe, Jaheira is not a "deadbeat mom." Is she a parent with emotional constipation issues and way too much time at work? Sure. But so are plenty of other parents on both Toril and Earth. It's SUPER clear from the way all the kids (including Rion) talk to and about her that they LOVE her and she has been an enduring presence in their lives, and that her recent disappearance was both unusual and devastating.

There are books she reads the kids up in the bedroom! Fig is so excited to announce she's back, indicating that the absence is not a normal occurrence! Jhessem has convinced herself they share a bloodline! Jord got to go to the market with her as a boy! These are not the circumstances of children who do not give a shit about their parent or vice versa!

The devnotes about Jord’s conversation in particular do not show a picture of a man with ill-will towards a mother who felt it customary to abandon him:

JORD: I tended to it. I just let it... thrive in its own independence. You know, same way you raised us. (Devnote: Well meant potshot at his mother, no malice in it) JAHEIRA: I raised you to be a sweet and kind boy. What happened? JORD: I watched what you did instead of listening to what you said. (Devnote: Amused, gently mocking his mother) JORD: This house has taken in a lot of children over the years. Mother dear was sometimes more commander than, well... mother dear. (Devnote: Smiling, explaining why he and Jaheira trade barbs. No criticism, just understated affection)

It is, perhaps, worth noting at this point as well that Jord - and Rion, and Fig, and even Jhessem - speak with that teasing, mocking tone towards Jaheira… but so does she - towards the people she cares most about, including you as the player. The kids are acting as they have learned, and words like this can and should easily be read as gestures of affection. And they clearly trust Jaheira enough to bring this playful rudeness to the fore without fear of it being misconstrued or turning into hostility.

And if they are like Jaheira in this way, they’re also not going to be comfortable showing the real depth of their feelings in front of you, the player character - who is fundamentally a stranger who has just walked into their house. Why would they? Jaheira clearly doesn’t; indeed, even her more serious conversation with Rion only takes place outside where even the other children aren’t listening.

Perhaps most significantly, I truly don’t understand how anyone can interact with Tate for even a moment and think that Jaheira does not have a deep, if often unspoken, bond with the kids she raises:

JAHEIRA: I hope you were hibernating, little cub, I can’t think of another reason you wouldn’t come down to say hello. TATE: Jaheira! I d-didn’t… didn’t w-want to see if you were r-really dead. They said… JAHEIRA: Who said? TATE: Jord and Rion. They didn’t think I c-could hear… JAHEIRA: You little sneak-thief. Well, they were wrong. Look! Not dead! I just… had a few adventures.

She is so soft and gentle with him in a way that she is with no one else, a way that indicates that she knows him and how his personality is different from the others. And he in turn has clearly been utterly devastated by the idea that she might be gone.

Take, as well, the evidence provided by Minsc when he is present in these conversations! There’s plenty of evidence to indicate the degree to which Minsc is guided by Jaheira’s behavior - to the degree that a doppelganger wearing her face was the key ingredient to binding him temporarily into the Cult of the Absolute. And Minsc - far more comfortable with emotion than Jaheira, at least in some ways - is clearly very affectionate with the kids as well:

FIG: STAND ON YOUR LIVER! MINSC: It is stand and *deliver*, little Fig. Though I think I like yours better. You bellow like a true berserker!

JHESSEM: A fine day to you, saer. Are you known to this court PLAYER: Eh? JHESSEM: Ugh - play along, would you? MINSC: Lord Boo is most pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady! Word of your grace has spread far and wide among the hamster houses. (Devnote: Swooping in to preserve the child's make-believe after the player ruined it.) JHESSEM: Enchanted!

MINSC: Boo is also very well! And happy to see *you*, Rion. RION: And I him. Enough that I’ll let him keep his lumbering, sweaty steed inside.

Would Minsc have taken it upon himself to have such a comfortable relationship with these children if Jaheira did not? I doubt it. He’d be friendly, certainly, but this familiarity goes a great deal beyond that.

And as for Rion herself - it's definitely reasonable to assume that she's had a strained relationship with Jaheira as she's grown older. (I have a lot of headcanons about this for my specific worldstate canon, but even just sticking to the game canon, it definitely seems like that's the case.) But leaving aside that - can you blame her for being upset at this particular moment?

As far as Rion knows, her mom was recently emotionally devastated for an indeterminate reason. (Minsc's apparent death. None of the kids are surprised to see him arrive, so clearly none of them knew he was supposed to be dead - but also there's no way that Jaheira didn't look afterwards like someone hollowed her out from the inside.) Then, without further explanation, she disappeared for what appears to have been several months (again, clearly not standard procedure), and after weeks of no contact, sends a seven-word message indicating she is about to die.

How exactly is Rion supposed to feel at this moment? This is an incredibly emotionally fraught circumstance, and if it's precisely representative of her overall relationship with Jaheira I will eat my hat.

Also - much is made by the game, by Rion, and by the fandom about that seven-word message, but if you try to chastise Jaheira about it, she gives further context:

PLAYER: Only seven? That’s cold, Jaheira. JAHEIRA: The cleric who cast the Sending was wounded. Should I have sobbed on her shoulder?

Jaheira was caught in a no-win situation. Trapped in the Shadowlands, a terrifying ordeal all by itself, with a gaggle of Harpers she had to protect, many of whom had apparently been injured by their encounter with Ketheric Thorm. If the only cleric she had access to was wounded, this was before they reached Last Light and met Isobel.

Jaheira had ZERO reason to hope at this point - but she also still felt her own inescapable responsibility towards the people under her command. To send a longer and more emotional message would have been to put strain on her injured comrade and also risk making it very clear that she felt the situation was hopeless. The Harpers very well might have broken and scattered, condemning themselves - and, frankly, many others, given their crucial contributions to the final Act 2 fight - to death.

And then she lives, against all her own expectations, and returns to the city. And her dialogue reflects her conflict over this fact as well:

JAHEIRA: I have given you much reason to think that Harpers hoard secrets like precious stones. But I promise you, this was not some intrigue. Just, ah… plain and simple foolishness. As if by keeping clear of my family, I might keep them clear of the cult in turn. And if this fight were to go against us, well… they had already done their mourning. Why visit it on them twice?

She then goes on to discuss the city and her place in it - and relates it directly back to her kids as well.

JAHEIRA: I was wrong to think I could keep my children from this fight. They’re Baldurian born and bred - the only damned reason I root myself in this place. This city is a cesspit. An open sewer of the soul, that taints us with its filth and churns us out when all that is good has been stripped away. It also happens to be their home - and so it is mine. Ugh. That might be the first time I have said that out loud.

If Jaheira wanted to disappear and leave her kids to handle themselves, she would have done it a long time ago. It wouldn’t be hard; she is fully capable of vanishing into the wilderness never to be seen again - and in truth, there’s every reason to believe she would be considerably happier to do so… except that it would mean leaving her children behind. They “root” her in Baldur’s Gate despite all of her previous inclinations and everything that comes naturally to her, and everything she does is guided ultimately by the need to protect the city because it is their home.

And that, my friends, is love, a love that she shows even if she does not know how to voice it.

TLDR: Jaheira's absence in the Shadowlands was definitely not a normal occurrence, and her kids clearly love her deeply and were devastated by her apparent disappearance. That she is a woman who keeps herself far too busy with work and has no idea how to express her own strong feelings does not, has not, and never will make her a "deadbeat."

#bg3 meta #baldur's gate 3 meta #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #jaheira #jaheira bg3 #bg3 jaheira #bg3 rion #rion bg3 #bg3 minsc #minsc bg3 #minsc #thank you all for coming to my ted talk #this post was originally supposed to be a liveblog post but it got out of hand XD i've been percolating on all of this for a while #50% credit for this post also goes to astreamofstars who contributed many of these thoughts and helped flesh out the others #and also jennycalendar who mentioned the kids talking like Jaheira which was a big cause for this post being written in the first place <3 #🚨 JAHEIRA IS NOT A DEADBEAT 🚨

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violestars · 9 months ago

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𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙄 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: Sunday x male reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: childhood friends to best friends to nothing au, where rejecting your confession is worth more than the pain of infecting your perfect image with his sinful existence.

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: not proof read, !!only male readers!!

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: yandere-ish?,maybe ooc, mention of religion, implied homophobia, angst no comfort, just depressing.

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: part 1, part 2

Your childhood friend is a rather confusing fellow, to the point where one would think his significant other, if he ever has one, is the type to do riddles for fun. You also love riddles but moreover, you love him. Can anyone blame you? You were consumed by these feelings in your undeveloped mind. Seven was the age you fell for Sunday, for the charming boy that is your childhood friend. Maybe it was just some puppy love between two foolish kids but no one can explain the bubbling excitement in your stomach whenever a barely visible pout was drawn on his face, whenever he uses sugar coated words to kindly ask others to leave you two alone or how his clinginess to you was shown so slyly. You were an equal to Sunday and it has left a sweet taste on your tongue till this day.

As you grow older, your mind started to question this fondness for him. You were taught love doesn't need any explanation but you aren't dumb, there are always reasons behind everything. Even the unknown comfort, warmness one could find in another is also a reason. You knew that because you have experienced it with Sunday but that wasn't your concern, for now at least. Deep down you knew this love for the other male wasn't merely a mystery, your relationship did not belong in those cheap romcoms you two would binge on a sunday night. Was it more evident on the day you went crying to him about your religious mother? Was it because of the warm hands that traced your cheeks, causing you to lean into such softness as he teased you with a coo? How you wished he could repeat his supposedly sin against his perfectionist family's belief was the attraction to the same gender, how the boyish smirk once he admitted how good rebellion feels.

School isn't your strongest suit and you beat yourself up for that, it also didn't help knowing your insecurity enabled the hatred from others. From family to friends, even strangers, their greatest gift to you was just pitiful stares. Sunday was different though, the soft smile that never fails to comfort you, the warm embrace of the only friend you can lean on, he was truly a breath of fresh air throughout suffocating days of school. The only subject you were good at is literature but the skills you've gained failed to form a clear answer to why your best friend has never doubted you. Asking him yourself only made the progress more complicated for both your mind and heart, as he flicked your head and told you about how much he worried more about your efforts than some silly printed texts.

“Your mind is built from poetry, not numbers, my little train-wreck.” You remembered his soothing voice right beside your ear, ignoring his ways with words and how it shaded your tear-stained canvas a light red, you let out a weak chuckle to lighten the mood.

“And yours is built of riddles. I'm not stable enough to solve one right now, Sun.” Your lighthearted response only brought him to laughter, a smile now placed onto your face as you silently hoped he would drop whatever sentimental words he just thought of since it was already as awkward as it could be. Who in their right mind would ask their best friend to climb through the bedroom window just because regrets were hitting too hard at 3 am? The guy has a controlling family for god's sake.

“You let people treat you so poorly just because of a subject, or it is everything about you throws them off. Why, though? You might think you're weird but I feel like you're just performing. A spectacular show that doesn't meet its audience, so desperately wants to be heard.”

As you thought you couldn’t drown yourself in thoughts of him further, this only deepened it. How you wondered if he actually has a third eye, silently guilding your thoughts to their respective docks. In your mind, he is the epitome of elegance, sometimes you wonder if the word is made specifically for him. Sunday is just perfect, while in one way he was expected to be due to being the adopted son of such a high status family, you felt like he doesn't even have to try. He handled stressful situations with ease, he joked it's you who taught him so with your antics. You two are the polar opposite, yet it felt like two puzzle pieces finding each other, different notes that falls in tune. You wondered how he tolerated everything throughout the years, not that you were complaining, it was just your anxiety often questions the authenticity of this friendship but as his hand cradled your face, the usual smile reserved for only you entered the view, you knew the dreams about him were real because Sunday adores you.

Unfortunately, your dreams crashed. You mentally cursed him for ruining everything, but it was not his fault he couldn't reciprocate those feelings, it was not his fault he is destined for greatness and you are the loser that existed. You knew you were being petty but it hurt how everything turned out to be a cacophony in disguise, how you two favored the full moon that night like the way you favored each other. Well, the way you favored him. Sunday wouldn't know all these shameful thoughts, you only nodded at his kind refusal with choked breaths after all. His frown only deepened once he noticed how tears sharp as the finest blade threatened to fall from your eyes and slice through his heart, but he didn't say anything. It hurts that your feelings were treated like a slipped word, a dumb accident, by both you and mostly him.

He knew you're worried, he was trained to be attentive to every change to his surroundings yet here he was, hands in a tight grip like how his thoughts were tied together in a messy knot. Sunday has been avoiding you, not right after the night of your confession though, he wasn't that cruel but he was evil enough to do it after reassuring you, hoping you would not throw away such unshakable friendship. Reason was, Sunday didn't know why he couldn't accept your love, he should have trust in every card he played, that was what they taught him.

It just tasted bitter. He isn't a saint, he hoped you also knew that, his mouth is filled with lies and his existence needs to be soaked in soap. In other words, Sunday is a freak of nature. Him and his sister were adopted to a rich family after the passing of their parents. Sadly enough, he still felt like nobody's son, his every step reminds him of walking on fragile ice under the threatening gaze of his so-called guardians but he still walks anyways. His sister, Robin, has her own dreams to fulfill and no one will dared to rewritte her role into another plaything for the Gods. That's why Sunday will carry all the burdens, the responsibility that will never be put onto Robin's freely spread wings and he works hard to keep it that way.

Sunday lived in this facade that is made of others' desires, he was a trapped bird that pretends to be an eagle, he felt like the strongest piece but never the mastermind. Unlike him, his darling was the salvation humanity carved for all their miserable life, you were the living proof that the lord heard his songs. You slowly metamorphosed into his only God though, Sunday believed his schemes were always concealed because he worshiped you. Sunday believed you didn't exist because he was only worthy of your afterimage. You were and are his 'father', his entire universe. He shamefully found himself praying to your name against the family's knowledge, images of your beauty embroidered in his mind rather than any flight of fancy.

But how Sunday loathed himself, how pitiful is he if everyone were starting to lead their own life yet he was still following a script, how unfortunate is he if the boy of his dreams felt like the vast sky from his cage. Why does one feel deep disgust within but still mindlessly follows the same path? He wanted to fly upward, to feel your touch but the sky is unreachable and so is you. Sunday knows his love for you like the back of his hand, it's more than the platonic feeling towards his sister and the ambition towards a perfect future, it's the only thing the family didn't plant into his mind at such a young age. His love for you felt like the only thing he could freely express.

You knew he wished to live in a dreamscape, where he would generate happiness for the unfortunates but you don't know this dreamland of his sprouted from the purest of love for you. Those troublesome worries won't reach you there, he swore upon his life that he would shield you away from this brutal world in your new home. You only laughed at his silly delusion though, you never wanted to live in a lie and he knew that clearly. Sunday envied that part of you, he detested how strong you are despite all attempts to drag you down but maybe that's what confirmed his feelings towards you.

You were able to confuse Sunday in the best way possible. You could sob about how ugly you are, complain about your failure of a life and hatred for reality but in the end, you didn't mean it. You wanted to live for the imperfect tomorrow, you wanted to erode a stone that is your destiny with him, with Sunday. Yes, that's what you are. So imperfectly beautiful as he's perfectly fake. That's why he would push you away, as unreasonable as his actions were, he will not taint your future and dirty your determination, this kaleidoscoping pain shall never reach your ears. Sunday doesn't want anyone to find out you're his weakness, he doesn't want to acknowledge you're the sweet reality to his pained dream. He was happily in your shadow even if he could catch a glimpse of your performance.

Sunday loves you so he will let you go.

#male reader #x male reader #honkai star rail #sunday hsr #sunday honkai star rail #sunday x male reader #sunday x reader #angst #hurt/no comfort #yandere male #yandere male x male reader #honkai star rail x male reader #gay #yaoi bl #violewritas

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deathbxnny · 1 month ago

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hiii, platonic jing yuan,dan heng and moze with a teen!reader who gets kidnapped by borisins during the wolf hunt quest?

Hunting the wolves. | Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, Moze x Teen!Reader

Hello Anon! Thank you for the interesting request, and I'm sorry it took so long! I hope you enjoy this!<33

Content: Kidnapping, threats of violence, platonic relationships, teen reader, blood, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》JING YUAN

He should've known that you were going to run off on your own again, despite his order for you to stay put. It was just in your young nature to do so, the wild and free spirit in both you and Yanqing having always been a challenge to the older man. But when the boy came running into his office, loudly proclaiming that you had been snatched by the Borisins, he suddenly became aware of how dangerous that part of you was.

Quick to act, he immideatly deployed all possible troops to find you. He knew that the cruel wolf like creatures wouldn't hesitate to hurt or even kill you if you became useless to them. He could never forgive himself if you got hurt this way.

With that said, though, expect the lecture of a lifetime once he gets you back to safety. Whilst he understands that your kidnapping isn't entirely your fault, he was deeply worried about your well-being and wants you to understand that listening to him is for your own good.

(Also, Yanqing is definitely losing half of his allowance for letting you out of his sight...)

》MOZE

You had secretly trailed after Jiaoqiu and were captured with him when you failed to hide clumsily from the cruel wolves. To say that the man was unimpressed would've been an understatement. But Moze was meanwhile stressed beyond belief. He knew that you were just a kid who often didn't know any better. And yet, he wished you would have just listened to him for once as he told you to stay back.

He had a hard time keeping a professional front when he knew that you were possibly tortured and hurt in terrible ways. He was practically worried sick deep down and would work overtime just to track you two down. Moze couldn't rest until you were okay. Jiaoqiu was good at taking care of himself, but you... he didn't want to think of the possibilities.

Even if he never voices it out loud, he feels a lot lighter when you're safe with him again. He'd definitely pull your ear with an expressionless face, as he coldly tells you to never do that again. But you can tell he was just worried sick.

》DAN HENG

Was he surprised at the news of your kidnapping? No. Was he disappointed? Absolutely. Was he going to immideatly go and save you anyways, though? Ofcourse.

He knew something was up when you happily promised him to stay put at their hotel on the Xianzhou. His sharp mind didn't miss how fake your wide, "sincere" grin was in that moment. And yet, he let it slide without reprimanding you further, perhaps hoping you were actually listening for once... well... you were not. And it was up to him now to look for and save you. He was worried sick deep down, of course, but the disappointment overruled that for the time being.

Once he got you back to the Express in one piece, you'll be grounded indefinitely by him. And you'll also get a boring and long lecture regarding safety... again. He cares. He really does.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr jing yuan #hsr jing yuan x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr dan heng #hsr moze #hsr moze x reader #moze #moze x reader

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imrllytootiredforthis · 2 years ago

Text

stray kids reaction to pegging for the first time:

a/n: ignore any grammar/spelling mistakes, it isn't proofread and probably won't be😭

and as always, 18+, minors dni

Chan:

Okay first let’s talk about how it was brought up,

you probably have to bring it up first

And his reaction? He’d act all blushy and embarrassed, surprised in an almost comical way

like “I-i mean i gu-guess, only if you wanted too tho...”

“I do want to, but also if your gonna watch that typa porn and don’t want me to see baby, delete the browser history”

lmao💀

He’d also say he wants take it really slow, and i mean really slow

talking about how the first time he just wants you to feel around him there, test out the waters but not penetrate him yet, give him a handjob or whatever as you do that

the next time he wants just your tongue,

the next your finger,

then two fingers,

pretty much working up in size slowly until you actually use a strap

he’s very cautious about the whole thing in the beginning, so worried and nervous that it's gonna hurt/he's not gonna enjoy it/you're not gonna enjoy it

but the second you’re actually doing it, ‘feeling around’ as he had called it, he’s already begging for more

yeah, you’d ended up doing all of the carefully week long process he’d set up, every little step, in a single night

The second your hands are on his hole, lube already warmed on your hand, fingers all slippery-

he’s begging for more, shoving his hips backwards in hopes of enticing you more

gripping the sheets, trying to reach for you, heavy breathing and flushed face,

baby boy wasn't expecting for it to feel this good

practically breathless as he pleads with you to just push your fingers inside him

and when you do, he’s going cross-eyed with pleasure, legs instinctually wrap around your hips, pushing you further into him

He can barely even believe how good it feels and how he hasn’t tried this sooner

don’t even get me started on how he reacts when you find his prostate

he’d probably cum just from that and then start begging you to actually fuck him, whining in a half-dazed mess about how he needs it, needs you, needs more

Felix:

All I can say,

Is that he’d pretend to be SO surprised, pretend he had no idea you were gonna bring this up,

Like he hadn’t been dropping hints and waiting for you to smarten up and decipher them all this time

Kinda gives it away though because when you bring it up he’s nodding eagerly, jumping on you immediately

Because you made him wait so long for this

You whisper to him, reminding him that you still need to actually buy the strap

No you don’t.

Surprise, surprise, baby boy’s been ready for this for a long time

He’s had one stashed under your bed in a pretty box with a perfect little red bow for practically forever

(Used for lonely nights on his own and dirty fantasies for a little angel such as himself)

Now he’s obviously used it on himself many times before this, experimenting and dreaming and wishing you’d walk in on him

But it’s nothing compared to when you do it

It feels so much better when you do it

He can’t even contain himself, practically shrieking in pleasure

I’d actually advise you to gag him at that point, he’d look pretty with a ball gag but the way his eyes roll back if you shove your underwear in his mouth is delectably sinful

His nails claw into your back, legs hooking up and around your hips, already drooling from the first thrust

Is obsessed with missionary or the mating press, pretty much any position where you’re face to face and he can see you

Not that he’s doing much seeing with his eyes rolled back

I can’t stop thinking about if you’re wearing a necklace or something, with a charm or whatever tf it’s called

(searched it up and it’s a pendant)

He’d watch it, swaying in front of his face, swinging with every harsh thrust and then he can’t help himself but to lean up and wrap his pretty, soft lips around it

By the end he’s a mess, ruined beyond belief

practically dumb as you try to clean him all up, shivering in sensitivity while also begging for more

baby's got an overstimulation kink 100% and that obvious translates to wanting you to fuck him absolutely dumb, making him cum over and over again until he has nothing left to give, a babbling dumb pretty mess<3

and afterwards,

you’re wondering if it was really worth it playing dumb for so long, pretending you didn’t notice his obvious hinting at everything

Hyunjin:

Baby boy just wants to be filled up, just wants to fucked hard and fast until he’s an incoherent mess

And then he wants you to take pictures of him all ruined

wants you add more photos into the albums in your phone

add to all those compromising photos of hyunjin in a plethora of different positions, with different toys and ropes and you name it, add some more of him sucking on a strap or getting pounded

wants you to send him videos that he doesn't even remember filming, getting ruined with a little message under it saying

'you look so cute<3'

But it’s a fantasy

Only a fantasy

A fantasy that he only lets himself indulge in when he’s alone and pent-up and can’t help but pull out the lube and finger himself

Wishing it was your fingers, wishing it was bigger, wishing that it was more

That you were whispering in his ear, talking to him about how pretty he looked under you

Falling so deep that he can almost believe that’s it’s real

feeling so high off of how good it feels, unable to hold back the noises coming out high and needy as he shoves a pillow under his hips, humping it all the while he continues to scissor his long fingers in his ass

He so, so loud, calling your name, begging for you to go faster-harder

you’re out, you’re not around and no one else is he's allowed to be this loud

But, you are in fact not out, you came back because you forgot something or other and you walk in on this sight

Jesus fuck,

He makes a shocked sound, scared out of him mind when he finally sees you, freaking out and covering himself with the covers,

Beginning to cry quickly from the already emotionally-vulnerable moment he was having

You soothe him, rubbing a hand over his sweat-soaked back, hushing his tears,

And then pull out the strap you’d been specifically saving for this occasion

He’s gonna go wild,

Seems to lose all composure the second you’re inside of him, his brain completely melting,

Not a single coherent thought in there for the time being

Just filthy little noises for more, for harder, for faster, he cannot get enough

And then when he’s almost about to come he starts to cry, long arms pulling you into him,

Burying his face into your throat, whimpering for you to please, please, please breed him in the neediest, littlest voice e v e r

Minho:

Lee Minho

The Lee Minho, wanting to be fucked like a little bitch?

Those where actually his exact words when you found the dildo he’d hidden in your closet,

It sure wasn’t yours, you think you’d know if it was🤨

So who’s could it be?

Other than the only other person living in your house, the only other one that would know to hide their shit in your closet, under the mountain of clothing there

But it was a cleaning day

So you decided to go through it

And found it

Not your’s, but it’s in your stuff

“Minho! Is this yours?”

Stares at it for a solid ten seconds, you can almost see the gears turning in his head, almost hear the bullshit excuse he’s coming up with and is gonna use in approximately 5 seconds if you don’t shut him up quickly

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

That renders him speechless

“….😦”, “no?🥴w-what? What even made you come up with that idea?🙄”

“😐...really?”

“Please do.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

He’d try so hard to not be vocal, biting down on his lips, covering his mouth with his arm, clutching a pillow to his face

You remove each one, one after another until finally, finally you get to hear his cute noises

His little mewls and moans that follow right after

His quiet keens and grunted out groans

He loves hates it when you comment on them, cooing about how cute he sounds while you rub your hand tantalizingly over his inner thighs

In fact, just touching his thighs might be enough to make him cum alone

but that’s something to explore another day

You gotta be careful too

Because there is absolutely no way that he doesn’t scratch or bite

Starts off with his lips latched on your collarbone in an effort to not scream, his hands holding onto your shoulders for support, his body reacting with every rough thrust

And it ends off with his bunny teeth digging into your skin so hard that suddenly iron taste fills his mouth, his nails dragging down your back so hard that the flesh tears

Aftercare consists of him sitting behind you, disinfecting and bandaging up the shallow cuts and scrapes down your back, neck and collarbone

But you don’t mind in the moment

Probably because you, like anyone, can’t help but he entranced by the man under you

Begging to be marked, to be fucked harder, to be yours

Only yours.

When you hit his prostate all he can let out is a strangled noise set between a keen and a cry, struggling to keep his grip on reality as you repeatedly ram into it him over and over,

“Good kitty.”

And then he’s cumming all over his chest, untouched

Seungmin:

“No.”

That’s it when you ask him

Straight up no, end of conversation, that’s all, goodbye

“…Okay, can I ask why?”

Doesn’t answer you, refuses to talk about the subject, simply not talking when you ask him

But one day he gets curious, not in a horny way or anything, just wondering why you keep bringing it up

Queue pulling up a very nsfw website and searching up pegging

He scrolls through a couple of videos before settling on one

Through the entirety of the 12 minute video all he can imagine is himself as the squirming, moaning man being fucked

and you as the person standing above him, taunting him, asking him if he likes this, likes being fucked like this

The session ends with him in the shower, fingers exploring new places that he had no idea could bring him such pleasure

And as soon as he’s done he’s groaning, cursing himself for not agreeing earlier

Because how the hell is he supposed to bring this up to you?

He can’t find the words, find the way to tell you,

So he doesn’t use words

And you come home one night, calling out for your puppy to come on out, asking him where he is

The only reply you receive is a small “here!” from your bedroom

And fuck, good thing that boy is pretty because he does not need words

Dressed up in some pretty black lacy panties and a sheer robe that you’re pretty sure you bought awhile ago before it disappeared mysteriously

He sits up against the headboard, watching you with lustful eyes

And there, beside him on the bed is a dildo he ordered, the harness for it already attached

You look at it before back at him as he slides down the bed, right in front of you and lays back, spreading his legs

“Fuck me?”

And how can you say no?

He finds out fairly quickly that he REALLY loves it

And also REALLY loves doggy

Jisung:

He brought it up very, very soon

Like, probably on your first date he’s already telling you he likes to be fucked in the ass

or simply just straight up asking you to do it, pulling out a strap from the bag he brought

Promising you it’s clean

And asking if you wanna go to the bathroom

Baby boy is shameless

He’s watched tons of porn, fantasized about being the whining, whimpering boys tied up with a hot dom fucking the absolute shit out of them until they’re incoherent

He’s asked other people to do it to him too

They’ve all said no☹️

And then he finds you,

You who is very open to the idea, at least halfway tempted by the bathroom idea and the other half thinking that there is so many classier ways to go about it

So you say no

And he pouts

But when you bring home that night and praise and degrade him to the point of tears

Well, he supposes he can be patient

He asks you at least once every day, hoping for the time you finally say yes

But you smirk every time, pulling him close and making him shiver before whispering “no.” in his ear

You say it so many times that the one time he asks and you finally say yes it takes him a second to actually comprehend it

To comprehend that what came out of your mouth wasn’t a no

And when you finally do it you’re gonna bet that he’s loud

Like really fucking loud

Gotta-gag-him-or-the-neighbours-will-file-noise-complaints kinda loud

His voice gets so high too, hitting all them high notes🤭

He’d wanna be as close as physically possible, wrapping his arms around your neck, his legs hooked around your waist, pulling your entire body weight onto him

It makes it a lot harder for you to thrust into him but the way he has such easy access to your neck and ears

Whispering the nastiest shit in the entire history of the world

Boy’s got a mouth on him from all that dirty talk in porn

And he does it all while breathlessly nipping at your neck, squeaking when you hit that sensitive spot inside of him

He’d have the cutest fucked out face

Eyes crossed, drool dripping down his chin, tears spilling over his flushed cheeks

But you’d literally have to wrestle to let him to let go of you so you can see him

Little hiccups and gasps are all he can make out as you coo to him about how adorable he looks

All fucked out and ruined by you

If you wipe up his cum and feed it back to him you could probably get him to cum a second time completely untouched

Baby boy’s never gonna wanna do anything else ever again,

Completely cock drunk and completely obsessed

Changbin:

He seems like he’d bring it up,

Extremely shy all the while, muttering something under his breath that you can’t hear

“Pardon baby, what’d you say?

Poor binnie, he’s be all blushy and nervous

*clears his throat* “u-um, could you maybe…peg me?”

HES SO FUCKING ADORABLE😭😭

Anyway,

You’d obviously agree because why would you actually ever say no?

You’d quickly order all the things you’d need and the day they arrive he just happened to not be home

Leaving you the perfect chance to surprise your baby

He’d come in, all tired from the gym and needy, just wanting to let you take care of him

He comes in and all the lights are off, he furrows his brows, setting his bag down and calling out your name about to start flicking the lights on,

When he sees candlelight coming from down the hall

He follows it am the way to the bedroom where the entire room is lit by candles,

And then there you are, lying on the bed, looking up at him

“Welcome home binnie,”

He's confused but you pull him into a kiss and he can’t seem to think of anything other than you as your fingers skim over his body, feeling over the bulge in his pants, your tongue slipping into his mouth

He’s panting by the time you pull away

“I gotta little gift for you…well maybe not so little.”

He practically gapes as you pull it from out of a box he failed to miss on the bed behind you

You rub his hand soothingly, gauging his reaction “if you don’t want to do it anymore that’s fine, you can always chan-“

“-I want it.”

You smile and spin your positions so now he’s the one with the bed behind him

And then you shove him down

“Just tell me if you ever wanna stop baby, I won’t be mad, I promise.”

Fuck him hard and rough

Manhandle him, switching his positions every so often,

He obviously likes missionary and you get the perfect view of his eyes rolling back

Doggy is fun, he gets so much more vocal because of how much deeper you can hit inside of him, but you don’t get to see him

I recommend next time placing him in front of a mirror, not only so you can see how pretty he looks when he’s drooling but also so he can too

gets more ruined from seeing how own reflection

Riding is one of your favourites, watching the poor thing moan, trying to go faster, rougher, hit that one place inside of him but he just needs you to do it

Letting him beg and try and get oh-so desperate before he starts to cry, pleading for you to just fuck him

FUCKING HIM AGAISNT THE WALL

HDJDDGJSKDHHD

MANHANDLING HIM UP AGAINST IT, MAKING HIM FEEL SO SMALL AND BLUSH

BEFORE ABSOLUTELY RUINING HIM

*ahem*

Sorry, that was a bit overboard

I also have a fantasy abt pegging him at the gym but that’s also conversation for another time

IN:

Okay, but I really wanna corrupt him…

Innocent little innie, you have to teach him everything, show him how to make you feel good

Every time you introduce something new to him he’s like “😧people do that??”

And so one day when you pull out a strap, asking him if you can peg him,

well baby boy is completely clueless

But he remembers how good you’ve made him feel, pleasure he didn’t even know the human body was capable of feeling

He agrees with little to no convincing

Ready for whatever you have in plan for him, ready to be swallowed whole by all that is you and everything you make him feel

Sweet doe eyes looking up at you, glassy with sensitivity, wide with wanting

He’d never imagine that he could feel so good filled up

Never thought your fingers scissoring inside him, stretching him open and preparing him for your strap could feel so mind-achingly good

Enough to make his glossy eyes fall shut, for his hands to grip onto the fabric of your shirt, mouth open with small breathy whines filling the room

God, when you press your fingers against his prostate he swears he can see stars bursting across his vision

He can barely think, barely let out the keen that reverberates through his throat, barely breathe

It feels so, so good and he can feel himself melting

But that’s just with your fingers

Once you’ve deemed him prepared enough you pull out, smirk curling at your lips at the whimper he lets out in protest

That quickly shifts into a gasp when you push into him

Goodness fuck, sweet little innie, voice small and shaking,

Hoarse and cracking

“…please~”

Switching positions so he sits in your lap while you lean against the headboard of the bed

Watching his little pants and flushed cheeks,

Drool leaking from the corner of his mouth as he tries his very best not to go completely and utterly insane with how good it feels,

And how much deeper it goes in this new position

Every little shift and movement pressing the head against that sensitive spot inside of him

He’s so needy and desperate he rides you hard and fast, whining when even then it’s not enough, clinging to you like a lifeline

You watch with a bated breath, eyeing each time he moves up,

Unable to tear your attention yo where he teases you and himself, pulling up so just the tip is inside of him before sinking down just as quick, moaning all the while he’s stretched out again, the entire length sliding inside him with ease

Gasping in frustration as his thighs begin to burn and cramp from exertion

Whining as he paws at you, burying his face into your neck, muttering with a shaky whisper to please fuck him

Your hands tease over his body, ghosting over his hips, feeling him quiver on top of you

Before you finally give in

He practically screams when you flip him over again, starting up a hammering pace that he can barely keep up with

All he can do is mewl and whimper, clutching the sheets and letting his eyes roll into the back of his head

“Good baby, doing so good, just keep doing that.”

That’s his breaking point

Looking at him all fucked out and adorable

You can only groan and kiss his messy lips, red from being bitten, shiny with saliva

And think this was all because of you

a/n: btw, if anyone wants to send me in requests for mtl, reactions or hcs i'd love to do them-they're just sm fun to write!

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zan0tix · 1 year ago

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Hi tumblr user Zan0tix, I have to say that I love that you draw Jake as big and hairy AND fem. It's such a rare combination outside of mean-spirited caricatures, every time I see your Jake I get a big smile on my face. :)

Hi tumblr user HermitCyclop ^u^ here is a jake drawing for you 🫶

The transmisogynistic demonisation of these features is so maddening!!! I agree! Im glad that the intent (appreciating these features) of my jake design reaches you c:

GOING TO PUT IT UNDER THE CUT BECAUSE I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY. But jake english gender meta because i think about it Too Much and am taking this as an excuse to infodump abt it. 😁

The alpha kids and their specific defiance of both homestucks gendered narrative AND real life societal expectations are so fun to think about to me!! but since we are talking about jake, his specific defiance of both homestucks models of masculinity and femininity in the context of his queerness is like the reason he is my fav character.

He props himself up that he wants to be the adventure "hero" in the homestuck sense (the hardheaded blue femme fatale) and the western media sense (the hardheaded action man) yet whenever pressed to actually act on what he says he always refuses or obfuscates. Because really what he wants is to just be himself! I really love the alpha kids because they all just want to be Themselves, not be restricted and defined by what is expected of them, (all the characters have this but the alphas particularly really hammer this home for me)

The heavy emphasis on their beta selves, the heteronormative archetypes they embodied and what went wrong in their lives that manifest as fears in their alpha selves... im always thinking about it. How differently society affects queer ppls choices in life and then the fact that they all get a second chance and getting to watch them live out that second chance and realize their queerness and them all caring so much abt eachother and wanting to aspire to be better FOR the ones they love!!!!!! it always tugs at my heart strings to ponder😢😢

IM SO GOOD AT GOING ON TANGENTS MY BAD but basically. The alpha kids explicit queerness and how despite the comic itself protesting, they are all shown to be deserving of love (of all kinds) And as a person who super heavily relates to jake, his experience with his own identity (and dirks unending adoration and love for him and likewise jakes belief and admiration of dirk) serves to me as a reminder that yknow! We are all worthy of love!! Even if we dont think ourselves to be (this is just the message of shrek.) and there is always hope to be found in things improving!!!!

But in a text thats explicitly queer and not shy about letting its queer characters do wrong in realistic ways i think this message is incredibly powerful and certainly one of the best things about the comic in my eyes. And i love embracing that in my art of the characters! Drawing queer (but here specifically trans) characters all getting to be proud of themselves and their appearances makes me feel proud of myself alongside them and I think its wonderful to be able appreciate other trans peoples experiences and looks through it too!!

I specifically in homestuck fandom dont really see anybody but twinks (usually dirk or eridan LMFAO) portrayed to be fem in any manner 😢 when jake is the most explicitly feminine man in the comic. (I think the transmisogyny thats kind of rampant in this fandom means people dont want to consider those outside conventional attractiveness being feminine or transfem identities outside binary transwomen if even that😭😭) I am being the change i wana see in the world 🙏 The amount of transfem fat gay bear jake in the world increases by one every time i post

#hermitcyclop #daniel talks #my art #jake english #DONT LET ME TALK ABOUT JAKE ENGLISH I WILL NOT STOP. I COULD KPEP GOING BUT ITS MIDNIGHT AND I NEED SLEEP.#But thank you for the ask hermitcyclop you are the most dedicated dirkjaker mad respect 🫶 years in the game and still around.. you are cray

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thaleleah · 2 months ago

Text

𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮)

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Billy, Virgin!Reader, Oral (female receiving), Fingering, P in V, Corruption Kink, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Masturbation, Wet Dreams/Sex Dreams, Seduction, Emotional Manipulation, Religion and Religious Beliefs, Explicit talk of gunshot wounds, blood, and the bullet's removal, Mention of physical abuse/child abuse (not from Billy), Childhood Trauma, Mention of alcoholism, Moral/Religious conflict within one's self, My bad Spanish, Nun breaking her vows, Probably too quick of a healing process to be fucking someone but I'm not a doctor so 🤷🏻‍♀️, Using the word "drawers/undergarments" instead of "panties" which is kinda cringe to me but I wanted to be somewhat accurate, Fear/Trauma of Failure

**Warnings updated as fic continues.

Word Count: 20.6K

A/N: As always, you should know that I appreciate y'all sticking with me as I release this fic at a snail's pace. I hope the content makes up for the wait 🧡

Summary: When Billy stumbles into your clinic, hurt and in desperate need of care and refuge, you don't hesitate to help him. Perhaps this is God's will. Perhaps He has brought him into your life to help heal the parts of him that the cruelness of the world has soiled and broken. You are a healer by trade, both of the physical body and of faith. If this is to be God's mission for you, then it shall be done. How could you have possibly known that the young man who begged for help that fateful night would turn out to be the devil himself?

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Translations:

De nuevo - Again/Restart/Start New

Grita - Scream

There’s nothing morally wrong with Billy rubbing your back while you sleep.

It’s innocent - a wholesome act that stems from him trying to be helpful and comforting to your pain like any kind person should be. Like a mother’s touch trying to calm her distressed child or a fellow healer trying to soothe an ill patient. He’s a good man like that. So it shouldn’t be a surprise when the first morning after sleeping in the bed, your sleep clouded mind now free from the misery and a little bit more free from guilt, that you realize that it was not God’s healing touch caressing your aching back, but instead Billy’s own calloused hand.

In the moment between sleep and reality when the veil between the two is so thin it's almost impossible to tell what's real and what's not, the hand on your back gave you rest and soothed your tight muscles and aching joints. The energy flowing from the contact seemed almost holy, comforting in a way that you associate with His touch. And while it’s not hard to see Him within Billy, and while it’s not inappropriate for Billy to touch you in that way and offer you this comfort, the idea still makes a part of you uncomfortable.

You’re not quite sure how to explain it. You understand it in a way - the way you felt when you woke up throughout the night with parts of your body pressed up against Billy’s. His warmth against your side or his hand curled gently around your wrist, subconsciously seeking affection from the only other person sharing the bed. There was even a point where you woke to find your cheek resting on his forearm, a few drops of drool evidenced on his skin from how long you had been laying like that. You jerked your head away as fast as you could, one of your hands frantically wiping away the wetness from Billy’s skin before all but shoving his arm back onto his own side of the bed. He woke from the unintentional rough treatment but didn’t say anything - just readjusted and fell back asleep.

You had managed a solid few hours of sleep between that final incident and the morning’s first light. When you woke again, the guilt of what you had just done - innocent and necessary or not - hit you full force. Billy rubbing your back is not sinful. Billy comforting you in a moment of need is not sinful. Even sharing a bed out of necessity can be argued as not sinful (although your brain keeps telling you it is, over and over again like an incessant loop with no end in sight).

But the way you wake up face to face with him, inches apart and so close you can feel his breath on your nose - this… this is not okay. The way he lets out a grunt as he wakes, blue eyes now as dark as a storm in the low light of the morning only made darker by his exploded pupils. The way he looks at you from beneath hooded lids, a small smirk pulling at his mouth as he lets out a sleep-gruff “Mornin’,”.

The way your heart races in that moment as if entranced by the sight itself - that’s not okay. That’s not godly.

It feels sinful.

“Excuse me,” You say quickly. “I need to use the pot.”

Your words were quick, rushed together in a sudden rush of panic, but your escape out of the bed is not as quick. Your spine twinges as you roll, much too fast for the tender pain still clawing at your back.

“Careful,” Billy scolds, fully awake now as he reaches a hand out towards you. You push it away, gently this time even though your instincts are yelling at you to smack it away. You already did that yesterday, you can’t do it again. Someone who is meant to be a voice for the Lord should have better self control than that.

“I’m fine,” You mumble, gritting your teeth as you push yourself to stand. You head over to the pot sitting in the corner of the room and slowly bend to grab it.

You’re fine, you tell yourself as you head out of the bedroom for some privacy.

You’re fine, you will as you hold back tears from how much it hurts to squat over the pot and you’re thankful that you only have to pee this time.

Please let me be fine, you pray as you wipe yourself clean. You’ll have to empty the pot at some point today, but you can’t bring yourself to try to do it now.

But you’re not fine. You’re in pain, back still screaming in agony despite sleeping on the bed last night and you don’t have to pray for God’s wisdom to see the next few days He has in store for you.

When you trudge back to Billy’s side, it's with a dejected spirit.

“Do you need the bedpan?” You ask, quietly.

“No,”

Billy gives you a pointed look and you take it for what it is: a demand.

So you sit back down next to him and will yourself to not wallow in your own self-pity like you want to. God would not want you to waste your energy on such negativity.

You barely get out of bed for anything the whole day. Some instances are inevitable, food and relieving yourselves when the need arises can’t be helped. But the need to be moving around eats at you. The feeling of needing to be busy, of needing to be useful even when there’s truly nothing pressing to be done makes you feel like there are bugs under your skin. You don’t want to be cooped up in bed all day again. Mankind wasn’t meant to be stagnant. Yesterday was hard enough already and now you’re being made to stay put again. You know yourself, know how much you crave to be on the move - on the go, never wanting to stay still for too long. You need to do something, be helpful in some way. Being forced to sit and stay like a dog is the last thing you want to do. But Billy has made his stance clear on what he thinks you should do.

“You stay in bed and heal, and I will too.”

Like yesterday, the ‘if you don’t…’ still remains unspoken, but the message is still received loud and clear.

You make absolutely sure to tell him that threatening and giving a nun an ultimatum is not very godly or very good manners in general, and you swear his eyes almost got stuck in the back of his head with how hard he rolls them.

You make sure to also tell him that rolling his eyes at a nun is not very kind either.

So you both stay in the bed.

The isolation and pure boredom quickly takes its toll. Billy decides to use the time to sleep, head turned to the side on his pillow with his mouth open as he breathes slow, deep breaths of oxygen into his lungs.

He looks so peaceful, thick eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and it once again strikes you how young he truly is. He’s been through so much horror and loss and it hurts to think that, even though it would be horrible for anyone to go through what he’s went through, how much more awful it feels to know that not too long ago he was just a boy himself - innocent and in need of protection and guidance and instead was cast aside like he was worth nothing.

He needs to be on when he’s awake. Guarded and observant, ready for danger at a moment's notice - the trials and tribulations of a wanted man. But here, in sleep, he looks the most at peace as you’ve ever seen him in the short time you’ve known him. And when he looks like this, innocent and soft as his dark hair falls over his forehead, you find it hard to believe that this is the same man who is wanted for the murder of no less than five men. Possibly more if the rumors are to be believed.

It’s fine. This is fine. Let him have his peace and serenity while cooped up in this cabin and all but chained to this bed. At least one of you is finding peace because it’s certainly not you. Your thoughts race, brain screaming at you to get up and do something. Maybe you could - Billy wouldn’t even know if you got up.

No. You can’t. That would be a lie. You promised you would stay in bed and you make sure to keep your promises.

You use the time to pray instead, filling the hours of silence with whispered prayer to steady yourself and clear your racing mind. When Billy wakes, the movement of his body as he shifts to sit up and lean against the headboard distracts you enough to open your eyes, watching carefully as he maneuvers himself and paying special attention to make sure he’s not pulling on his injury. But you don’t stop praying, lips forming the shapes of the holy words as he settles himself beside you.

He doesn’t interrupt. Never utters a word. His hands clasp in his lap as they mirror your own, sitting in silence and not quite acting like he’s trying to pray with you, but giving you the respect and space you deserve while you do.

Your praying doesn’t stop as you offer a hand out to him. It’s not traditional practice to hold another person’s hand during prayer. You’ve even heard it said that doing so can be seen as distracting and should be discouraged if it takes away focus from the Lord’s prayer. But you’ve often found that physical touch can bring people together - a physical bond between God’s children to solidify the spiritual bond that everyone hopes to achieve with He Himself.

Well, perhaps not Billy. Not yet anyway. But he still takes your hand when you offer it to him, his fingers curling around yours as they both lay between you on the bed.

You pray until your stomachs growl and even then you make sure to thank Him for providing your next meal.

The next day gives you more of the same as the day before.

It’s a tiny bit better, although not as noticeable as you would hope. You keep trying to think about it, mulling over what God’s plan could possibly be for rendering you practically helpless when you’re meant to be healing someone else. You can’t figure it out - you’re not meant to. It’s He and He alone who can know what His plan truly is and if you were meant to know, you would. But the lack of stimulation makes you keep on trying to figure it out, thinking and thinking and thinking and hoping that if you can just figure out why, then maybe you’ll heal quicker and be back on your feet like you want to be.

You have to force yourself to stop, the words sinner and doubtful creeping into your mind and curling around your heart with an icy grip when you realize just how much you’ve let yourself fester on it. The Good Lord has a plan and that’s all you need to know. All this thinking and trying to work it out is making it seem like you doubt Him. Doubt Him and the plans He has in store for you.

Shame on you, you scold yourself.

Please forgive my sin, Lord. I trust You.

Sister Catherine wouldn’t have doubted. She wouldn’t have wasted a single second on pitying herself. Sister Ann would have prayed her worries away, talking directly to God instead of trying to think around Him.

What is happening to you? This isn’t like you. It shouldn’t be like you.

You shuffle down the bed as carefully as you can, laying out on your side with your back towards Billy. If he noticed the tears running down your cheeks before you turned away, he doesn’t say anything. But after a few minutes of silence, his large calloused hand comes up to rub soothingly at your back.

It feels good, calming and healing like it did that first night. So, despite the part of your brain that’s still telling you this is wrong, you allow it anyway in the hopes that it truly is God’s loving and forgiving touch coming through Billy’s capable hands.

Billy’s wound is healing surprisingly fast. From your experience, wounds like his would take months to heal properly enough for him to move around with little worry, and even then one would still have to watch the injury site for a little while longer just to be sure. But Billy’s is mending much quicker than you would have anticipated, especially considering the significant amount of trauma the bullet caused to his side.

“The Lord is good, Billy. He’s looking out for you,” You tell him as you redress his wound. You’ve checked it already, double and then triple checking that he hadn’t torn anything in his noble yet incredibly stupid attempts at being a helpful gentleman while you yourself were in duress. He hadn’t, thank the Lord. God’s protection may be mighty, but it doesn’t frequently cover carelessness. You dress it carefully, making sure to keep it clean as you recover the trauma site with a fresh cloth. “I’d say only a few more weeks and you’ll be well enough to ride again.”

Billy scoffs at your words, irritation evident in the sour twist of his face. “There ain’t no god up there lookin’ out for me. S’all me.”

You ignore his jab and focus on taping the cloth securely to his skin.

“Well, you’re healing up mighty quick. Surely this is a blessing.” You toss the leftover material back in your bag. There’s still enough left to change it again for one last time. Perhaps Sister Ann will think to send some along with Sam for his next delivery in a few days, so you can have it just in case. ”Maybe He is with you after all, hm?”

“If you say so, Sister,”

He’s upset again, a lethal combination of the frustration that’s aimed at your insistence that God is with him despite him wanting nothing to do Him, and the fact that you are once again on your feet despite his insistence that you stay put. You can also tell that he’s starting to get antsy from being restrained to bed rest for so long. He hasn’t vocalized this particular frustration yet, but you can sympathize with the way he stretches his long limbs a little more than necessary, clearly fighting the urge to throw his legs over the side of the bed and move around like he really wants to.

A part of you wishes to console him. You don’t like to see him upset. He’s getting better, recovering fast and you can easily see him healing up and ready to be on the move much quicker than he ever should be. He should be happy about that - not frowning with his dark brows furrowed in barely concealed agitation.

But you don’t say anything. Just finish up the bandage refresh, taping it to his skin to keep it secure and letting Billy rebutton his shirt while you return your bag to the main room before dutifully returning to your place at his side as promised.

Billy stays in the bed as long as you stay in the bed. He’s calmed down a bit now, frown smoothing out as he watches you work on the blanket for the clinic. He makes himself useful and continues to hold your yarn for you as you work. The yarn balls you’ve brought are almost all completely used up and you’re not quite sure what you’re going to do when they’re gone.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you,” You say suddenly, half just to distract yourself and half out of pure uncontained curiosity. “About that night.”

“Which night?” Billy asks, but you don’t have to look at him to know that he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“The night you came to the clinic,” You say anyway. “But… before it.”

Your hands have stopped their movements, knitting needles and the rest of your project resting between your fingers in your lap. Now you do look at him, eyes boring curiously into the side of his face. His stubble is getting a little long, maybe Joe has a razor here that Billy can borrow.

He doesn’t look back at you though, instead keeping his gaze down to wear he’s playing with the tail end of the yarn that he’s purposefully kept out when rerolling the yarn ball. “What about it?”

“What happened? How did-” Your question trails off as your eyes drop to where his wound is as if you could see it through the covering of both his shirt and the bandage. “How did it happen?”

To your shock, Billy smirks. “Well, I didn’t know nuns liked to gossip. I reckon that wouldn’t be considered too god-like,”

You scoff at his playful words and lightly push his shoulder. “You hush. It’s not gossip if it's your own story.”

“Sure it’s not,” He chuckles.

You hum, one eyebrow raised as you quietly hold your stance in the face of his smugness, but the smile pulling at your lips surely ruins the look and maybe it’s a good thing he still hasn’t looked at you yet.

“Alright,” You relent. “Then as one of the Lord’s faithful servants, I am giving us the permission to… gossip.”

“I don’t think it can work like that,”

Suddenly, another understanding springs at the forefront of your mind. “Oh. Do you not wanna tell me?”

Foolish woman! Practically forcing him to tell you something he’s clearly not comfortable with telling. You are no priest and you have no right to demand to hear his sins or confession.

“No, it’s not–”

“You don’t have to tell me,” You rush to say. Guilt claws at you at the thought of you making him feel obligated to tell you about his trauma just because you want to know. Because you're curious. Because you want to gossip. “I’m sorry I asked. It’s not my place–”

“Hey,” He says, and now he is looking at you, clear blue eyes haloed with intensity as he grips your shoulder. “S’okay. I want to tell you.” There’s a beat, and then a thankfully sincere, “I trust you.”

You nod. “You can, Billy. You can trust me, I promise,”

Billy’s quiet for a moment but his eyes never leave yours. Eyes that look a little wetter now than usual as they stare back at you, and you feel like those eyes are trying to tell you more in this moment than any of his words ever could.

Finally, he speaks. “I want to tell you. But it wasn’t my finest moment,”

You think maybe it's better if you stay silent, so you do.

“I had a friend by the name of Pete Maxwell. You know him?”

You nod, adding in a brief, “Of him. A rancher. Decently wealthy.”

Apparently not wealthy enough to ever donate to the clinic, you think bitterly, and then immediately berate yourself for thinking something so judgemental of someone you’ve never met before.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “That night, I was at his ranch. He said I could stay for a few days until I figure out where to go next. I can’t stay in New Mexico anymore, they’re huntin’ me and they’re not gonna stop until they hang me.”

The thought of seeing Billy hanging from the end of a rope feels like there’s a hand squeezing uncomfortably around your heart. You’ve seen swinging bodies before - poor souls who, despite their transgressions, didn’t deserve the harsh judgment of ending their time here on Earth before the Lord called them home Himself. It makes you sick, thinking of all the people whose time had been cut short solely because someone else believes that just because they are powerful enough to end someone’s life also means they should.

“I never wanted to kill anyone,” Billy insists, and you wonder if he can read your thoughts in your eyes. “You know that. I never want to hurt anyone. Anythin’ I did was to protect myself from the people that wanted to hurt me or someone I cared about. Please, Sister, I swear.”

Your hand finds the curve of Billy’s cheek. “I know, Billy. I know,”

He lets out a shaky breath, but you can tell how relieved he is at your reassurance.

“I heard voices that night. Quiet talkin’. Not quite whispering but more hushed. I still recognized Pete’s voice just fine, but the other,” He trails off, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “How could I not have recognized him? From all the nights we all used to spend crammed in that small hideaway talkin’ about everythin’ and nothin’, how could I not have recognized Pat’s voice?”

You can hear the pain in his voice, and you think that this was one of those pivotal moments. Something that seems so insignificant but turned out to have such important consequences. You know all too well how those moments stick with you.

“But I thought I was safe with friends. I should’ve known better. I’m never safe. Not really. I walked down the hall and looked in Pete’s room. It was dark and I didn’t recognize who he was talkin’ to. They didn’t know I was there until I spoke and asked who it was.”

His hand twitches towards his hip and you know he’s reflexively feeling for where his gun should be.

“I’m the fastest gunslinger in the territory,” He tells you. “I made sure I am so that no one can ever get the upper hand on me ever again. I should’ve had my hand on my gun that day. I should’ve been ready. But I hesitated. Garrett knows me, he didn’t hesitate. I’ve fought my whole life just tryin’ to do the right thing and live a normal peaceful life, and I let my guard down for one minute - one minute of hesitation thinkin’ that I should’ve been safe - and it almost got me killed.” His hand moves from his hip to cover the healing wound on his side. “He’s usually a better shot than that. He must have been caught off guard too.”

“And then what happened?” You press. Pete Maxwell’s ranch is close to the clinic, but it's still a ways away if you're traveling on foot. The idea of BIlly walking the entire way to the clinic with an injury as substantial as his and making it is nothing short of a miracle.

“I ran. There’s an alcove in one of the spare rooms on the first floor. I ran down the stairs, stumbled down the stairs, and hid in there until Garrett passed and then I snuck out the back. My horse was tied in the barn and they chased me to the river just outside of town. So I sent my horse on her way and hid behind a big rock as they chased after her.”

“You rode a horse with a gunshot wound and then walked yourself the rest of the way to the clinic?” You asked, stunned.

“Yes, ma’am,”

Incredible. “My word! The Lord hath blessed you that day, Billy, for surely you should have died on that journey! You were knocking on death’s door when you stumbled in and I had no idea if it was even possible to save you. The fact that you made it to the clinic at all is a miracle.”

“You can listen to that and still say that’s a ‘blessin’’?”

His tone has soured a bit again, face twisted in irritation, but you lean forward and take both of his hands in yours.

“Your instincts saved you, Billy,” You say. “Despite all that you may not believe, believe that. Sheriff Garrett would have killed you if anything happened any differently than it did. He could have shot you in the head or in the chest, and if he had, you and I would not be sitting here having this conversation. I wouldn’t have met you.”

Thankfully, his expression softens. “And I wouldn’t have met you,”

The corner of your mouth curls up in a soft smile. “See? Small blessings.”

“Does it scare you?” Billy asks suddenly. “To be here. With me.”

The smile dissipates. “No. No, of course not. Why would I be scared?”

“I’ve killed people. A lot of people. I’m dangerous,”

“No,” You say, fingers squeezing tightly around his hands in reassurance. “You never wanted to kill anyone. You said it yourself. What you were forced to do to survive doesn’t define you. It’s what you do in moments of peace that do, and despite what the law says, God’s law is stronger. Give to the poor, help those in need, love each other and treat one another as you would want to be treated, and you’ve done all that, Billy. I’ve heard it. Your brother and sisters see it. They see how you’ve protected them, they see your kindness,” His blue eyes bore into yours as you speak. “God sees it, and I do too.”

The look in his eyes as he stares at you tells you that he wants to believe your words, but his words come out bitter. “Everyone sees it, but I’m still being hunted,”

“I know it's hard. I know it's unfair. But please, Billy, please, have faith that God has a plan for you. He has brought us together for a reason,” You say, ardently. “I believe that.”

He considers you for a long while, the doubt still clear as day in his vivid stare, but it feels like progress that he doesn’t say anything against your words. Maybe he’s finally starting to believe, just a little.

“I have your gun and hat, by the way,” You tell him, pulling your hands from his. They run down the front of your tunic to smooth it down before returning to your knitting needles. “They’re with my bag.”

You don’t know why you felt the need to tell him that right now. He won’t be needing them for at least another few weeks. At least you hope he won’t. The odds of Sheriff Garrett and his men finding you out here and surprising you both on your brother’s doorstep are slim, but nothing is ever completely certain. Maybe it's the thought of him losing everything - friends he thought he could trust, his horse, all his belongings. He almost lost his life. If you can comfort him for a moment and show that he hasn’t truly lost everything, even if it's just his gun and hat, you will.

“Thanks,” He replies, quietly.

You think he’s happy to hear it, but he suddenly seems much more interested in continuing to play with the loose end of your yarn.

Four nights of sleeping on the bed are doing wonders for your back, and although it's not as immediate as you had originally hoped, the improvement is clear. It’s not 100% yet, certain movements or even too much movement in general still makes some pain rear its ugly head, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was before. You think you should be in the clear in the next day or so. Which is nice to think about because this feeling and the physical limitations that come with it are getting old.

Like you, a particularly nasty part of your brain supplies, but you quickly tramp it down because first of all - how rude. And second of all, how dare you think of something so natural and beautiful in such a negative and self-degrading way? The Lord granted us mortality, the blessing of being able to experience life in all forms and watch as the world around you grows with you. Death is a consequence of original sin, but in it the Lord granted us salvation despite the punishment. Life is not forever on Earth, but our souls will live forever in His kingdom, and despite the actions that brought us here, we are blessed with the ability to watch the world and its people grow and change around us while our bodies, too, grow and change.

The aches in your muscles are signs of well use as well as general aging. The cracking joints you experience from time to time are just the body’s normal wear and tear of being well loved. Self-degradation comes from the Devil - his temptation to be ungrateful for the things God has granted us rearing up in the form of nasty words and thoughts leading to insecurity. We are all made in His perfect image, aging aches and pains included.

You haven’t slept through the night since before you got here, the stress of the situation having you waking up during the night from dreams of Sheriff Garrett breaking down your brother’s front door and putting a bullet through Billy’s forehead instead of just his side this time, and then the pain from your back taking its toll on any restful sleep you could have hoped to have. But when you wake up on the fourth morning in the bed, it's to the pleasant shock of finally sleeping through the night once again. The sun’s already shining through the bedroom window, your skin greedily soaking up the warm rays as you stretch out more along the sheets. You hadn’t woken up once during the night from any pain or discomfort, sleeping deeply enough that you know that you dreamt, but whatever it was is long forgotten.

You stretch again, using the additional space to sprawl all the way out as you bask in the rare moment of stillness. The content moment crashes around you when you realize you have a bit too much space for you to take up and your eyes fly open to see that Billy’s side of the bed is empty. Your hand automatically darts out to touch the empty space beside you as if they don’t actually believe what your eyes are seeing. He is supposed to be bedridden. Unmoving. Still. Recovering. And instead he’s gone - the sheets warm to your touch from the sun but still cooler without any remnants of his body heat left.

Noise comes from the kitchen, a small clatter of metal on metal that sounds like someone scraping down a pot and you jerk up, instantly awake and intent on running in the kitchen and finding out just what Billy thinks he’s doing out of bed. A sharp pain in your back halts your movements and your rare moment of serenity is gone in an instant. Words of blasphemy have never been a regular part of your vocabulary, just the rare ones slipping out in small bouts of rebellion in your youth and even those were few and far between. Your mother used to wash your mouth out with soap if she ever heard it, less for the sake of discipline and more for the sake of teaching you to never say them on the chance your father were to hear it. His discipline would have been far more unpleasant than a mouthful of soap. You haven’t spoken a single blasphemous word since taking your vows.

The pain in your back brings you mighty close though.

“Billy!” You call through the pain, teeth gritted together as your hands come to cradle your back.

“Gimme a minute, Sister,” He calls back, and this time you hear the more gentle and higher pitched clink of silverware.

“Billy, what are you doing?” You will not give him a minute. Your second attempt at sitting up is more successful this time and you’ve just gotten on your feet when he enters the room.

He’s carrying two bowls in his hands, piled generously with what looks like still steaming hot oatmeal. He clicks his tongue at you when he sees you, brows furrowing in concern and disappointment as if you are the one currently being unreasonable right now by being out of bed.

“I made us breakfast,” He says.

He places one of the bowls on the bedside table and uses his free hand to pull your pillow up so it leans against the headboard. You slap his hand away when he tries to nudge you back down against it, jaw dropped in shock at his audacity.

“You are in no position to be making breakfast,” You say, scandalized. “You are in no position to be standing on your feet. You should be in bed. Healing. Not cooking and lifting potentially heavy pots and possibly injuring yourself more.”

“S’okay,” He says, gently, voice soft as if trying to calm a wild animal. “M’fine. You’re hurt and were sleepin’ so good and I’m able, so I did.”

“If you pulled your stitches–”

He lifts the hem of his shirt up to reveal the bandage on his side, thankfully still clean and not a drop of blood seeping through the white.

“I didn’t. I was careful. I lifted you and nothin’ happened. If I could do that without them tearin’ then I can cook us up a meal,” He drops his shirt back down and tries to nudge you back down on the bed again, and this time you fall back willingly. He places the bowl of oatmeal into your hands and the heat from the bowl warms your fingers. “M’strong, I promise. Now can you please try the oatmeal? It’s real good, my Ma taught me how to make it.”

“Come sit on the bed where you should be and I’ll try it,” You tell him with a stern raise of your eyebrow. He concedes with a small smirk, clearly satisfied with himself.

When he’s settled next to you, his own bowl placed between his hands on his lap, he levels you with an expectant stare and it's only then that you take your first bite. You hum approvingly at the taste, the subtle flavor of cinnamon and something a little sweeter undercoating the oats.

“Your Ma had good taste,” You compliment, and Billy beams at you in happiness.

The good news of his recovery comes at a cost, and however much you try to urge him to stay in the bed to recover, he makes it incredibly clear that he is becoming much too restless to stay in it all day.

And suddenly, it feels like you’re looking in a mirror.

Billy’s push back sounds familiar to you, your own words of protest from the past few days being spat back in your face as he argues that he is well enough to stand and walk around for a little bit each day. Perhaps this is your punishment for how difficult you were during your own need for recovery.

“I can’t just sit around all day,”

You said it to him when he tried to urge you to rest and now he’s throwing those same words back at you, daring you to be a hypocrite in the face of your own words.

“Billy, you are recovering from a gunshot wound. Do you have any idea how serious this could become if you put too much stress on it too soon and it becomes infected?”

“It’s not gonna get infected. You care for it good enough and you said that I was healin’ up fast.”

“The possibility of tearing–”

“What about if you hurt your back again, huh? What then? You ain’t gonna do me any good if you keep hurtin’ yourself.”

“Oh, you are stubborn! The Bible says ‘a stubborn fool considers his own way the right one, but a person who listens to advice is wise’. Why can’t you listen to my professional advice?”

“Never said I was wise. I’ll be stubborn if it's gonna keep you safe. But really, who’s being the stubborn one here?”

Ouch.

You know the Lord is testing you.

That’s what this whole thing is - a test of your loyalty and strength in the face of hardships you never thought you would have to deal with.

Just like you, it seems that Billy is an active man - a doer who would rather be productive and helpful than sitting on his behind all day long and accept being cared for.

You appreciate this type of man. The type of man who makes himself useful in all aspects of life and doesn't expect to be doted on by his women just because he ‘worked hard’ all day and ‘deserves to relax’ when he gets home. You’ve seen first hand how a woman’s role in life doesn’t have set business hours. From the moment she wakes up in the morning, she’s doing her duties, caring for her husband or father and doing whatever she has to do to make his life easier.

Clean the home.

Make the meals.

Care for the children.

Tend to all his needs.

And when he gets home after work, from doing what he thinks is the most important job of all of ‘providing’ for his family, he kicks his feet up as she places a glass of whiskey in his hand. The woman handles the rest as she always does and receives no thanks in return for her efforts.

The sting of the past rears its ugly head whenever you think about it. You remember how the second your father walked through the door, whether he had been at work or already out in a saloon plying himself full of drink, your mother would be ready with a glass of the finest liquor your family could afford in hand for him. You remember how he never did anything to help with the household - never any heavy lifting, never any cleaning, never any cooking. He never even hugged his children.

Your mother did it all.

The tax of being a woman is often much higher than you think you’re willing to pay, and you often wonder if this is what the Lord truly meant when he said “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.”

So while you are mostly grateful that Billy is not like a grand majority of the men you’ve met, you think it’s inconvenient for this particular moment.

“Fine,” You begrudgingly allow, crossing your arms over your chest. “But if I think you’re overdoing it and tell you to sit down, I expect you to listen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He says with a pleased smirk as he tips an invisible hat at you.

Oh, Lord. Give me strength.

You allow him to stay out of bed for portions of the day under the condition that the tasks he does are light work and in no way any kind of danger to his still healing wound. He helps you in the kitchen, observing while you chop vegetables and put together hearty meals for the two of you with the supplies that Sam was gracious enough to provide for you both in his crate. He’s attentive to your needs - taking the dirty dishes from you and cleaning them right away in the heated water basin next to the stove while you cook, shaking his head stubbornly when you try to tell him to leave it. He’s offered to go out and collect more water for you from the stream out front when you need it, but you draw the line there, not wanting him to risk injuring himself more by picking up a heavy pot. He hands you things before you have to ask; already handing you a clean knife when you reach for the potatoes or using the spare kitchen rag to wipe the splattered mess clean that erupts from the pot as you stir. He’s a handy helper, an asset in the kitchen and around the rest of the cabin too when you let him.

It feels nice to have a helper - domestic in a way you haven’t had in a long time. Your fellow Sisters help you out every day, but it's different. They have their own jobs to tend to and you have yours. Help is expected but only when it's truly needed, otherwise you are on your own as you fulfill your given duties.

But when you were still living at home, before your world came crashing down on you, you and your mother would cook meals together. She would do a majority of the cooking but you would stand beside her and help her with whatever she needed. And in the spaces where she didn’t need anything, you would listen to her sing as she cooked, singing along with her and dancing in the small kitchen space. You were never quite as happy anywhere else as you were when in that small bubble of calm domesticity with her.

You want to ask Billy if he had those moments with his Ma in the kitchen too when he was growing up, but you’re too scared of breaking the calm that you can’t bring yourself to ask.

You thought your childhood might have been the end of it. The constant struggle and all-consuming fear you suffered day in and day out at the hands of your alcoholic father is something you would never wish on anyone. You’ve tried to justify it before - or not justify it but rather reason that you should consider yourself lucky, in a way. There’s always someone that has it worse off than you. Always someone who suffers more, is more fearful, has it harder and with more obstacles to overcome with not even a steep staircase in sight to help them over it.

You think Billy is one of those people. A poor soul lost amongst a battering sea of hurdles and tragedy that crash into him without mercy like waves during a storm. Orphaned at the age of fifteen, not even his brother alive anymore to keep him company in a cruel world that favors money over human life and dignity.

But, the truth is, you can’t compare them. Two very different circumstances each with their own obstacles and lessons to learn, and you think it’s doing the Lord an injustice to try to push off your own tests as ‘not as bad’ in the face of another’s. Yours are for you and you alone.

You should know that the Lord is never done with His teachings.

When growing up in that house, you used to watch your father with careful eyes. It was important to keep tabs on him - the state he was in (drunk or absolutely under-the-table drunk), his current mood based on how much drink he had consumed thus far into the day, and who he was looking at through those drink clouded eyes. You would go back and forth with your prayers, subconsciously or consciously asking God to keep his gaze from looking back into yours only to take it back and pray that it does. Because if his eyes weren’t on you, that means they were either on your mother or brother, and hearing their cries and screams for mercy always hurt more than the pain your father’s attention brought.

But moreso, you would watch him so you could know what you didn’t want.

Before taking your vows, you would pray every night for God to send you someone wonderful. Someone kind and caring with a strong and protective disposition but that would never ever ever lay a hand on you in anything other than pure love and adoration. Maybe he would be handsome - tall or short, green eyes or brown, fair-headed or with hair as black as the night, it didn’t matter. As long as he loved you and cared for you like a good husband should, you would take the blessing.

You hadn’t thought about that in a long time. That path for you is no longer an option and you thought you had made peace with that, knowing that you had been blessed with a better path than you could have ever hoped for when you were younger. But it hits you hard when you realize that you may not be as at peace with it as you thought.

It feels like an empty pit in your stomach when you watch him move around next to you in your brother’s small kitchen, looking up at Billy’s stretching arm as he reaches for one of the extra bowls Joe keeps up high on the top shelf above the stove that you are too short to reach yourself. The realization that, in another life, maybe this could have been your life. The thought makes your heart ache, the wanting of what could have been despite the contentedness of your life now is creeping in unexpectedly and you’re not sure how to feel. But it's there, frozen and immovable in your brain as you look up at him. He grabs the bowl and brings it down for you, looking down at you with a small upward turn of his lips as he hands it to you, and you think - wow, maybe in another life, one in which you hadn’t devoted your life to God and His will, maybe Billy could have been someone you could have shared your life with.

If there was ever the embodiment of someone you would have hoped and prayed for yourself, Billy would have made a good option. Someone handsome, strong both physically and morally, equally helpful as you are to him and actually wants to be.

You take the offered bowl from his hands, sadness encompassing your heart as you mourn for the little girl who prayed so hard for God to send her someone wonderful like him. The Lord works in mysterious ways, that is no secret. Billy is in your life for a reason and everything that you’re feeling now is carefully orchestrated by the Lord. There’s a lesson to be learned in this. Perhaps some justice and freedom for your younger self that never got her prayers answered the way she expected to, but instead was blessed with a life path that was so much better.

It takes some time to coddle the little girl still left inside you. But even so, eventually it's time to lift her sadness and stress and desperation up to the Lord so He can finally heal her and replace her suffering with His pure love.

New Mexico can be hot, but thankfully not very humid. Heat you can tolerate, but humidity? Forget about it.

When your travels had taken you into Louisiana, you considered for a moment that it might be where the Devil himself lived for as hot and humid as it was. The difference between New Mexico and Louisiana was stark - the comfortable heat of New Mexico, even when wearing the multiple coverings of a habit, is nothing compared to the absolute stifling and hard-to-breathe heat of that long week in Louisiana. Some residents there had assured you that it wasn’t always as horrific as it was when you asked during the long, long week of your stay. Just a heatwave, they said - and for their sake, you certainly hope so.

You haven’t had to worry too much about that here. Since you’ve moved to New Mexico, there’s only been one drastic heatwave. And while you had sat in the clinic, sweating profusely under the dark clothes of your habit and a wet washcloth pressed against the back of your neck, you had hoped that it would be the last one you ever had to experience.

But the unusual heaviness in the air and the way you’re starting to feel more than a little wet under your armpits tells you that that particular thrown up prayer may have gone unanswered.

It’s much hotter than it’s been in the last few days.

The cabin has been a safeguard from any excess heat so far, the well built wooden roof and sturdy walls effectively blocking the sun’s powerful rays and keeping the inside of the cabin a temperature fit for human living. But now it's too hot, too well contained, and the heat feels like it's smacking you in the face every time you turn around.

You feel wet under your clothes, the dark layers of your habit doing their job at keeping your entire body covered but doing you no favors in helping you find any relief from the all consuming heat. Billy’s not doing much better either. His dark hair is plastered against his forehead, sweat beading around his hairline, and he looks just as exhausted as you feel. His eyes are closed as he lays back against the pillows and for the first time in the past few days, he doesn’t make any effort to try to get out of bed to move around. To be fair though, you don’t really make any effort to move around either. Being active uses energy that you most definitely don’t have right now - the ridiculous humidity taking away all your will and motivation to do anything other than use a spare piece of paper to fan yourself.

Eventually, it's not enough though.

Your clothes are sticking to your skin and you feel more disgusting than you have in a long time.

“I need a bath,” You mutter, still fanning your face with the paper. You really do. Some nice cool water sliding along your skin to help cool you down sounds about as close to Heaven as you can get right now. But then it hits you, eyes flying open as your head snaps to look at Billy. “Oh gosh, you need a bath!”

It’s been exactly two weeks less a day that you’ve been in hiding at your brother’s cabin with a wanted criminal and you still haven’t offered him a proper opportunity to bathe. You’ve done the bare minimum so far, running a wet cloth across your skin at the end of the day to rid yourself of the dirt and grime before handing it off to Billy to do the same. But it’s been far too long since you had a proper bath. Your last one was the day Billy found his way into the clinic - who knows when was the last time Billy had a proper wash.

One of Billy’s eyes crack open at your gasp. “You sayin’ I stink?”

Heat rises at your cheeks and for a second you think you’ve offended him, but the playful smirk that pulls under his sweaty upper lip tells you to relax.

“Yes,” You say anyway. “Very much so, in fact.”

Billy lets out an amused huff, his eyes slipping shut again. “Hm, so kind of you to say so,”

“Well, it’s a sin to lie,” You take a second to gather your resolve before forcing yourself up. Thank goodness cold water is what you're needing for your refreshing bath, you can’t stand the thought of having to run the stove right now to heat it up. “It should also be a sin with how bad we smell.”

“You don’t smell bad,”

You look at him, strict brow raised. “Now, what did I just say about lying?”

“Ain’t a lie,’”

He opens his eyes again to look at you and, for some crazy reason, there’s a seriousness there that you’re not prepared for. You thought maybe he was just being polite, not saying the truth because he thought it might hurt your feelings as a woman. It’s throwing you a bit with how sincere he looks.

“You should get undressed,” You tell him in lieu of anything else to say. “I’m going to fetch some water from the stream and bring it back for you.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to bathe in the stream?”

Honestly? Yes. Yes it would be. But it's a risk. A small one, but a risk nonetheless. If Garrett and his men showed up unexpectedly, it would be easier to keep them outside and hide BIlly inside than for Billy to try to run and hide in an open field.

“Inside is the safer option. From both the heat and potential searching eyes,” You slip on your shoes that you keep neatly beside the bed and Billy just continues to watch you. “Is that okay?”

Billy shrugs and places a hand on his side to protect his bandage as he pushes himself off the bed. “Sure thing, boss,”

You see Billy start to unbutton his shirt and take that opportunity to leave the room and grab the water basin from the kitchen. The stream is just a short walk from the house and just about as in Joe’s backyard as he could have allowed. It takes just minutes to walk from the front porch all the way to the stream’s edge and you’re beyond thankful that, even though you feel like the Devil himself is breathing down the back of your neck with all this heat and humidity, your back doesn’t twinge or pull or ache when you crouch to collect the water. Your hands dip into the stream as you dunk the bucket and the cool water feels heavenly on your hands.

When you return back to the cabin, fresh water in hand and grabbing a bar of soap you had borrowed from the clinic on your way back to the bedroom, you return to find that Billy has followed your orders. He stands naked - well, almost naked. He’s kept his undergarments on, the white cotton that usually extends down towards the knee is still covering his more private parts but has been rolled up to expose a majority of his thighs. The rest of him is bare, on display for your eyes to see, and you’re so ashamed to find yourself looking.

You are a woman of God, forever to be celebate and chaste in His honor - but it's becoming clear, especially in these past few weeks, that you are not as far from the Devil’s reach as you had once hoped to be. Temptations of the flesh have never been a problem for you. You had never met anyone who had held your attention enough in your youth to ever entertain such thoughts, and after you had taken your vows the option was off the table altogether, so you had never bothered to ever consider anyone worth the distraction to your mission.

The temptation had always been easy to ignore. You may find some people attractive, yes, but nothing ever so tempting that they stopped you in your tracks, unable to take your eyes off them. But Billy’s skin is smooth, broad shoulders with muscles that shift under his skin as he moves. The long curve of his spine. The strong arms that you knew must have been impressive with the easy way he lifted you that night. You’ve seen skin before. Seeing mostly naked bodies at the clinic is part of the job description when dealing with the different amount of injuries you’ve seen within your lifetime. But most of those bodies are old - the elderly with their wrinkles and saggy skin where muscles used to be but have now disappeared without use. And if they’re not old, they’re bloodied - able bodied people who need you to stitch them up and clean the rest when you’re done.

You’ve seen skin before. But not this kind of skin. Never the type that makes your fingers twitch like they want to run along the expanse of it and feels how it feels under your touch and—

Stop!

“Ahem,” You clear your throat from whatever had suddenly gotten in it. You take a bit to clear your head too. Temptation is not a sin. Giving into temptation is the sin. “I have the water,”

“Thanks,”

You cross the room, setting the bucket of water down on the bedside table along with the bar of soap. His eyes follow your movements and the guilt from your recent lack of self control has you feeling like he’s burning holes in the side of your head.

“Be careful,” You say, running your still damp palms along the front of your tunic. “You’re healing mighty well but that can all turn south if you're too careless with your movements. Don’t rush anything and move slowly when twisting your body to clean. I’ll give you some privacy so just holler if you need me.”

You need to pray. This is going to keep eating at you if you don’t, but Billy catches your wrist as you try to walk past him again, halting your escape as you head for the door to the main room.

“Wait,” He says, softly. “Would you mind helpin’ me? I think I moved a little too much yesterday and now that I’ve stood up, it’s feelin’ kinda sore.”

His hand is pressing against his side again and any awkwardness you were experiencing is clouded by concern.

“Sore?” You repeat, worriedly. “Sore like your stitches ripped open?”

You immediately reach for his bandage, intent on pulling it off and seeing the extent of the damage, but Billy halts your hand before you can.

“M’fine,” He whispers. You look up and you realize that you’re suddenly very close to a very unclothed, arguably attractive, man. “It’s just sore.”

Pulling your hand from his, you back up a few paces.

Get it together. You need to focus and be strong for Billy. You are meant to help him, both physically and spiritually, and now is no time to be having a moral dilemma of your own. You need to focus and be the person God expects you to be. You can pray for absolution later.

You are one of the Lord’s faithful helpers, and Billy is asking for your help right now.

“Of course, I’ll help you,” You nudge his hand away from your wrist, replacing your wrist instead with the bar of soap. “You go ahead and get started with what you can comfortably reach and I’ll go see if Joe has a blade we can use to clean up your face.”

Billy chuckles. “You don’t like the scruffy look, Sister?

“Hah, well, nothing wrong with being a little more clean cut, yes? The baby Jesus might have been born in a barn, but we don’t have to look it,”

You wish you could leave the room under the guise of going to look for your brother’s razor. You need a minute, just one, just to collect yourself and get your thoughts together. But if your brother has one, you know it would be in here, so you turn your back to Billy to give him some semblance of privacy and begin your search. You should feel grateful that you find it so quick, just the first drawer of the small dresser opened and there is it - a clean straight razor, a shaving brush, and a half used soap cake both sitting neatly on top of a mostly still white linen towel. There’s the gentle sound of splashing water as Billy begins to clean himself behind you and you pretend to search for another minute before finally collecting your resolve and pull the items from the drawer. You lay them on top of the dresser and unfold the straight razor. It still looks decently sharpened which is good because you have absolutely no brain power or motivation to go looking for something to sharpen it with, and you use the towel to wipe away any dust that could have caught on the blade even while being folded down.

With a deep breath, you turn around again. Billy is scrubbing himself with the wet bar of soap. His chest and stomach are cleaned already, the wet soapy residue still visible from where he ran the bar over his skin. His left arm is lifted in the air as he washes under his armpit, the dark hair there making the soap lather up even more than where there is none. His eyes are on you as you turn around but they cut away as he bends over the water bucket, washing away the soap suds from his body.

“Will you do my back?” He asks, holding out the soap towards you before adding a quick, “Please?”

“Of course,” You say, quickly. The selfish part of you wants to say no. Just staring at his back made you feel things you should give life to. You really don’t want to put yourself in that position again. But you have no choice. Billy’s needs outweigh your own, so you’ll just have to be quick about it.

Professional.

You set the shaving materials down on the side table next to the water bucket and take the soap from Billy’s outstretched hand, replacing it instead with the linen towel. “Here. Dry yourself off.”

The muscles in his back shift under his skin again as he follows your command and your so close to him like this, with your hand placed up on his shoulder in a halfhearted attempted to steady both him and yourself as you raise the soap bar to his skin, and you realize just how tall he is compared to you. He could easily tower over you and even though you’ve never felt short, felt inferior, around people who have been physically taller than you - Billy makes you feel so small right now.

You scrub the soap over the skin of his back, trying not to think a single second of thought based around how smooth it is or how well maintained and athletic the muscles look pulling underneath it. Some of the suds run down the length of his spine, following the curve of it all the way down until they soak into the material of his undergarments. You take the towel from him when he offers it to you and you urge him to stand closer to the water bucket so that when you dip your hand into the cool water, cupping some in your palm to help wash off the soap, there won’t be a ton of water clean up left on the floor when you’re done. The water washes his back clean and you catch most of the runoff with the towel pressed against his lower back, preventing it from seeping into his underwear or dripping on the floor.

“Okay, back is done,” You tell him as you use the towel to pat his back dry. You squeeze the towel over the water bucket to wring out the excess. “You should wash your hair too. The cool water will feel nice on your head and keep you cooler longer.”

“Will you do it?” He asks, hand reaching up to press against his bandage again.

You hesitate again, but only for a second. This you shouldn’t have any problems with at all. You’ve washed countless heads during your time at the clinic - don’t make Billy suffer because of your lack of self control.

“Sure,” You say, forcing a playful smile. “You know, I’ve been told these hands are like magic on a scalp. As close to God’s own miraculous hands as you can get.”

Billy grins, sitting back on the bed as you come to stand in front of him. “Now I reckon that’s probably right,”

You grab the soap cake and drip the shaving brush in the water to wet it. A few rough circles along the surface of the cake are enough for a decent lather and you motion for Billy to tilt his head up towards you so you can apply the thick shaving soap along his neck and jawline. With careful and out of practice strokes of the brush, the stubble becomes covered by the foam and it's nice that, for as long as he’s been without a proper shave, it seems like he doesn’t grow facial hair quite as quick as other men. It makes it easier to cover and when everything is fully topped in a thick layer of shaving soap, you place them to the side and grab the regular soap bar once again and tell Billy to tilt his head down again so you can reach his hair while the shaving lather softens the hair on his face.

Your fingers run through his hair, dragging the soap with them as you card the suds through the dark locks. His hair is still short enough that it doesn’t need to be cut just yet, but long enough that your fingers still catch on some snags as they work in the soap. Billy’s head pushes into your touch as your nails scrape against his scalp, a soft groan pulling from his chest as his eyes slip shut.

“You didn’t lie,” He mutters as his lashes flutter against his cheeks.

“Nuns don’t lie,” You respond. “Lying is a sin,”

Billy leans his head to the side when you tell him to, leaning over the bucket so you can rinse out his hair, being mindful of not letting the soap get into his eyes. It’s better to not towel it off. The water might drip a little on the bed and on the floor, but the heat is still stifling under your tunic, sweat beading up on your forehead just under the strap of your veil, and you can already see the relief in Billy’s face from how the water is cooling him down, so you think it's better to let him be more comfortable than trying to keep making clean up easier on yourself.

“Chin up,” You instruct. The still damp towel lays over your shoulder now as you pick up the straight razor, unfolding it again and gripping it steady in your hand. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to do this, so stay very still for me, okay?”

He grunts in agreement and doesn’t move from the position you put him in, sitting as still as a statue as you carefully run the blade of the razor over the side of his jaw. It won’t be the best or closest shave he’s ever had, but it will do for now. He sits while you work, stare on your face as you free his own from the scruff.

“You’re such an angel to be takin’ care of me like this,” He murmurs when you pull the blade away to wipe it clean on the towel.

“It’s alright, Billy,” Another methodical swipe of the blade up the side of his neck. “It’s my pleasure to help in any way I can.”

You’re almost done his face, his neck and left side of his jaw are hair free, and you pull away again to clean the razor, taking another second to wipe the back of your hand against your forehead to catch some runaway sweat.

He takes the opportunity to speak again without the presence of the blade against his skin. “You were right. The water feels good. Especially in my hair,”

“I’m glad,” You say, returning the blade back to his face. “I wouldn’t know.”

This time he talks even though the straight razor is pressed directly under his jaw. “You can take your veil off. I reckon it's just makin’ you hotter,”

Your hand jerks a little at his words and you're shocked to see that somehow your abrupt movement hasn’t drawn blood.

“No,” You say maybe a little harsher than necessary. “I can’t.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,”

“No,” The razor skims his skin a little quicker now. “That is not an option.”

“S’just hair. You’ve already seen me naked, touched my hair. What’s a little hair?”

“We are not having this conversation,” You assert.

The last swipe of the blade is more rough and unsteady than it should be, but your heart is pounding at his suggestion. How inappropriate. How unacceptable to even suggest that you take off something as meaningful and sacred as your veil and because of what? Because you’re hot? A little warmth is too much to handle for you so you need to abandon your vow of modesty just for a little relief.

“Clean yourself off,” You tell him, voice clipped as you toss the towel to him. You pick his discarded clothes off the floor and gather them in your arms. “I’m going to wash your clothes in the stream while you finish your bath.”

“Woah,” He says, hand reaching out to grab hold of your upper arm this time. “M’sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. Just thought you coulda been a little more comfortable.”

Shame heats over your cheeks and you will yourself to take a breath. You shouldn’t be so quick to get upset. Quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger - that’s what He teaches us. You should know better by now that Billy doesn’t mean any harm. Of course, he would just want to be helpful.

“I know,” You say, softly. “Billy, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. Must be the heat making me a little crazy.”

“It’s alright,”

You pull his hand from where it’s curled around your arm and pat his palm in reassurance. “I’m gonna go wash your clothes in the stream and try to cool down myself. The sun will have them dry in no time I’m sure. You finish up in here and just relax,”

“You’re not gonna need me?”

“No, I’ll be fine.

Billy nods and moves to sit back on the bed. “I’ll just take a nap then,”

“Sure! That sounds lovely. I’ll be back in soon,”

Scurrying out of the bedroom and through the front entry way of the cabin, you cradle his clothes to your chest and let the front door slam shut behind you. The heat beats down as you make your way down the porch but for the first full minute that you’re outside, you barely feel it at all. You feel almost cold, like an icy hand is circling around your insides and twisting up your stomach.

The isolation here of being restricted with a man in a confined space with no other barriers is getting to you - that’s all. You need structure again, daily routines and prayer to help get you back on track. Your fellow Sisters are good at helping you maintain the structure you need so that you don’t get lost in your thoughts. Each of you have your strengths and your Sisters help you in areas that you lack. But they aren’t around now and you’re feeling the effects of not hearing God’s words fall from their lips when the voice in your own head gets too loud. It’s okay, it’s not failure. Just because you are far from them now does not mean you are far from the Lord Himself.

All is well. Deep breathes.

The sun’s rays seep into the black fabric of your habit and the material encases the heat in its fibers like it loves it. You shake your head and decide to not think about it. Wash Billy’s clothes and while they’re hanging out to dry, you can sink your arms into the cool water of the stream and bathe yourself in it.

You’re sure your brother has a clothesline near the stream you can hang the clothes on.

Your brother doesn’t have a clothesline. Of course, he doesn’t. Why would he? Why would his absurdly minimalistic way of living help benefit you in any way other than giving you a roof over your head.

Stop it, y/n, you scold yourself.

What a terribly bitter line of thinking. It’s not your brother’s fault. This is his life and the way he chooses to live. Who are you to judge him for anything? Especially considering the path that you yourself have chosen to take. The Lord encourages minimalism, urges all of His children to forsake material items and give them up for the sake of following Him and finding true happiness away from the only brief moments of glee any physical item can grant. Instead of becoming frustrated and pointing the finger, perhaps you should look within and take a page from your brother’s book. His relationship with God is not what you would consider healthy or strong, but perhaps he’s not as far off as you might have thought.

Focus on what you know: you’re tired and a bit irritable, soul a little bruised. Your back pain is nearly almost completely gone now and for that you’re thankful, but the excessive heat and humidity so high you feel like you are having some trouble breathing is ruining what should be a joyous experience. If you thought it was hot inside, then outside feels like an entirely different plane of existence.

The water on your skin as you dunk Billy’s clothes in the stream feels wonderful, but the water dries up all too fast leaving your skin feeling tight. You shiver in disgust and the thought of why something can even feel so good and then gross within seconds crosses your mind quicker than you can catch it.

The negative line of thinking halts as you scold yourself again.

Sister Catherine says there is beauty in everything, you need to remember that.

You just need to find the beauty to see God’s face even in the most trying of times.

You’re tired, but at least you’ve been allowed rest. Your back is still a bit sore, but it’s on the mend and through the pain you’ve gained a new appreciation for your body’s movements and capabilities. Your rolled up sleeve accidentally got soaked during a too careless dunk while trying to scrub Billy’s shirt with the soap, and while it annoys you, you find you don’t mind the feeling of the wet clothes against your skin as long as it stays on your arm below the elbow. You have a safe place to stay, away from the dangerous people who are hunting your charge, and despite how hot it is outside, the scenery of your brother’s cabin along the miles and miles of raw greenery is absolutely breathtaking now that you’re choosing to actually look at it.

The expert craftsmanship that Joe accomplished while building this place, the precision and time and patience it took and knowing that he did it himself with no one to help him makes looking at the accomplishment even more special. He chose a beautiful location - somewhere remote with no unwanted visitors but with such beauty in the scenery that surely he must feel more at peace here than anywhere else in the world. A little slice of Heaven here on Earth just for him. The land is abundant, green and full of life and only disrupted by the stream of glittering blue that cuts diagonally along the front of the land, and you know instinctively that Joe chose to face his home this way so he can look out his window or sit on the front porch and watch the water flow while he drinks his morning coffee.

You see it - the beauty God is trying to show you.

The peace and the serenity that’s been evading you the past few days finally hits you like a wave of holy light.

When things get hard or tensions get too high at the clinic and things seem like they’re turning for the worst, Sister Maria likes to invoke a practice that she calls ‘de nuevo’.

“It means ‘again’,” She had told you. “Restart. Do over. Start new. When life gets too hard and there seems to be no end in sight. Grita ‘de nuevo!’ and start again with fresh eyes and an open heart,”

Spanish isn’t your forte, but this is a saying that you’re very familiar with and can get behind. The sweltering heat still smacks at your body and you desperately try to cling onto the tranquility that you’ve found against the ruthlessly high temperatures.

“De nuevo,” You whisper, and then you start again.

Your brother doesn’t have a clothesline, but that’s okay. The front porch does have a nice chair you can drape the wet clothes off of as well as the bannister around the porch. They’ll do just fine and get the job done just as a regular clothesline would. You gather the clothes into a ball in your arms. The wet material soaks into the front of your tunic and you grimace at the feeling. The cold water helps to cool you down for a moment, but this time the feeling of your clothes sticking to your chest is a sensation you can go the rest of your life never feeling ever again.

You step up on the porch, drop the bundle of clothing on the seat of the rocking chair, and reach up to wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. Just a few more tasks - you just need to lay Billy’s clothes out to dry and then you can bathe and clean your own. As much as you would love to clean the entire garb, you know that’s not in your immediate future. You don’t have a change of clothes and all you brought with you are the clothes on your back. You may be sleeping in the same bed with a man out of necessity, but you refuse to let Billy see you out of your habit.

Some rules are just too sacred to break.

No sooner than the first of the laundry is thrown over the back of the rocking chair, the sound of your name reaches your ears.

It’s your first name again. Just your first name, no title to be heard. And in other circumstances you know that this would have to be the moment that you correct him. A one time slip is acceptable within reason, but any more than that is plain disrespectful and even though you stand by the idea that Billy doesn’t intend any harm, the matter is still the same.

But that line of thinking doesn’t matter right now because it's not just that he said your name - it’s how he said it.

Your name, called in what you can only assume is a moan of pain.

It sounds tense, a pitiful whimper as he tries to call for you and you're immediately concerned about what could be making him sound like that.

Possibilities of Billy being hurt or suddenly in so much pain that he can’t contain his whimpers of pain anymore flood your mind. What could have possibly happened? You were just with him. Things were fine. He was just fine!

Maybe he tried to get up and twisted his body badly enough that it ripped open his healing scar and stitches. Naughty boy, always trying to stand or move about when he has no business going anywhere. You knew he was pushing himself by moving around too much. He did say it was sore. Or maybe there’s an infection that you’ve somehow missed - something that’s slipped past your watchful eye and now suddenly it’s rearing its ugly head and causing misery to poor Billy’s still fragile healing state.

You drop the pair of pants in your hands back into the pile, wiping the wetness off of your hands and onto your tunic. “Billy?”

Another moan followed by a deeper groan and your concern increases as you push open the front door. You keep your voice as soft and calm as you can. You don’t want to startle him and have him jump and hurt his injury more. “Billy?”

This time your name is more like a whisper - like a prayer being spoken between his sounds of pain and agony. Calling out for you to help ease his suffering. Forsaking calmness, your feet scramble across the small entryway and push past the bedroom door.

“Billy, are yo–”

Your words are cut off in your throat, swiftly ended by the sharp and scandalized gasp that bursts forth from the sight in front of you.

Billy’s not in pain as you had thought.

He’s not doubled over in agony, hands pressing against his side to keep pressure on his wound from whatever trauma you thought he had inflicted on it while you were out cleaning the laundry.

Or maybe he is in pain. The angry red tip peeking out from the top of his fist certainly looks like it’s painful.

He’s… touching himself. Naked body, fully naked this time, stretched out on bed with his hand between his legs. His thighs look like they’re trembling, toned tummy tensing and sucking in slightly as his face twists in response to what he’s doing to himself.

Immediately, your face is on fire, heat flooding your cheeks in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the temperature outside and everything to do with the sinful expression of desire on display in front of you. Billy's eyes fly open at the sound of your gasp, bright blue almost black with how dilated his pupils are and the hand that’s stroking at his length freezes as those eyes lock on yours.

“Sorry!” You squeak. “I’m sorry! Lord, have mercy. I’ll just- I’ll give you a little time to finish.”

Your hands press to your warm cheeks as you scurry away from the room and back out to the porch. The front door slams shut behind you and you lean back against it, body trembling with an increase of adrenaline. Your fingers dig into your eyes, bright spots popping up in front of the black of your closed eyelids.

Lord, please forgive me for having seen such a private and intimate moment not meant for my eyes. You know it wasn’t my intention. Amen.

Your body is shaking and you will yourself to calm down. It’s normal, you try to remind yourself. It’s a completely normal and human action you just saw. It’s just the embarrassment of having interrupted it that’s making you shake. With a deep breath, you move to pick up another article of laundry. You intend for it to keep you distracted, but, despite how hard you try, you cannot keep your mind from wandering to the man inside.

The one who is probably still trying to… finish.

The image of him sprawled out on the bed, long fingers wrapped around his length and how hard and flushed and intimidating it looked still bounces around your mind. You try to shake your head, palms pressing hard into your eyes again to try to push the image from your mind. It doesn’t work.

The way the head of it poked through the circle of his fist with each stroke and how it glistened at the top even in the singular window of the bedroom.

How long his body is, lithe but strong as the muscles shifted under his skin.

How a few strands of his dark hair still stuck to his forehead from the moisture beading on his skin and how you’re not even sure if it's still from his bath, sweat from the heat, or sweat from… other things.

How hazy his eyes looked when he looked at you.

Stop it, y/n. Stop it right now.

You’ve seen your fair share of male parts in your lifetime. It’s important to remember that. This is no different. It’s part of the job description when caring for the sick or elderly. You’re going to see their private parts and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not sexual, even if sometimes patients do become aroused from time to time. It’s completely natural - a body’s natural response to stimulation even if that stimulation is not sexual in nature or intention.

In this instance, you must admit the sexual intention on Billy’s part. But this is also natural. There’s the occasional discourse between some teaching and beliefs about whether or not masturbation is a sin. Some say it is, stating that the overwhelming desire and need to touch oneself comes from a severe lack of self control and temptation from the Devil.

You’ve heard it said that it's a form of sexual immorality. Sex is meant for love between two people with the intention to procreate and bring forth new life with the Lord’s blessing. It’s not meant to be wasted on a ‘shameful, quick, and disturbing act of self release with tainted emotions and impure thoughts’. You remember those words well, spoken from the thin mouth of a very strict and rather unwelcoming nun you met during your travels before taking your vows. In her eyes, masturbation is dirty - corruption of the body as the Lord’s holy temple by your own hand.

Others argue that masturbation itself is not a sin, but rather a necessity and natural act of the nature that God granted us. The act alone is not sinful, but can turn towards sin depending on what the mind conjures up in the throes of that sensation. Pure physical sensation and the emotions that come with touching oneself - that is acceptable and natural. Imagining, watching, or objectifying another of God’s children, however, is where the Devil’s reach can come and turn an otherwise innocent act into something devastating.

Billy wouldn’t do that. He’s a good man, a sweet boy, and you just can’t picture him objectifying anyone like that. If he needed a release, then that’s his business, and you would do well to just wipe it from your mind and move on.

But you can’t - the images are still dancing around your head without permission, and to your horror you realize that now it’s you of all people being sinful. Again.

Our Father, Who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy Name,

Thy Kingdom come.

Thy Will be done.

On Earth as it is in Heaven.

You pray the entire time you finish laying out the clothes to dry. The constant repetition and chosen words of the prayer help you to clear your mind. You don’t even register the heat anymore.

You’ve finished Billy’s laundry by the time you actually gather the courage to go back inside the cabin.

You’ve also done your own. You hadn’t intended to clean the whole thing, just rinse your body and wash the parts of your habit that you could go without for a few minutes to smell and feel a little fresher. But the interaction with Billy has you scrambled and you can’t go back in there yet.

So, you take your time.

You washed your clothes as quickly as you could, not wanting to risk Billy looking out the window and seeing you in just your underclothes. The stream is just far enough from the cabin that you don’t think he would see anything in detail if he were to peek out, even less if you keep your back towards the house, but even the thought of him seeing you outside of your uniform makes you uneasy - the insistent litany of no no no no rushing around your head. It’s probably the quickest bath you’ve ever taken, scrubbing your skin raw and tossing glances over your shoulder every few seconds towards the window. You never see Billy’s silhouette in the frame and even though you’re still kind of tense, it does ease some of the tension in your shoulders. He’s probably still busy anyway, trying to… relieve himself.

Sweat and water still bead up at the place where your forehead and hairline meet, the moisture soaking into the headband of your veil and you really want to wash it too. Another glance at the window still shows no visible onlooker, so you take a chance and pull the covering from your head.

The sun works on drying your habit as you lay it out on the ground next to you. The cool water slides across your scalp as you wash your hair and it feels so good that you don’t even care that it’s sliding down your back and soaking into your thin top. You wash your veil too, paying close attention to scrubbing the band to get rid of any sweat or smell.

When you’re done, you grab your clothes from the edge of the stream, cradling them to your chest as you race across the field and back towards the outhouse. You lay your clothes on the grass beside it before darting inside and taking refuge within the small structure.

It stinks inside the outhouse, the unpleasant smell of bodily waste, only just muted by the dirt covering it, is not something you’re looking forward to experiencing for any longer than you have to. But it shouldn’t take too long for your clothes to fully dry and you could use some alone time to truly gather yourself.

The opportunity to stay in God’s sole presence, just you and Him and no one else in the entire world, feels like a weight being lifted off your shoulders. You’ve been slacking, and it shows heavily in your recent actions and thoughts. You sit on the side of the bench, legs crossed as you lean against the wall and let your words of praise fill the contained space. The cross laced around your neck normally sits safely under the collar of your tunic, but now it’s held reverently between your fingers. It feels warm as your fingers press into the wood - alive and simmering with your Lord’s presence.

You press it against your lips as you whisper prayer after prayer against the smooth wood, asking God for His guidance so that His words may once again ring loudly in your ears and fall confidently from your lips as opposed to the damning silence or tempting whisperings of the Devil that you’ve been receiving.

An hour of prayer might not be much, but it’s enough.

Despite the heat still beating down on you from above, you feel refreshed. There hasn’t been any wind or even the slightest hint of a breeze all day long and yet, when you leave the safety of the outhouse, you feel the softest touch of air blowing against your skin. You take it as a good sign, a signal from God that you are on the correct path and headed for healing and wisdom that you have prayed for. Your clothes are dry when you pick them up, dark fabric hot to the touch but you slip them on anyway, one piece after another until you’re back to how you should be. Covered and modest and protected in the uniform of honor that He has granted you.

Billy’s clothes are dry too when you reach the front porch and you drape them over your arm. And with a steadying deep breath, you open the door.

It occurs to you that you probably should have been more cautious when walking inside the cabin. The bedroom door is still wide open from how you left it earlier and nearly the entire room is on display even from the front door. Maybe you should have come in with your eyes closed, called out his name loud and clear so that you didn’t have any more awkward encounters like this afternoon. But things seem to work out in your favor this time because Billy is just sitting on his side of the bed, leg bent at the knee as he plays with what little is left of the knitting yarn. Thankfully, he’s back to wearing his undergarments, so even though he’s still naked (on account of you holding his only clothes in your arms), it's nothing you shouldn’t be able to handle.

He looks up when he hears you enter, hands stilling on the yarn as his wide eyes stare into yours. He’s nervous. You can relate.

“Here’s your clothes,” You say, resting them neatly on the corner of the bed. “I hope they’re clean enough.”

“Thanks,” He mutters, eyes still locked on your face.

You don’t want to say anything. You just want to move past the embarrassment and shame on your part and hopefully have him move past the complete disregard of his private time, no matter how accidental. But he doesn’t make any kind of move for his clothes, doesn’t even move an inch in an attempt to get up - just keeps looking at you and you know you’re going to have to say something.

“I– apologize for walking in on you earlier,” You say. “I thought you might have been in pain and wanted to help but…” You wring your hands together awkwardly in front of you before settling them to cross your chest. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

Billy shakes his head. “No. That’s not really somethin’ that embarasses me,”

“Good! It shouldn’t. It’s completely natural for someone to– to do that. And I should never have walked in on it. So, you have my apologies.”

“S’alright,”

“Okay,” You nod. “Good.” Thank goodness that went easier than expected. “Now, get dressed and I’ll start up some dinner for us.”

“Sister, wait,”

You stop midstep, unease fluttering through you, and once again you’re so close to thinking a blasphemous word because no! You thought for a second that you had come out of the conversation potentially unscathed.

You rest a hand on the doorframe and turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Yes, Billy?”

He stands from the bed, stretching just a little before reaching for the top of his clothes pile. “You really don’t have a problem with what you walked in on? With me, y’know, touchin’ myself?”

“No,” You say, sincerely. “Of course not. Men have needs and those are natural and God-given. What you were doing was completely natural for a young man like yourself.”

“And what about you?” He asks, buttoning his newly fresh pants at his waist.

“What about me?”

“Women have needs too. Do your needs ever get met?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs on his shirt, completely unfazed. “Your needs. When you feel it. Do they ever get met?”

“I- I don’t–” You stammer, scandalized. Lord, have mercy. Okay, focus. Stay calm. “All my needs are taken care of by the Lord. He provides me with anything I might ever need. Any desires of… flesh are simply tests from time to time, but I wouldn’t consider it a need for me.”

Billy hums and finishes on the last button of his shirt. He doesn’t believe you, that much is evident in the way he keeps his gaze locked on yours, eyes both indifferent but also somehow so sure, as if he knows something that you don’t. You don’t wait to see if he has anything else to say on the matter and retreat into the kitchen to begin to fix up dinner.

The glow of morning’s light is shining in through the kitchen window, illuminating your workspace in a warm golden hue. You're making a simple breakfast of biscuits and gravy when you feel him come up behind you. The water is still heating on the stove, and you’re still so tired that you feel like you can barely keep your eyes open. Coffee isn’t usually your go-to breakfast drink, you like the bitter taste of black tea more than coffee, but you feel like you need a more significant amount of caffeine than usual this morning just to make it through today without falling asleep the next time your butt hits a sitting surface.

You don’t think Billy would mind if you did. In fact, he’d probably encourage it. But you have a job to do, and you’re not one to slack on your duties, even if Billy is now capable of doing most things by himself.

He comes to a stop just a hair behind you, much closer than you anticipated him getting, and the sudden breath at the back of your neck makes you jump.

“Ow!” You gasp, the jump making your finger graze against the hot metal of the kettle and pain explodes along the burnt digit.

Billy coos behind you, arm reaching around you so he can grab your injured hand. He cups your fist in his large hand, thumb urging your hurt finger out of its protective curl so he can see it.

“What are you doing?” You ask, head turning to the side so you can see the side of his face as it leans over your shoulder. The free hand on your waist isn’t lost on you, but you can’t seem to figure out why you aren’t moving away either.

“Shh,” Billy shushes you, lips pursing as he brings your pointed finger closer to them. “Just relax, y/n,”

Your eyes lock onto where his lips stop just an inch away, breath hitching as he blows cold air from between his pursed lips and onto your finger. Your eyelashes flutter at the feeling of the cool air against your burning skin, small shivers wracking your body as his breath slides across your flesh. His head is getting closer and closer with each light blow of air, slowly creeping nearer to your finger until his lips brush against the pad of your finger. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as his lips part to take your finger between them, the wet muscle of his tongue dragging soothingly across the injured skin. It laps gently across the sore pad, lips wrapping around the digit as he sucks lightly.

When he pulls it from his mouth, the length of your finger from tip to knuckle is glistening with his saliva. The hand on your waist tightens a bit and the clutching hold of it tickles your side.

“What are you doing?” You ask again, but your voice comes out weaker this time - more breathy.

Billy’s bright blue eyes cut over to you, hooded gaze holding yours as he presses his plush lips to your finger in a small kiss, a smirk pulling at his mouth even against your finger. “Taking care of you,”

You feel like you can’t breathe as he raises your hand to press a teasing kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist before trailing downwards. Another kiss to your forearm over the tunic’s sleeve, another to the inside of your elbow and you swear you can almost feel the heat from his lips burning through the thin black material.

He brings your arm back down and guides your hand so it rests on his cheek, the stubble along his jaw scratching gently at your palm. His other hand comes up to cup your own cheek, and then your entire vision is taken up by him. He’s so close, eyes wide and intense as he stares down at you, pupils dilated just like they were when you caught him touching himself, and you can see how there’s something desperate in his gaze - a longing you can’t even begin to understand.

He towers over you like this. Your body is frozen, pliable in his hands and you don’t know what’s happening, don’t know why you're letting him this close.

Getting closer. And closer.

You watch, helpless as his head leans down towards you, eyes flicking down to your lips before locking back on yours.

You don’t even register how your own head tilts up, lips parting slightly in preparation to meet his.

And when they do, it’s bliss.

Billy’s lips move against yours like they’ve been doing it for forever, and your only thought as he tilts your head more and kisses you deeper is yes, this feels right.

His touch feels all consuming, your body heating up under your clothing and reacting to his touch as his hands drop to your waist, squeezing the flesh of your hips through your tunic. He grins against your mouth when you squeal.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers. Your chest feels like it might burst from his words.

“Billy,” You whimper, whining as his hands slide over your ass, palming it in his big hands as he pulls you even closer. Your hands grip at his biceps, fingers digging into the hard muscle as he urges you to cuddle against him. Your head rests against his chest with your ear over his heart, and the steady thump thump thump of his heartbeat feels safe.

You can feel the wetness already pooling in your drawers when Billy’s hands slide down further, gathering the material of the tunic and bunching it up just over the curve of your ass so your entire backside is on display to his wandering gaze.

The feel of his fingers rubbing you through the thin material of your drawers makes you keen, electricity shooting through your body as the pads of his fingers rub lovingly against your clit over the drenched fabric.

“So wet for me,” Billy hums, tapping on the sensitive nub. Your back arches as you press against him harder, fingernails biting into his arms. “Such a good girl for me, honey.”

You feel like it's too much already, your pussy clenching around nothing as you wordlessly try to grind against Billy’s fingers - get him to touch you more, put them inside maybe. He just laughs at you, a soft but deep chuckle as if he relishes in the absolute mess he’s made of you by barely even touching you.

And then you’re hauled up into his arms, his hands gripping your thighs as your own arms wrap tightly around his neck. He’s pressed inside you now, thick cock spearing you open as he thrusts relentlessly between your slick walls.

The sounds of his moans in your ear make you wetter and he bounces you on him, pounding into you somehow without mercy but with all the love in the world as you hang onto him for dear life. Your own moans can’t be helped, a symphony of pleasure bursting from your throat and the room around you is so blurry - so blurry that you can’t focus on anything. Your eyes can’t focus.

And then you look up.

The picture of Jesus just above the front door is the only thing that’s clear, and your stomach drops, eyes locked and frozen in fear as you stare at the picture in horror.

He’s alive - Jesus is alive in the picture, head moving around and eyes looking and seeing everything.

Seeing you.

And he’s angry.

The normally relaxed and serene expression on his face has been replaced by one of fury. His brows pull together, eyes narrowing as he watches Billy claim you, lips pulling up in a snarl when your arms wrap tighter around Billy’s neck in fear. Billy takes your grip as passion and thrusts into you harder, moaning into your ear as your body is flooded with wave after wave of pleasure. But you can’t tear your eyes from the picture, can’t help but whimper as you stare wide eyed at the angry, holy being who is cutting you down with the immeasurable weight of his judgment.

“WAKE UP!” Jesus yells, and his voice is booming in your ears, so loud you think your eardrums might burst. “WAKE UP!”

Your body jerks awake in the same way that it jerks after having a dream where you’re falling off a cliff. The jump is violent, every single muscle in your body is tense and set ready for defense. Your gasp is loud, and you think that if Billy was still asleep he probably would have jerked awake himself from the sheer suddenness and intensity of it.

But he’s awake already - already sitting upright on the bed, already staring at you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice still a bit raspy. You notice that his pupils are blown wide, just like in the dream.

You’re still panting, still horrified by the dream - the nightmare - that you’ve just experienced. There’s wetness between your legs, you can feel it. You can feel the pulsing of need between your thighs, your clit still begging to be touched, hole dripping and clenching with the need to be filled. The sensations only add to the horror as tears prickle at your waterlines.

Jesus was so angry. Righteous fury burning in his eyes as he stared at you - watching you sin, watching you as you let a man inside your body, desecrating your sacred temple and breaking the vows you made to God.

And you let it happen as if all of it meant nothing.

Acid rises in your throat, tears spilling over and flowing down your cheeks like twin waterfalls and the quiet sob that rips from your throat can’t be helped. It was just a dream, you try to tell yourself. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream.

Or a message. A warning.

“Hey,” Billy says, hand reaching out to comfortingly squeeze your shoulder as he tries to get your attention. You automatically jerk away from his touch, smacking his hand away the moment it touches you. Guilt swirls in your chest at his hurt expression.

“Are you okay?” He asks again. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to pray,” And his eyes widen even more at your desperate tone. “I need to pray right now.”

You don’t give him time to respond as you scramble out of the bed, hightailing it out of the bedroom and falling to your knees in the center of the main room. You pull the rosary from your belt and hold it tightly between your fingers, hands shaking from the panic still coursing through your body.

And when you peek over towards the front door, you notice that the spot above the door frame is empty.

You can’t sleep with Billy in the same bed anymore. Your back is feeling better and considering what’s happened the last few days, you think maybe it's best to return to your place on the floor, if only to remove any temptation or wandering thoughts you might subconsciously be having. Sam is due to make another trip into the neighboring town today and promised that he would stop by on his way. It would be better if he could see that you are both sleeping in separate spaces like you should be. Sam is a sweetheart - he would never judge you for anything, even less of something that you had to do for your own health and he is the last person that would ever accuse you of doing something inappropriate. But the laws of society and need for modesty should still be followed which means sleeping on the floor again is a must.

Billy doesn’t like the idea.

“You’re gonna hurt your back again,” He says as he watches you grab your blanket off the bed. His arms are crossed over his chest, a poorly concealed act to cover his agitation.

“I feel fine now,” You reason. “And if it does start hurting again-”

“It will,”

“If it does, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,”

“I think you’re makin’ a mistake,

“Then it’s my mistake to make,”

“Is this about yesterday?”

“No. This isn’t up for discussion, Billy. I’ve told you already that I shouldn’t ever be sleeping in the same bed with a man. This was out of necessity, not comfort,”

Billy sighs, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling in irritation. “I do think it’s necessary for you to sleep in the bed, y/n,”

“Stop,”

The word cuts from your vocal cords like ice. You can’t believe it. Again. He did it again!

“Why did you say my name like that?” You ask. “You’re dropping my earned title. That’s the second time you’ve done it.” Third, but you don’t want to think about the other time he’s said it. “Why?”

“Just an accident,”

Just an accident. “It’s disrespectful. And inappropriate,”

Billy hangs his head. “Apologies, Sister. Never meant to cause you disrespect,”

“Billy, what–”

Your words die on your tongue when the sound of galloping hooves tearing against the grass out front catches your attention. Billy’s eyes widen and he quickly moves past you and into the main room. His gun and hat are resting next to your bag against the far wall and he rushes to grab it, checking that the bullets are inside before closing it back up and cocking the hammer, pointing it directly at the front door.

“Wait!” You shout, one hand darting out to signal to him to stand down as you rush towards the front door. “It might be Sam!”

You push the door open slowly, trying to peek out and see who it is before it's even fully opened because it's probably Sam, it has to be, because if it’s not - everything you’ve worked so hard to prevent is about to crumble down around you in a second. Sheriff Garrett wouldn’t hesitate to shoot Billy dead this time. He wouldn’t miss. And you have a feeling that he wouldn’t hesitate to put down the famous Billy the Kid’s getaway accomplice right down with him either.

The familiar horses and wagon are a blessing to see. Sam’s head pokes out from the back of the wagon as he pulls a crate from the fully stocked bed.

“Sam!” You shout in relief. “Thank the Lord! It’s so good to see you,”

Behind you, Billy relaxes his stance a bit, lowering his gun down but keeping it cocked and you nod your head at it, wordlessly telling him to replace the hammer and put it down, but he won’t acknowledge you.

You push the door all the way open for Sam, scurrying out of the way as he shoulders through with the heavy crate. You strategically keep your body between Sam and Billy’s gun. You’re confident Billy wouldn’t ever shoot Sam, but the worry still lingers for as long as the gun is in his hand and you would never forgive yourself if Sam were to get hurt while trying to help you. The gun isn’t out of his hand yet but you relax when you hear the click of the hammer being reset.

Sam sets the crate down on the floor next to the now almost empty first one and turns to you with an adorably charming grin.

“Sister y/n,” He greets, clasping your hands in his and you return the gesture, squeezing his hands between yours in friendly affection. “It’s good to see you too.”

A loud clatter sounds as Billy tosses his gun back onto the floor, the metal striking roughly against the wooden boards. Sam lets go of your hands to turn his attention to Billy, tipping his hat at him respectfully.

“Mr. Bonney,” He greets. “I didn’t get to properly introduce myself last time we met. I’m Sam Anderson. Good to see you’re alive and well. How’s the bullet wound healing up?”

“Healin’ up just fine, Mr. Anderson. I have a great healer,”

“That you do,”

“Sam,” You interject, placing a wary hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You have news for us?”

Sam nods. “Yes. Good news in fact. Sheriff Garrett has been relentless in his search. He’s travelled to most of the neighboring territories in search of Billy but has been given no leads. He intends to search the last few remaining ones but I can tell he already knows you won’t be there. He’s stated that he thinks you bled out while fleeing and have been made a meal of by some animal,”

“Well, good,” You breathe, looking in relief between Sam and Billy. “That’s good news indeed.”

It’s beyond amazing news that Sheriff Garrett is coming to terms with the possibility that Billy bled out before he could find any help. Even if he’s travelling to other territories to question if Billy had come through, the idea that he’s already dead added to the fact that those questioned in the neighboring territories will say no, they hadn’t seen Billy come through there, means that it's already even less likely that Sheriff Garrett would show up at your front door. It means that in a short time when all of this is over and Billy is well enough to travel on his own, that you can return back to the clinic without fear of being hunted down yourself. You can return back to your Sisters.

“How are they?” You ask Sam. You don’t need to clarify, he knows who you’re asking about.

“They’re fine. I visit them every time I can to check on ‘em. I know you would have wanted me to,” You nod in agreement as he continues. “They miss you. Sister Catherine holds everything together like she always does, but she always makes for all of us to pray together for you. And Billy, of course.” He says, nodding to Billy. “Praying for Billy’s quick recovery and for you to return home safe. Sister Ann is biting the sides of her fingers more than ever now. I stop her whenever I see her doing it, but she’s bled quite a few times from it already. Sister Maria was out sick for two days after you left. Sick with worry is what Sister Catherine said, but she is up and well now although she does still worry.”

You feel like your heart is breaking as you imagine your fellow Sisters distraught and in pain over worry for you during your absence. It shouldn’t be a surprise. All of God’s creations are our brothers and sisters, but those three women waiting for you at the clinic - worrying for you, praying for you, missing you - those are your sisters. They are your family. And you will do what you have to in order to get back home to them soon.

“Thank you, Sam,” You say, voice thick with emotion. “Please continue to look after them for me.”

“I will,” He promises. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder gently and you’re beyond thankful for the comfort he’s providing.

“Do you have to get goin’ soon, Mr. Anderson?” Billy asks. “Quite a ways you have to travel, right? We wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

Your hand automatically reaches out to cover Sam’s still on your shoulder, keeping it in place. “You can stay just a little longer, right, Sam? We have some leftover food from breakfast. I can fix you a bowl?”

You don’t want Sam to leave just yet. The events of yesterday and this morning, the dream, are still fresh in your head and you’d appreciate it immensely if Sam could stay for just a bit longer to provide a buffer between you and Billy.

To your despair, Sam shakes his head. “I can’t. Billy’s right, I should get moving if I’m gonna make it back to town before dark. Thank you for the offer though, Sister y/n. I know if you cooked it, it must be mighty good.”

Reluctantly, you nod. “I’ll walk you out then,”

Billy makes his way back to the bedroom as you walk Sam out. You thank him again for the generous crate of supplies. You saw that there were a few more balls of yarn shoved into the side of it and you wonder if that was Sister Catherine’s doing or if Sam had seen you shove the yarn in your bag before first leaving the clinic and had asked to bring you more.

Sam heaves himself back into his seat and grabs the reins. “How much longer do you think Billy needs before he can head off on his own?”

“Just a couple more. He’s healing up quick,”

“That’s good. I have another delivery in 10 days. I can stop by on my way and pick you up? I’ll bring an extra horse that Billy can take along with him on his own when he’s ready,”

Ten days. Another ten days of this. Think about this logically, you’re uncomfortable and a little frazzled but it’s not necessarily all Billy’s fault. He’s just a man and non-religious one at that. You are bound to clash at some point. But he’s a good person and there’s still so much work to be done in trying to heal his faith. You can handle ten more days. You will do what you can and return to the clinic knowing that you tried your best whatever the outcome.

“Sister,” Sam says. “Are you alright?”

You snap out of your daze and nod. “I am,”

Sam looks a little uncomfortable himself, eyes flicking towards the bedroom window. “Billy treating you right? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

“No! No, of course not,” You insist. It’s not a lie - Billy wouldn’t ever hurt you. There may be discomfort and a little inappropriateness, but nothing that can’t be worked through or forgiven. Billy would never hurt you, you’re sure of it.

“Alright,” Sam concedes. “I’ll see you soon, Sister. Take care of yourself. God bless,”

“Thank you, Sam. God bless!”

You watch as he snaps the reins, offering a sharp yip as he urges the horses forward. It feels nice outside today as you watch him travel over the wide expanse of land, beautiful weather and none of the ridiculous heat that had felt like it was cooking your insides like yesterday. When he’s disappeared over the hill, you return back inside.

The yarn this time is a pale yellow instead of the blue you had been working with but you grab it anyway. Perhaps a little color change on the blanket might help turn the current shift between you and Billy around once again for the better.

Your room at the convent is small and modest, something that brings you peace in the limited space. Having little things creates more space for the divine and all-consuming power of His Grace - the additional space that would have been otherwise cluttered with needless items or physical luxuries is offered up to Him instead, allowing His presence to wash over the room and fill it with the healing aura of His love.

The simple bed is big enough for one, just you as it should be, and God can fill in the areas around you. A small chest hides away in the corner of the room, barely filled with all the personal belongings you have left from life before you took your vows, and the crucifix sits on the wall at perfect eye level so that as you kneel down on the prie-dieu to pray, you can have the reminder of the significance of Jesus nailed to the cross right in front of you just as the cross is nailed to the wall.

It’s here that you kneel now, bare knees digging into the cushioned bottom of the prie-dieu while your hands fold together along the wooden shelf at the top. The words of a prayer automatically fall from your lips as your eyes trace the detail of the crucifix without taking them in.

The room is your room, a place that you’re intimately familiar with, but the feel of it is wrong. It feels off and like something is missing - the peaceful presence of the Lord is unnervingly absent in this space that should be holy.

There’s another presence though, something darker, and the hair stands on the back of your neck as you register the new energy. Something is creeping up behind you, you can feel it - can feel as it comes closer and closer and you want to turn around so badly, want to spin and lock your eyes onto whatever is nearing you and making you feel so unnerved in a place that’s supposed to be safe. But you can’t, your body is frozen in its spot, not listening to your brain’s commands as you scream at it to turn around.

There’s warm breath on your ear, a hand at your hip and you’re still frozen as the hand balls the material of your tunic, dragging it up until it's over your bottom and pooling around your waist. Another hand finds the curve of your waist and then another caresses your shoulder. Two more hands slide along your front and drag down to grip at the fat of your thighs, trying to pry them further apart, and you can feel the faintest of touches of fingers against your nipple as if the hands touching you now don’t need to be concerned with the barrier of clothing you have on to block their advances.

Fear courses through you at the touches and you murmur the words of the Lord’s prayer faster. Your eyes are locked on the crucifix, taking in the wooden grain of the cross as it contrasts with the dull metal figure of Jesus hanging in the center and it's the only place you can look. The warm breath is still on your ear, but now it's between your thighs too somehow - searing hot as it fans across your bare folds.

Your clasped hands squeeze together harder as something soft and wet slides against your slit, and you gasp when the thing laps over your clit. The murmured prayer is louder now, rushed and panicked as you beg God for guidance and deliverance from whatever monster is attacking you right now. A demon maybe. Perhaps the Devil himself. Your body heats up as the thing digs in deeper, pushing between your folds and dragging against your hole. The tip of it nudges against your entrance, wiggling like it wants to push inside but is just barely holding back before it retreats and slides back up to the top.

The heat that fills your body is a terrible combination of pleasure and shame as the demon has its fill of your paralyzed body. The sensation of what it's doing between your thighs is forbidden - you were never meant to experience this, and yet the feel of it makes your eyes water and your hole clench like it’s trying to clench around something else.

The thing focuses on your clit, lapping at it and swirling around it and you can feel how your belly tightens with increasing pressure with each lick. You can’t think clearly anymore. Your prayer is becoming muddled - coming out in whimpered words, accidental repeated sentences, and interrupted by the desperate whines and moans as your hips unconsciously try to drive down harder on the foreign thing between your thighs.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is so wrong.

Lord, please forgive me. Please forgive me. Please for—

And then suddenly, you’re not in your room at the convent anymore. You’re in your brother’s cabin, on his unforgiving floor, and your bleary eyes blink up at the ceiling as they try to adjust to the new environment outside of sleep. The grogginess keeps your brain in a state of confusion, but eventually it registers that something still isn’t right.

Your dream is over. You’re awake now.

But the slick feeling of something wet and soft between your thighs is still there and your head shoots up to see the scene before you.

Your mouth falls open in horror.

Billy’s on his stomach, upper body cradled between your open thighs as his hands curl around each one of them to keep them spread. His mouth is pressed against your core, wetness glistening off his face with each movement as he drags his tongue through your folds.

And you swear when those beautiful blue eyes you’ve come to know these past few weeks flick up to stare at you from beneath his dark lashes, you don’t see that same kind and caring man just in need of guidance and faith that you’ve come to associate them with.

Instead, you think you might be looking at the Devil.

Taglist: @queenofshinigamis @hidden-poet (Lemme know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist)

#𝑇𝑎𝑙 𝑊𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 ✎#billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader smut #billy the kid x reader #dark!billy the kid #tw: non con #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent

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