#i read and write dark fic but you have to be aware of some shit dude lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chocosvt · 4 months ago

Text

HER | part four.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s!

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that!

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

here we goo. part four :o i can't believe it's already the fourth part!! i guess the last chapter ended on somewhat of a cliffhanger so may this quench your curiosity! but, beyond that...

this part has a punch of its own... dotdotdot...

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

Wonwoo was lucky to discover an empty, spare guest bedroom down an off-shooting hallway for you two to refuge in while the volcano settled upstairs. Furthermore, he was grateful that you had relaxed enough to be released from his straightjacket arms, and even more grateful the room was quiet. The confrontation had shot his nerves. His hands were still trembling. As you took a seat on the bed, Wonwoo moved toward the window and stared into his darkly silhouetted reflection, taking paced breaths until everything stopped pressing down on him. He’d already had his fair share of stalling fights between Vernon and other drunks at the downtown bars.

He had never anticipated stopping you from a fight.

“Fuck, I feel like absolute shit…” you groaned, and when Wonwoo turned around, he saw you crunched up, fingers digging at your hair while you sat at the very edge of the primly dressed bed.

“Should I get you anything?” He asked in a soft voice, coming over to crouch down in front of you. “Do you want some water?”

You wouldn’t look at him, instead staring into your knees that were bent and flush against your chest. For a moment, there was nothing said, until you sniffed that very distinctive sniffle of someone who’d just snorted a line. Rubbing at your nose, you nodded.

“Please?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Wonwoo didn’t know where to get water, though he did remember the bottle dropped at the bottom of the staircase. He practically ran to grab it. Coming back into the spare room, Wonwoo clicked the door shut as quietly as possible and joined you at the bed.

“Here,” he offered, uncapping it for you.

You sipped from it eagerly, gulp after gulp, then wiping off your lips when it became too cumbersome to swallow.

He took the bottle back, capping it again and throwing it somewhere random on the bed. Wonwoo could see with concern that you weren’t entirely there—jaded, from the drinking and smoking and intaking a dangerous substance you probably shouldn’t have. Your face appeared so hazy, disconnected, as though you were staring off into a warm light buried in the distance that only presented itself to you.

“That was a lot, wasn’t it?” Wonwoo sighed into the dark room, rolling up his sleeves, unsure of what he should do or even say.

You sniffled again, and shook your head. “I feel sick.”

“I know, I’m sorry... what do you want to do?”

Breathing out heavily at the small amount of labour it required to look backward at the bed, you nodded. “I want to lie down.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo said, feeling relieved, “that’s a good idea.”

You smiled at him, though it was misted over and a bit loopy.

He watched you lean down, fiddling with the tiny buckle belonging to the right heel strapped over your foot. Afraid you might hit the floor like a flour sac if you stayed hunched over for too long, he instantly squatted down to help you, gently nudging your hand away.

“I’ll take them off for you,” Wonwoo reassured, loosening the buckle enough to slide the expensive, black heel from your foot, doing so with the utmost delicacy, akin to sorting fine china.

Just before he removed the other heel, Wonwoo caught you staring down at him with a particular admiration behind those glassed eyes that made his entire chest become swollen. He tried to ignore the feeling, no matter how elated it made him on the inside.

“Thank you.”

“Uh, no problem,” Wonwoo answered, standing up and gesturing to the bed, “do you think you’ll take a nap?”

“… I don’t know.”

“That’s okay… should I get Princess to come stay with you? Or, I can always get Mingyu, too. Whatever you think is best.”

You were still looking back at the guest bed, unresponsive, and Wonwoo had wondered if you even heard him speak. The moonlight that cascaded in from the windows patched an intricate shadow overtop the quilt, and you started spreading your hand across it, as though you could pick up the silhouette and move it.

And then you glanced at Wonwoo again, smiled slightly. “Would you lay down with me… if I asked you?”

He immediately cleared his throat, “uh, lay down with you?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, “I need your company. Please?”

He clenched his fist tight, an index nail carving along the cuticle of his scarred thumb. Logically, Wonwoo should leave—he should march back upstairs and go search for Mingyu or Princess to help nurse you through your brain fog. Realistically, however, Wonwoo wasn't going to do any such thing. Realistically, Wonwoo was very high, and very delirious, and completely at your beckon.

Kicking off his sneakers, Wonwoo crawled onto the guest bed alongside you. He breathed out a sigh of comfort as his back was perfectly cushioned by the supple pillows organized against the headboard. If he thought about it for too long—relaxing on a stranger’s bed in a stranger’s home at two or three in morning beside a girl who’d just snorted coke upstairs in the attic and nearly leapt on her friend in a fight—his head would start to ache. So, Wonwoo didn’t think about it. He let everything happen as it naturally desired to.

You tucked yourself close against Wonwoo, closer than what was appropriate for two people who were presumably friends, stretching your leg across his waist and latching it over his hip, an arm around his wide chest, your head settled cozily underneath his chin.

He couldn't care less about the morality.

Especially when he wriggled his arm beneath you, his knuckles coming to stroke up and down your bare, soft back, feeling along the subtle groove of your spine with every lulling, especially tender caress. Truly, Wonwoo didn’t know why he cared so remarkably little about how wrong it was to touch you and hold you. Maybe it was your shallow and warm breathing that kept tickling his neck, or the weight of your leg against his pelvis—you as a whole seemed to smudge his rationality—his own personal drug.

“Can you please tell me a story?”

“Hm?” Wonwoo murmured, stilling his fingertips at the top of your shoulder blade. “Tell you a story? Why’s that?”

“Because, my head hurts. And I want a distraction.” You then poked your face up from his neck, staring at Wonwoo through the clouds in your eyes, sounding sleepy enough to lose consciousness. “And I love the sound of your voice, and how it makes me feel.”

He proceeded to rub something off your chin with a few brushes from his thumb, and nodded, tucking your head back down.

“Okay… let me think for a second...”

“Wait—” you suddenly mumbled, awkwardly reaching behind you for his hand rested against your shoulders, “—I liked when you were going up and down. It felt good. Please, can you do some more?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just stopped to think,” Wonwoo hummed with an amused smile, continuing to stroke his knuckles and hearing the heavy sigh you breathed aloud.

He thought a few moments longer for a story that he could tell you; something interesting, but not too detailed.

“I’ve got one.”

He made a rumbling noise in his throat to clear it, staring off at the dresser mirror opposite to the bed, where Wonwoo could just decipher that vague, silvery thread outlining your entangled bodies.

“When I was around eleven, twelve years old, my family used to go to this waterpark every summer, like an hour car ride from our house. My brother and I made up this game. We called it lifeguard, or, like, swimming attendant. Basically, you play dead in the water, and whoever’s the attendant has to save you. Anyway, it was a pretty stupid fucking game to play at a water park as you can imagine. But when we got there, the lifeguard wasn’t in his chair. So, like, my brother, trying to be cool or funny, thought it would be a good idea to sit in the chair himself. I had to pretend to drown.

The problem with that, though—the actual life guard was coming back. He sees me pretending to drown, thinks I’m actually drowning—I don’t know, I guess I was selling it super well—and he dives right into the water, pulls me out and everything, lies me across the cement all surgical like. I’m so fucking embarrassed, my brother’s ran off somewhere—I just go along with it while everyone’s watching, knowing damn fucking well I’m a sham. My mom’s panicking. She didn't realize it was part of some idiotic game we made up. I hated my brother for a week straight. I’ve refused to swim ever since.”

There was a chuckle against his neck, and Wonwoo felt your body vibrate with a soft fit of laughter. He hadn’t recalled that story in years, though it dusted off the latent anger toward his older brother that he had never quit holding. Nonetheless, it was still rewarding to tell you. That water park was once his most cherished place to visit, admittedly during a much different period in his life, when the only thing he worried over was whether or not they’d have his favourite ice cream flavour or if he might miss that gigantic bucket full of freezing water that dropped every half-hour.

“I’m sorry that happened…” you mumbled against his neck, your breath akin to a sweeping feather, “but it’s a bit funny.”

“No, I know,” Wonwoo agreed, grazing his hand low to the base of your back, “I can laugh at it now... even if I’m still mad.”

“Can I ask you something, please?”

“Sure.”

“I just want to know… when did you move here? Did you come here for university? Or, was it before that? And, like… did your family come with you? Did you move alone? I’m just curious…”

“So, I spent two years at a university in Korea, for something different than what I’m doing now. It was accounting stuff—”

“Oh, more boring.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo laughed, reaching his hand underneath the warm plump of your thigh to adjust it more comfortably against his hip, “I actually agree with you. It was boring, and I was… to put it lightly, miserable. Very, very miserable. So, I dropped it, had a really long and excruciating conversation with my brother about the whole thing—what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go. I have an uncle that lives out here. Not close to our school. He’s hours away. But I figured, I’m old enough. I need, just—I need a fucking change. I’ll move out, stay with him, find my footing. And, uh, I ended up here.”

You smiled against his skin, lips practically pressed at his neck, and then you exhaled, pulling a shiver along the length of his spine.

“Hm… I’m glad you made that choice.”

Wonwoo’s fingers fleshed deeper against the underside of your thigh as he sighed into the still bedroom air, thinking back to the pressure, the bickering between himself and his parents, the desire to at last pull the pin and take a risk, even if said risk was going to crash and humiliatingly burn at his feet. In a way, it had. But with you, his reward was building back up again. It wasn’t all fruitless.

“Me too.”

"Thanks for sharing that with me,” you murmured, snuggling impossibly closer into his body and breathing him in like the sweet, baked scent of pastries fresh from a hot oven, or the airy honeysuckle outside on a summer’s day. “I like knowing about you.”

For once, Wonwoo wasn’t scared that you knew.

Maybe he should be scared. He wasn’t being cautious enough, instead pouring more soul into his heart than his logic. But then—why did it feel so good in that moment? Something he was terrified of had flipped on its head and turned into a real, tangible happiness. He continued to lay with you in the silence. The ceiling was full of shadows that he studied to keep himself awake while his thumb rubbed easy circles into your thigh. Your body was giving him heat.

If no one ever opened that door, Wonwoo wouldn’t complain.

He could lay there until the earth caved in.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

“I want to try getting up now.”

Rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye, he massaged away the desire for sleep that had finally managed to catch up to him.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay—” he began slowly pushing himself upward, helping you in the process with an arm at your waist, “—I’ll grab your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

Nonetheless, he knew you couldn’t stay cocooned against him forever, even if he wanted it more than his next breath. It felt awfully vapid to lose your warmth. The air around him was so much colder, like an icy metal. Wonwoo had nearly stumbled over his sneakers as he searched around the end of the bed, prompting him to squat down and shove his shoes back on. Next, he collected your lacquered, expensive high heels, which had practically blended into the darkness if not for the moonlight raining through the windows.

You were sat at the edge of the blankets, waiting for him.

“How do you feel? Better?” Wonwoo asked while crouching at your knees and fishing up the right heel first.

“My head still hurts a little. But I think I’ll be fine,” you admitted, allowing Wonwoo to softly touch at the back of your ankle as he helped guide your foot through the black loop. “It’s like—I can feel it a lot more now. I’m getting that weird, dreamy sensation, right before it really hits. And my mouth is kinda dry.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, now helping to fasten on the other heel, “I’m sure there’s more water upstairs. Is that too tight?”

You wriggled your toes and rolled your foot.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

“Should we try standing?”

Wonwoo straightened back up, reaching out his hand for you to grab. Carefully, you intertwined your fingers with his, and then he accepted some of your weight as he gave you a supportive tug. At first, you wobbled, but Wonwoo was right there to steady you.

You complained about the dizziness, but after a few more steps it had gotten better, and Wonwoo let go of your hand.

“Oh—uh,” he gently grasped your elbow, “before you leave—”

Lifting up your arms, you watched rather cluelessly while Wonwoo pinched at the fabric of the very short, white skirt and tugged it further down your thighs, covering the sensitive areas where it had ridden up when you were stretched out against him. A hand latched into his shoulder for balance, and you sighed out gratefully.

“Fuck, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Please don’t tell me if you saw my underwear.”

He laughed, “I won’t.”

A manicured finger scratched your cheek.

“… They’re pink… with hearts.”

Wonwoo stayed quiet, but then he couldn’t fight his smile.

“… I know. Cute.”

You seemed flustered at the offhanded comment, which came as a surprise to Wonwoo, because he truthfully didn’t believe much—if anything at all—could fluster you. The phone in his back pocket buzzed with a text message and Wonwoo assumed it was Vernon asking him about where he’d gone. It was best to go back up to attic and reunite with your friends rather than dwell in the guest bedroom for an eternity. Though, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave at all.

“Uh, Wonwoo? Can you please wait one second?”

As you two paused at the door, his hand fell off the knob.

“Everything okay?”

Uncharacteristically, you fumbled with your fingers, tugging at the joints like they were disconnectable. He tilted his head at you, curious, and when your eyes locked with his he bit back a dumb facial expression at how wide your pupils had dilated, like an ocean abyss.

“Um, so, that girl Seokmin was talking about earlier? Sarah Gomez?” Sarah? He knew you meant Sierra, though he didn’t bother correcting the mistake. “I chatted to Vernon about it. He said she likes you and was flirting and... well, like, I-I have no issue if you… if you like her and want to do something, and—” you took in a really big, long breath that felt like a reach for self-comfort, “—just, if you two want to start hanging out, if you can still make time for our writing.”

Wonwoo stared at you for a second, blinking vacantly.

“… Oh, you think—no, Her. It’s not anything. It’s nothing."

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing. I promise.”

And it was exactly that. Wonwoo would never—could never feel anything even half as strong as the yearning he felt for you. It was something unmeasurable, something bigger than the universe, and yet, it fit into the core of his own chest like a dense and heated star compacting in on itself. Despite being so numbed by heartbreak, and years of a growing apathy, and all that disappointment he harboured toward himself, Wonwoo had sensed each and every time you thawed him out. You—a light, and yet a cold, awakening breeze.

The girl he was in love with.

Stupidly and utterly in love with.

Your shoulders began to sink as you relaxed at his remark.

Wonwoo shook his head. “She’s nice. But I’ve talked to her once, and that was tonight, for like, two minutes at most.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I just—I didn’t want you to think that I hated it, or that I was going to jump her ‘cause of what happened upstairs… I don’t want to talk about what happened upstairs, actually, but that’s not what—anyway. Sorry. And, uh, thank you… for being there for me. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“No, no. Nothing is ruined,” Wonwoo reassured you, picking up your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m having fun. It’s all a lot but… I’m enjoying it. I’m always going to be here for you, alright?”

You smiled at him. It was oddly shy, but Wonwoo loved it.

“So, if you want to head back up, I’ll join you soon enough," he said. "I’m gonna attempt to find a washroom in this place.”

“There’s one by the staircase. Clara and Bells used it.”

He kissed his teeth as you giggled at him.

“… Oh. Right.”

After you disappeared back upstairs to the attic, Wonwoo locked himself in the washroom for a moment of quiet. He checked his phone, realizing the time—3am—in addition to the horribly spelt text messages from Vernon, saying that Mingyu had taken Bells on a walk outside to calm her down. He sighed, signing off on the texts with a thumbs up. The night was only getting louder. Wonwoo didn’t know how much longer he could survive or who he would even call upon to get a ride home. Everyone was plastered or buzzed.

He had no desire to sleep here overnight, though if push came to shove, Seungcheol would likely have guest bedrooms to spare.

Turning on the sink faucet, Wonwoo set his glasses aside and cupped a handful of cold water against his face. It was a shock at first, yet it felt so refreshing, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but splash some more water until he felt the drops begin uncomfortably running down to his elbows and nudged the tap back off. Once patting dry his cheeks and forehead with a towel folded through a rung secured into the wall, Wonwoo proceeded to sit down on the tiled floor.

Readjusting the glasses back to his face, he stared across the dimly lit room at the half-opened shower curtain and its patterned seashells. For a second, he didn’t move at all. But then Wonwoo was getting up, walking over to the curtain and yanking it fully open. He returned to his initial position, sitting against the wall, and started counting all the different seashells. They weren’t organized in rows like the yellow rubber ducks from his aunt’s shower curtain back in Changwon—they were miscellaneously placed, spotted more than organized, and Wonwoo counted all the shells at least three times.

“Thirty-two,” he whispered to himself.

Deep within his pocket, Wonwoo’s phone buzzed again.

[ Vernon | 3:09 am ]: h ey glasses where tf are yoi?

He decided to text his friend back, though he knew Vernon was most likely off his face and wouldn’t notice for another hour.

[ Wonwoo | 3:09 am ]: Washroom. Be up in a few.

To his surprise, Vernon’s little typing bubble immediately appeared. Wonwoo developed a sick, squirmy feeling in his stomach for some reason, only to watch the bubble abruptly disappear and not return. God—he hoped the boy hadn’t fucking fallen out the window or slipped off the billiard table in his inebriation.

Setting his phone down on the tiles beside him, Wonwoo raked his fingers through his hair and sighed aloud again. He didn’t care much about messing up the very particular way he’d brushed and swooped it. Instead, Wonwoo thought about you.

He was just with you, and yet he missed you.

Unsure of when the feeling had ever started, Wonwoo began to recognize the ache for you some time ago—and like a little kitchen light in a prairie house that never burnt out, seen across meadows and rivers, even through the darkest nights—Wonwoo had felt the ache ever since. He thought it would die away quietly. It hadn’t. It wouldn’t. He thought that love would never again step foot inside the house that was his heart. But it had. And it was the little light.

His phone vibrated.

Wonwoo glanced down at the illuminated screen, skimming over the jumbled, misspelt words to Vernon’s text with little regard, thinking nothing of it other than how sky high his friend was.

Another text. He scooped the phone up, grumbling to himself.

[ Vernon | 3:12 am ]: yo I dont mean t be weird buthahha I’m not gbnna lie u shud come upsrairds of u wanna see it

[ Vernon | 3:13 am ]: acyaully don’t lol

Wonwoo had not a fucking clue what Vernon was rambling about and was half-considering it to be all hallucinations. Maybe another fight had broken out. Maybe you were dancing on the table and had kicked over someone’s drink. There was a small cherry pit of curiosity in his stomach, though Wonwoo wasn’t ready to get up. He sat on the washroom floor for another ten minutes or so, deciding that he would go back upstairs, pitch his goodbyes, and book an Uber.

It had been fun, tiring, enlightening even.

But Wonwoo had no energy left to give.

After playing with his hair in the mirror and smoothing out the pieces he’d disheveled, Wonwoo at last pulled open the door and emerged back into the warm corridor, the music still soaring underneath his feet. He began making his way upstairs and back to the attic space. There were at least ten new people to fill the smoky room, none of whom Wonwoo recognized, though he assumed most were Seungcheol or Mingyu’s friends. Vernon was seated on the couch, his arm sunk around a girl’s shoulders—the girl that had almost bumped into him when leaving the kitchen hours ago.

Someone had cranked the music loud enough to rumble the speakers sitting on the desk. Wonwoo could hardly decipher a single word that came from Vernon’s mouth, forcing him to lean further down as he grasped onto his friend’s hand and announced his leave.

“Awe, you’re headin’ out?!” Vernon shouted into his ear.

“Have to,” Wonwoo replied, “my brain’s gonna pop.”

Vernon slapped his shoulder. "All good—hey, thanks for even comin’ along, y’know? Stay safe. Text me when you get home.”

“Yeah, will do. Uh, you seen Princess or Seungcheol?” He asked by Vernon’s head. “I’d be nice to see them before I leave.”

“No fuckin’ clue where they went, to be honest!” Vernon answered, leaning back with a shrug. “Oh! Fuck!” He’d suddenly latched onto Wonwoo’s arm. “Dude, you missed it. But if you’re lookin’ for Her—no luck. She’s uh, a little busy right now.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled. “I can’t fucking hear.”

Vernon proceeded to jerk his friend closer, breath fanning hot against Wonwoo’s ear. He turned frozen solid as he intently listened.

“Her—she came back upstairs, high as a fuckin’ kite. Mingyu came back up right after. I don’t know what happened, but, like, within a few minutes, they were on each other, man. I got scared—thought they were gonna start fuckin’ on the table. But, nah, Mingyu took her to the bedroom down the hall. We all scurried down and listened for a sec. Holy shit—she had to be gettin’ pounded—like, must’ve been face down ass up, fuckin’, gettin’ her guts rearranged or some shit. They were both so out of their minds. It was insane, y’know. You’re not gonna see her for a good while.” Vernon then sat back with a hopeless, husky laugh. “Mine as well shoot her a fuckin’ text and hope she can still read when Gyu’s done with her!”

For a second, Wonwoo didn’t believe him. Not at all. He thought it was a joke—staring at his friend, waiting for his face to break like sundried clay, not caring whatsoever that the girl tucked against his side was clearly annoyed at their conversation and waiting for Wonwoo to leave. It was all a stupid joke and Wonwoo wanted to hear Vernon say it. And then, he would punch him for it.

“Funny,” he chuckled.

But Vernon merely shrugged, folding an ankle over his knee. “Hey, Glasses. Dunno what to tell ‘ya! S’all true. I saw it. So Did Seungcheol n’ Princess. Go down there! Listen for yourself!”

Wonwoo shook his head, beginning to laugh. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Jeez! I’m just tellin’ you the truth!”

“And you expect me to believe that?” Wonwoo shouted overtop the bass, smiling, even though he was feeling more and more enraged under the surface. “You’re high as a kite, too, yeah?”

“I saw it, man!”

“Yeah. Actually—go fuck yourself. Night.”

Vernon stretched out a hand, attempting to catch Wonwoo by the elbow as he brushed past him, yelling something that was drowned to the humid, loud atmosphere. Wonwoo still believed it was a joke—a very awful, incredibly distasteful joke that he would probably ignore Vernon over for at least a few days. Wonwoo knew he wasn’t your boyfriend. He knew you most likely didn’t reciprocate the all the same feelings with as much passion as him. But you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t discard him after he’d been so vulnerable.

He came to the corridor and gazed along the hallway.

Go down there. Listen for yourself.

Vernon’s words wriggled in a bold font to the forefront of his mind, even when he wanted to squeeze them out. But Wonwoo was exhausted, and now highly annoyed, and he knew the last thing he should do is excavate a truth that would be better off buried.

The thing was—Wonwoo had to know.

It was excruciating to not know.

And so, he walked up to each door, lightly attempting the handle or pressing his ear to the wood. He found nothing, and the relief that opened up and flowed throughout his body was equivalent to the freshest breath of air. Wonwoo was about to text Vernon that his stupid stunt had failed when he heard it—that suspicious, croaked sound which prompted his fingers to stop dead in their typing tracks.

He stared into the door, focusing hard.

No, it was the music. It had been playing all night, anyway.

But then there was a thump. Once, twice, three times.

Wonwoo shoved his ear back against the crack in the threshold, one hand coming to rest ever so softly on the brass handle.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Muting even his breath in case it interfered with or somehow warped the noise, he listened longer, his stomach twisting in knots.

“Fuck! Mingyu!”

There was ice in his veins. All the blood froze so quickly. It was cold enough to turn his skin to frost but Wonwoo kept listening.

“If I fuck you any harder, I’ll break this fuckin’ bed, sweetheart. Is that what you want, huh? Tell me, baby. Are you that much of a slut for me? Hm? Are you that much of a whiny slut?”

“Y-Yes, Gyu! M’n-nothing—ff-fuck—!”

“Answer me or I’ll stop!”

“No—nonono—m’such a slut for you! Such a whiny l-little... Fuck! Mmm—c-can’t take it, Gyu! S’too much!”

“Move your fuckin’ hand! Take it, just like you asked for. If you’re gonna act like such a slut then fuckin’ take what I give you!”

Wonwoo couldn’t bear to hear a second longer. He knew it was your voice, your skin, your breath, your pleasure. It was entirely you at the rigid and exploitative hands of Mingyu. And Wonwoo felt sick. Something acidic surged up his throat in a stinging burn. With a hand latched over his mouth, Wonwoo raced toward the washroom, immediately locking himself inside before collapsing at the toilet and upheaving all the contents in his stomach. The nausea had never hit him so quickly before. His insides filled with even more dread.

But he wasn’t actually sick.

It was merely the horrible, haunting anxiety that came with opening up—its effects reaping toxically into his flesh because it had all been thrown back in his face like a sloppy high school lunch tray. It was hearing the girl he positively loved moan and writhe and beg for another man who didn’t care for her interests or thoughts or soul.

He’d cut himself open for you, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

—JUNE 16TH.

By the time Wonwoo woke up, it was five in the evening. His face was practically plastered—no, moulded, into the pillow—with a dried trace of drool streaked down his cheek. Wonwoo had never drooled before. The groan he released upon rolling from his stomach to his back was groggy and brittle, with his hand slapping cluelessly against the bedside table until he managed to grab hold of his black-framed glasses. He slid them on, and then wiggled further up the bed.

Before his irritable hunger, or the twisting of his full bladder, or the headache pulsing behind temples, Wonwoo felt a very gorged wound scissored into his heart. It was stinging raw, like sea salt from the ocean touching at an unbeknownst cut hidden somewhere sensitive on the body. Except, Wonwoo knew exactly where the cut was and how deep it ran and how much he was struggling to even breathe. He stumbled into the washroom, switched on the faucet, but Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to stare into the mirror.

Instead, he crouched down to his haunches, hands shakily gripping at the edges of the stone-cold porcelain for stability while the water gushed above him. With his eyes pinched shut, Wonwoo focused hard on every breath he took, so hard that white smudges began blossoming against the pitch blackness of his eyelids. His mouth suddenly jutted open, and he inhaled the biggest breath he could manage, but it cracked somewhere in the middle and Wonwoo knew he was going to start sobbing.

Unable to hold the sink any longer, Wonwoo let go of its sharp edges and curled up tight on the floor, the tears sprouting unbridled and glossing to stain over the rouge of his cheeks. In his mind, it was the most pitiful sight. He thought he would have learned his lesson the first time about opening up and trusting another, yet, somehow, he was back in the same fucking place. He thought he was being cautious. Not cautious enough. He thought he was taking his time. Not enough time. Wonwoo never judged anything right.

—JUNE 17TH.

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: hey glasses

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: haven’t heard from u since Friday

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: pls tell me u made it home alright

…

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:30 am ]: Hey Wonwoo! It’s Seungcheol (got ur number from Seokmin btw)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:31 am ]: Really nice to meet you and glad you could make it out! Ur a super cool dude. Idk if you like pickup basketball but I always play on weekends at the uni B gym. If you ever want to come down or wtv let me know!

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:35 am ]: Princess says ur awesome

…

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Hey Won

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Make it home alright?

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: It was nice to see you!!

—JUNE 18TH.

[ Vernon | 10:01 am ]: Seokmin and I r going mini-putting at that glow in the dark place I got fired from lol u in or nah?

[ Vernon | 10:25 am ]: helloooooooo? u there beautiful?

…

[ Vernon | 3:45 pm ]: glasses are you fucking alive dude?

[ Seokmin | 3:50 pm ]: Everything okay? Did u get sick?

—JUNE 19TH.

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: okay haha it’s not funny anymore

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: wonwoo I swear if you don’t fucking text me back in the next 12 hours I’m breaking ur door down cuz wtf man im fuckin pissing my pants over here

…

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: hey!!

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: I hope you made it home okay :) sorry I didn’t text you. I’ve been sick as a dog omg but I feel better today

[ Her | 9:02 am ]: I’m so glad u came even if it was a little tense or overwhelming at times lol. I loved seeing u there. don’t quite rmbr everything that happened but I’m sure it was fun

[ Her | 9:03 am ]: miss you a lot alrd

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: we still good to work on the book tmo?

Since he slept well into the afternoon, Wonwoo didn’t notice any of the morning texts until much later, when he finally sat down at the dining table to slowly nibble a piece of strawberry jam toast. It wasn’t that he was ignoring Vernon or Seokmin’s texts, more so the fact he had been trying to stay off his phone altogether. It was just too much and he couldn’t afford to worry about anyone else but himself, though, he supposed it might be time to answer poor Vernon.

Wonwoo had disregarded your texts—didn’t glance at them for longer than a millisecond or absorb one written word. At the moment, he didn’t know where he stood with you. Saturday had been brutal, Sunday was stupendously worse, on Monday he’d called in sick because the thought of stepping one foot outside his apartment made him ghostly ill, and Tuesday, today, he was quite mopey, lethargic, and hardly contained enough energy to even feed himself.

But he still took another bite from his toast.

It was better than completely and utterly rotting.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Sorry.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Wasn’t feeling the greatest.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: I promise I’m alive.

He set the phone down beside his plate, continuing to tear at small sections of the toast to make it easier to eat. Wonwoo didn’t bother replying to anyone else. If they were truly that concerned as to why he hadn’t answered—which he knew they weren’t—then Vernon could disseminate whatever information he pleased.

Poking his glasses up with a pinky finger, Wonwoo saw his phone screen illuminate with a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: jesus christ wonwoo

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: don’t scare me like that I legit thought something happened to u

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: man check ur fucking texts lol

Wonwoo pushed the dish aside and picked up his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: My bad.

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm ]: it’s ok

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm]: soz u got sick

[ Vernon | 1:46 pm ]: u feel any better?

No—Wonwoo had almost audibly laughed. He felt pulverised, like a piece of trembling jelly hardly able to walk. If he was lucky, he might be able to keep the toast down without his grief getting in the way and tormenting the nutrients back out of him. But it wasn’t like his friend could do anything about it or make his nightmares end.

[ Wonwoo | 1:47 pm ]: Yeah, I’m okay now.

You were right—Wonwoo really was a liar.

[ Vernon | 1:47 pm ]: good!

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: yeah got pretty sick myself tbh

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: next day was ass

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: well uh if theres anything u need lemme kno im gonna b out today I could prob stop by whenever

After thumbing up the message, Wonwoo grabbed his plate, walked over to the sink, and tossed it in, hearing it crash into the stainless-steel emptiness. He didn’t know what else he would do today. Probably nothing at all except lay in his bed and sleep.

[ Her | 7:00 pm ]: hey pls check ur messages <3

…

[ Her | 8:09 pm ]: hey can u fucking check ur msgs

…

[ Her | 10:15 pm ]: wonwoo this is embarrassing for me PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CHECK UR MESSAGES!!

Hearing his phone ding for the third time that night, Wonwoo at last rolled over to drag the device aglow from the bedside table. As he lazily fixed the glasses over his face to squint across the fine print, his stomach dropped faster than the incline on a roller coaster. You were getting blatantly impatient with his lack of response.

The thing was, he always answered you. Even if he was in the middle of working, or blazed from his head to his toes, or half-asleep and hardly conscious—Wonwoo would always make time to text you back because there was nothing more important in his life.

It wasn’t that he was void of all desire to talk to you—it was that his body physically couldn’t allow it. His fingers suddenly felt so stiff, like they were wooden, and his mind flashed blank with not a single word to spare. He was still devastated with you, and that was putting it fucking mildly. Breathing out all the conjured despair and pain through his nose, Wonwoo left the phone on his nightstand, rolling back over to his side in another attempt to sleep.

—JUNE 20TH.

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: wonwoo why aren’t you answering me?

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: I was going to get rly mad at u and send a long nagging text or a voicemail but I feel like somethings wrong

[ Her | 8:10 am ]: we’re supposed to write today :(

[ Her | 8:35 am ]: I’m starting to get worried ugh

—JUNE 21ST.

[ Her | 11:20 am ]: wonwoo can you please send me something so I know you’re okay? even just a thumbs up?

[ Her | 11:25 am ]: please

—JUNE 23RD.

[ Her | 9:30 pm ]: okay it’s basically been a week since the party and idk what to do. I’m so fucking pissed off at you bc why can’t you just answer me? Ik I’m not blocked which leads me to think you’re not pissed at me? otherwise u would block me

[ Her | 9:31 pm ]: you’re reading my texts ik u are

[ Her | 9:34 pm ]: just why are you doing this I don’t understand I feel like crying bc I don’t know what I did or why you’re ignoring me?? if I did something can you please tell me I just hate this fucking guessing game and I hate you for putting me thru it

[ Her | 9:35 pm ]: fuck you honestly

[ Her | 10:36 pm ]: but I still miss you so much

[ New voice mail from Her | 10:58 pm ]

—JUNE 26TH.

Wonwoo felt the phone continuously buzz in his pocket for the third time that afternoon—he was getting another call while at the pharmacy and at that point even his boss was beginning to take note. He hardly ever worked morning to afternoon shifts, but another staff member was sick and so Wonwoo was unfortunately hailed upon to take their place, though, he had realized it might be a good idea for him to experience the fresh, softer air against his face, which chiefly prompted him to accept. Even if he had thrown up his breakfast in the washroom just before his shift started, at least he’d tried to eat something—thawed out blueberry waffles with butter were still too much for his stomach. He should probably stick to toast.

As he stood behind the counter, marking down another bundle of vitamin bottles and their expiry dates from the clipboard, his boss was handing out prescriptions. Wonwoo was in the midst of a long, impossible-to-hide yawn when his phone started vibrating again, that stupid Sencha ringtone practically grating his ears.

“Wonwoo,” his boss said, “I think you better answer that.”

“No, it’s nothing. I’ll shut my phone off.”

Her reading glasses were poised at the tip of her nose as she typed some information into the computer, each click from the chunky keyboard notably slower than the last.

“Well,” she huffed, clearing her throat, “whoever it is, that was their fourth time calling you… I do believe that warrants some attention. Now, if you’re sure it’s nothing at all, then I’d rather you keep that phone in your locker, alright?”

He paused, staring down at the clipboard in his hands.

“… Can I take just five minutes?”

Glancing over the shoulder of her pristine white lab coat, his boss nodded, and Wonwoo left the clipboard sitting alongside the vitamin bottles. He slipped into the employee break room and out the heavy backdoor, stepping behind the building for the utmost privacy.

Wriggling out the phone from his pants pocket, Wonwoo stared at the four separate notifications, all spread out within the past hour. Vernon had been attempting to reach Wonwoo for whatever reason, though he didn’t know what could possibly be so goddamn pressing that a text message wouldn’t suffice. He didn’t want to find out, either. But Wonwoo had already excused himself, and he didn’t want to waste the precious five minutes he’d been anointed.

He dialed his friend back. The call was picked up instantly.

“Vernon, what the f—”

“Glasses! It’s about fuckin’ time you answered your stupid phone! Where the hell are you, anyway? Mars?!” His voice boomed through the staticky line like a boxer’s jab and Wonwoo immediately moved the device from his ear, taking a second to orient himself.

“I’m at work, dumbass. Use your fucking head.”

“Work?! Oh, give me a break. Work! That’s your excuse?!”

Letting his temple prop against the uncomfortable brick wall, Wonwoo rubbed at his nose, his eyes squeezing out the sunlight.

“Just tell me why you’re blowing up my phone…”

“How about ‘cause I almost got mugged! That’s why!”

“Wha—mugged? Vernon, what? By who?”

“Your girlfriend, that’s fuckin’ who!”

Wonwoo pushed off the wall using his shoulder, taking a few steps across the cigarette butt-littered walkway. He absolutely hated it beyond comprehension whenever Vernon referred to you as his girlfriend—even more so now—though he was plagued by the thickest confusion and he needed Vernon to calm down in order to explain everything succinctly.

Taking a thorough breath, he stopped pacing.

“Okay, chill out, for just a second. And then talk to me. Because I don’t have a clue what you’re yelling about. I told my boss I’d be five minutes and I’m wasting out the clock.”

“Fuck—okay. So, I was gettin’ gas, alright? Mindin’ my own business when I see Her come outside the store. I thought, oh, hey, I know we’re probably not on the greatest terms yet but I’ll say hi.” He heard the boy cut himself off, and then laugh a bit, as though he were still reeling from the incident. “Dude, the second she sees me, I think I’m gonna die. She practically corners me at my Camry, like, askin’ me all this stuff: what happened to Wonwoo? Where’s Wonwoo? Do you know what’s goin’ on? Why isn’t he talkin’ to me?”

At that point, Wonwoo had squatted down in the middle of the walkway, rubbing a hand dreadfully against his cheek. He didn’t have a cigarette on him, but if he did, he’d be smoking it down to the pathetic nub. Vernon coughed and then started up his story again.

“I try to tell the chick—hey, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue! He told me he wasn’t feelin’ well, we haven’t spoken much—like, fuck if I know all the details to your goddamn life! She doesn’t believe I’m givin’ the full truth. I tell her again: look, he’s real private, he doesn’t talk about much. If he is goin’ through somethin’, just give him space and time—blah, blah. She tells me I’m a bad friend! Like—what the fuck, first of all! A bad friend?! She’s—okay, anyway—"

Wonwoo began to pull at some green sprigs of grass pushing up from between cracks in the cement, just to give his nervous, trembly fingers something to do. His heartbeat was climbing higher in his throat.

“She thinks you hate her, o-or I don’t know what she fuckin’ thinks, actually. What I do know is that she hates me ten times more than she did before, n’ that you need to get off your fuckin’ ass and talk to her! Do y’know scary it is to have Her yellin’ at you?! I thought she was gonna light my hair on fire with the gas pump or some shit! Fuck. My heart’s like, still racin’. And not to terrify you but she might stop by your place later today—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he interrupted Vernon while shooting back to his feet, beginning to anxiously pace all over again, “you think she’ll stop by my apartment? No, that can’t—” Wonwoo stumbled on a rock, then reared his foot to punt it hard across the cement, “I-I don’t want to talk to her. I fucking can’t. It’s too much.”

“I don’t know what to do about that…” Vernon sighed, followed by the distinctive spark of a lighter crackling in the background. “Didn’t even know you were ignorin’ her… what happened, anyway? I mean, this shit seems real serious.”

The silence was so thinned but still unbearably long, and as Wonwoo listened to his friend ignite a blunt in order to mellow out, he felt that unmistakable pain twist at the pliable centre of his chest, like he was being carved into with a whittling tool.

Put simply, Wonwoo wasn’t ready to see you, let alone have a civil conversation that could be separate from his bitter, hurt emotion. There was too much he needed to decide alone, and as the hot, stinging summer air around him became concerningly harder to breathe, Wonwoo had no other choice but to hang up on his friend and burst back into the employee washroom. Eventually, his boss had stopped by to knock on the door, to which Wonwoo answered with the most reluctant, pained, hoarse voice he could muster.

“S-Sorry—be out soon…”

“… I’ll give you a few more minutes,” she answered after a momentary pause, most likely realizing something was very wrong.

But he couldn’t hide it any better than that.

Wonwoo stepped inside the pottery shop, the bells overhead tinkling, and the attention of his landlord now piqued as she glanced up from the earth-coloured vase being washed by her paintbrush.

“Back from work?” She asked.

“Yeah…” he sighed, making his way toward the staircase, already reaching for the handrail, “can hardly stand. I’m exhausted.”

Sweeping some dried pieces of clay off her messy, weathered apron, she lent Wonwoo a sympathetic smile. “Well, rest up.”

He nodded at her.

Coming up to his apartment, Wonwoo was inexplicably relieved he hadn’t run into you at any point. He clicked his lock shut with another sigh, a more distant one that arose from somewhere so dusty and cold inside his chest. Maybe Vernon was right, Wonwoo thought while kicking off his shoes. Maybe it would be best to get such an excruciating, uncomfortable conversation out of the way rather than ruminate over how awful it was bound to be.

He scrubbed his hands clean at the sink, then trudged into his bedroom to change from his pharmacy appropriate clothes.

But as he came to sit at the edge of his bed, thinking back to that night—all the touches and tender glances and how foolishly he presumed it would be okay to open those clandestine, personal pages he always struggled to share—Wonwoo knew it was still too premature. If he were to speak with you now, nothing productive or relatively good would come from it. He leaned forward into his hands and raked them distraughtly through his hair, tugging against the black fronds until he worried about legitimately pulling them out.

You were obviously concerned and worried—he knew that, and part of him ached because it was due to his own ignorance.

It just couldn’t happen yet.

Wonwoo was mad at you. He felt betrayed, disrespected, used. There was sadness, heavier than his body weight. So much emotion was blistering and alive inside of him with nowhere to go.

Collapsing backward, arms tossed beside his head, Wonwoo closed his eyes and hoped he might fall asleep deep enough in order to never wake up. That way, he would never have to face reality—he would never have to stand in front of you and cough up some half-baked explanation that only served to protect himself.

Through the haze and mist of his bizarre dreams that whipped by akin to reels from old age movies, Wonwoo saw someone he didn’t think would ever reappear in his subconscious again—Jeanie.

He had no idea where he was, or what those disembodied figures were that shifted in the blurred distance. She was the only detail he could pinpoint. Wonwoo walked toward her, pushing through something invisible but notably thick, like molasses. He tried inconceivably hard to absorb the intricacies of her face, but when he stared for too long, her features would start moving, almost melting off her as though she was a wax figure in a sweltering auditorium.

Yet, he could hear something.

There were voices becoming louder in his ears, and the more intently he listened for them, the clearer Jeanie’s face became.

The girl’s hair was chin length, dark. Dark like timbre. Or very fine-grated flint. It looked soft to one’s touch, if, in fact, one could possibly touch her without her shattering. I remember thinking that. The girl will shatter if I bump her, even if it’s an accidental thing—a gentle scraping sort of contact that wouldn’t even disrupt a feather.

I remember her eyes, too. My brother owned a box of marbles when he was twelve years old. When I looked into the girl’s eyes, it was like I was eight again, staring over the discarded sewing tin that held my brother’s smooth, large, galactic marbles he told me to never play with. I hated him for it. I think a part of me still does. But I don’t feel that resentment when I look into her eyes. Rather I feel the mystery and curiosity I believed was permanently erased alongside my youth.

Then there were her lips, which were small but plump. They seemed almost stained. I thought an artist took a stroke of watery, blood red paint to her mouth. It’s even hard to hear her when she speaks. I have to lean in so closely that my chest shrinks in on itself with coyness. I love it too much but I can’t let the beautiful, quiet girl know.

Wonwoo knew every word—he could recite them endlessly, without a sweat or a hiccup. It was his own writing after all, from the book he’d attempted to write for her during their relationship. Finally, he could see Jeanie standing in front of him, at the edge of clarity. Close enough to embrace and kiss and beg so pathetically for forgiveness.

But Wonwoo was never given the chance.

The voices scattered in a mere instant, whisking away into the baby blue nothingness that engulfed him like a handful of sand grains on a windy beach. Instead, he heard knocking. It rattled his brain.

Knock, knock, knock, knock!

The atmosphere started to crumble. He was caught in that peculiar stretch of being half-asleep and half-awake, when it’s impossible to decipher reality from the reverie that doesn’t quite want to let go just yet. Everything shuddered and swayed like a house on stilts.

“Wonwoo! Open the fucking door! For fuck’s sake!”

And then, he was shooting up in bed, fast enough to prompt the dizziness that whorled the entire room into a confusing mélange of shapes and evening clementine colours. His heart was barraging against his chest, and Wonwoo had to settle a hand overtop the pulse to confirm with himself that the organ was still inside his body. As he wiped off the sweat that glistened by his temples, trying to mentally grasp the fading fragments from his dream, Wonwoo heard the knocking sound again. Louder. As though his door would cave in.

He knew it was you. You weren’t going to leave, either, not unless someone had to drag you out the building by the ankles, or until you spoke to Wonwoo about his impromptu ghosting.

The thing was, Wonwoo was fucking pissed.

He was pissed that such a bittersweet dream had been ripped away from him like everything else in his life—most often love and trust—and he was pissed that he never got any closure.

Wonwoo was just boiling over, tired of everything.

Knockknockknock!

Stumbling into the living room, Wonwoo approached the door that was currently receiving the abuse of a lifetime. His hand grazed the knob, though it was nothing akin to the first time he’d let you inside his apartment, so nervous, flustered, doubting himself. When he opened the door, Wonwoo opened it with an unwavering abruptness that presented you at the threshold, your closed fist left still in the air like you were a marionette frozen by your orchestrator.

With your mouth agape and soundless, Wonwoo wondered if you would even speak. The shock was slowly spreading throughout your face, adorned as usual with that picture perfect makeup.

But he’d assumed too quickly.

“Jesus fucking Christ! So, you are alive!”

He stepped aside while you stormed into the apartment, and then he let the door swing shut, capturing the two of you in privacy.

You spun around to glare Wonwoo down.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?! Did you forget how to read?! Write?! Answer your fucking phone?! I mean, would it kill you, Wonwoo, to text me back? Even just one word? Or, is that too fucking difficult?! It’s not like I’m asking for a goddamn scripture!”

Since March, Wonwoo had known you. It was nearly July.

Never had he seen you like this before. Sure, there were times you had gotten angry and that short fuse inside would burst. It was always jarring, but you tended to regain composure within the next minute or so, shaking off the confining chrysalis of your rage.

This didn’t seem so easy to shake off.

You were furious. Wonwoo watched you begin to pace the living room, your hands gesturing about wildly. There was practically a radiation that glowed from around you, red like singed charcoals.

“I can’t believe the rollercoaster you have put me through this past week, you asshole! I mean, seriously! I've never been this baffled! At first, I just assumed you were sick! Because—who wasn’t sick after that night? But we had to write the next day, and you always get back to me, so when you didn’t, my stomach started twisting up! I thought, something has to be wrong—Wonwoo doesn’t do this! He never stands me up! But I didn’t want to pry, because you fucking hate when I pry, so I left it alone! I left it and then I still get nothing!”

A Rubik’s cube was sitting on the coffee table. For some reason, you snatched it up and started jamming at the panels while continuing to pace the living room. Your hands were fizzling firecrackers, surging with ample energy, needing a task to direct all that accumulated anger so the fingers wouldn’t fly off your joints.

“But I see Vernon getting gas! And, wow, everything is just so peachy for him! Life is so sweet and sugary for the local drug dealer who just milked hundreds of dollars out of some stupid rich kids and their latent drug addictions! And you know what I had to do? I had to back him up like a feral fucking cat just to wrangle some information about you! Because I thought maybe you were dead, or kidnapped, or you just suddenly hate me! I looked like such a psychopath!”

You slammed the unsolved Rubik’s cube back onto the coffee table hard enough to dislodge a few pieces. They spotted his carpet like blood spatters. A tattered, deep breath was sucked up your nose.

“So, here I fucking am, screaming my head off because I am so pissed at you, Wonwoo! I want an answer even if it kills me!”

The air was dead silent, and Wonwoo wanted to let the room breathe for just a minute at most. Every single word you had spewed was compressed into the spaces of his apartment and if he didn’t give the atmosphere enough time to settle then his walls would undoubtedly burst. You refused to stare anywhere else but him. There was so much need and pain and agony behind those glassy eyes.

Wonwoo glanced down at his socked feet, swallowed hard, and then back at you. He had to speak. Nothing else would suffice.

“… Honestly… there’s no answer I can give you that won’t hurt, or make you any less upset… I don’t want to drag this out, either.” A subtle breath entered his mouth. “Her, we shouldn’t do this anymore—the book. I don’t want to help. You can finish it yourself.”

It was sharp, so meticulously sharp—a clean, smooth cut.

Though he was calm water on the outside, he felt a trembling behind his ribs. His heart was groveling with him to not be so cruel.

You laughed, titled your head. “What?”

“I can’t continue to help you write.”

Again, the room was silent.

“… You… you’re… you what?”

Something wasn’t connecting inside your brain. For some reason, you could not comprehend what Wonwoo was insisting. His patience was translucent and the longer he stood across from you in the living room, thinking about his interrupted dream and the vulnerability you stepped all over and the time he wasted—he could only get angrier. His fingernail scraped over his thumb like a tooth.

You wiped something off your face and started to laugh again.

“God—okay. There’s—I’m sorry but there’s absolutely no way you just said that to me… I come here, sick to my fucking stomach, worried about you. Yes, I’m mad but—I-I still care. And you—you’re going to—fuck.” A hand then clasped over your mouth as you pointed your gaze to the shag carpet, and for a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t decide if you were masking a laugh or a sob. “You’re going to tell me that we should just… stop, in your words. Or, you’ll stop, and I can keep trudging on. Am I hearing that right? Is that what you said?”

Wonwoo nodded.

He hadn’t realized it, but he’d just detonated a bomb.

At first, there was not a single crease or wrinkle that ruptured your disturbingly placid face. But, surely enough, he was beginning to observe the slow, inevitable fracturing that started with a twitch in your upper lip, and then a wicked furrow pulling down your brow, and that irritable blinking of your eyes as though someone had just blown a cloud of dust into them. Wonwoo knew it was coming.

“Fuck you.”

It was so spiteful, almost demonic.

“You should go,” Wonwoo said, sighing.

Instead, your head rung back and forth.

“No, actually—” you stepped toward him, fingers pinching at the thick, almost palpable air while your eyes fumed with every malevolent thought that burned inside you, “—fuck you, Wonwoo.”

He stared back at you, somehow unfaltering.

“Listen, if you don’t—”

“If I don’t what?!” You screamed, your palms slamming against his chest and prompting him to stumble backward. “If I don’t leave, then fucking what?!” Even though it was just you shouting, it sounded like there were hundreds of anguished women behind each word.

Wonwoo felt the pin drop into his gut.

“Y’know what I think, Wonwoo?! I think this is just like that time at SRX, when you told me the same fucking thing! You just picked up all your shit and left! No explanation, no prelude, no nothing! Is that what gets you off? Huh? Treating everyone like they’re pieces of scrap metal with no fucking emotion?! You can just do whatever you want! Doesn’t matter! Who gives a fuck about whose feelings I’m totally disregarding, whose time I’m wasting. I’m Wonwoo! I get to pull the plug on everybody because who cares!”

Your voice had employed a fake, mocking tone.

And while Wonwoo knew the better choice was to maintain his quiet, mature composure, it was much easier to disregard the guise altogether—chuck it straight out the window like a browned banana peel because as much as he’d like to believe he was refined, evolved, and in control, Wonwoo hadn’t ever been anything of the sort.

He shook his head at you.

“I disregard people’s feelings? People’s time? Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“That is such bullshit.”

“Oh, come the fuck on, Wonwoo! Don’t be so damn deluded!”

“Do you even hear yourself? A single word that you’re fucking saying? I disregard people’s feelings? Well, what about you, then? You—and, sorry if this puts a nick in the perfect, angelic image you have of yourself—but you just use people. And I don’t want to be used anymore. There’s my fucking answer that you want so badly.”

You gagged at him, slack-mouthed down to the floor.

“I use people? Wonwoo, are you fucking insane?!”

“No more than you.”

“How?! Tell me how I’ve used you!”

He laughed at the demand, rubbing a hand across his scalp. “Oh, come on—don’t make me spell it out for you, Her.”

“No, please do! Please spell out in that scholar-kissed, prestigious vocabulary of yours how I’ve used you!”

Wonwoo paced over to the fireplace mantel, this light-headed, tingly sensation beginning to merge with his blood and flow to every crack and crevice of his body. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but now that you two were shredding into each other, Wonwoo saw no point in sugar coating a damn thing. If you wanted the truth, then he would give you exactly that—it mattered no less to him.

“The book. How is that not obvious? I mean, for the last few months, that’s all I’ve done. Is help you. You didn’t even care about who I was before. You just wanted someone who could make your life easier and bend to all your whims at the drop of a hat. I’m the one who has to put up with your obsessions and gripes and your crazy fucking mood swings—I mean, do you even know how draining that shit is? You don’t, because you care about you. You care about writing this masterpiece for Mingyu—who, I should mention—doesn’t give a fuck about you. But you know that, right? You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?

You know it when he treats you like a dumb object, belittles you in front of your friends, puts down and shows no support in your interests—like, really, Her? That’s who you’re in love with? That’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with? Or do you just like him for his status? Is it because he pays for your coke and your clothes and your entire fucking life? And what about Seokmin? Your little puppy dog. Always so eager to do whatever you ask of him. He just does all the shit that’s not worth your breath. So, instead of wasting your time, you waste his instead.

Bells and Clara? Why the fuck do you even keep them around? You treat them like they're insufferable. But you know they make you look better—so much smarter, more organized, goal-driven—they’re just the two annoying drunk girls that tag along because as much as you despise them you just can’t deny how good they make you look. But that’s what you do! You use everyone around you and no one ever says a fucking thing because you’re such a tyrant!”

Wonwoo was fully cognizant of how sadistic it all was—that’s what he intended. If every word was not going to lacerate or bite or sink so painfully deep into your tissue that it felt like a bony dagger, then there was no point in saying anything at all. You were across from him, vibrating like an excited atom, your fists clenched while every possible hue of rage spilt down the length of your hollow face.

Simple enough—you’d asked him to spell it out, and that’s what he’d done. If could make it any clearer, he would. You then gulped, and there sounded a quiver to your voice that Wonwoo had never heard before. He stood tensely, awaiting your response.

“H-Hm, so… that’s what you think of me?” The end of your question sharply pitched off. “That’s your conclusion?”

“It is,” Wonwoo answered, pressing up his glasses.

Rolling your shoulders and clearing your throat, you nodded, meanwhile you stared down at your hands which began to slowly unfurl. Wonwoo realized that your fingers were trembling like dry, autumn leaves in a soaring wind. He’d never seen that before, ever.

“So, actually, what I think—” you coughed, placing an elbow overtop your mouth to catch the spit, “—I think that…”

For a moment, Wonwoo thought it was over. Your voice was so quiet, hushed, with hardly an ounce of tenacity or grit. But he should have known better than to suspect you of being so spineless.

“What I think, Wonwoo, is that you love to write, and read, because the only person you can communicate with is yourself. You… you are so emotionally stunted that it should be fucking studied. That was the most I’ve ever heard you speak, and you used all of it to basically call me fake, manipulative, and shallow.”

“Because you asked.”

“God. You are so empty, Wonwoo. You’re just a shell. You would rather exist inside your literary delusions than reality because there is nothing for you here. No real relationships, no real aspirations, nothing. And you know why that happened? You can’t fucking talk about anything. Instead, you just hold it all inside—you hold it and hold it until it starts seeping out and poisoning everyone around you. It’s your own fucking fault, Wonwoo. You're gonna drive everyone away. And then have the audacity to somehow point the finger, like they’re the one with the fucking problem. But it’s you.”

He could almost hear the clatter of the metal against the hardwood as you dragged out the metaphorical dagger. There was even a physical pain throbbing at his lower back, though, Wonwoo quickly began to accept the pain was aflame everywhere on his body.

Your lips were pressed together in a strict, firm line. If you opted to speak just one word more, then maybe the dam would break, and his apartment would transform into a sodden, soaked mess.

He watched your head begin to shake, and then you were swallowing down a gigantic, stinging lump. Of course, even at your most barren, emotionally exhausted self, you would get the last word.

“So you can go fuck yourself.”

And Wonwoo was willing to let you have it.

He closed his door at the sound of your wrenched sob in the corridor. There wasn’t much else for him to do other than click the lock shut, pick up the broken pieces from his Rubik’s cube, and walk back into his bedroom. Wonwoo whipped the curtains shut, crawled underneath the cold, thin covers that he stretched over his head.

In the isolating darkness, he slept.

Alone again.

—JULY 21ST.

It was some time in the evening.

A soft, nearly unsettling quietness engulfed the train station.

There was nothing even relatively stimulating that Wonwoo could do apart from aimless surfing through his phone, sparing the occasional glance toward the directory desk with its few uniformed clerks. A navy-blue suitcase was at his side, stuffed full of folded clothes and charging cables. As organized earlier in the year, Wonwoo had spent the week at his uncle’s house—even his older brother managed to stop by for a few days to celebrate Wonwoo’s birthday.

For the most part, Wonwoo enjoyed his time there. The house was more like a cottage, situated on a fresh, small lake shaded over by the summer canopies of sycamore and evergreen trees. While he didn’t dabble in any swimming, Wonwoo had liked stretching out on the webbed hammock down by the firepit, rocking himself back and forth using a long leg that he kept strewn over the edge.

He missed that peaceful feeling engendered by the lakeside wind and the rustling leaves—how rejuvenating it all was to escape the monotonous hell that was his life back in the grey, stiff city.

Wonwoo clicked on his phone to check the time.

5:50 pm.

He would need to board his train soon.

Unfortunately, whether he liked it or not, Wonwoo had to go back and he had to pick up where he’d so painfully left off. No more pieces of refrigerated chocolate cake straight from the box or sitting outside on the maplewood patio to jingle a fake mouse at the paws of his uncle’s cat. No more packed joints beside the ebbing shoreline at midnight, or waking up to the most ethereal, golden light warming through the curtains as though the skies were made with honey.

Wonwoo sighed, plugging in the earbuds left dangling at his shirt collar. He scrolled through his music looking for a song to play.

Above all, it had nearly been a month since he last spoke to you.

Spoke wasn’t even the right word. That day, Wonwoo had set out to ruin you, because he could not bring himself to steep in all that misery and vitriol alone, bearing its weight like he was made from pressurized diamond when in truth—he was flaky and feeble.

The weeks that passed afterword were all blurred together. He talked to no one. Seldom saw anybody. Wonwoo had hardly existed.

A voicemail was still sitting in his inbox. You had sent it to him during a late night in June after the crazed party at Seungcheol’s family mansion, though Wonwoo never bothered listening to it because it was one of his biggest weaknesses—your voice—the most beautiful sound in the world as you had once phrased to him back at the café Wonwoo used to frequent. Then, he’d laughed it off, believing you were beyond full of yourself. Gradually, however, it became truth.

To hear you talk was to feel so in love that it physically ached.

“Train to Lees Station will be arriving within the next five minutes. Please make your way to platform C for boarding.”

The announcement finished with a ding.

Wonwoo got to his feet and grabbed the suitcase handle, beginning to pull it behind him while following the small, silent crowd toward the elevator. It was finally time to go home. Although home didn't seem like much to him anymore, if not just an aimless place in a bleak city that had lost all its warmth.

10:48 pm.

Wonwoo couldn’t sleep, or even take a nap.

When he would rest his head against the window, his eyes could only stay shut for no longer than a measly, frustrating minute. He’d completely exhausted his playlists. By midnight, the train would stop at his station, anyway. There was nothing left for him to listen to… except that voicemail. It was an awful fucking idea, but Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake the temptation since it first crept into his memory all those hours ago.

Wonwoo didn’t want to think about you—not until he’d stepped off that goddamn train and had fully left all remnants of his short summer vacation behind. When he was back amongst the ignorant city people, and those towering glass infrastructures, and the constant honking, beeping, and roaring of motorized vehicles, would he even probe the thought. But—then again—so much time had passed. So much time to regret, anguish, and loathe his actions.

“… So, um—I-I just want to say first and foremost how much you suck for doing this to me, actually. You… god—fuck, if I have to blow my nose one more time… you suck, Wonwoo! You just—you fucking suck so much! You and your stupid privacy! I-I’m not trying to invade your life o-or get—or pry into something I shouldn’t be—I just want an answer, I want clarity, I want you to—I want—I need you to be a fucking person and just talk to me so I don’t hate myself! Because right now I feel like this is all my fucking fault!

… And it sucks because I don’t even know who I can talk to about this. I want to talk to you. But I can’t a-and… oh my god… we were supposed to write a couple days ago. At the park. I knew you weren’t going to show up but I went there anyway. I tried so hard to put down a sentence. But I hated all of it. I looked back at everything I’d written so far and I wanted to erase every single fucking word and blame you for it… f-fuck… I’m running out of stupid fucking tissues… oh… where’s the extra box?... I’m such a wreck.

… And, um, oh my gosh. Yesterday, at the mall, I went shopping, and I saw this really cute shirt. It was so pretty. Um… dammit! Sorry, I just hit my elbow… that hurt, Jesus Christ… uh—right, so, I saw this shirt and it was so cute with little buttons on it. It was white and blue. A little bit of frills. I know you don’t like frills but I promise it was just the right amount. A-And I have the perfect skirt to go with it. So, um, I put it on, and it fit really nice. I took a picture in the fitting room and I wanted to send it to you but you’re not talking to me right now. But, uh, I did buy it.

I was wearing it today. But then, like, the worst th-thing ever happened… um, it ripped. I ripped it. I don’t even know how, I was just going through my closet and it caught on a broken hanger or something and then all I heard was a b-big rip… it’s totally ruined now. I don’t know but I burst into tears. I was crying so hard and you were the first person I wanted to call but you’re not talking to me, a-and—fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore… I just—I’m mad at you, I’m so fucking mad but I still care and—please, I miss you. I really, really miss you, Wonwoo. It hurts inside.

I’m sorry this is so long… I think m’gonna stop talking because my sinuses are closing up and my throat is burning. Um, I’ll go n-now. Just—fuck you. Please text me or call be back. Please.”

The message blipped off.

For a moment, he was frozen solid, staring back at his reflection through the dark window at his shoulder. I’m so fucking mad but I still care. Then, in an instant, Wonwoo had wished he never listened to the voicemail. He tore out his earbuds and bundled them up, shoving them into his pocket alongside his phone.

He was on the precipice of a horrifying change, but he didn’t know exactly what—just that he was looking at something so smooth and grey and warmed up from the blistered sun.

He was looking at the rock.

—JULY 22ND.

By the time Wonwoo had returned to his apartment last night, he was dead tired—a zombie, practically—scuffing his feet against the wooden flooring with his suitcase rolling behind. Face-planting upon the bed that hadn’t felt the dip from his body weight in a week, he thought he would rest his drooping eyes and give himself a moment to settle. Except it wasn’t just a moment, it was hours and hours of sleep that felt like a single second. When he woke up, his arm was completely numbed from being tucked under his cheek.

It had actually scared him. Wonwoo immediately shot up, staring down at the lifeless limb which he couldn’t move an inch.

“Fuck…” he mumbled to himself hoarsely, squinting against the sunlight which blinded the bedroom. “How long was I out…”

Digging the latter hand into his pants pocket, he let the blood slowly tingle back into his other arm while checking the time on his phone. However, the device was dead. For all he knew, it was the year three-thousand and there would be flying cars and Blade Runner infomercials gleaming in the city smog. Once he was able to move his arm, Wonwoo slid off the bed and laid down his suitcase, beginning to zip open the compartment.

His charger was packed perfectly on top.

Letting his phone recharge on the bedside table, he returned to unpacking. His laptop, toothbrush, books, socks, pairs of underwear and oversized shirts—he stored everything back in its appropriate place, tossing the occasional article into his laundry hamper, until the suitcase was nearly emptied. The only item which remained inside was a small plastic bottle, translucent orange, baring a white prescription label with a few pills remaining side.

His venlafaxine.

Wonwoo had started taking the medication again, roughly a week after his fight with you. Upon completely losing his ability to sleep or eat or survive an entire day without crippling in on himself like the world was a sinkhole waiting for him to slip, Wonwoo came to the realization that—what the fuck—he didn’t have to plainly suffer, and that all the time he spent ignoring the drug because he couldn’t even value his life enough to swallow one tiny pill was a useless, cruel disregard for the body that tried so fucking hard to protect him.

Even when it didn’t feel like it.

By the time Wonwoo ate breakfast—a simple piece of toast with peanut butter—his phone was halfway charged.

1:01 pm.

He’d slept for thirteen hours straight.

“Get over it, Wonwoo. Don’t overreact... c’mon, c’mon, don’t give me that sad little face… it was funny!”

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Leave me alone, please.”

“No.”

“Bohyuk! Stop!”

“Stop what?!”

“You’re poking me! Bastard…”

“Oh, you just said a curse word. Mom is gonna be so mad. Kids your age aren’t supposed to start swearing yet.”

“Tell her. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Well, what if she takes away your books? I bet you’ll get upset then, won’t you? Or those weird little playing cards you have. What if she’s so mad, she burns them! You’ll cry yourself to sleep like a little baby.”

“I said stop touching me!”

“Or what? What? Nothing to say?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“… I told you I want to be alone.”

“I know you do. And I let you sit here sulking. But now I’m just trying to get you to talk instead of mope. When you’re in a bad mood, it puts mom in a bad mood, and then I have to suffer with both of you being all brooding and cranky. Talking is an important skill, you know? Especially when you’re all pissed off. ”

“Mom is always cranky.”

“And you double it.”

“Shut up.”

“I really don’t understand why I’m the piece of shit, here. We always play Lifeguard at the water park. Now you want to throw a tantrum because, what? It was funny!”

“You left me there, Bohyuk! Alone!”

“Okay, so what? Did you die, Wonwoo? Did you get banned from the park? Did you ruin your entire life?”

“No…”

“Exactly. It was uncomfortable, and you didn’t like the situation. I get that. But you put yourself in that position, alright? Stupid shit always happens when we play that game. You know the consequences. We’ve been over this before. Remember when you threw that life preserver on my head and almost gave me a concussion? I was pissed at you. But you’re a kid, and you weren’t really thinking, and I should’ve known. That’s why I didn’t curse you out. Let’s say we both learned a lesson from this and call it a day, huh? C'mon, the bucket is filling up. Let's catch it before we leave.”

—JULY 28th.

Wonwoo was sitting in a wicker-back chair downstairs in the pottery shop, his laptop placed on the corner of a table that had been covered with a white, plasticky sheet. The white was hardly visible through all the smears and stains attributed to month-old dried paint and clay. His landlord had asked him if he would oblige to waiting for the mugs her last class had just sculpted to finish drying in the kiln while she ran to the bank. An egg timer was placed on the desk in her office, and Wonwoo could hear it ticking away in the background.

The door to the shop had been propped open using a mandala decorated rock, and while Wonwoo browsed along an online book on his laptop, he partly listened to the miscellaneous bits and pieces of conversation pushed indoors by the midday summer wind.

Initially, he’d dreaded coming back to the city after the week-long repose at his uncle’s, but in truth, Wonwoo was adjusting better than anticipated. Maybe because he was attempting to look after himself more than usual—he was actually taking his medication and he’d weened himself from frequent, almost daily smoking to once every few days, though Wonwoo did realize his bud was getting low and the only person he knew to inquire for more was Vernon. He hadn’t seen his friend in person since the party, and their texting had admittedly dwindled ever since Wonwoo fought with you.

That was just over a month ago now.

Wonwoo had gone an entire month without texting you, talking to you, seeing you. He was doing better, feeling lighter.

But there remained one core part of him that was still very incomplete and damaged. Suddenly, Wonwoo was shivering in his seat. The warm sun was brightening up the shop and reflecting its light off the stained glass windchimes dangling from the ceiling, though he chose to blame the chill on the breeze trickling indoors.

Deep down, however, Wonwoo knew he’d done something wrong. So, very, very wrong. He’d hurt you like a bullet through bone.

“Okay, this is it, right?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo glanced up from his laptop, where he’d been staring into the screen with a glazed over and distant expression. Instead, he saw a young woman, about his age, walk into the pottery shop hand-in-hand with a little girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t recognize the woman’s features—chin length, wavy hair, coarse and russet brown, tanned skin and a face polka dotted with freckles. Piece by piece, the memory rebuilt itself in his mind and he felt somewhat stupid.

“Oh—jeez, Wonwoo! What the heck—you’re like, the last person I would expect to run into here. Wow, it’s been a while!”

“Uh, yeah. Since the party, I guess.”

Sierra, the girl who’d fashioned together his drink.

“Yeah. That feels like forever ago... what’re you doing here?”

He pushed down on the laptop lid and sat up straighter in the wicker chair, accidentally looking into the eyes of the girl who was shyly clinging to Sierra’s side. She immediately glanced elsewhere.

“I live here, actually.”

“Oh! That’s cool,” Sierra smiled. “Your family owns it, or?”

“No. The lady who runs the pottery shop also has ownership of the units upstairs. She rents them out. I live up there.” He pointed his finger toward the ceiling as to emphasis his point.

“Okay, okay, that make a lot more sense. Still really cool.”

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh—yeah. So, this is my younger sister, Cora,” Sierra explained, grabbing onto the petite girl’s shoulder. “She was supposed to have her first class today, but she was feeling, um—well, you know how kids are. She’s just a bit shy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, of course not,” Wonwoo concurred, noting the resemblance between the two. “I was deathly shy when I was little.”

“Right? We were just gonna stop by to meet to the teacher ahead of her next class. I thought it might make everything easier.”

Wonwoo frowned. “She left, actually.”

“Shoot, really?”

“Yeah, said she had to run to the bank. I’m sitting down here because I’m waiting for the pottery to finish drying in the kiln. I would give you an ETA, but I have no idea when she’s coming back.”

Glancing down at her sister, Sierra ruffled the girl’s hair.

“That sucks, huh?”

But she said nothing, just clung tightly to the back of Sierra’s yellow shirt, deciding to nod her head in response. Sierra shrugged.

“Is she usually here around this time?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo confirmed, “you could try again tomorrow.”

“Okay, wicked. I would wait but I’ve got a list of errands for today and I’m not even halfway through. And I’m sure Cora wouldn’t want to sit around, anyway. We just got a pool put in at the house.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Do you swim?”

“No, not at all. The most I do is dip my feet in.”

“Aw, boo,” she said with dismay, shoulders sagging. “Well, it was nice running into you, Wonwoo. And—um, it might not be your thing, but I work at the Honeymoon almost every night—like, six to midnight. So, if you’re ever in Centertown, you should stop by.”

“Oh, good to know.”

“M’kay, later!”

Wonwoo waved. “Bye, guys.”

Once they left the pottery shop, Wonwoo set his elbows onto the plastic-sheeted table and leaned into his cold hands, sighing heavily as the egg timer continued ticking. Sierra was polite. She seemed warm like the sunshine and beautifully sincere. Wonwoo could read from her tender brown eyes that she desired more out of him—a friendship, a relationship, maybe something blissful, blurred, and in between. Though, it was nothing Wonwoo could give her.

He thought about the comment she made in regards to their pool—if he ever swam. Wonwoo didn’t swim, not since that horrible incident of Lifeguard all those years ago, back at the waterpark he used to attend alongside his older brother. Still, it got him thinking.

Reverting to his desktop, he looked for a folder.

writing.footage

It contained all the video clips he’d taken of you with the camcorder throughout your writing journey. He had every single one, from the grassy running ring at the high school to the footage he’d taken of the evening sky the day you two visited the beach.

His mouse hovered over a clip.

Fuck—he really shouldn’t do that. Every moment would sting like a red hot, peeling sunburn. The mouse moved away from the video clip and Wonwoo sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand against his face at the near torment. But… it had been so long. He missed you.

“Whatever…” he sighed to himself, clicking the video.

It took a moment to start up.

“Okay! So, this is Mooney’s Bay. It encompasses chapter three, and—Wonwoo, you have to film my intro! Why are you filming the sand?”

“Sorry, the lighting’s not good.”

“Oh.”

“Stand this way.”

“Those people will get in the shot.”

“Who cares? They’re far away.”

“I’ll stand in front of them… okay, are you zoomed in?”

“You told me not to zoom in.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Remember when I zoomed in and you said I shouldn’t do that because it doesn’t capture the scenery properly?”

“Well, I said that because you were zooming in on me when you were supposed to be getting the ambiance shots! That’s why I said don’t zoom in. You can zoom in for the intro. Is the light better?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Does my hair look good? Actually, do you think it’s too windy? I’m worried about it being too windy, and then I can’t hear my introduction. I have to be able to hear my introduction. I’m really nervous. Wait—let me take off my flip flops. There’s so much sand in them and I hate it. Okay. Am I covering the people?”

“Yes.”

“Should I start now?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, this is Mooney’s Bay, and… and… wait—oh no! I forget my lines. What was I supposed to say, again?”

“I’m not sure, it’s your script. Something about chapter three.”

“Oh, I remember now! Okay, again from the top. Cut this out!”

He remembered that warm day as clear as the bay’s shiny water—specifically, the plethora of takes he had to film because you kept fudging up the script typed out on your phone. Wonwoo surfed through the rest of the clips pertaining to the beach, smiling to himself whenever you would fumble the words for the umpteenth time and groan in sheer frustration. Eventually, the backdrop turned from blue skies to an evening sunset. You two had spent hours there, and the filming had ended with tangy lemonade and watermelon.

He moved to a different assortment of clips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, introduce the flavour. Like show and tell.”

“Oh, like a vlog?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. This is my flavour: it’s strawberry cheesecake. The red bits are the strawberries and those chunks are the cheesecake. I picked it because this is the flavour I got when I went on my first date with Mingyu. I love strawberries the most. Cheesecake is my favourite cake. Um… I don’t really know what else to say…”

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Oh—from The Big Chill!”

“What would you rate it?”

“Like, seven out of ten.”

“Not perfect even though it’s your favourite things?”

“Well—because the ice cream is too hard. I like soft ice cream. If I waited like, ten minutes, then ate some, it would be higher.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Okay! You’re not supposed to be inserting your personal comments! You’re just supposed to say prompts and stuff. Don’t make me revoke your camera privileges.”

“You know anybody else with my camera operating skills?”

“Seokmin.”

“He couldn’t film his way out of a paper bag.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t already said.”

The abrupt end to the video made Wonwoo sink down in his chair with a dumb, wide smile. You did in fact, wait the entire ten minutes for your ice cream to significantly melt in the cup, then forcing Wonwoo to watch with unfiltered judgement as you stirred it up like a smoothie. You said it helped with your sensitive teeth.

He could understand that.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to watch much more, he chose one final clip to open—the most recent one he’d taken. It was from the day you raced home in the rain after exploring the nature museum, right before Princess had swung by to pick you up. He had been fooling around with the camcorder while you two sat on the couch.

“… Um, so… do you care if I keep this shirt? It’s a good bedtime shirt, and I don’t really have any. I mean, only if you say it’s okay.”

“Uh, sure. I hardly wear it anymore, to be honest.”

“Oh. What’s it from?”

“A math competition thing. If you straighten that part out… that’s Euler’s number… this other one is your classic integral.”

“Hm, yeah. That’s such a great conversation starter. Have you guys ever heard about the integral symbol? Such a classic!”

“You jest but it got me quite a bit of recognition.”

“Like you want recognition.”

“Yeah, that’s why I stopped wearing it.”

“Ah, okay. So if I wear it out, will I get random geeks coming up to me on the street asking about it?”

“Probably.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll keep it.”

“You want that, huh?”

“Yes, so when they come up to me, I can say I have a really smart, talented, loser friend who owns it. So I can brag about you.”

“That’s… nice, I suppose. Can you drop the loser part?”

“No. It’s to keep you humble.”

“Seriously? Life has already humbled me enough, I think.”

The clip ended, and Wonwoo was staring back at himself in the screen’s black reflection. He could recall that oddly hollow feeling which situated uncomfortably large in the pit of his stomach when he realized how much he missed you.

But how could he not yearn for you? When you were so captivating, and infinitely brilliant, and stubbornly hard-headed in a tantalizing way that made him feel completely alive and invigorated.

I fucked up—it was all he could think as he pushed his laptop away and buried his head into his arms—I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up and I pushed away the most amazing girl I’ve ever known.

Suddenly, the small egg timer that had been sitting on the landlord’s desk a room away erupted. It started rattling and clanging and while Wonwoo should have shot up from his seat to turn it off and check the sculpted mugs cooking in the kiln, he stayed in his seat.

He felt glued to it.

All he could think about was how badly he needed to talk to you, hear your voice, see your face, smell your scent. Maybe he didn’t deserve it—Wonwoo knew he didn’t—but he loved you too much.

He couldn’t let you fade into a deep, dark memory.

—JULY 30th.

Wonwoo hadn’t been to his favourite café on Sunnyside Avenue for almost two months. He was therefore quite surprised at their new interior upon giving into a last-minute whim—visiting for a quick coffee. They had finally swapped their metal chairs for more cushiony seats, and the circle tabletops for square, wooden ones. The style of chalk writing on the overhead menu boards had changed, too.

He didn’t even recognize the baristas.

Usually, Wonwoo only stopped at the café to work on his writing and indulge in a raspberry lemon scone that was supposed to be a treat for having been productive, though he always ate it before a single word would ever grace the paper. Since he began helping you with your book back in March, he frequented the café less and less. It brought a smile to his face, recalling the incident of you slapping your hand against the window and jarring him half to death.

He used to be so afraid of you. Never would he imagine the comfort you’d end up bestowing him—and the fact he’d lose it all.

“I can help whoever’s next!”

Turning his attention from the corner where his old table used to sit—now occupied by two girls sharing a latte and giggling as they perused their phones—Wonwoo approached the barista he failed to recognize, waiting to take his order. Realizing he’d lost his metaphorical loyalty badge and that he could no longer just coolly toss out, ‘the usual’, Wonwoo had to remember what it was he even liked.

“Just an iced coffee,” he said, “and, uh… do you still have those scones with the raspberry and lemon filling?”

As the barista pressed something into the tablet screen, he shook his head. “Unfortunately they’re not made here anymore.”

“Oh, damn.”

“We do have a new strawberry scone, though, for summer. It’s got a confectionary sugar drizzle. It’s pretty popular.”

“Uh, don’t worry about it, I’ll just take the coffee.”

“No problem, man. Total is three ninety-nine.”

“Card, thanks.”

It might have been stupid, but Wonwoo couldn’t think about strawberries without thinking of you, because you always smelled like a sweet, ripe, and vibrantly red strawberry—it was the scent of your skin, which he so pathetically missed feeling warm and velvet against his. He bet one-hundred percent you would have ordered that scone.

After tapping his phone against the card reader, Wonwoo stepped aside and waited for his coffee. It was a Sunday. He had work tomorrow. There wasn’t much happening in his life.

“Iced coffee, right here.”

The barista slid the cardboard cup across the counter. Wonwoo grabbed it with a polite thank you, and then settled an inspecting glance around the café for a place to sit. He shouldn’t have come in the afternoon—it was always their busiest hours apart from early morning—and it seemed the redesign had promptly boosted their relevance, because Wonwoo couldn’t remember a time when the tables had ever been so filled. He stepped further into the seating area, though, someone familiar had just caught his eye.

Princess.

She was sat at a table close to some beautifully potted ferns and palm leaves, typing on a laptop while a plate with a half-finished sandwich and a plastic cup of matcha remained by her elbow. At the exact moment that Wonwoo saw her, Princess had also looked up, and as though by magic, their gazes caught without hesitation.

At first, Wonwoo panicked. The breath dropped out of his chest and he pondered waving to her, turning tail, and fleeing. There was not a single doubt in his mind that she was aware of the fight between you and him—she was your best friend—and Wonwoo knew from the manner in which her lips apprehensively curled into a numb smile that Princess already knew everything. Still, she waved at him.

Wonwoo gulped, waving back.

Maybe it was an indescribably stupid decision, but Wonwoo opted to swallow the fear and dread and anxiety in his throat. If she didn’t want him to sit with her, then he trusted that Princess would make such a boundary extremely clear—but Wonwoo had to try. He had to make some sort of initiative, some form of amends, and above all, he wanted to know about you, even if the answer hurt terribly.

“Uh, hey… how are you?”

Princess’ tattooed hands stilled on the keyboard. She flitted her round, deep brown eyes up at him, and he felt frustrated that he could extract little to nothing from their depths. Again, she smiled.

“I’m alright. Just working on some forms for work.”

Wonwoo nodded. “Do you, uh… do you care if I sit?”

She didn’t speak, but continued to stare at him with a lip worried between her teeth, and it was then Wonwoo could realize the conflict swimming through her gaze. The panic started to build again, and the regret surged into his stomach like a tsunami.

“Really, I don’t mean to make things awkward,” Wonwoo was urged to clarify, the cold cup feeling increasingly slippery in his clammy hand, “I can go. I don’t want to cause any problems."

“No, no—” Princess shook her head, meanwhile her tone remained strained and uncertain, “—it’s okay. Uh, yeah. Sure. Take a seat. I mean, it’s plenty full in here. I’m not that busy.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You can sit, Wonwoo.”

He exhaled softly, proceeding to pull out the chair. It felt quite nice sitting against a cushion rather than the hard metal he remembered.

Princess reached for her matcha, placing the straw between her lips and taking a long, heavy sip as though to prepare herself for the awkward nature of their incoming conversation. Wonwoo did the same. He didn’t even know where to start. Was it better to burn off his nerves through small talk or jump straight into the heat?

She moved the long braids off her shoulder, heaved in a breath.

“Well, let’s just get the bulk of this talk out of the way. I know what happened. I know you’re not friends with Her anymore. I know the way it ended was super ugly. I know that she spent, like, three days at my apartment, miserable, in tears over you, Wonwoo. So, I do feel a certain way toward you. I hope you can understand that.” She closed the lid of her laptop and sighed. “But, we’re adults. And I guess I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about… some things.”

“No, I—I get that.”

Already, he wanted to throw up. Despite all his repressing, he could still hear that choked, vulnerable, completely broken sob you croaked out the day you left his apartment—how mercilessly it had haunted him for the entire week—made him believe he was a monster, a masochist, the lowest form of human being. Wonwoo felt there was no excusing it. He would always hate himself for it.

“What are you curious about?” Wonwoo asked quietly.

Princess glanced down for a second, staring at the smooth, black surface of her laptop. She then clicked her nails together.

“I-I just… how could it… how could it go so wrong?” The girl wondered aloud, leaning back into her chair, seeming despaired at the aftermath. “From the second I saw her get defensive of you at Spring Street, I knew how much she cared. I knew that you meant something to her and for whatever reason, she wasn’t going to let anyone screw it up. And she became so much lighter. Everything wasn’t an attack. Everything she did wasn’t so agonizing anymore.”

Wonwoo’s knee wouldn’t stop bouncing underneath the table, the nervous energy accumulating rather than draining away. He wished he had the perfect answer, but he couldn’t yet find one.

Her head tilted, shoulders shrugging. “I don’t know… I thought you could be so good for Her. She doesn’t have anyone in her life that’s like you. But—I mean—fuck, we’re here, now, aren’t we?”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, staring straight into the girl’s shiny, unwavering eyes that held so much sentiments of angst and betrayal, like she herself was carrying your rage. “Princess… I… I want, so fucking bad, to give you a good answer for why everything blew up. I do. But—just—every time I try to look inward, every time I try to understand it at its core, I feel like it’s all shrouded. I know I fucked up. I know it. She made—makes—me happy, too. But I’m not there yet.”

“You’re not where?” She asked, pressing forward. “At a place where you can understand what you did? Why you did it?”

Fiddling with his cup atop its cork coaster, Wonwoo nodded.

He then chewed into his bottom lip, feeling the skin break.

“Can I ask… what did you think of me? When she told you what happened? If you have to be brutally uncouth, I don’t care.”

Princess abruptly laughed at the request, head tumbling forward into her gold-ringed hands. He wasn’t sure if she would oblige, as the laugh sounded nervous yet tinged with disbelief, which led Wonwoo to believe she had thought some very unpleasant things.

“Um… let’s see...” she chuckled hesitantly, smoothing antsy hands along her dark skin, “I was definitely gagged, let’s start there.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know—I just—I didn’t believe that you would be capable of being such a fucking asshole. I mean—” she collapsed back into the chair, throwing up her arms, “—can you blame me? You’re quiet, well-mannered, intelligent. Everyone loved you at the party. I think the fact you could turn around and be so… s-so cruel, so hostile, like you were—I don’t know—trying to gut her, just seemed impossible. But Her doesn’t lie. She has no reason to make it up. I wasn’t able to think much at all because I went comfort mode. I just wanted to focus on getting her mind off you.”

“And… afterward?”

“Well, I wanted to destroy you, obviously.”

“… Fair.”

“So, can I ask you something?”

Instantly, his stomach dropped to his feet, and Wonwoo was certain his face had paled like a washed-out t-shirt. Princess’ gaze settled upon him with intense focus. Wonwoo scratched at his thumb.

“Okay.”

“… Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer. Even if he wanted to, the words erased from his mind in a mere snap of one’s fingers. Instead, Wonwoo stared at the girl while she politely waited for a sign, knowing his very loud, lacking response was an answer enough in itself if his eyes weren’t already panicked and practically writing the narrative for him. To admit his true heart to another person was the most horrifying predicament Wonwoo could articulate. He was far from capable.

Princess raised her brow. “I’ll take that as a—”

“You can’t tell Her. Please, please, please, whatever you do, whatever you think of me—just, please don’t tell Her,” Wonwoo blurted, the perspiration drenching the palms that sunk into his knees. “I-I don’t know what I’ll do if she finds out. Really, I—”

“Wonwoo.” Princess reached under the table, and he felt her cool, soft hand settle overtop his. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone, okay? Just breathe. You look like you’re going to have—"

“Don’t say it,” he exhaled shakily, “I-I know…”

He proceeded to close his eyes, draw in a long, deep, thorough breath, while his knee continued jittering and his chest felt so tight and twisted with fear. He closed his eyes and recalled the washroom belonging to his aunt’s house in rural Changwon, with the bright blue shower curtain and its pattern of yellow rubber ducks.

Wonwoo counted all the rubber ducks on that childhood curtain, the number having been scorched into his mind like a scar, until he felt the world fall back into tune. The steadiness of Princess’ hand over top his was a gentle reminder that he was indeed alive and not a puddle of mistakes melted to the café floor. Pushing up the glasses that had slipped down his nose, he reopened his eyes to see the girl’s the sympathetic, earnest face. Wonwoo cleared his throat.

“Um, yeah—I’m okay… just—uh, th-thank you.”

She pulled her hand away, smiling, “no problem.”

The two proceeded to sit in silence as Wonwoo further collected his bearings. He glanced around the café, recognizing no one else amongst the crowd, and spotting more and more modifications that had appeared since his last visit—the light fixtures overhead were different, the decorative wall art had been replaced, and the baristas were all wearing hats with a new, improved logo. So much had developed in his absence. So much had to change.

He looked at his iced coffee, which he took a sip from, and realized that he didn’t prefer the taste quite like he used to.

Wonwoo sighed, pushing the drink away from him.

“Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I don’t deserve this. I know that me even asking this might seem so unprecedentedly stupid. Her probably doesn’t want you talking to me, which I get, and I know you feel conflicted about me being here… but… fuck… Princess, I have to know something about Her. Anything. I don’t care if it’s the smallest, most insignificant detail you could think of. Just one thing… that’s all.”

The delivery was undoubtedly begging, perhaps pathetic, but he could not find it within himself to care. He missed you too fucking much, to the point it was becoming insufferable, unliveable.

Folding one leg over the other, Princess leaned back and grabbed onto her matcha, spinning it slightly. She was no longer meeting his eyeline, and that drowned his hopes in a watery grave.

He settled his elbows onto the table, his finger gripping at the air with every pleading word that he could somehow conjure.

“I know you don’t want to; I-I know it. I know she fucking hates me, detests me, wishes we never met. But this is the most regretful I’ve ever been, a-about anything in my life. And—I know that I’m pushing you—I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry—if I can just know one thing, I’ll leave you alone. I-I mean, is she… did she get a new shirt, after that one ripped, on the hanger? Does she still go to the SSA meetings? Or—I don’t fucking know—is she writing? Is she doing something new? Have you seen her smile at all? Or heard her laugh? Genuinely laugh. The one where she can’t even breathe and she grips onto you and buries her head into your neck? Is she still just as quippy? Constantly rambling over herself? I miss that so much… I miss all of it… everything about her… there’s nothing I don’t miss.”

Princess was biting her lip, refusing to say a word.

Wonwoo hadn’t intended to barrage her. Nonetheless, he couldn’t leave the café without wholeheartedly trying.

“Fuck…” he exhaled, placing his forehead against the black wood of the table, breathing back the bitterness, the frustration, the tears. Princess was a boulder, it seemed. He’d lost, picking his head back up after a moment of composure, and pushed out his chair.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, her gaze heavy with sadness.

He nodded. “I just—I… yeah.”

“Okay… later.”

“Bye, Princess,” he answered, his throat irritably tight.

“… Well—o-okay, actually…”

As her voice picked up amongst the cluttering dishes and drawls of conversation, Wonwoo turned around to see the girl’s remorseful expression and the hands shoved tightly under her arms. Princess paused, staring at the coffee mug he’d abandoned at the table.

“… She needs you.”

Wonwoo stiffened, then nearly scoffed in disagreement.

“She hates me. What do you mean?”

But Princess shook her head, making a twisting motion at her lips like she was fastening the lock to a chest. It was her one thing.

And Wonwoo had no idea what to make of it.

It had been far too long since Wonwoo last texted, spoke to, or saw Vernon. When he left for an entire week to stay at his uncle’s cottage in the midst of July, he hadn’t even shot the boy a message that he was leaving. As cold or uncompassionate as it may have sounded, Wonwoo never really considered Vernon to be that important or necessary to his life until he sat back and thought about their relationship: a studious loner with an unperturbed drug dealer who somehow formed a bond that hadn’t predictably eroded.

Sure, it helped that Vernon became his plug and there was technically a reason for their symbiosis, but what Wonwoo hadn’t taken note of was their closeness over the months.

Perhaps it was guilt, or the sting of losing you and having experienced Princess treat him like an ugly secret, or the simplistic, innate need for human contact, that Wonwoo finally decided to reach out and invite the boy over for a smoke. Vernon agreed, though it wasn’t until the near cusp of midnight that he stopped by. Together they sat on the complex rooftop, two perfectly packed blunts between them, lit by their sparking lighters. The conversation drifted from topic to topic like a passive leaf being tugged through a breeze.

Wonwoo was able to realize how desperately he needed a moment like that—no guards, no anxiety, no hyper-analyzing every little goddamn comment or action—just friendship.

And Vernon made it easy.

“Not to mention the fact that Seokmin—he fuckin’ sucks at mini-puttin’ by the way. Jesus Christ, man. There was a twelve-year-old girl a hole behind us who was makin’ shots like Tiger Woods, and then here we are, waitin’ for Seokmin to make a shot that is damn near impossible to—like, okay—tell me why he’s got one leg on the fuckin’ rock and the other stretched halfway across the laneway like he's droppin’ into the splits? Why does it need t’be that hard!”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo half-laughed, half-coughed into his elbow, the smoke instantly rushing back out his mouth.

“Holy fuck. I wish I’d seen that in person.”

“No,” Vernon deadpanned, rolling up his sleeves, “you don’t. At that point, just pick up the ball and move it into the hole, man. That twelve-year-old’s got places to be and we’re over here climbin’ on rocks and crawlin’ under bridges like it’s a fuckin’ jungle gym.”

“I’m surprised they even let you in.”

“Oh—me too,” he chuckled. “Fuck someone once in the storage closet at glow-in-the-dark mini-put and suddenly you’re ‘a detriment to the company.’ Like, get the fuck outta my face.”

“You live, you learn.”

“Well, she’s still there. Somehow.”

“Ruby?”

“Yeah—just sold her like two-hundred bucks of ecstasy.”

Wonwoo threw his head back and cackled.

“You still talk to her?!”

“No, no—Ruby’s chill! Always came to work stoned half the time, though. Dude, no. It was the other girl that fuckin’ ratted on us.”

“Damn… so, is Ruby the one?” Wonwoo teased.

As Vernon removed the joint from his lips, a swift trail of smoke ejected into the nighttime air. He huffed in disagreement.

“Nah. She’s a good friend you can screw on the low. Know you guys won’t catch feelings. Makes it easy. That’s what I’m about.”

“Yeah. Simple enough.”

Scraping his thumb against the rough spark wheel of his favourite Bic, Wonwoo lit the small, dancing flame, bringing it close to his blunt and crisping the paper more heavily. He proceeded to draw in a long, smooth breath. The atmosphere was almost silent if not for the distant murmur of midnight traffic. Wonwoo watched the abundant smoke as it slowly streamed out his nose. It eventually dissipated against the blackness, existing just long enough for Wonwoo to appreciate that weightless sensation it gave him.

Vernon swept a hand through his hair, smiled at Wonwoo.

“Okay, so, feel free to tell me to fuck off—” the boy began with notable caution, taking a quick hit before removing the blunt from his lips “—but, uh, what exactly… did happen… between you and Her?”

For a moment, the vigilantly placed question hovered in the cool summer air as Wonwoo breathed out another cloud. However, he didn’t let the smoke disappear on its own, rather he blew into it harshly and forced the flurry to melt. One way or another, he knew this topic would surface. And Vernon was right—he completely had the right to tell his friend to fuck off—because no matter how much time had passed since, Wonwoo still felt the wound with all the freshness and intensity of that night. He remained stiff, thinking.

Sensing the reluctancy, Vernon abandoned his request.

“Y’know, it doesn’t matter. We’re havin’ fun, anyway.”

Wonwoo was going to agree—yeah, let’s skip it—but at the last second, he burned the reliable safety of his choice. The thing was, he hadn’t really discussed the fight with anybody. Sitting down and talking to Princess didn’t bestow the alleviation or closure that Wonwoo thought it would, especially considering her loyalty to you and the fact she hadn’t desired that conversation more than she desired a hole in the head. He was able to relieve some tension upon visiting his uncle’s, but, ultimately, Wonwoo was doing the exact thing you had accused him of—letting things sit and fester.

Shutting everyone out.

Poisoning himself, and those around him.

After tugging at the edge of his thick beanie, Wonwoo rubbed a knuckle against his forehead and decided to bite the bullet.

“Uh, no—all good. You’re curious, I get it.”

Vernon’s eyes widened underneath the moonlight and the warm, glowing radiance that crept over the building precipice. He nearly choked on the smoke.

“Wait—dude. Really?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo angled his face toward him, nodding.

“Okay, uh… wow. Wasn’t expectin’ to get this far.”

“Need a moment to catch your breath, yeah?”

“Psh—shut the fuck up, Glasses… actually—no, yeah. Let me take a hit first. I feel like this is gonna be a deep-dish pizza, y’know?”

“Somewhat, I suppose,” Wonwoo agreed.

He copied his friend, crisping the blunt one last time before pressing his lips around the paper and drawing in a big breath.

Right before the prickling could desiccate his throat, Wonwoo exhaled everything into the abrupt breeze—not just the smoke, but his fears, his worries—whatever might stunt or thwart him from understanding that it wasn’t so terrifying to be candour.

Vernon shook out his shoulders.

“Okay, player. You’ve got my attention.”

Wonwoo swallowed.

How the fuck does one go about saying this?

“So, uh…”

Where does he even start?

“I guess the important part is…”

What’s going to happen if he chokes on all his words?

“Okay, so, we basically… um…”

Wonwoo, you have spent practically your entire life writing and crafting sentences and the most adolescent, tormented prose imaginable—how is it that you cannot configure one thought?

“I’m… I’m kind of in love with her.”

He thought about glancing at Vernon to gauge his reaction, especially when his friend didn’t offer one word in response, not even a pointed hmph, or a sniffle, or something satirical to suggest that all his teasing had some actual truth and substance.

But Wonwoo didn’t look.

Vernon was giving him the floor to keep going.

“And… that night, at the party, we had this really sincere moment… I mean, maybe it wasn’t that sincere—she’d just done a line of coke and had been sipping alcohol and smoking all night. But that’s how it felt when it was happening. After the bullshit with Bells, I took her to a spare bedroom to calm down. She asked me to lay with her.”

Wonwoo paused to collect his breathing. Even just the memory of your body pressed against his was enough to rake up those buried emotions from his insides like old, autumn leaves. The memories of your heat, and the giggling into his neck, and the way your fingers would occasionally trace shapes on his chest as you listened to him talk—nothing had ever felt so cosmically right.

“Um… yeah. I don’t know why I agreed. I didn’t care about if it was wrong or right. If Mingyu came barging in, or someone else, or—fuck, if the goddamn roof caved in—I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with her so fucking bad. We didn’t kiss or anything. We just laid there together, like, intertwined, you know? I told her some stuff. We were just talking… I think, in my mind, I just wanted to have this moment where I was something to her, more than a friend. And I just—I put this stupid fucking notion in my head that it was true.”

Eyes squeezed shut, blunt poised between his fingers, Wonwoo rode the high of another hit, ignoring the deep, sensitive pain cutting his bone marrow. He kept excavating despite the hurt.

“But—I-I mean, a girl like that?” He laughed, head bending down between his propped knees. “A girl like that, you know? She is so—sh-she’s—I shouldn’t want her at all. I should want nothing to do with her. But—I don’t know—she has drive, and things she’s passionate about, and she can be so unrelenting and fucking bossy, but then so soft, and calm, and I just get drawn into her like a moth to a flame. I think everything’s okay, you know? I don’t get that… that dread—that feeling like I’m constantly failing, and useless, and like everything is out to get me.”

Wonwoo hadn’t glanced at Vernon once. He didn’t want to.

That way, it felt like he was alone, talking to himself, maybe talking to the moon. It erased the veil of pressure and eased his typically constrained, rigid muscles. Feeling his glasses begin to slip, Wonwoo lifted his head, pushing the circled frames back up his nose.

“I don’t know why it’s like that. I don’t know why it’s her, specifically. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t. She has Mingyu to love. And it just—it fucking frustrates me so much—" Wonwoo breathed out the irritation, licking his lips, “—because we’re having this sweet moment, and it’s so perfect, and right. But then all of a sudden, he’s just—he—she's letting him fuck her. Like that moment we had was nothing, like I didn’t just be the most open I’ve ever been with her. And—I know, I know—she’s high as fuck and not thinking straight. So, what do I chalk us up to, then? A bad trip? A blur in time? A moment you live once and then just forget? What the fuck do I make of that?”

Something crackled inside him, akin to match being lit, palpable enough that it motivated the boy to his feet because this cramped, knees-to-chest position wouldn’t suffice in channeling the energy he felt. Wonwoo moved the blunt to his lips, attempting to speak while it hung at the corner of his mouth, though he only left it there for a few seconds in his urgence for another hit. He started pacing.

“That was such a dogshit moment, you know? Going down there, wanting it to be a lie, almost believing it, but then—I hear it. I-I hear the way she’s getting fucked and I hear her moans and her whimpers and I hear the way he’s using her.” Wonwoo kicked a stone off the edge of the building, one hand shoved into his sweats pocket while the other fed him a brief inhalation from the blunt. “I’ve never felt that before. Awful. Like, indescribable devastation. I ran to the washroom to throw up because my body just couldn’t handle it. It felt like such a kick in the fucking teeth. And I was mad at her—like, fuck you for throwing back all that trust into my face, you know?”

He shook his head, then balancing at the rim of the complex like a fall from that height wouldn’t leave him broken.

“I was so fucking pissed at her…” Wonwoo muttered, staring down at the shadowed streets, “every time I thought about it, I just felt sick… but, obviously, we have to hash it out. That’s why she jumped you, or whatever—I wasn’t texting her back because I knew nothing good would come from it. Like I said, though… she’s unrelenting. Shows up at my door, banging on it like there’s a murderer outside. I was in a terrible headspace. I… I kind of…”

The words jammed on his tongue.

Wonwoo had to walk away from the ledge as a foggy sensation muddled his senses. Hands, beginning to tremble, pulled in torment down the back of his black beanie, the blunt caught between his fingers as he remembered the inexcusable maliciousness to his ranting. It echoed through his head like a gong.

He squatted down, rubbing at his wrinkled, aching brow.

“I… I basically—j-just—I tore her to fucking shreds.”

There was so much emotion clogging his throat. Every word was a struggle to enunciate, and each one burned and stung more tangibly than the last, as though he’d swallowed knives.

“It didn’t even feel good, you know? It wasn’t cathartic, or victorious. I felt like… do I even deserve anything? She went into the hall and… that sob. Oh my god… bawling her eyes out because of my stupidity. Because of my inability to be a fucking person as she mentioned.”

Wonwoo stared at the grit covering the roof.

He reached out his hand, letting the small bits of rubble stick to his fingertips, thinking, about everything, how he destroyed it. You were just a panicked river, trying to heal and soothe, but the message was lost under the current. Wonwoo had been a scalding fire, one that charred everything the instant it touched his vengeful heat.

There were only ashes. He didn’t know how to rebuild a relationship from something so fragile and ruined at his beckon.

The frustration was boiling in Wonwoo’s gut. All his shortcomings, the ignorance to the flaws he buried, how he treated you—it was all bubbling together like some sort of poisonous, infectious brew and if he didn’t somehow release pressure then he would crack like ceramics. Wonwoo maneuvered the thick blunt from his fingers into his palm where he crushed it, hard.

“Uh, Wonwoo? It’s… it’s okay, man. You—”

“Fuck!”

The tattered piece of crisped tobacco paper and grinded weed flew into the air, the breeze pulling the remnants somewhere unimportant. Vernon immediately smothered his words. He could only stare, frozen, as Wonwoo tore off his glasses, rubbing a sweater sleeve against the beginning pricks of tears that bulbed up from his eyes. He sucked in a long, shuddering, ragged breath.

“I fucking hate this, Vernon. I-I’m everything she said I was. I do it to myself. I always do it to myself. I want to change so badly but it never feels like it’s happening fast enough, a-an-and—and—and—”

“Glasses, relax, okay?”

Vernon was on his feet in an instant, quickly brushing his hands off against the fabric of his jeans, the blunt now tucked behind his ear. Wonwoo continued rubbing into his eyes. His friend’s face appearing before him was nothing but watery smudging, almost like a ruined oil painting. Wonwoo hiccupped.

“No—Vernon—y-you don’t understand, you—I-I fucked up, alright? I fucked up so bad! I—” he could hardly breathe, his glasses dropped somewhere on the roof, “—I just wrecked everything and—”

“Wonwoo! Jeon Wonwoo!” Vernon gripped his shoulders and shook them sternly. “Shut up! You’re takin’ all the fuckin’ air!”

The abruptness snapped a wire in Wonwoo’s brain. It was so unexpected that he almost wasn’t sure if it happened. However, his torrent of seemingly endless anxious thought began to falter, with a very slow but gradual concentration toward the softness rosying his friend’s blurred face. Vernon rubbed against Wonwoo’s trembling arm, and with a gentle tug, urged him to sit down.

“C’mon, get on your ass… there ‘ya go. Awesome. Now… where’s your—oh, shit—they’re right here. Lucky you, huh?”

Vernon crouched down in front of him.

As Wonwoo busied himself with carving those scratches against his thumb, Vernon extended a hand to his friend’s cheek.

“Let me rid get of these tears… so you… can actually… see…”

With a grunt, Vernon fell back onto his butt.

“Let’s put these on, yeah? Are you okay with that?”

Vernon seemed to accept the quietness as him not quite being ready, and so the boy settled for resting a tattooed hand on Wonwoo’s knee, familiarizing him with a grounding touch. In due time, Wonwoo was relaxed enough to properly swallow.

Vernon smiled at him.

“So, does Glasses need his glasses now?”

Wonwoo sniffled, imitating a rumbling sound to clear his brittle throat, meanwhile there was a breeze ghosting along his exposed nape. It was just as comforting as Vernon’s touch.

“Y-Yes… thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. I’m just glad they didn’t get crushed.”

When his friend’s calm face clarified in the silver moonlight, with his unjudgmental eyes, and his compassionate smile, Wonwoo began to realize that… perhaps, being trusting and vulnerable and honest was not the worst thing in the world. There was merit and relief. There was a friend waiting on the other side with an open hand.

“Vernon… I, um… I’m—”

“Listen, Glasses. If you’re gonna apologize to me, then shove it right back up your ass. Seriously. There’s no need.”

“Well, I mean…” Wonwoo wiped his runny nose, “I kind of unloaded on you, and, I didn’t intend for that. I really didn’t.”

“I asked you a loaded question in the first place, didn’t I? I ordered a deep-dish pizza and that’s what I fuckin’ got.”

“Well… I-I… I’m glad you can look at it that way.”

“God, Wonwoo. You’re actin’ like this was a total blindside. I know you, y’know? Maybe not to a tee, but I know you.” Vernon kept his hand against Wonwoo’s knee, dusting some grit from it. “And I know you’re gonna feel regretful about all this, but you shouldn’t, alright? ‘Cause, look—you did somethin’ that most people—they go their entire lives without doin’. You dug deep and acknowledged your flaws. And not just the pansy shit, like—oh, I’m bad at time management, I forget to put the dishes away, I don’t fill up the ice cube tray, I never reply to texts—I mean the real stuff.

The really dark, uncomfortable stuff that we know is there but it’s so much easier to ignore. The stuff that gets in the way of our happiness, or success, or connections—bein’ the sin-sincerest versions of ourselves—it’s so much easier to pack all that bad stuff down. It’s there but at least it’s not out here. But then, like, maybe one day it is out here. And it’s hurtin’ everything around you. And some people will still let it slide because there’s always somethin’ else to blame. What is that bullshit—acceptance is always the hardest part? I don’t fuckin’ know. Anyway, you should give yourself some credit, Glasses. Seriously. I’m proud.”

“Proud?” Wonwoo chuckled weakly, returning the warmth of his friend’s honeyed eyes. “That's such a mom thing to say.”

Vernon’s hand shifted to whacking Wonwoo’s arm. “Don't get smart.”

“No, uh—I’m joking. Thank you, Vernon… really.”

“Hey, I know I’m your drug dealer, but I consider us friends, y’know? And not every friend’s gotta be your support beam. But I think you’re someone worth supportin’… hey—that sounded pretty smart and eloquent, right? I’m basically you, now.”

Wonwoo smiled. “You're missing the glasses.”

“I’ll just take yours,” Vernon chided, giving his friend’s chest a light push, “what’re you gonna do, anyway? Four-eyes.”

“I think if you wore these for more than five minutes… you’d get a migraine,” Wonwoo supposed, watching Vernon nod his head.

“Damn. You’re probably right. Not worth it.”

“Mmhm…”

“… But, um… y’know what I do think is worth it?”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

Vernon paused, as though to contemplate his response, but when the words left his mouth, there was pure firmness behind them.

“Man, you need to talk to Her.”

Pressing his lips together, Wonwoo stared off into the corner.

Vernon nudged his arm, attempting to engage him.

“I’m serious! You know she’s perfect for you, right? A bossy girl who’s about her shit but can soften up for you is exactly what you need. Girls like that—they care so fuckin’ much, y’know? And she’s majorly into you. I saw how she hugged you at the party. How she got all smiley and sweet. I mean, she was gonna punch Bells in the fuckin’ face to stop her from makin’ a move on you. She’s got a man, I know. And I’m not sayin’ be a fuckin’ homewrecker. But, like, I don’t know… Mingyu’s all image and no substance. A fuckin’ airhead.”

Wonwoo massaged along his forehead, chuckling.

“I thought you liked him.”

“Yeah, well, I liked him a lot more when he was handin’ me two-hundred ‘a Seungcheol’s bands. I know he just invited me to that party ‘cause I can get him n’ his rich friends high. I’m not stupid. Keep your enemies close, and your friends—wait, fuck—keep your—”

“Friends close and enemies closer?”

Vernon grinned, wide and gummy. “Bingo.”

“Good advice.”

“You’re insane if you don’t do it.”

“If I don’t talk to Her?”

“Yes! Don’t let her go! Are you crazy, Glasses?!”

“What am I supposed to say? I-I was such a cunt.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man—offer to lick hers. Bet she’ll forgive you right there on the spot. Damn. That’s how I’d do it.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Idiot.”

“Eh, whatever. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Wonwoo exhaled a large, solacing breath, glancing toward the moonlight that beautifully shimmered down in its pearlescent webs, bathing the rooftop akin to the blue mirages at the nature museum.

Vernon was right.

He couldn’t let this be the end of your story.

—END OF PART FOUR.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #svt fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut

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kitasuno · 5 months ago

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( ᐢ..ᐢ )⋆.ೃ࿔*･ thank u guys for all the love on my writing recently <3 there is nothing i love more than reading ur comments and reblogs !! tysm !!!!!!

anonymous asks are now open too. i swear i had them on but i just figured out my inbox today!

i thought i would share some brain rot i still have from my last suna fic, to be loved is to be known:

in the fic, suna was so surprised when you mentioned that atsumu gave you the courage to confess to kita because… atsumu was his #1 wingman!!!!

he’s definitely not stupid, and also very aware of reading people (or maybe just reading you) but all his common sense flies out the window when u mention liking kita

but when u bring up atsumu… the little suna brain-cells in his head REVIVE. fucking EXPLODE and his cogs start to turn.. and he’s like… wait a minute….

i mentioned that suna smells like blackberries and i was specifically thinking about the blackberry and bay cologne from jo malone! here are the notes from the official website:

Childhood memories of blackberry picking...A burst of deep, tart blackberry juice, blending with the freshness of just-gathered bay and brambly woods. Vibrant and verdant

(it smells so good btw. trust. trust me. suna smells delicious. i swear)

suna doesn’t mind little spooning

mobile gaming degenerate. twitter degenerate. likes wearing slides out and oversized zip up hoodies, he finds regular hoodies kind of annoying

suna reminds me of the song, fukakoryoku by vaundy

still uses wired apple headphones 4 the aesthetic

yes the family mart that suna and you frequent is in the middle ground to ur houses… yes he likes famichiki… no he doesn’t like the sausages but you’re obsessed with them so he says he loves them

idk if u guys know but family mart on twitter has these giveaways where if you retweet their post you have the chance to win a coupon or a free snack/food. and they choose like 10,000 people for winners! so when family mart drops a chance to win free sausages… suna makes.. 100 twitter accounts… to join the giveaway…. (yes this means 100 emails) (yes he is crazy) (yes he is free)

and yes ur on his private twitter. and suna private tweets about YOU on his PRIV bcuz he’s a LITTLE SHIT. so when u check ur phone after he confesses to U and u had lied and said u liked kita he does the whole Going Dark thing on twitter. tweets shit like this and thinks it’s so funny:

thank u guys again for indulging in my writing<3

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amirasainz · 7 months ago

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okay okay i love the jealous alexandra!! but what about a continuation where it’s bff kika and amira vs alexandra and miss kika throws some hands!! maybe they were out on a girls day like they have kika and amira days and alexandra was there with her bff an iv and they got to shit talking and kika threw some punches, and amira was yelling in spanish like two very jumpy bffs, and pierre and charles are very much like it’d be painful if we hurt them, cause they may just kill us!! love the better girlfriend fic! this series is so so fun ❤️❤️ ( oml and kelly being very proud of her 2 younger wags when she find out )

I'm so sorry but at the end I had to laugh so bad. Please be aware that this is just a fic and not hate towards any persons mentioned.

I hope you enjoy reading and send me some requests.

-XoXo

The better girlfriend (Part 2)

Amira and Kika, inseparable as ever, embarked on another girls’ day in Monaco. Their bond was more than friendship—it was sisterhood. Kika played the role of confidante, makeup lender, and partner-in-crime during hungover mornings. Sweet “girl-dates” were their specialty, and Kika’s shoulder was always there for Amira to lean on.

But Kika wasn’t just a soft touch. Like any true best friend, she’d throw a punch or two if needed to defend Amira. Loyalty ran deep between them.

On this particular day, they indulged in a four-hour shopping spree, treating themselves to manicures and a relaxing spa session. To cap it off, they settled into a cozy restaurant for lunch, sipping delicious mimosas.

Seated at the back, they paid little attention to the other patrons—until a familiar voice reached their ears. It was one of those moments when fate intervened, weaving their lives together with unexpected threads.

"I honestly don't know what he sees in her." the annoying voice of Alex reached their ears. Amira and Kika shared a look, both of their faces looking unimpressed. "Yeah" was the weak reply from Alexandras best friend, Sarah. To be honest, Sarah wasn't Alex biggest fan at the moment. The whole stunt she did with kissing a man that was not her boyfriend wasn't ok. But going to said ex-boyfriends job and offend his new girlfriend publicly was just borderline crazy. In her opinion Amira is a sweet girl and a good girlfriend to Charles. No wonder that they are Sarah's favourite celebrity couple, but don't tell Alex.

"You should have seen her, she stood there like an idiot. She dresses like a whore. Hell, I bet she even behaves like one" Alexandra continued. "And of course little perfect Amira Sainz had to play the angel again and tell the media that she didn't take my words to heart. Does this bitch even know who I am? My word is law." For gods sake why couldn't she stop talking, thought Sarah.

Meanwhile, Kika and Amira listend to the one-sided conversation. Both girls started getting angrier the more they heard. While Amiras rage was the "I can destroy your life with one sentence" rage, Kika's blood was boiling. "Who does this stupid bitch think she is" muttered Kika.

But when Alexandra confessed she started the internet rumor of Amira having an eating disorder, all rational thoughts left her head. During those horrible rumours, Amira started really struggling. Anti-Ferrari fans and Anti-Charles fans took the presented possibility to write her online hate. Besides, starting rumours about serious topics like that is never alright, no matter who it is about. It was a very dark time for Amira.

Before Amira could even comprehend what was happening, Kika stood up and went to the neighbour table. "Hey, girlie" she said to Alex sweetly, before taking her hair and dragging her out of the chair. Alex screeched like an wounded animal, which gained the attention of the other guest and staff. One young waitress recognised the girls and started filming.

Kika pushed her to the floor and started ripping of her fake nails. "Who the fuck do you think you are talking about my best friend like that?" Alex and Kika started ringing on the floor. Obviously Kika had the upper hand. Amira, who was still angry, decided to encourage her besties behaviour. "Vamos, Kika. Acaba con esta estúpida zorra." she yelled. Kika shot her a little smile while Alex looked at her in horror. "Eso es, zorra. Toma tu puta opinión y a ver a quién le importa. " Amira said straight to her face, raising an eyebrow.

Kika slapped her one last time across the face, stood up and said loudly: "Can we get our sandwiches to-go, please?" Amira and Kika turned to the filming waitress who answered excitedly: "Girls, it's on the house for you." After paying their mimosas and taking their food, the two left.

Inside the car, Amira hugged Kika tight. "Thank you" she whispered tearfully. Kika didn't say anything back, just hugged her tighter. What the two girl's weren't aware of, was, that at this exact moment, their little video fight went viral. And boy, did the fans stand on Kikas and Amiras side.

Bonus (+):

Max and Kelly stood in front of the girls, the video on in the background. They knew Charles and Pierre wouldn't say anything against their behaviour, so they took it upon themselves to be that bad cops.

"I am very disappointed in you two. Instead of talking it out like an adult, you hit her, Kika. And you shouldn't have encouraged her, Amira. As a punishment you both are not allowed to have any girl-days for two weeks." explained Max tiredly. Instead of arguing, both girls silently nodded their heads.

After a moment of silence Max spoke again: "Kelly, don't you want to say anything as well?" "….Bad girls." was her only reply. While Max held his head in his hands, Kelly shot the two of them a secret wink.

#formula 1 #baby!sainz!sister #charles leclerc x reader #pierre gasly x kika gomez x reader #kika gomez x reader #no hate #max verstappen x kelly piquet x reader

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pynkgothicka · 9 months ago

Note

Hey!

I love ur blog and ur writing they

Soo good can I request a yandere husband taehyung x reader where it's the typical wife worship husband kind lf thing also can u pls make him really dark too with a non-con

Sorry if it's too much

Love ya

ＭｉｌｌｉｏｎＤｏｌｌａｒＭａｎＫＴＨ

Pairing - Dark! Husband! Kim Taehyung x AFAB! Reader

Featuring - None!

Word Count - Around 1.8k

Tags and Warnings - Domestic Violence, Non-Con, Breeding Kink, Mentions of blood, forest sex scene, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Allusions to kidnapping

Authors Note - Late Valetines Day story! This is my last req!! Sooo some more personal inspiered stuff coming soon! Also please let me know if you guys like the longer more descriptive fics.

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! These depictions don't pertain to reality. This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

He was your world, your everything.

Or at least that’s what he told you.

Soon, you found yourself having to repeat these thoughts, constantly reminding yourself of them, almost blinding yourself to the harsh reality of just how miserable you had become.

You cut potatoes, sprinkling herbal seasoning on top. You put them in a pan and cover them with virgin olive oil. Placing the pan in the oven, you set a timer.

The beep reminded you of the constant threats and warnings he provided. He required dinner to be prepared by the time he returned home from work every day. Especially today, Valentine's Day. The day you are supposed to be the most appreciative of what Kim Taehyung has given you.

During your cleanup, you suddenly felt a pair of hands encircle your waist, and a broad nose press against your neck. You instinctively leaned into the touch, fully aware of who it was. "Hello, my love," he murmured, his warm breath gently caressing your neck.

"Hello, how was your day at work?" You inquire, speaking softly with a touch of sweetness. He grunted, wrapping his arms around your waist tighter. "Did you have a tough day?”

Taehyung uttered dismissively, "They were just bothering me, honestly. All I wanted was to be back home with you." He says, planting a kiss on your neck once more. You could feel his cock harden against the curve of your back. You shivered noticeably. His black hair brushed against your neck. "Are you cold baby?”

You glance downwards and shake your head. "No... Your hair just tickled me a little bit.”

Taehyung nodded to himself as he responded, "I brought you some beautiful roses and your favorite chocolates." He lamented slightly, his hips pressing against your back. You stayed quiet. "What do you say?”

“Thank you… I-I’m making dinner… I’m sorry I couldn't get you anything more.” You apologized. But you both knew the reason why.

You had no access to your funds.

No access to a vehicle to leave.

No knowledge of where you lived.

Not even the luxury of owning a phone or the login to any of the house's computers.

Yet Taehyung cooed. “It's okay, I know you love me. I don't need all that stuff.”

Shit. Not even light gaslighting could make him feel sorry and give you more privileges. You nod in agreement as he speaks. “I’m going to get cleaned up for dinner. Don’t wait on cleaning, you know I hate having a dirty kitchen.” Taehyung walks away, gesturing towards the mess on the kitchen counter.

“It’ll get cleaned. I promise.”

💲

After dinner, you prepared to go to bed. You'd expected Taehyung to be asleep by now, but he was up. Book in hand he lay in bed, his nightwear glasses making him look as sophisticated as ever. You gulped, walking towards the bed and crawling in. Crawling into bed next to him, you asked, “Aren't you sleepy yet?”

“No, I can't calm my mind," he stated abruptly. You could tell he was upset at something. It was something you had to pick up on, being with him. He was too emotional, his mood swings frightening you at times. “Where is my laptop?”

Of course that's what it was.

Desperation drove you to try and access Taehyung's laptop. He had left it unattended and you saw it as a chance to try and discover your location. The day you married Taehyung, he had swept you off your feet and whisked you away to an unknown place, leaving you with no knowledge of where you were or how to escape.

The house was nestled in a dense forest, surrounded by trees as far as the eye could see. Sometimes, you would gaze out the window, searching for signs of life in the distance. But all you ever saw was the endless expanse of darkness, an eerie stillness that only made you fear Taehyung more.

The computer taunts you with every failed login attempt, each one feeling like a slap in the face. Frustration and desperation build as you frantically try every password you can think of until finally, with a loud beep, the screen displays "Access Denied." Fury bubbles up inside of you as you realize you've been locked out. Trembling with anger, you snatch the computer and hide it away, unable to face another rejection from this merciless machine.

The silence between you two is deafening.

He flips a page in the book he was reading, seemingly calm but you know better. You can feel his eyes boring into you

"Why are you so quiet?" he questioned, flipping a page in his book. "I know you did something - you turned off the cameras. I received a notification on my phone.”

Quietly, you mustered up the courage to reply. “I-I wanted to…”

"What did you want? To abandon me? On Valentine's Day? After everything I've done for you? After everything I've sacrificed for you?" Taehyung bombarded you with questions, and you couldn't make sense of them. He slammed his book shut and got right in your face. His hands aggressively pulled at the bottom of your nightgown, as if trying to search you for something. You let out a gasp and fought back by kicking at him.

Then you got him. Your foot connecting with his face.

Taehyung jerked back, sitting up abruptly. A metallic taste floods his mouth as he runs his tongue over his now split and bleeding upper lip. “Won't you look at that…”

“T-Tae… I-I’m sorry. Please, I didn't mean it. I-I can pa-�� But before you could finish, his hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your words and squeezing tightly. The impact of your head hitting the wooden headboard sends a jolt of pain through your skull, but it's nothing compared to the fear that grips you as one of his hands grips your throat, his face twisted in a violent rage. Taehyung's grip tightened as he knelt over you, both hands now grasping at your neck.

“What was that for huh? I thought I broke you in… but obviously I didn't do a good enough job huh?” With each point he wanted to get across, he lifted your head and slammed it into the bed. You tried to fight him off, desperately scratching at his arm with your anxiously bitten nails. With each brutal blow, your vision became spotty and distorted until you spotted the vase of roses nearby. The ones he had just brought for you. Without hesitation, you grabbed it and brought it down upon his skull, shattering the delicate glass and sending shards and water flying.

You had only a few seconds to get away.

Your feet thudded against the soft carpet as you sprinted out of the bedroom. Gasping for air, you knew there was no time to stop and catch your breath. Every second counted as you tried to make up for what had been lost.

Racing to the living room, you shoved your feet into house slippers and tore out of the door, darting into the dense woods that surrounded the home. Branches whipped and sliced at you, as you climbed over fallen debris. The idea of stopping flashed through your mind, but you knew you had to follow through.

Trying to see through the minimal amount of light was nearly impossible. The darkness consumed the woods, with only the moon's glow and the trees creating harsh shapes on the forest floor. "Baby! Where did you go? I'm sorry!”

His voice. It was too close, sending a chill down your spine. You quickly ducked behind a towering tree, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to steady your ragged breaths. One hand clamped over your mouth to stifle any noise, the other clenched into a tight fist. "Fuck," Taehyung's voice taunts, followed by the sound of his footsteps approaching. "You got me good, but don't worry. But I can be better okay? We can drop this entire thing and go back to bed…” Taehyung's voice was next to you.

But you aren't falling for that. He wanted you to feel bad. Taehyung's predatory steps echo behind you, coming closer and closer until a vice-like grip seizes your hair, yanking you down to the ground. “I thought we talked about this? This running away shit,” he spat.

"Tae, please, let's just go home... I'm sorry! I promise I won't run again, just please-" Your pleas fall on deaf ears as Taehyung circles around you, his imposing figure casting a looming shadow, pinning you to the dirt and making you feel utterly helpless, the dirt making you feel grimy. You could hear him pull down his pajama pants and you began to cry out. As you struggle to break free, Taehyung's grip tightens and he slams your shoulder back into the ground with a sickening thud. Tears stream down your face as you realize there is no escape from this nightmare.

His hand went to his mouth as he sucked on his middle and index finger. With his other hand, he roughly yanked up your gown until it tore at the seams. You screamed and cried, squeezing your eyes shut in desperate prayer, hoping against hope that this was all just a twisted nightmare inflicted by cruel and malevolent gods.

A shrill cry escapes your lips as your husband rips off your panties and plunges his fingers inside you. They skillfully find your sweet spot, causing you to moan in pleasure. “Already creaming around my fingers, fuck, that's so sexy,” he growls, a mix of desire and dominance in his voice. His head lowers to kiss you messily, leaving a trail of spit on your frightened face. His tongue invades your mouth, despite your attempts to protest.

With the sudden absence of his fingers came the sudden intrusion of his length.

The force of Taehyung's thrusts feels like a battering ram, relentlessly pummeling into you until your body is split in two. Your gasps turn into desperate cries of shock and agony as he continues to ravage you, his lips locked onto yours in a twisted display of affection.

It all left you gasping for air.

Your screams of agony were muffled by Taehyung's unrelenting kisses as he pounded into you mercilessly. You claw and beg for him to stop, tears mingling with the dirt beneath you as he continues to take what he wants from your menatlly broken body.

He persisted, driven by his ultimate goal to finish inside you. His desire was to take control of you, impregnate you with his child.

As you rolled your eyes back in pure ecstasy, Taehyung's cock became coated in slick, sticky cum. The sight only heightened his own arousal and soon he was filling you to the brim with his hot release. Taehyung had a dazed yet blissful look on his face as he gazed at you.

“Don’t turn off those cameras again.”

Let me know through a dm or ask to be included in my official Taglist- @darkuni63 @captainengineer-trixie @chimmisbae @iloverubberduckiez-blog @mageprincess7 @looneybleus @whipwhoops @mayvalentine33

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merlucide · 9 months ago

Text

reader gets hit on

Notes: holy shit i didn’t know I had this in me- I read this, and then they were like “you should write sum using this” and I was like “Hell the fuck yah” soooooo! 2 friend read throughs later, I present to you this fic attempt!!!(also had no idea what to call this lmao)

Words: 1k

Warnings: reader is fem(can be read as gn or masc), harassment, alcohol mentions.

"You don't have to protect me. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't protect myself."

"I'm not protecting you because you're a woman. I'm protecting you because you're my woman." - @leosxrealm

Excitement buzzed through you at the thought of the upcoming party, a chance to mingle and have fun. You found Shouei, hoping you could convince him to come with you. "There's a party tonight at Fukiwara-kun’s. It's going to be really fun. I’m gonna go, you’ll come too?" you asked, a hopeful smile on your lips.

Barou's reaction was immediate, his brow furrowing. "No, and you shouldn't go" he replied, his voice full of disapproval.

"Why not? It's just a party, it’ll be fun!”you protested.

“Parties like that are just trouble waiting to happen. You know how those scrubs are, especially with drinks involved. It’s not safe. End of discussion.”he argued, his annoyance evident.

Frustrated by his lack of trust, you retorted, "I can take care of myself, you know. I have fine judgment of who to avoid. " Without waiting for his reply, you turned and left, determined to enjoy your night despite his warnings.

At the party, the house was alive with music and laughter. Your friends wave you over, and you chat with them for a while. You left to go refill your cup of punch, when a guy, clearly having enjoyed one drink too many, slid up to you. "Hey, gorgeous, haven't seen you around before. Wanna dance?" he slurred, his intentions as clear as the alcohol on his breath.

“Ah no thank you.” You politely decline, he inches closer to you “Ah come on- don’t be like that. Let’s- let’s have some fun yeah? That’d be fun” he pressed, now grabbing onto your arms. your attempts to politely decline proving useless. The fun and freedom of the party suddenly replaced by an urgent desire for space and safety. Before you could respond, a shadow falls over you both, the music and laughter fading into the background as Barou Shouei steps into the scene. His arrival is like a storm, immediate and threatening. his demeanor is overwhelming, his eyes, dark with anger, his jaw ticked as he glares down at the man holding you.

“Let her go,” Barou commands, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the noise of the party. His stance protective and threatening. The guy, sensing the seriousness of the situation and perhaps noticing the danger in Barou’s unwavering gaze, releases your arm, stepping back lowering his head and raises his hands up in defense.

“You’re leaving,” he tells you, not a suggestion but a command. He firmly grabs your arm, dragging you through the crowd of people.

The street outside the house is pretty empty, a few streetlights shine down, making the sidewalk glow a little in the darkness. Now and then, you might hear a car in the distance, but that’s pretty much it.

��Shouei, you didn’t have to drag me out. I could’ve handled it,” you say, your voice a mix of gratitude and frustration. You’re aware of his need to protect, but you were frustrated that he came, not trusting you to take care of yourself. Though, you really were glad he did, that guy scared you. The mixture of emotions swirling in your gut, and the adrenaline from the previous scene didn’t help.

"I told you, it's not safe. I knew something like that would happen.” he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

You sighed, knowing he was pretty much right. It really pissed you off that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself. "You don't have to protect me. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't protect myself," you fired back, your frustration peaking.

Barou's expression softened slightly, his next words careful. "I'm not protecting you because you're a woman. I'm protecting you because you're my woman." he admitted firmly, his voice carrying a weight that made you pause.

you can’t help but feel a warmth spread through you. His honesty and the raw concern in his voice, showing a side of him that’s vulnerable and sincere. It’s a reminder of why you care for him so much, his willingness to stand by you, even when his instincts lead him to overstep.

Despite the comfort his words bring, a part of you insists on showing your need for independence. “Shouei, hearing you say that means a lot to me, it really does. And I feel safe knowing you’re here,” you begin, your voice soft but firm, “But I also need you to understand that I can take care of myself. I value my freedom”

You pause, looking for the right words to show your feelings of appreciation and your need for freedom. “It’s about trust, trusting me to handle situations on my own and knowing when to step in. I need that space, to feel free.” You fiddle your fingers.

Barou listens, the usual intensity in his eyes softening as he thinks about what you said. After a moment, he nods, a silent acknowledgment of your needs. “I get it” he says, and though the words are simple, it’s telling you that he will try.

everything feels okay again between you and Barou. You look at him and see how much he really cares. The night air around you feels calm now.

You move closer to Barou and hug him. He hugs you back, tucking his head in your neck. Barou then gently lifts your chin and gives you a soft kiss. It's a sweet way to make up, showing you both are okay now, without needing many words.

With a smile, you both decide it's time to head home. His hand on your waist, you both start walking, enjoying the quiet night around you. The party seems like a long time ago.

This walk home feels special because it's clear you both understand and care for each other.

Barou can’t help the way he feels the intense need to protect you. You’re just too important.

WAS THIS OKAY??? IVE NEVER DONE ANYTGUNG LIKE THIS BEFORE??? PLEASE LET ME KNOW🙏 also yes I know Barou would punch the dude, I just dunno how to write that lmao

made February 18th 2024

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bookshelf-dust · 10 months ago

Text

let the light in

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2,177

warnings: (this is a heavy fic! please be aware before you read if any of this is triggering for you!) swearing, reader suffers from depression/is in a depressive episode, allusions to passive suicidal feelings and self harm (not explicitly stated), trouble eating/drinking, wooziness, side effects of self-neglect, trouble with self care, one use of y/n, slight hair description—essentially reader is just very depressed

a/n: hello! it’s been quite a while since i wrote anything, but alas i have remembered how. i used this fic as a way to deal with things i’ve been going through and provide myself some comfort, but i’m hoping that it will reach anyone else who needs that or understands these sort of feelings. i really need a steve, and maybe you do too. please be kind! this is a tentative attempt at getting back into writing. also as a small note, this is meant to bet set in the mid 90s, so reader and steve are in their twenties. happy reading <33

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The phone is ringing again. For the third time.

You know who it is without having to answer. It’s not like there are a plethora of people with your number anyway.

But for the third time, you let it ring. When the shrill noise stops, you think you’re in the clear—only for the sound of Steve’s voice to reach your ears. He’s leaving you a voicemail.

Fucking answering machine.

You stare at the wall, your arm dangling off the bed, while you listen to him say everything you knew he’d say. That he’s worried. That he’s coming to check on you because your lack of an answer is freaking him out.

And you gave him a key all those months ago, so it’s not like you can stop him. You wouldn’t have the energy to anyhow.

You roll over and tuck your hands under your cheek. You have no idea what time it is, but the little light your curtains had let in is gone, leaving your room dark. There is a small night light though, just under your window, that Robin bought you because it looks like your favorite flower. Other than that, your small apartment has succumbed to the darkness of a winter evening.

That pressure behind your eyes builds, and without knowing why, you begin to cry. Steve is going to see you like this, and you want to be alone. You don’t have it in you to talk about it or be berated for letting yourself go.

But you’re also angry. You don’t understand why he gives a shit about you, or why he can’t just leave you alone. Why he can’t just let you go. Why he won’t let you go.

Most of all you’re angry at yourself for being this way. For being so fucked up. For being alone and for having to watch everyone else be happy and content.

In your emotional haze, you fall back asleep. You’re not sure how though, considering you shouldn’t even need the rest anymore. But that tired feeling ever goes away, does it?

You wake to the sound of footsteps, to the feeling of your mattress dipping behind you. There’s a gentle weight on your side. Steve.

“Hey, honey,” he starts. “Did you get my message?”

Steve’s hand rubs softly back and forth over the dip of your waist. You hate the pitying tone in his voice. Even if you know it’s not pity. It’s pain. He’s too big of an empath, and he hates seeing you this way. It breaks his heart, not knowing what you’re feeling and having to see you in a way that embodies nothing more than a shell of the you he first met.

“You need to go home, Steve,” you say, refusing to face him. He’s turned your lamp on, and something about that pisses you off.

Your voice is pleading, and it brings tears to Steve’s eyes. He pushes his glasses up onto his forehead.

“You know I can’t do that. I won’t leave you here like this.”

You roll your eyes and shift onto your back. Steve’s stomach drops at how drained you look.

“I want you to leave. I need to be alone,” you say, staring at his hand where it’s moved to your stomach with the change in position.

Your words are harsh, thick with emotion, and you look at Steve like you’re begging him to see how much you’re hurting and need him to go away. You want him to listen and leave you here to slowly disappear. That’s all you’re asking for. So why can’t he give you that much?

It’s killing him to see you like this. To watch you try and push him away. He knows that’s part of your plan. That way it’ll be easier, in the end. But this is not the you he’s always known. There was a time before it got this bad. Before you lost yourself in it.

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asks, rather than fueling your frustration.

You roll onto your side, completely facing him now, and pull the blankets up to your chin. Your eyes fill with tears, so you close them. Something about being asked that upsets you. You don’t feel like eating and he’s going to make you.

Steve puts a hand on your leg and waits for an answer.

“Yesterday. At breakfast. I had a Pop-Tart.”

He keeps himself from sighing, but his heart might as well have dropped out of his ass. You haven’t eaten in 36 hours, and he’s sure that if he hadn’t shown up you might’ve made it more. You’re clearly not worried about eating, and there’s not a single cup in your room either.

“Please don’t make me eat, Steve. I don’t feel like it. Please don’t make me do anything.”

You look up at him with pleading eyes. You want to be left here until your body gives up on you.

“Honey, I’m not going to force you. But I came here to help you, and I need you to try and let me.”

Your vision goes blurry, tears rushing to the surface because the idea of taking care of yourself in any way upsets you more than anything. You cover your eyes, but can’t hold back the sob that lurches up your throat.

“Y/N, sweetheart, come here.”

Steve slips a hand around your back, coaxing you upwards. You oblige, happy to let him hold you for a moment. You ignore the fact that your vision blurs again, due to the fact that you haven’t sat up in who knows how long, and fall into him.

“I can’t, Steve. I can’t do anything or remember a damn thing. I’m so tired. I don’t feel like being alive. I don’t want to move.”

Hearing you express those feelings through your cries, hearing you tell him how bad it’s gotten tears him apart. He wants to make it all better. He can’t bear seeing you like this. And he doesn’t want to imagine what you might’ve done to take these feelings out before he got here.

Steve holds you until you stop wailing, and even when you pull away the tears still come, hiccups making you hold your breath. Your eyes are swollen and your nose won’t quit running. It doesn’t bother him one bit.

“I know you probably don’t want to do anything, so I have a plan for you, okay? I’m gonna turn the shower on and let you hop in while I get you something small for dinner. I’m gonna take care of everything.”

You sigh. You can’t leave your bed. Besides, who knows if you’ll even be able to stand with how little you’ve put in your body lately.

You press your face into Steve’s shoulder and shake your head. “I don’t think I can.”

He places both hands gently on your cheeks and lifts your face to get you looking at him.

“You can. I’m going to help, I promise. You won’t have to do anything too demanding.”

Steve slides off the bed and stands. He gently pulls the blankets back from your lap, revealing criss crossed legs and socked feet. He taps your knee and you brace yourself against the mattress, moving your legs over the side, toes feeling for the floor.

He holds out his hands and you grab hold of his forearms, letting him pull you upwards. Just as suspected, your vision swirls and your body goes all tingly. You sway a little, but Steve holds onto you still, waiting for the moment to pass. After a few seconds, your sight clears, your ears stop ringing, and you can stand on your own. “I’m okay now,” you say.

He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You don’t deserve this. He needs to stop being so good to you when you’re falling apart.

“Stretch a little, alright?” Steve looks at you over his shoulder before going for your dresser and opening your pajama drawer.

You try to do as he says, ignoring the way you feel compelled to tell him not to take this so seriously. You press your hands to your back and lean so your hips pop, raise your arms so your shoulders do the same, and bend so harshly that your vision goes out again. Your body is so angry with you.

You’d closed your eyes, but open them when you hear the shower start running. Steve leaves your small bathroom and walks toward you.

“I laid everything out for you, okay? You don’t have to stay long if you don’t want, you only have to cover your bases. You’ll feel so much better after, I promise.”

You nod, and Steve is surprised by the way you hesitantly walk into the bathroom and mentally prepare yourself to shower.

“Yell if you need me,” he says, smiling before he closes the door behind you.

You’ve never wanted to shower less in your life, but the water is already running, and you have to get it over with. You quickly undress, avoiding the mirror and anything that might cause an extra ache. Though you do run a hand over the tender skin of your thigh before opening the door and stepping in. You know you have to be kinder to yourself.

As for bathing, you’re quick, but you wash and condition your hair and make sure to wash your body just as well. You’d never admit it, but being clean does help some. At least you’re physically taken care of.

When you’re finished, you realize you hadn’t gotten a towel, but your eyes soon find what Steve had laid out for you.

Two towels. Underwear. Your robe. Clean pajamas and socks. Not to mention the lotion and hairbrush he slid forward on the counter so you’d reach for them. He did all of this to make things easier for you. And that makes your heart grow in size.

You towel off and make the effort to put lotion on as best as you can. Usually you can haphazardly do your back on your own, but you’re so tired now, you realize. You haven’t moved this much in days.

You gently pull the bathroom door open. “Steve?” you call. He’s there within seconds.

“Yeah? All done, sweetheart?”

“Almost. Do you think you could put lotion on my back for me? I might need help with my hair, too. If you don’t mind.”

He smiles so sweetly at you. “Of course I don’t mind. Come on.”

You watch as he pumps some of your lotion into his hands, sniffing it just to make you grin. You move your robe down off your shoulders so that he can get to your back, careful to keep your chest covered. Not that he’d dare look anyway.

His hands are gentle and soft against the nape of your neck, up and down your spine, on your lower back. He covers the area for you, taking the time to massage it in and hopefully provide you a little relief.

When he’s finished, you pull your robe up and tie it around your waist. You don’t have the chance to reach for your hairbrush because he’s already got it, fingers gathering your mass of hair towards your back. You can feel the heat of him behind you, and the ache for physical contact surfaces in your chest.

Steve is incredibly gentle when detangling your hair. He starts at the bottom and works your way up, apologizing each time it snags. It feels so nice, so mundane and comforting, that you close your eyes and let yourself feel his hands on your scalp, on your shoulders. You let him take care of you without complaint.

When that’s over he allows you to finish dressing. You slip into the pajamas he’d chosen for you, not disregarding the fact that the shirt is one of his.

You patter out to the kitchen, where Steve has fixed you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cut into triangles. You sit next to him on your couch and eat in the quiet of the evening, you enjoying being less alone and him glad to see you eating.

He takes your empty plate from you shortly after, noticing how sleepy you look.

“Come on, honey. Let’s go lay down, yeah?” He helps you up and holds your hand on the way to the bedroom. He’d changed your sheets while you were showering.

You sit down on the bed, watery eyes looking up at him. “Are you leaving?” you ask.

“No, sweetheart. I was going to offer to stay.”

“Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

Steve slips into bed beside you. “You don’t have to worry. I’m right here.” He takes your pinky in his. “I promise you won’t have to suffer through this on your own. I’m not going anywhere.”

You squeeze your pinky against his, and in that moment, the pain in your chest eases just a little bit.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#tw: depression #tw: depressive thoughts #savannah’s fics #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x depressed!reader #tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: self harm

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httpscomexe · 4 months ago

Text

Ensnared 1

So, after I read your response to my last ask, I got an idea for a fic or drabble whatever you want to do. So basically, it would be a Logan x plus-size reader. The timeline is set in the x mansion and reader came to them for help so she could stay somewhere idk something of that origin. Logan immediately becomes OBSESSED like he turns into a complete yandere. He starts following her and stealing her clothes 👀 knowing Logan he’s gonna act all weird and protective. And for shits and giggles let’s throw in some jealousy but on an outside character; They have a crush on Logan and are like “why would you be interested in someone like her🙄” then Logan goes batshit crazy. Regarding readers powers idk I always love what you come up with so I would love to see what you bring into this one!!

Summary: Finally, after having enough of the abuse and violent attacks, you decide to take shelter in a friend's home, the X-Mansion.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Yandere!Logan Howlett x PlusSize!Reader

Warnings: (Individual warnings per chapter) Discrimination of mutants, foul language, use of the word God, description of violence, traumatised reader, hidden injury, injury. Logan is an official warning as approved by the FDA (Food and Drug Administration) because Logan is a DRUG. PLEASE BE AWARE that this will be a NON-CON fic. Do NOT get attached if you do not like non-consensual fiction. I will not change my fic plans because somebody decided not to read the warnings. Thank you.

Tags: @sammyluvsfics

Word Count: 3488 (Find all chapters here) Chapter 2

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

You didn’t remember much, but you know you were attacked.

Being a mutant wasn’t easy, and you needed an escape.

Xavier had mentioned the X-Mansion to you many times, but you’ve never even thought to consider it. At least not until you discovered there was a fucking gang trying to kidnap you, your powers considered something you can ‘only find once in a lifetime,’ if you’re lucky that is. But you didn’t find yourself very lucky. You wish you had just been normal, you wish you looked normal. You wanted to change everything.

So as you stand at the front doors of the mansion, your knuckles on the wood of the door as you hesitate to knock, you think again about turning back. It was late, and surely no one would be awake to hear you. You take a step back, unsure of if you actually wanted to be in the mansion. Sure, you’d be safe, but you wouldn’t be free.

But just as you’re about to step away, the door opens, slowly, and you expect someone to walk out and greet you, but nobody pops out. You peek around the door, and take a single step inside, then another, then another. Then you’re standing in the entrance of the mansion. It was cool inside, but you stood there awkwardly as you turned your head up, down, left, right. Looking all around you as you admired the size of the mansion. It was huge, and you’ve dreamt about it, but it was better than what you could’ve ever imagined. Still though, you had no idea where you were expected to go. After all, it was a mansion, and you’ve never been inside.

But you start walking anyway, hoping to run into someone. You pass through some halls, a door every few feet which you assume are classrooms or bedrooms. Only some doors had a label, but there was one part of the hallway with an arch instead, so you turn into there, but it’s empty. Still, you step in, looking around in the dark. It was empty, and you immediately lost interest, turning back around too quickly as you collided with another person, their hands immediately moving to hold your arms and steady you.

“Hey watch it-” A deep voice comes from above you, and you look up to see deep brown eyes staring back down at you.

“I’m so sorry… Where can I find Xavier?” You ask quickly and step away from him, he seems to hold on for a moment longer, but he does let go.

“He’s probably in his office still.” His voice is softer now, and you swear you recognise him, but it was so dark you couldn’t be sure.

“Where uhm… where’s his office?”

“Are you new?”

“Kind of…” You lift your shoulders, and he turns around, you take that as a cue to follow him. Trailing close behind him as he turns and makes his way up some stairs, eventually stopping at a door with a plate on it that said “Professor Xavier.” Which is when you finally start to feel sick to your stomach, thinking maybe this isn’t the best idea. So as his hand lands on the door knob, your own hands shoot out and grip his forearm, stopping him immediately and he stares back down at him.

“I just uh… maybe… I think I’m actually just going to leave.” You tell him, removing your hands off of him and shoving them into your hoodie pocket. “Thank you though, I appr-”

The door opens, stopping you mid sentence, and you see Xavier standing at the door.

“Look who’s here.”He says, his voice tired but he stares at you in the dark, your face however illuminated from the light of his office. “Oh, and you’ve already met Logan I see?” His head turns towards Logan, which you could now recognise as he also was glowing from the light of the office. It was Wolverine.

For someone who’s rumoured to be an asshole, he was pretty nice to show you to Xavier's office.

“Xavier… Hi.” You panic a little, your voice raising a few octaves as your fingers lace in front of you nervously.

“Finally decide to move in?”

“Move in?” Logan asks.

“Yes, I’ve been trying to get her to move in for a few months now.” He tells Logan, looking back over at you. “And what happened to your face, darling?” Xavier asks, his hand coming up to your face as he takes the hood of your hoodie off your head.

“I got into a bit of a fight…” You tell him. You knew he was talking about the massive bruise under your right eye. You’ve had a non-stop headache from it the last few days.

“It sucks you can’t heal yourself like you can heal others.”

“Yea, God's little way of hating me.” You tell him. You’ve always wondered why you can’t heal yourself. And it’s always triggered you.

“You have healing powers?” Logan asks. And you wonder why he was still there.

You nod.

“She does, and that’s why it’s dangerous for her outside of the mansion.” Xavier tells him, in a ‘I told you so’ sort of tone. “Which, I’m assuming, is why you’re here?”

You nod again. “Yea…” Your voice cracks a little, and you’re not sure why it was a sensitive subject for you, but it was.

“Well, lucky for you, I know you’ve been wanting to for the past few weeks, so I have a room already assigned for you.” A tear slips down your cheek. You didn’t deserve someone like Xavier. He cared more than anyone else could’ve possibly done. “The room should be done by Tuesday, so give it two days, I have Logan here and Scott working on it. Making it comfortable for you.”

“Oh I don’t need anything special really.”

“Y/N…” He growls, stepping towards you and placing his hands on your shoulders. ��In your own home, you're sleeping on a blanket and your actual blanket is whatever you’re wearing. I can’t find it in me to give you just any room. So it will be nice, like the students have. A comfortable bed, pillows, blankets, and anything else you ask for.” His hands rub down to your biceps, squashing your baggy hoodie down. “You live here, so you’re family. Now until the room is finished, I have spare keys to my office, and I have a fold out couch, alright?” You hadn’t even realised the amount of tears that were falling from your cheeks until he wipes them away with his thumb.

You would actually be loved. You’d be around people that care about you.

“Do you have anything you need to grab from your place?” You shake your head, afraid to speak knowing your voice will break embarrassingly. “Okay, come on in and we’ll set up your couch, I’ll have Logan here give you a tour in the morning.” He tells you, gently placing his hand on your back as he led you into the office. “Good night Logan, just be here in the morning when I text you she’s awake.” You see Logan nod, then he walks away. You guess it was at least true that he wasn’t much of a talker.

You spend the next minute getting under blankets after Xavier presses a button next to the couch and you watch as it unfolds itself. You weren’t surprised in the slightest.

And the bed was comfortable, but you still struggle to sleep after the lights go out and Xavier leaves you, locking the door and heading to his room.

It all felt so unrealistic. Like you were in a dream. But you knew you were finally safe…

You’re not sure what time you wake up, but it was late in the morning. You only awoke because of the sound of a bell, and you remember the mansion was also used as a school. So you sit up, grabbing the phone that you had slept with in your back pocket.

It was already two in the afternoon, you had seriously slept in, and the office was empty, but the light shone through the closed curtains, showing little dust particles as they flew through the air and invaded your lungs.

You look to the foot of the bed, some clothes were neatly folded with a little note on it. You reach for the note first, taking the blankets off your body.

‘Here are some clean clothes. There’s a bathroom on the opposite side of the room if you’d like to clean yourself. Text this number when you are finished, saying you’re ready for your tour.”

It was sweet. He was always sweet to you, always bringing a smile to your face, even when it wasn’t that special. You always thought maybe he had bad intentions, like he also wanted you only for your powers, but everytime your eyes landed on him, that thought immediately left your brain.

You stand up, grabbing the clothes and looking at them. Plain black sweats and a baggy T-shirt with the Rolling Stones logo on the front. He apparently also knew you liked a baggy style. You take the clothes and go to the bathroom, deciding to just take a quick shower, just to rinse yourself off.

You start by taking off your hoodie, then you stare at yourself in the mirror. Your ribs adorned with bruises that were turning purple and blue, your pudgy skin looking like a canvas decorated with a dash of fucking pain.

As soon as you’re finished showering, you step out, drying your hair as much as you could before working on drying your body, being gentle when you dry over your bruises, staring at yourself in the mirror again when you’re finished. An enormous bruise still decorating your face. You looked kind of badass.

“Oh you’re awake.” You hear a voice enter the room, it was Xavier and you step out of the bathroom to meet him.

“Yea, hey, I used the shower so-”

“That’s fine, I really don’t mind. Have you messaged Logan?” He gets straight to the point and you assume he’s in a hurry.

“I haven’t.”

“Okay, if you’d like, he’s in the kitchen right now grabbing himself a drink, do you know the way?”

You nod, remembering being there last night. It should be even easier to find now that the sun is up.

“Alright, let me know if he gives you any troubles, he’s a hardass.” He chuckles and you smile a little, slipping your slides on which were next to your bed before telling Xavier bye and leaving him to be in his office, quickly making your way down to the kitchen.

You lose your way so quickly it wasn’t even funny. Stopping as soon as the halls feel unfamiliar. There was no one around again of course, just like last night. So you just keep walking, once again hoping to run into someone.

You swear as you realise you’ve come across just about anything except the kitchen. There was a training room, classrooms, bedrooms, a restroom, and even a fucking gaming room. But you couldn’t find the damned kitchen. Until you hear a beeping sound. Like a microwave, to which you immediately follow the sound.

“There you are.” Logan greets you with a smile that would brighten up anyone's world.

“Got lost…” You admit, mumbling your words slightly.

“Everyone gets lost when they first move here.” He tells you, putting a milk jug back into the fridge. “I made you something to eat, figured you’d be hungry.”

You step into the kitchen, you weren’t hungry. You were famished.

“Oh thank you…” Your voice sings sweetly as you see the bowl of food, it was lunch time already, so in the bowl was ravioli. Simple, but easily one of your favourite foods.

“Of course.” He watches as you take the bowl, and another person walks into the room.

“Hey Logan, how’s it going? Is this the new girl?” She asks immediately. She knew about you already?

“Yea, her name is Y/N, Xavier seems to like her.”

“Well hi, my name is Vincent, you can call me Vin though. My friends call me Vin. And I know we just met, but you seem cool, so you can call me Vin, it’s nice to meet you! Xavier talks about you ALL the time.” She fills your brain with words, half of which you really don’t give a fuck about. Something in you already didn’t like her. But to be fair, you had the same feeling last night before you ran into Logan. So your instinct might just be fucked up. “Good God girl, and what happened to your eye?”

“It’s personal.” You tell her quickly, your instinct taking control of your lips instead of your empathy or friendliness.

“Oh…” She pauses for a moment. “Sorry…” She apologises, but you know you hear some spite in her voice as her teeth grit. Well sorry if you didn’t wanna share your personal stories with some girl you’ve never seen before.

“Well, I have to give her a tour, so I will see you later, Vincent.” He puts an emphasis on her name, then puts a hand on your back at the same time you stuff a thicker ravioli in your mouth, making you cough a little but they don’t notice as he leads you out of the room. That wasn’t the best first interaction.

He takes you through every hall, not spending much time anywhere, but spending enough time for you to remember what the rooms looked like. You tell him the only places you need are the library, and your room. He also brings you to your room actually, but he explains how he can’t open it at this hour, since Scott has the key to the room. Then he takes you to where his room is.

“And I’m right here.” He tells you, stopping at his door.

“Jesus this place is huge.” You breathe out heavily. You wouldn’t know all the halls for at least an entire year.

“Yea, but most students only have to learn three or four rooms, two of them being the kitchen and their own room.” He explains and watches you as you take a deep breath, feeling a little more relaxed now that you could navigate a little better through the halls.

“Hey, it ain’t that bad. Once you get used to it, maybe make some friends. There are some good kids here.” He tells you, but his voice lowers and he sighs when he brings up making friends. You just assume he hasn’t made any.

“Well thank you so much for the tour.” You smile your best. “I usually do keep my group very small though.” A chuckle comes from your throat as he stares down at you, his eyes burning into yours.

“Of course. And having a small group is always better than a huge one. Less to worry about.”

“Yea no kidding.” He laughs a little, and it makes you smile, just knowing that you can make someone, a man, who is hated by society, laugh.

“Is Xavier just keeping you locked up?”

“Uh for now yea, he wants to do a checkup though sometime this week.” You sigh, part of you wishing you had just dealt with the normal outside world. “Just to make sure I’m okay, I guess he’s worried I’m hurt more than I’m letting him know.”

“Well it is a damned big bruise on your face.” He tells you, then reaches up to your face, his thumb gently stroking over your bruise, his touch soft enough for it to not hurt.

And also somehow comforting.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” You chuckle a little, and he’s confused at what’s funny as he stares down at you, his hand still cupping your cheek.

“There’s a video on it, I can send you the link later.”

“You have my number?” He asks and lets go of you, presumably reaching for his phone.

“Yea, Xavier gave it to me.” You tell him, and he crosses his arms.

“Alright, I guess I’ll watch it later. Is there anything else you wanna know? Anything you need to tell me?” You shake your head, not wanting to bother him anymore through the day. “Alright. You know the way back to Xavier's office?” You nod, confidently.

“Yea, and thank you so much.” You take a step back, beginning to walk away.

“Of course, let me know if you need anything, Xavier is usually busy.”

“Okay, thank you. See you later- or- tomorrow?”

“See you.”

You don’t get back to the office until later, you spend the next few hours just sitting outside and relaxing next to a tree until the sun starts to set, mainly because you didn’t want to intrude in Xaviers office the entire day while he was working or busy.

So when you do get back, you take off your shoes and collapse on the bed, groaning into your pillow before taking out your phone and opening YouTube.

You scroll mindlessly for a while, occasionally giggling at something you found funny, then a message notification pops onto your screen.

Unknown number: About to head to bed, do you need anything?

You assume it’s Logan, he’s the only one you’ve spoken to all day, so to check it you take the little note from this morning and verify it’s his number.

You: Don’t need anything. I’m looking for the video right now though.

You respond, then go back into YouTube as you type ‘Mutant attack New York,’ into the search bar. Your video is the most recent to pop up, and you copy the link before sending it to Logan. Then you go back to the video to close out of it, but it starts playing the moment you move back to the app.

“Panic breaks loose as another Mutant is attacked in public. Witnesses say that the Mutant was the first to attack but recorded camera footage shows otherwise as a young female Mutant attempts to defend herself against three men, and the following footage shows her struggle as she manages to get away”

The woman on the video disappears as the video enlarges a video of you, standing and minding your business as you wait for a bus home. In the back you can hear cars driving by, until you can hear one skid to a stop. You head looking up from your phone as three men exit their car, each of them wearing a mask and quickly approaching you.

The audio doesn’t catch it as one of the men speaks up, asking you to just go with them so they aren’t using force, and in the background an old woman's attention is caught before you start telling the men off. Then there’s the punch that leaves you a bruise after telling them to fuck off. Knocking you back against the frame that covers the bus bench as the other two try to grab you, but you manage to meekly fight back, adrenaline soaring through your body, otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten away. Of course, the pepper spray you pull out also played a key factor in getting away, at least from two of the men. The only thing the video doesn’t show is what you had to go through with the last man that chased after you as you got away. Even if it did, it would be too violent for the news. You were glad it wasn’t on recording.

“None of the men have been identified, and neither has the woman. It is not uncommon however to find Mutants who have escaped the system. If you have any details on the mission, please call the number below to reach this news channel's service. Thank you, and have an amazing Friday.”

After it’s done playing, you sit there biting your lip as you try not to cry, another text coming in from Logan.

Unknown number: I’m sorry that happened to you, it’s ridiculous.

You: It’s alright. By the way do you have any pictures of yourself so I can change your icon?

You ask as you begin to fill in the information for his number.

Logan: I don’t. Sorry.

You: It’s alright, I’ll take one while you aren’t looking.

Logan: Fine by me lol, just make sure you get my good angle.

‘Every angle is your good angle,’ is what you wanted to send, but you quickly delete the message before another one comes in from him.

Logan: And Y/N.

Logan: You’re safe here. Know that if you ever need somebody to talk to, anyone to cry to, or just a shoulder to lean on, I will be there for you.

You: Thank you, Logan. I appreciate you.

Logan: Of course darling. Good night.

You: Good night 😁

#marvel #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #x reader #wolverine #logan #logan howlett #logan x reader #logan x howlett #plus size reader #plus size #mcu #xmen #logan james howlett

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kamiversee · 19 days ago

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I wish y’all would just chill on this app bro. I’m actually getting irritated by people who seriously lack something as simple as basic comprehension skills.

Many things to say to this, bear with me. 🧚

For one, due to the fact that you so clearly did not read anything I said in my previous reply, I’m going to insert it here again!!

You said “If there are similarities between gojo and zade then that's your problem, I'm just pointing it out but you're the one who wrote it did you not?” but if that’s the case then I am entirely entitled to tell you that I don’t like that comparison, nor do I want to hear or see anything regarding it. I wrote it, it’s my story — I’m allowed to not like certain comparisons!! 🥰

Following that, never once did I say I had a problem with my fic being compared to dark romance as it’s literally a dark romance fanfiction in itself. The issue here lies in the book you specifically compared it to. Duh??

Which is part of why I said you must be new around here because most of my readers are aware of the fact that I don’t like the Zade/Gojo comparison because while they may have one or maybe two things in common, they really aren’t alike in the slightest. Especially when you dive even deeper into the story.

Thank you for this headache tho because you just reminded me to let future readers know that I don’t like comparisons. Let tfl be what it is please. You can compare it to whatever you want with whoever, obviously I can’t control that but just don’t come to me personally with that shit because it’s not a compliment & I don’t find it funny nor entertaining in the slightest!!

&& the topics specifically romanticized in TFL are included here in the warnings:

You also said that I “went out of my way” to create another book just so that they got together… Girl, that was REQUESTED by MANY of the people who read the damn story and still wanted Gojo even after all he did & or, to have all their unanswered questions answered. I was originally not going to drop a sequel & answer things one by one but the number of people asking for more led me to do so.

Haunting Adeline romanticizes some of the topics I included in tfl PLUS MORE that I, again, specifically do not romanticize, sexualize, or write.

The damn book was never supposed to be considered “regular erotica” since it literally starts off with Gojo fucking blackmailing her. It starts out dark and ends even darker, please.

I’m also VERY well aware that dark romance doesn’t always mean sa or 🍇. tfl is a dark romance fanfic. I know this.

And last but certainly not least my love, you actually can block anons!!! Hope this helps.

& I pray you have a very blessed day. Mwah. 💋

#kamiversee!answers #kami!yaps #y’all are so silly!! 😹#kamis!haters

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emberfrostlovesloki · 9 months ago

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Dead Center [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Center (@madneyslifeline) Right and Left (@spencermyangel)

Prompt: Aaron wards off a creepy man from the reader at the shooting range and comes to realize that the reader is dealing with a lot more than just one man making inappropriate advances toward them.

Pairing: Aaron x gender neutral!non-BAU!reader. The reader uses they/them pronouns

Category: angst/comfort

Word Count: 11.5K

Content Warnings: unwanted touch [from multiple men], mention of drinking, guns [used at a shooting range] revenge porn [the reader’s nudes are leaked online] threat of assault [by multiple people (it does not happen)], a hand is placed over reader's mouth and the reader is pinned down [by some creepy men], mention of cheating [happens to the reader], trauma, isolation. If I missed any, please let me know

A/N: Hi loves! Here is another fic based on the amazing @imagining-in-the-margins January/February Writing Challenge. The prompt was “The character learns to navigate their life after a traumatic event.” I just want to give a heads-up that this is a little dark, but the reader is safe at the end and finds some comfort with Aaron. It takes a bit to reveal what happened to the reader, but I hope the build-up is worth it. This is another novel of a fic, but I hope you enjoy it! If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you’re having a great start to your weekend and thanks for reading. Love Levi - ❤️

P.S. I was so excited to get this out that I didn't edit it like my normal fics. I will go in tomorrow and do a proper edit then.

List with all stories

_y/n_ = your name

_y/c/e_’s = your color eyes

_u/sf/d_ = up/straight forward/down (depending on your height)

_y/f/c_ = your favorite color

_y/e/p’s/n_ = your ex-partner’s name (the ex is an ass so add the name of someone you dislike here)

_y/n_ cringed back as the shot rang out. It was so loud that they almost closed their eyes. However, _y/n_ managed to almost hit the target and that was a victory. The sound of other shots at the gun range continued throughout the large space. Even with the headphones on, the noise is distracting. What’s even more distracting is yet another person is tapping _y/n_'s shoulder. _y/n_ was fully aware that they couldn’t shoot for shit. It’s not surprising to anyone at this range. However, their inability with a Glock was not an open invitation for every man in the place to offer advice on their technique. _y/n_ strips off their headphones and turns to look at the next man.

He’s wearing a cowboy hat, jeans, and a belt buckle that’s laughable large. _y/n_ resisted the urge to laugh at that man-wanna-be-cowboy. Before _y/n_ could even get a word out the man said, “Sweetheart, I can’t help but notice you might need a hand with that pistol. I’ve got lots of practice under my belt.” The guy patted his belt as an attempt at a joke, and _y/n_ gave him a weak smile that didn’t reach their eyes. Again, _y/n_ tried to say that they weren’t interested in any help, but the man had moved into their personal space and ran a hand up their arms that was holding the gun. _y/n_ froze instantly. His hand was warm, too warm on their exposed skin. _y/n_ struggled to take a breath, let alone tell him to back off. The man leaned in closer and said, “Now sweetheart, if you just hold the gun like this,” he slid his hand down _y/n_’s arm and to their hand, wrapping around the handle of the gun and their fingers. The guy was so close. _y/n_ could feel his breath on their, neck. The panic was rising like it did now in all situations like this. _y/n_ thought that this might be the incident that broke them. Thankfully someone stepped in just in time before that happened.

Hotch walked into the shooting range and checked in. Once the man at the counter checked his gun and gave him a key for a locker. The worker said, “Lane 10 is open, Mr. Hotchner.” Aaron nodded and took back his ID. He slipped his wallet into his pants pocket and moved to his locker. He put the extra things he had in his pockets in the grey chipping lockers as well as his duffle bag. Before locking it up, he took out his protective headphones and glasses. No matter where he was shooting, as long as it wasn’t on the field, he took all the safety measures he could. He’d nearly lost his hearing once, he wasn’t going to let it happen again. Hotch confidently stepped into the range. He didn’t normally feel the need to blow off steam this way. He didn’t see shooting as an outlet for emotions. He had actually killed people before, more time than he had ever wished. Many of those had been with his sidearm. So shooting guns wasn’t just a fun hobby to him. But he didn’t mind the practice now and then. He was a great shot, but he knew he could improve, and when he had an open Saturday and nothing better to do, he decided he could get a few rounds in. Aaron pulled his headphones over his ears, as he stepped into the range. The familiar sound of fire hit him, and he looked over to lane ten.

He furrowed his brow as there was a man half in his lane and half in lane nine. It was a tall guy and he was standing very close to the person actually in lane nine. Hotch let out a huff and thought for a moment that the guy was the other person’s partner. He saw this sometimes. Men trying to be macho often brought their significant other to shoot for the first time. He often found these guys couldn’t even shoot well. As Hotch got closer to his lane, he became aware that the person in lane nine was incredibly uncomfortable. They looked frozen to the spot and the man was pressed close to them. Not only was he close, but he was running a hand down their arm toward their hand that was barely holding onto the pistol. From the set of the frozen person’s shoulders, Aaron could see the tension in their body. This made Hotch move more quickly. Even if the man in the cowboy hat was their partner, it was clear the gun wielder wasn’t comfortable with what was going on. As he approached the pair, moving to the lane that he had booked. The cowboy turned to look at him with a sour look on his face as his chance to be close to _y/n_ was being interrupted. He scowled at Hotch, but Aaron calmly replied, “I’ve got this lane booked for the next hour. Mind if I use it?” He wasn’t looking for a confrontation, especially not one where everyone was holding a weapon. However, he did want to shoot. He was also interested in seeing if the man kept bothering the stranger next to him. Much to Aaron’s chagrin the man just fully moved into lane nine. Hotch sighed slightly, undid the safety of his gun, and listened as the man said, “Alright baby, now shoot like I just told you and showed you.”

Aaron couldn’t help but look over to see the result. _y/n_ raised the gun. It was shaking in their hands, but they hoped that they shot, badly, that the unwanted guy might finally leave them alone. _y/n_ pointed in their lane and pressed the trigger. They were so far off that the bullet didn’t even hit the target. Not even close. Aaron held back any comments of noise, but the cowboy didn’t and he said, “Baby did you listen to anything that I told you?” It was clear to Aaron that “Baby” hadn’t, and Hotch watched as the guy physically put his hands on their hips and moved them back. It became even more evident that _y/n_ was frozen with fear and just let it happen. The man said, “It’s alright sweetheart, let Dalton show you how it’s done.” Dalton made sure to shoot Aaron a look as he took out his own, overpriced gun and aimed at the blank target. It almost seemed impossible, but his shot was worse than _y/n_’s. There was a small chuckle from _y/n_ behind Dalton, and he turned on his heel. He looked angry, and Hotch stepped forward a bit to stop any confrontation, as _y/n_ shied away from the red-faced man. Dalton turned toward Aaron and placed his hands on his belt as if challenging the Agent to do better. Aaron rarely felt the need to be competitive. He was confident in his abilities. However, when he was given such an easy opportunity, he couldn’t pass it up. Hotch had slipped the safety back on when he wanted to observe the pair next to him, but quickly undid it again, turned toward his target, lined up his shot, and took three perfectly clean shots in the center of his target. Hotch slipped the safety back on and looked at the man. Dalton furrowed his brow and almost said something, but stormed off instead due to embarrassment.

As soon as the creepy guy was gone, _y/n_ relaxed and leaned against the barrier to the shooting field. They felt such a relief at being left alone that they hardly noticed Aaron’s concerned expression. Only after _y/n_ had taken a few breaths did they turn their head to look at the man who had helped them out of such an uncomfortable situation. They had been too panicked and barely noticed him before, but _y/n_ did now. He was tall, As tall as Mr. Cowboy, but standing back a respectful distance. This man looked professional. Like someone who might carry a gun for work. _y/n_ thought that they were reading into the dark-haired stranger too much. _y/n_ realized that they were staring and said softly, “Thank you so much for getting him to go away. I’m sorry he was in your space.” Hotch nodded and watched as _y/n_ seemed to compose themself as they spoke to him. Aaron offered a small smile and replied, “You don’t need to thank me, I think he was more in your space than mine. I’m sorry he was bothering you.” Aaron didn’t want to repeat Dalton’s gross behavior and he just nodded and moved back to his lane and target practice.

_y/n_ felt like saying more to the man next to them, but he’d stepped back. He seemed absorbed in his practice which seemed to hit the mark every time he shot his gun. In some ways that made _y/n_ even more comfortable next to him. He was here for a reason, and that reason didn’t involve bothering them. _y/n_ wasn’t sure if it was their appearance or their inability to shoot a gun, but they had been bothered and offered advice nearly the whole time they had been here. _y/n_ tried to follow the man’s lead and turned back to their target. Although Hotch wasn’t directly paying attention to _y/n_, that didn’t stop him from occasionally looking at them now and then. It was clear that _y/n_ was trying and the next couple of shots at the target got closer to the mark but still didn’t hit the paper sheet. Aaron focused back on his shooting and after a few minutes felt a pair of eyes on him. He knew it was the person next to him. Again, he considered offering more advice but didn’t want to impose or offer help where it wasn’t wanted. He hoped that if _y/n_ wanted help, they’d ask him.

And, as usual, Hotch was right because when he took a small break and took off his earmuffs, _y/n_ turned to him and said in a bit of a louder, more confident voice, “You’re really good with that.” _y/n_’s _y/c/e_’s looked briefly at the gun that fit so naturally in his hand and then back to his face. After a small pause, they asked, “Would you mind if I watched you while you practiced? I might actually learn about something from you.” Hotch smiled and said, “Sure you can. Would you like me to tell you what I’m doing while I do it ?” _y/n_ hadn’t expected the man to care enough to offer his help. They felt like they were imposing already by asking to watch, so being offered a verbal tutorial left like something special. Especially coming from someone as skilled as he was. _y/n_ nodded in agreement and said, “Yes, please that’d be very helpful.” Hotch smiled again and said, “I’m happy to help. I’m Aaron by the way.” _y/n_ gave him a small smile, the first he’d seen on them the whole time they were next to each other. _y/n_ lifted a hand and said, “I’m _y/n_. Nice to meet you.” Hotch replied, “It’s nice to meet you too.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Now, when you’re shooting you need a firm grip on the handle of the gun. It’s going to be loud and there will be blowback from the shot, and if you have a weak grip the aim won’t be good.” This was one of the things that Aaron had noticed off the bat about _y/n_’s shooting. Aaron demonstrated how to properly handle a gun with the safety off. He then stated, “Next you want to make sure your line of sight is directly with the gun and the target. You don’t want your eyes higher or lower than the gun itself. It’s like in baseball or softball when people say to keep your eyes on the ball. Here you keep your eyes on the tip of the gun.” Hotch drew a line from his eyes to the point of his extended weapon and said, “After that, it’s about lining up the shot and then following through with the trigger press. Be confident with it. If you’re not then the shot isn’t going to be good either.”

To demonstrate the things he’d just said, Hotch slipped off the safety of the gun in his hands, lined up the shot, and pressed the cool metal of the trigger. Aaron was so used to the feel of the blowback that he didn’t flinch. It helped that he was trained and strong. He took two more shots to allow _y/n_ to see the process multiple times. _y/n_ nodded and said, “Thank you for explaining it to me. Hopefully, I can at least hit the target once before my time is up.” Aaron smiled and said, “I bet you’ll get it. Just try and relax if you can. Is this your first time shooting a gun?” _y/n_ looked at the ground suddenly self-conscious at being observed in a non-creepy way. _y/n_ looked back up and nodded, saying, “Yeah. I assumed it was pretty obvious.” Hotch let out a small chuckle and said, “Well I’ve met people that have had guns for years, and they still don’t know how to handle them.” For a second Spencer flashed into his mind, but he’d seen other agents, and most of all, cops not be able to shoot for anything and he wanted to reassure _y/n_ that it was okay if they didn’t get it the first time. For some reason, he didn’t assume they were just here for fun. _y/n_ gave a small smile back and said, “Thanks.” They turned back to their lane wanting to use the rest of their time making a real attempt at shooting. _y/n_ did reflect on the fact that the man next to them had said that he worked with people who carried, which meant that he probably carried too which would explain why he was such a good shot.

Aaron returned to his practice as well, only checking _y/n_’s progress once or twice. They were getting better. The last time Aaron checked, _y/n_ had gotten a lot closer to the target. They still hadn’t hit one of the three rings, but they were getting close. _y/n_ only had ten minutes left of their time and were getting annoyed that they hadn’t at least made it to the fifty-point circle. Aaron had put down his gun and even though _y/n_ didn’t think guns or carrying was for them after this encounter, they still wanted to at least hit the target. With little time left and no one else to turn to, _y/n_ looked at Aaron again and asked, “Sorry, to bother you again, Aaron, but could you just show me how to do this?” Hotch had noticed _y/n_ get more and more frustrated and he wondered if they would reach a breaking point. He’d seen people crack at much smaller things.

He could tell _y/n_ carried some tension in their shoulder that he couldn’t place. He couldn’t really place _y/n_ at all. They didn’t seem to belong in a place like this. But when _y/n_ asked for help again, he was happy to offer it to make them feel comfortable in a space that could be intimidating. He stepped forward, just a little and replied, “Sure. Do you mind if I help by guiding your hands a bit?” He didn’t want to touch them without getting their permission first. _y/n_ nodded. They hadn’t trusted any of the men who had offered to “help” them up to this point. But Aaron hadn’t pried at all and he asked before touching them. Plus, _y/n_ knew that he would need to. _y/n_ nodded their consent, and Hotch took a step closer into their personal space. He said reassuringly, “Alright, hold you’re gun out.” _y/n_ did as he asked, and pointed at the dreaded target. Hotch took their hand that was gripping the gun in his. His hand covered theirs and he steadied their arm with his. He then got on eye level with them, still providing space where he could, and made sure the gun was in line with the target. He asked softly, “Can you see the target and the tip of the gun together?” _y/n_ turned their face to him and said, “I can.” Aaron nodded and dropped his hands from their body for an instant, put his headphones back on, and then moved back to where he just was next to _y/n_. He used his left hand to wrap around _y/n_’s he could feel the trigger under their hand and he lined up the shot again. He took a breath and helped _y/n_ press the trigger. The bullet hit dead center.

_y/n_’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. They snapped it back shut as Aaron moved a step back and dropped his hands from their hand and shoulder. _y/n_ suddenly missed his presence. _y/n_ was aware that they hadn’t made the shot, that it had been all Aaron. Hotch noticed and said, “Now, _y/n_ pretend I’m right there with you like I just was.” _y/n_ nodded and aimed the gun at the target again. This time it felt much easier. They could feel where Aaron’s hands had been, how he’d looked at the tip of the gun and the target. _y/n_ let out a breath and considered how he had said to try and relax. When _y/n_ was focused in, they pressed the trigger, and for once, didn’t flinch back. Much to _y/n_’s surprise, this bullet had hit the 25-point circle on the target. _y/n_ smiled slightly, slipped the safety back on the gun, and pulled off their headphones. Sure it wasn’t the center like Aaron seemed incapable of not missing, but it was something. They were proud of that and it was a good place to stop. _y/n_ didn’t want to push their luck. Aarou could sense the shift in _y/n_ and he said, “Good job. I knew you could do it. Are you heading out?” _y/n_ nodded and stated, “Yeah, my time’s up and I’ll end on a high note. Thanks for all the help. I wouldn’t have gotten that shot without you.” Hotch gave a small nod and said, “I’m happy to help. Have a good rest of your day.” _y/n_ smiled and gave a small wave as they moved to the exit. Hotch couldn’t help but notice as Dalton and another man he’d noticed staring at _y/n_ also holstered their guns and made their way from the far side of the room to the exit as well. A small part of Hotch’s brain said that it could be a coincidence, but the profiler in him had him quickly holster his gun and walk to catch up with _y/n_. Outside he leaned against the door, as he watched _y/n_ check in the rented gun and then move to a locker. _y/n_ pulled out their things and grabbed their car keys from their tote before slinging the bag over their shoulder.

Just before Dalton moved out of the door, Hotch approached _y/n_ and said, “Hey, _y/n_ you forgot something in your lane.” _y/n_ looked up at him and said, “Did I?” They didn’t remember leaving anything in there. _y/n_ turned toward Aaron and he leaned forward and softly said, “Act natural, you have a few ‘admirers’ that seem to be following you.” Hearing Hotch’s words _y/n_ seemed to freeze up again. Aaron took a breath to remind them to remain calm. _y/n_ looked _u/sf/d_ at him and asked, “Is it the cowboy dude?” Hotch briefly turned his gaze to the left and Dalton and the other man were both standing with arms folded by the gun counter. Aaron nodded and added “And a man in all black. Do you know them?” _y/n_ swallowed and tried to stay calm as they said, “Not until today. They wouldn’t leave me alone in there.” Hotch nodded in understanding and said, “Alright. Do you have all of your things? I can walk you to your car if you want. Make sure you’re not followed?” _y/n_ nodded. They wouldn’t have normally accepted such an offer, but because they had built a rapport with Aaron already and he seemed trustworthy, _y/n_ accepted. Hotch moved to their side and let _y/n_ lead the way out into the bright parking lot.

Aaron ensured the two men didn’t get close to _y/n_ or their car. _y/n_ unlocked the vehicle and Hotch opened the door for them. When _y/n_ was seated and the keys were in the ignition, they turned to him and said, “Thanks again, again, Sorry for all the inconveniences I’ve caused you today, Aaron.” Hotch brushed off the thanks and said, “There’s no need to thank me, _y/n_. I hope you have a safe rest of your day.” He gave them a final parting smile, closed the door for them, and watched as _y/n_ drove away. Once _y/n_ was out of the parking lot, he turned and frowned at Dalton and the other men who had made _y/n_ feel unsafe. It was ironic as a gun range should be a place where safety should be ensured. Both men frowned into the sun and moved back inside, blocked from any further advances. Hotch also moved inside but chose not to shoot anymore. He signed out and moved back home. He’d had enough excitement for the day and he wasn’t keen on having any further contact with Dalton or the other men at the range. Given how _y/n_ had been treated here, he didn’t expect to see them here again, but the thought of what had drawn them here in the first place stuck as he made his way home.

Hotch hadn’t expected to see _y/n_ again, but he did and in a place about as opposite from the shooting range as he could imagine. It was a few weeks later and the weather had turned from the Winter chill to the beginnings of the rejuvenation of Spring. Fresh buds and leaves were shooting from the trees that had been bare last month. During this time, Aaron liked to take Jack out to one of the local Farmer’s Markets near his place. Jack always loved getting some lemonade and a little snack as they walked around the stalls and people-watched. Whether it was his son emulating his father or just a current hobby, Jack had picked up making observations on people while Aaron was around and he found it adorable to see his son, “profile” people from afar. It was early afternoon, and Jack had his drink and Aaron was looking for a decent coffee while Jack walked on tip-toes around the stalls for a cookie or something sweet. Hotch made sure to keep his pace soft so Jack could keep up with him.

Everything seemed to be calm. People were strolling about, the park where the Market was being held was bustling with families and kids on roller skates. Again, it seemed like a perfectly safe place. That illusion was shattered when a slightly louder voice from in front of Jack and Aaron said, “Hey, she clearly said she wasn’t interested, so back off already.” A lower male voice repeated in just as loud a voice, “No one asked you your opinion so keep your nose out of our business.” From both people’s tone of voice, the situation didn’t sound good and Hotch turned to Jack quickly and said, “Alright, Buddy, time to come up.” Jack nodded happily and moved into his dad’s arms. Aaron picked up his son and moved through the crowd to find the source of the disturbance. Aaron saw a man, a few inches shorter than him standing with his hands on his hips in front of two people. The first he recognized as _y/n_ from a few weeks ago. The other was new to him.

Aaron didn’t want to cause a scene for everyone, especially not with Jack here, so he called out over the noise, “_y/n_, Jamie, there you are. Sorry parking the car took so long, it was a mess out there. At hearing a familiar half-familiar voice, _y/n_ looked over at Aaron and relaxed immediately. It was surprising, yet calming to see him again. At least this time they weren’t the ones that needed protection. At least not at the start. _y/n_ had gotten involved in the situation precisely because of the gun range incident. _y/n_ had decided that guns weren’t for them at all, but having someone stand up for them had felt good. They felt safe for the first time in over a month. So when _y/n_ saw a young woman being followed and then spoken to in a demeaning and intimidating manner, they felt like they should step in as the man at the range had. The dude didn’t seem that intimidating until he did. When he raised his voice and moved toward the woman, _y/n_ stepped between them and told him to “back the fuck off,” he didn’t take it well. _y/n_ was proud of standing their ground and keeping the guy away, even if it did mean backing up. However, even though _y/n_ hadn’t fallen into a panic as they had expected in the situation, they were immediately relieved when Aaron came into view.

_y/n_ caught onto Hotch’s plan quickly, took the woman’s hand, and said, “Hey, Aaron. Yeah, we were worried about you.” To make it look extra convincing to the man, _y/n_ leaned over to Jack and smiled, saying, “Hey, kiddo. How are you?” As the group moved down the street, the woman followed along with _y/n_ and Hotch watched as her face began to relax. He looked behind him and watched as the man took a few steps forward. Aaron shot him a glare and the unnamed dude halted in his tracks. In instances like these, Aaron was glad he had a look that could freeze lava. When he turned back to the pair, he made sure to relax his facial muscles. He didn’t want to make them uncomfortable. When the trio plus Jack got to a quiet space, _y/n_ turned to the woman and said, “Are you, alright darling? Did he bother you at all?” The woman sniffled a little and said, “He was just being a…” She stopped herself from saying an adult insult as she remembered there was a kid here and said instead, “... a major creep. Thanks for stepping in. I wouldn’t have been brave enough to do that.”

The woman smiled at _y/n_, Aaron and Jack. Hotch smiled but knew that he hadn’t done the hard work this time. _y/n_ also smiled and said, “I understand.” Their voice dropped and _y/n_ added, “Something bad happened to me a month ago, so I couldn’t just watch as that dude followed you.” There was a small pause as the woman put a hand on _y/n_’s shoulder. They perked up a bit and asked, “Are you waiting for someone, or did you come here by yourself? I’m _y/n_ by the way.” The woman smiled and said, “Ainsley. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m waiting for my husband. He’s the one taking forever” she said and smiled over at Aaron. As Ainsley said this, however, her eyes shifted past Aaron’s shoulder and she rolled them. She looked back to the pair and said, “Well speak of the devil. He’s over there looking at the bread stand again. He keeps on forgetting he’s allergic to gluten bless him. Thank y’all so much for the help. Let me stop him before he buys stuff he can’t even eat.” The woman quickly moved over to her husband and both Aaron and _y/n_ watched as Ainsley moved to the bread stall. _y/n_ couldn’t help but laugh at the argument the couple seemed to be having and Aaron joined in. Although both found it slightly funny, they also realized it wasn’t a good situation before.

Hotch turned to _y/n_ and said, “That was good of you to do _y/n_. I’m sorry to hear you went to something bad before.” _y/n_ dropped their eyes at the memory and said, “It was the least I could do.” _y/n_ didn’t feel like reflecting on why they felt like they needed to be able to protect themself and others. To lighten the mood, _y/n_ looked at Jack and his drink and said, “I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself, I’m _y/n_ and you are?” _y/n_ held a hand out to Jack and his eyes went wide at the attention. Aaron turned his gaze to his son and said, “Jack, what do we say when we meet someone new?” Jack looked at his dad and then _y/n_ and said softly, “Hi!” The little boy also gave a small wave with his words. Hotch chuckled and said, “And what else do we say?” Jack smiled and replied, “My name’s Jack, what’s yours?”

_y/n_ smiled and chuckled softly before repeating their name. Aaron’s smile widened at his son’s practicing his social skills. He could see _y/n_ look from Jack to his left hand and then to him. Aaron shifted his son to his other side and said, “This is my son by the way.” _y/n_ smiled and nodded, saying, “Well it’s nice to meet you, Jack. And it’s good to see you again too, Aaron. I hope you’ve been well since I’ve last seen you?” Hotch’s mind flashed to the last two cases. They had been hard, but _y/n_ didn’t need to hear about that, so he said, “It’s been good.” Hotch caught sight of the cold brew in their hand and he asked, “Can I ask where you got the coffee? I haven’t seen any around here yet.” _y/n_ smiled and said, “It’s a bit hidden. The stall is at the very back behind the crepe people. I might ask Jack where he got his lemonade. This heat is starting to get to me.” Hotch chuckled as _y/n_ half looked at him and half looked at Jack. It was clear that they were trying to include Jack in the conversation, but knew that Aaron was the one with the answer they wanted. Hotch replied, “It’s in the opposite direction as the crepe guy. Just down this way and to the left.”

Hotch could see why _y/n_ was hot in their _y/f/c_ long-sleeve shirt and form-fitting black pants. He had to move his eyes up before he got distracted. He didn’t want to start being the creep in this situation. _y/n_ didn’t even notice his distraction and said, “Okay. Thanks for the scoop. I think I’ll head over there or I might melt in this heat. It was nice to see you again. Maybe I’ll catch up with you later, maybe?” Jack squirmed in Hotch’s arms and he let his son down, saying, “Sure thing, _y/n_. I’ll see you around.” Jack was pulling at Aaron’s arm and _y/n_ let them both go with a wave. They knew it was unlikely that they had seen each other again. They weren’t expecting a third chance encounter. Little did either of them know the last meeting before Aaron found out what had happened to _y/n_ would come sooner than either of them imagined.

The rest of that afternoon unfolded uneventfully for both Aaron and _y/n_. Both got their drinks and then left without seeing the other again. On the drive home, Jack looked at his dad from his car seat and asked, “Daddy, who was that person today at the park?” Aaron looked at his son in the rearview mirror and tried to think of how to word his response. “Aquanitice wasn’t a word or topic he fully thought Jack could get yet, so he opted to say, “Well _y/n_ is a friend of mine and they were doing a good thing, and I wanted to make sure they were okay.” Jack nodded slowly and then asked, “Are they a friend like Uncle Rossi or Aunt Emily?” Hotch chuckled slightly at the affection Jack gave the team and clarified, “Not that close of a friend, Buddy. But we can learn something from _y/n_ today, and that’s when you see something bad or scary happening you should try and help. That doesn’t always mean getting into the situation, sometime it means finding someone to help, but you should always help people where you can. Okay, Jack?”

Jack nodded happily. The inquisitive child that he was, Jack had to ask, “What was dangerous back there, Daddy?” Hotch let out a nod, knowing this wasn’t a conversation Jack was ready for. Aaron replied, “I’ll tell you when you’re older, okay, son?” Jack nodded and then seemed to get absorbed by finishing his lemonade and looked out of the window at the scenery. As the car ride lulled into silence, Aaron considered how some spaces that should be safe, spaces that were safe for him simply weren’t for other people. Facts like that always made him sad. He wished reality wasn’t like that. Hotch reflected back on one of the things _y/n_ had said that afternoon, Their words to Ainsley about “something bad happening to them” echoed through his head. He assumed this bad thing wasn’t just the incident he was involved in. He tried to imagine what had happened to _y/n_ but realized it was pointless. Unless _y/n_ directly told him about the bad thing, which he didn’t expect to happen, he was just going to have to let it go. This thought stuck with Hotch as he made it home. As Aaron and Jack entered the apartment, he promised to teach his son that it was important to keep people safe and to model that behavior like he had to today when he could. Hotch knew he had the privilege of training and a gun to keep him safe, and this would come in handy when he saw _y/n_ for the third time.

The third time Aaron met _y/n_ was not that long after the last. The team was celebrating the end of a long and violent kidnapping case and Emily’s two-year anniversary of joining the team. The BAU had gone to a nicer bar in D.C. thanks to the fact that Rossi was paying, everyone stayed up a little later than they normally would. It helped that it was a Friday night and the bar was full of people to watch and loud enough for them to talk about what they wanted without being overheard. After four rounds and some good conversation, everyone moved out while Rossi paid the tab. Spencer, JJ, and Penelope had parked to the right while Aaron, Derek, and Emily, along with Rossi had found parking in a garage on the left side of the street. One problem that everyone always complained about when it came to going to D.C. was the parking. It was always terrible. The BAU split into two groups after saying their goodbyes. Hotch’s trio moved down the half-busy street. Some bars had people lining up to get in while others seemed empty.

Aaron was having a conversation with Emily and paying attention to what she was saying, while Derek watched what was happening on the street. He noticed something unsettling happening in front of them. On the darker side of the street which was almost empty, Morgan noticed a few yards ahead a group of three men manhandling and herding someone forward and toward the stone wall and an alleyway that was even darker than the street. Derek was too far away yet to hear what was being said, but when they got a few feet closer Morgan caught something from the person being pushed: “I told you that ad was fake, just leave me alone. God get your hands off of me.” Derek watched as one of the men moved a hand over the person’s mouth and pushed them forward. This was when Derek tapped Aaron urgently and said, “Situation at 1:00 o’clock.” Hotch’s head snapped up and he saw what was happening in the gloom ahead.” A rush of worry passed through him as he noticed _y/n_ as the one being towed by three men larger than them. Hotch looked at Morgan and both men moved into a sprint down the road. Emily followed closely behind, now noticing what her other two teammates had.

_y/n_ tried to thrash and kick those holding them against the cold wall, but they were pinned on either side, unable to scream. The man in front of them has his hands at _y/n_'s waistband while his friend covers their mouth. _y/n_ flinches as gruff hands move under their shirt, working up their torso. _y/n_ tried to fight, but it was no good. As the violation continued and their clothes were pulled away from their body, y/n_ accepted the fact that this would happen. No one had listened to them. Not the police, not Craigslist support. They tried to blank their mind out as much as possible at what was happening to them, so when the man in front of them was pulled away suddenly, they slumped forward not sure what was happening._y/n_ hadn’t even heard Aaron shout out, “Federal Agents,” as he and Morgan entered the alleyway.

Hotch and Derek got to the site first and both men watched for a split second at what was happening. They both needed to make sure that none of the men who had _y/n_ pinned down was armed. When they noticed the men didn’t seem armed, they sprung into action. Hotch shouted “Federal Agents,” and Morgan tore the man in front of _y/n_ off of them. Morgan swung the man to the ground and pinned his arm behind his back while his friends ran off down the alleyway, up the side of a dumpster, and over the short wall dividing one back street from another. Hotch watched for a moment torn between following the men and making sure _y/n_ was alright. It only took a microsecond for him to know that he would stay with _y/n_. Hotch ignored what the man on the ground was saying as he approached _y/n_ with palms open and out to show he wasn’t a threat. _y/n_ was slowly sliding down the wall, and Aaron noticed the back of their shirt rising behind them. Hotch caught _y/n_ before they hit the ground. He could see they were in shock. Who wouldn't be after such a situation?

As he guided them with his strong hands down to the ground, Emily rounded the corner and took in the situation. Morgan looked at Emily and said, “Can you sit on him or something? Prentiss nodded and she took his place. She painfully pinned the man’s arm behind his back to stop him from moving and Derek stood up. Aaron knew that Morgan wanted to try and find the other two men who had made a run for it. It was in Derek’s nature to take action, so when Hotch looked up at Derek, he said, "Follow those guys" It didn't take more than that for Morgan to take off running. Now Emily had the pleasure of the man below her shout out, “What the fuck are you doing. That bitch asked us to do this. They asked us. What do you guys not get about that? Like I said to the other guy I’ll show you the ad online if you just let me get my phone from my pocket. Em scoffed and replied, “Fat chance pal. Generally when someone is fighting you and you have to pin them to a wall that’s not what I call enthusiastic consent. Now if I were you, I’d shut up until the police get here.”

Hotch overheard the conversation as he gently tapped _y/n_'s face lightly to try and bring them back. Aaron didn’t have to look at Emily as calling the police and 9-1-1. His attention snapped back to _y/n_ as they started thrashing slightly, fighting his hold on their shoulder. Aaron rocked on his heels and moved his hand to _y/n_’s as their breaths came raggedly at the new contact. Hotch made sure his face was in view as he squeezed _y/n_’s hand to match his breath as he said, “_y/n_, it’s Aaron, from before. I need you to take some deep breaths for me.” _y/n_ could hear a comforting tenor voice and felt their hand get enveloped in a larger, warm one. This was not the invasive touch from before. It took _y/n_ a few minutes before their mind fully came back to their body. When it did, _y/n_ turned their head and saw a familiar face. They gave a tiny squeeze of acknowledgment back to Aaron. Their breath was still rapid, and _y/n_ struggled to speak from the stress and adrenaline coursing through them. All _y/n_ could do was just make a little sound from the back of their throat. Hotch leaned forward and ran a hand over their forehead, pushing a loose strand of hair away from their face, He knelt on the ground and said reassuringly, “You’re doing good, _y/n_. You’re safe now. Just try and breathe and relax for me. Can you do that?” _y/n_ nodded and tried to follow his instructions.

They watched and breathed along with Aaron taking a moment to look over at Emily and the man on the ground. Hotch shifted to block _y/n_’s view so they couldn’t see the man clearly. He had finally shut up, and for that, Hotch was grateful. After a few minutes, the paramedics came and evaluated _y/n_’s physical and emotional state. Hotch was annoyed that the police took five minutes after 9-1-1 to arrive. While _y/n_ was being evaluated, Aaron provided the details of what had happened. He gave a description of the other two assailants and the fact that another federal agent was pursuing them right now. The pair of cops asked him a few questions but didn’t seem that interested in his responses. Hotch shifted his weight and folded his arms over his chest. He wasn’t impressed with either of the men’s attitudes. He took a quick moment to memorize their badge numbers as they moved to Emily’s side. One hauled the grounded man up and toward their cruiser while the other interviewed Prentiss with a similar laissez-faire tone. While this happened, Hotch looked over to _y/n_. They seemed to be back to a more normal state but they had a shock blanket on and a pressure cuff on their arm. Hotch looked around to see if Morgan was back, but he wasn’t. Aaron then texted the rest of the team. He didn’t say they needed to come. The scene was busy enough as it was, he just let them know that a “situation” had unfolded and that he might call or text them if he needed something. When the rest of the team sounded off on the chat, he thanked them and clicked off his phone.

Morgan returned a few minutes later looking angry. Hotch looked up at him, and Derek shook his head no. As they began to chat about the chase that hadn’t ended up with the fit agent finding the other two men, Aaron noticed that the cops had approached _y/n_ in the back of the ambulance. Morgan noticed Hotch’s lack of attention caught Derek’s attention and he turned to look and listen to the quiet conversation happening near the street. Whatever the cops were saying was indistinguishable from the noise of the cars moving down the street, but both agents noticed how uncomfortable _y/n_ looked. They had their arms holding each other in a self-soothing gesture. They didn’t look comforted by what the men were saying either. The conversation also seemed to be too short to get any real information from _y/n_. One of the cops moved back toward the cruiser with their empty notepad out while the other approached Morgan. Aaron slipped past the officer and toward _y/n_. One of the paramedics was taking off the cuff on _y/n_’s arm and Hotch looked from _y/n_ to the man and asked, “Could you give us a few moments alone?”

The man nodded, placed the medical device back where belonged, and then moved away to give them some space. Before asking _y/n_ any serious questions, he just checked in saying, “Are you feeling alright, _y/n_? Are you in any pain?” _y/n_ met his gaze and then looked down at the pavement below them. After a moment of silence and a breath, _y/n_ replied, “The medic gave me something to numb everything a bit. The nerves and stuff. So I’m not in any physical pain at least.” Hotch clenched his jaw knowing that _y/n_ was most likely in emotional turmoil at the moment. Even though it was going to be hard, he hoped he could provide some comfort and reassurance to _y/n_ that he would make sure they were safe. But in order for him to do that, he needed the full story. He took a breath and introduced himself again, this time fully. Aaron leaned a bit closer and said, “It’s good to hear that they gave you something. Would you be willing to talk to me for a minute? I’m a federal agent, and I’d like to be able to help you if you’re willing.” He pulled out his badge and showed it to _y/n_. He didn’t flash it like he normally did at cops or other agents. He gave _y/n_ plenty of time to look at it. In _y/n_’s brain, things started making more sense about the man they’d run into often. Why he was so good with a gun? How confident he was in stressful situations, and why the other men had run away when he got there. _y/n_ seemed mesmerized by the card but snapped their eyes back to his deep brown ones.

_y/n_ realized that they were focusing on only one thing at a time in order to not have to think about what was not happening. If that was the case, it might as well be Agent Aaron Hotchner. He was comforting and certainly not hard on the eyes. _y/n_ released a breath and nodded yes. The small rapport they had built with the man in front of them made _y/n_ feel safe enough to speak with Aaron. Hotch registered their consent and he thought about how to word his first question. He knew that with victims of trauma, specific questions were better than general ones. Something like “What happened,” could send _y/n_ into a spiral or unable to answer. Aaron decided to start from the beginning and move to tonight’s events in order. He asked gently, “The last time I saw you, at the farmers market, you said that something bad had happened to you. Could you tell me what that was?” _y/n_ looked down at their hands. They felt like saying “Nothing.” _y/n_ had felt like saying nothing for the last thirty-three days, but nothing hadn’t helped them, so _y/n_ resolved to tell Aaron the truth. Raising their eyes back to his, _y/n_ saw the compassion and care in Hotch’s gaze and it gave them the strength to quietly say, “It’s kind of a long story…” Aaron nodded his head no and said, “Not to me. I’ve got all night. Take your time.” _y/n_ nodded and looked at Aaron’s hands instead of him as they said, “I was dating a guy. It was pretty on and off. It was a mistake, we didn’t have the same beliefs or interests. So when I found out he was cheating on me I broke it off. I thought he felt the same way about me as I felt about him. I thought I was doing him a favor by cutting him free.

As it turns out he was very invested in me and he got incredibly angry when I told him it was over. He threatened to hurt himself if I did this to him. I told him that wasn’t true and that he was too arrogant to go through with something like that. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but it was true. He’s a baby and he’s never had to do anything for himself before. As it turned out he ended up just hurting me instead.” _y/n_ looked briefly at Aaron to see if he was still listening. Again, they hadn’t been before and _y/n_ was surprised as his warm gaze was still as attentive as ever. Hotch gave a little nod for _y/n_ to continue. _y/n_ moved their gaze to the wall just to the left of his ear and continued, “So he left and everything was quiet for a week. Then one day one of my friends sent me a link saying I had to see something.” _y/n_ picked at their nail, with eyes downcast. Hotch assumed it was a tell for embarrassment for them. His core clenched for what was about to come. He could tell it wasn’t good. Already had negative feelings toward whoever this guy was. _y/n_ finally said, “I clicked the link and it took me to an adult site. My ex had leaked the nudes I’d sent him a few months back. It turned out he put them all over the net. To as many sites as he could think of. I’d been told so many times not to send nudes because of revenge porn and stuff, but I never thought it would happen to me. Not to this scale. So that was horrible and I stayed up for two days emailing the sites and I called the police and they said they’d start a report or something. I was mortified, but the next day some guy I’d never seen before came to my door and said he was there about the ad.”

Alarm bells were ringing in Aaron’s head because the three men earlier tonight had been speaking of an ad too. _y/n_ didn’t see the concern and anger on his face as they were too embarrassed to look him in the face as they said, “Of course, I didn’t know what he was talking about and said he had the wrong house. The guy got defensive and the ad said for sure this was the right address. I wanted him to leave me alone so I asked to see the ad. I was sure it was a mistake or something and maybe I could point him in the right direction. He pulled up Craigslist and showed me his phone. My… my ex had made an account pretending to be me. He’s posted an ad saying that I lived alone and had a sexual fantasy about being sexually assaulted. He’d put my picture up and my address and even times when I was normally home.”

Aaron watched as _y/n_ struggled more and more to get the words out. He his heart ached that such a violation had been done to _y/n_. He also felt like throttling the man who had done this. Who had thought of something so terrible and gone through with it? He moved a hand to _y/n_’s and gently brushed his fingertips over theirs. He wanted to offer some comfort. _y/n_ looked at their right hand and grabbed onto Aaron’s hand tightly, anchoring themself to his strength. _y/n_ swallowed thickly and said, “When the words registered I just broke down and the guy got real worried. He actually made sure I was okay. I explained it was all a mistake. Just a terrible prank from a friend. He apologized and left. When I finally got it together I emailed Craigslist and then called the support number. I got rerouted about twenty times and I gave up when I was put on hold for the seventh time. I called the cops and they said the same thing as last time. That they’d look into it; make a report. The ad stayed up and guys kept showing up. I told them all it was a mistake but some of them didn’t take it that way.”

Aaron clenched his jaw and spoke for the first time, asking, “Did anything happen? Did anyone hurt you?” His eyes scanned _y/n_ like he’d be able to see if she’d been attacked. _y/n_ found his gaze and said, “Not really. Not until tonight. Last week there was a guy that didn’t take no for no in my driveway but I was close to my car and got inside and locked it before he started running. That was when I called the cops again.” Hotch furrowed his brow. Law enforcement's response so far to _y/n_’s situation had been mediocre at best. That was demonstrated tonight as well. He cleared his throat so he didn’t sound angry at _y/n_ and asked, “And what did they do?” _y/n_ looked at him and said, “They came by and gave the guy a warning and told him not to come back. That was about it.” Aaron clenched his jaw so tight that he thought his teeth might shatter.

Aaron couldn’t help but ask in disbelief, “Why are they treating you so dismissively? Even tonight it looked like they didn’t care.” Aaron had asked the question aloud in frustration and as a hypothetical. So when _y/n_ responded his eyes snapped to theirs. This was the part that _y/n_ hated as they said, “My ex was a cop. Well, part-time cop until he quit because he didn’t like the night shift that they gave him. But he certainly loved waving a gun around and bossing people around too. His job should have been my first red flag, but I was sad and he gave me attention. I was such an idiot.” Aaron nodded his head no and said, “You weren’t an idiot, _y/n_. You were hurting and someone took advantage of that. That’s not your fault.” At hearing his words, and being believed, _y/n_ couldn’t hold in the emotions anymore and put their head in their hands and started to cry large hot tears. Hotch moved forward and protectively put his arms around them. _y/n_ moved their head to his shoulder and kept crying. Aaron placed a hand on their back and just waited. Sometimes words were unneeded and he felt like this was one of those times.

After a few minutes and when _y/n_ had stilled and the tears had gone Hotch asked softly, still holding them, “And tonight? Were those men responding to the ad?” Aaron felt _y/n_ nod into his shoulder and _y/n_ said, “Yeah. I was just taking a walk and they were at the door banging on it. By the time they saw me, it was too late. I tried to tell them the situation like everyone else but they wouldn’t have it, so I ran. I thought they’d stop once I got to a place with more people but they just kept following. Thank God you were here.” Hotch questioned very much if God had anything to do with such cruelty, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he patted _y/n_’s back before pulling back to look at them. Aaron ran a thumb under _y/n_’s eye, catching the last of the tears and brushing it on his button-down. Aaron looked at _y/n_ sincerely as he said, “I’m so sorry that happened to you. No one deserves to be treated like that.” Hotch was more than sad, he was enraged, but he didn’t show it for _y/n_’s sake. He was going to find this guy and make sure he got what he deserved for trying to ruin _y/n_’s life. For getting away with what he had.

Aaron was also going to be filing a complaint to the District Attorney, whom he had on speed dial about how law enforcement was trying to cover for a criminal who didn’t even work for them anymore. Hotch took _y/n_’s hands softly and asked, “Can you tell me the name of your ex? I want to make sure you’re safe. Not only from him but from anyone who might come and try and hurt you.” Aaron knew this was a big ask. A huge ask, but it was needed if he intended to help them. After a few moments of silence, _y/n_ looked at him. Really looked at him. If there was anyone who had shown to act so far, it had been him, almost a stranger. But that feeling of safeness returned and _y/n_ said, “His name’s _y/e/p’s/n_.” Hotch nodded and said sincerely, “Thank you. I’m going to go and make a few calls. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Do you need someone to be here with you?” _y/n_ nodded their head no and said, “I’ll be fine as long as you’re close.” _y/n_ didn’t want to sound so pathetic, but it was true. Aaron understood and replied, “I’ll be in view, I promise.” _y/n_ nodded, relieved that he didn’t seem upset at such a silly ask.

Aaron moved toward Derek and Emily who were both talking in soft tones. As Hotch passed one of the police officers he frowned and asked, “What’s the name of your Cheif of Police?” The befuddled and bored-looking LEO replied with the officer’s name like he didn’t care. Aaron let out a huff and moved past the man and toward his team members. Both Emily and Derek looked at him and registered that he was unhappy. Morgan asked, “What happened?” Hotch responded, “I’ll tell you in a moment. Prentiss, can you call Garcia and ask her to look up a name: _y/e/p’s_n_? I want everything on him.” Emily nodded and Derek looked at Hotch with probing eyes. Hotch stated, “I need to call the Attorney General, will you watch those two officers and make sure they give _y/n_ some space?” At hearing the AG being brought up Derek knew this was important and he nodded and moved closer to the ambulance blocking _y/n_ from the sight of the police car and men talking inside. Hotch quickly left a message and then checked in with Emily. Prentiss assured him that Garcia was already on it. Hotch thanked her and moved back toward _y/n_. The medic was speaking to _y/n_ as he approached.

Aaron moved forward to see what was going on. He looked at _y/n_ and they filled him in saying, “I’m good to go. They’re not taking me.” Hotch looked at _y/n_ and the paramedic who nodded that that was correct. Aaron looked back at _y/n_ and asked, “Are you going home from here? Do you need someone to take you?” _y/n_ managed a small smile at the kindness he was showing them and replied, “I’ve called one of my friends that live close by. I’m going to stay at her house tonight. Maybe I’ll go home tomorrow.” Aaron nodded in understanding and said, “Okay. I’m going to look into what’s happened. I’ll keep you updated if that’s alright?” _y/n_ nodded and said, “I’d like that. Can I give you my number or something?” Hotch nodded and said, “Yes. I’d appreciate that.”

Aaron slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet where he kept a few business cards. He flipped one to the back and added his cell number before handing it to _y/n_ saying, “Here’s my office number and my cell. If you feel unsafe if someone tries to come to your door again you can call me and I’ll make sure someone comes and gets them away from you. And I’ll stay here with you until your friend shows up.” _y/n_ felt like they could cry again but held it together and replied, “Thank you so much. Sorry if I messed up your night, or you getting home to your son.” Aaron couldn’t help but give a small smile at _y/n_’s memory of Jack. He replied, “Jack’s at his mom’s tonight. You’re not inconveniencing me _y/n_. I want to make sure you’re safe. That’s what’s important to me. Even though it felt impossible in a case like this after everything _y/n_ had been through, they believed him and just sat in the comfort of someone who made them feel safe for the first time in a very long time. Eventually _y/n_’s friend came and _y/n_ went with them. Hotch wrapped up with the officers, paramedics, and Emily and Derek after which he headed home.

The following day he got the report from Garcia. He also asked her to find the ad on Craigslist take it off the internet and trace the IP address. He also mentioned the revenge porn and Penelope looked as horrified as he had felt when _y/n_ heard about it from _y/n_ Garcia promised to take down an images she could find of _y/n_ as soon as possible. Later that day Hotch got a call back from the Attorney General and he filled the man in on the Police situation. General Miyares promised to look into the situation. At the end of the day, Hotch texted _y/n_ that things were in progress and that the ad had been removed since noon that afternoon. He filled them in on some of the other details too. _y/n_ thanked him profusely over text which he brushed off. Aaron didn’t think too much about _y/n_ until a week later when her ex was arrested for a litany of crimes from assault and battery, to money laundering and fraud. Aaron happened to be on _y/n_’s side of town when he found out about the arrest and he felt like he should call _y/n_ to see if they had heard and if they were doing okay.

He dialed their number and after a few rings, they picked up. There was a hesitation before _y/n_ said, “Hey, Aaron. How are you?” Hotch wondered why he heard hesitation in their voice but answered honestly, “I’m alright? Are you doing okay? Have you heard the news?” After a moment, _y/n_ replied, “I just heard. My friend sent me an article about it. I’m trying to be okay. I haven’t gotten out much since I’ve last seen you.” Hotch could fully understand why _y/n_ would want to isolate. Even after the ad had been taken down, just getting out the door must be a challenge. Aaron asked gently, “Have you thought about any added security measures like you mentioned last week?” _y/n_ replied faster this time saying, “Yes. I bought a ring camera and an extra bolt for the door but haven’t had them installed. I called a guy but when he showed up I kind of freaked out. I’ve been too embarrassed to ask anyone else.” Hotch’s heart gave a little tug at how scary any man showing up at their door would be for them. Aaron had an idea and he simply said, “Listen. I don’t want to push or anything, but I’m in your area. I could come over and install those things for you if you like, _y/n_? But only if you wanted me to.” There was another silence and _y/n_ replied, “You’re not busy?” Aaron smiled and said, “No, I’m not busy.”

Twenty minutes later Hotch parked outside _y/n_’s door and he knocked on the front door. _y/n_ opened it for him and said, “Thanks for doing this. You really didn’t have to.” Aaron gave them a smile and said, “I don’t mind. If it makes you feel safer, then I’m happy to do it. Could you show me the ring camera and bolt?” Hotch was just a few feet into their door and he didn’t move forward. He didn’t want to make them feel unsafe in their space so he didn’t venture further unless asked. From what he did see it seemed cozy and warm. A place that reflected _y/n_’s personality. After a minute and some rustling, _y/n_ came back. Their arms were full of a few boxes and a drill that didn’t fully seem right in their grasp. Hotch stepped forward slightly and said, “Here, let me get that for you.” He took the bigger items from _y/n_’s arms.

Hotch looked at the door and asked, “I can put this camera up first and you could set up the app while I added the bolt. Would that be alright with you?” _y/n_ nodded and said, “Yes, that sounds good to me.” Aaron returned the smile and said, “Great. Well, I’ll get started. This shouldn’t take long to set up.” Hotch grabbed the drill and the box holding the camera and moved back outside. Twenty minutes later he was back in the cooled room. As Aaron started adding the new lock to the door, _y/n_ worked on getting the camera set up and said, “Got it!” Excitedly when they could see the outside of their home from the safety of inside. Aaron turned and said, Great. Hopefully, that will give you some extra security, as will this.” Hotch pulled back and showed the deadbolt was now in place. Aaron stood up and said, “Is there anything else I could do to make you feel better? You said you weren’t getting out much. Are you feeling okay?” _y/n_’s smile fell slightly as they said, “Would you like a coffee or something? Or a glass of water? It was pretty hot out there.” Hotch could hear the desperation in _y/n_’s voice for him to stay, for just a bit longer. Aaron nodded and said, “A coffee sounds nice. Thank you _y/n_.” _y/n_ relaxed and let their shoulders relax. They looked at Aaron and said, “Would you like to come in and sit down?” They pointed to the table near the kitchen and Hotch moved further inside and took a seat. _y/n_ moved around the kitchen brewed a fresh pot of coffee and then sat down across from Aaron. They talked about light topics until the coffee was ready and they got them both a cup.

When _y/n_ was seated again, Hotch asked the same question again: “Are you doing okay, _y/n_?” _y/n_ bit their lip and said, “You’d think I’d be. _y/e/p’s/n_ just got jailed and I have added security, but most days I can’t even leave the house. Some mornings I can’t get out of bed. I’m wondering if I’m ever going to move past this. If I can see a man outside my door and not be afraid. Sometimes I feel like my life is over.” Aaron leaned forward and said, “It’s not over, _y/n_. I know it’s hard, but you can do this. You didn’t deserve anything that happened to you, but I believe you can move on from this. I hope in time you can feel safe and that you know you have resources so when you don’t feel safe there’s someone looking out for you. I’m one of those people, _y/n_. _y/n_ felt their eye’s water again. They hadn’t told Aaron this but he was the first person they’d let into their home since that first man had come looking for sex. It didn’t feel like the new beginning they had planned, but it was a small step forward. If nothing else _y/n_ knew that Aaron Hotchner was a man out in the world fixing things rather than tearing them apart, and he cared enough to be sitting here watching them almost cry. Hotch moved a hand forward and placed it over theirs. _y/n_ closed their eyes, sure they’d say something soon. But for now, it felt good to be safe with someone. And that someone was Aaron Hotchner.

______________________________________________________________

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total-killer-brainrot · 10 months ago

Text

Remote Broadcast

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Amidst one of Charlie's mind numbing lesson plans, you get a big surprise hiding under the dinner table.

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i love this stinky swamp man so much and i love the thought of his shadow basically manifesting any and all horny desires and occasionally acting on them despite his best efforts.

i am fully aware that hes canonically aroace, but fuck it im horny i wanna write horny shit

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All my fics are also on AO3

Not Beta Read. Rating: Explicit. Length: 1,303. Ship: Alastor x You. Fem!Reader. Tags: Mildly Dubious Consent, Groping, Exhibitionism, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Restraints, Tentacles, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Embarrassment, Multiple Orgasms

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The logic behind today’s lesson plan escaped you. Charlie seemed to think that proper table manners and dining etiquette would surely land each participating sinner a spot in Heaven. Like you, most of the Hotel’s residences were less than enthusiastic. But still, why bother trying to redeem your damned soul if you were going to refuse to get involved with all of Charlie’s ideas.

By now the Hotel boasted over twenty willing sinners. Most of which had no clue how to properly hold a butter knife, let alone know the difference between a fish fork and a salad fork. A handful of the volunteers from Cannibal Town were actually well educated in the practices of fine dining, despite their usual methods of messy eating. And they were more than happy to assist Charlie’s lesson. Including the Hotel’s resident facilities manager, the Radio Demon himself, who sat near the head of the table with Charlie and Vaggie.

Halfway through the lesson and you were bored out of your mind. Picking at your food while Charlie attempted to instruct a particularly violent demon on how to use the fork without breaking the fine china. Most of the other residents were chatting quietly amongst themselves as they ate. It wasn’t often the whole Hotel got together to eat and talk casually. And most seemed to be enjoying themselves. You continued to pick at your food until you felt something brush your leg.

You frowned and leaned back in your chair to look down, unable to spot anything in the shadow. You assumed one of the people seated next to you, or perhaps even Angel Dust seated across the table, must have nudged your leg accidentally. And then you felt it again. An icy cold slither up the back of your calf. You glared at Angel, sure he was pulling some kind of joke. But he wasn’t laughing, lost in his own conversation with Husk next to him. You glanced at the other sinners near you, but no one seemed to be paying you any mind.

A shudder ran through you as the thing at your feet touched you again, reaching the hem of your skirt and pushing it up slowly. You leaned back further, but still couldn’t see anything. Just inky darkness below the table cloth. Too dark to simply be the shadow of the table. Quickly sitting up straight and going very still when you felt cold fingers run over your clothed cunt. What the fuck was going on?

This time the thing below you didn’t pull away. Exploring your pussy and inner thighs. You did your best to not show your reaction on your face. Whatever cruel joke someone was playing on you, they wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you enjoy it in front of everyone. Though you did draw a few confused glances when a quiet gasp escaped you. Your mystery friend pressing down on your clit repeatedly. Your hands shot down between your legs. Pressing down on the chair below you and blocking the things access to your core.

You felt the cold wrap around your wrists and tug them to your sides. And finally you got a glimpse of who was messing with you. Tendrils of darkness holding your arms tight, just below the tablecloth. And grinning up at you between your legs, a large smile amidst inky shadow. You’d seen this creature before. Always attached to its master. Your head shot up, looking towards the Radio Demon. He was sitting nearly at the opposite side of the table to you, but even from this distance you could see he was tense. His ever present grin strained as he stared straight ahead, brows furrowed. Not engaging in conversation, just dead focused on, well you knew what.

Another shuddering gasp left you. The shadow having pulled your panties to the side and gaining full access to you. You refused to look down again, trying to remain calm, but you could feel a long, cold tongue on your clit as two fingers slipped inside you. You whimpered, as quietly as you could possibly manage. The stretch didn’t hurt, the combination of your own slick, and whatever substance the shadow was made of making its fingers slide in and out of you easily. It was slow, taking its time to explore every inch of you, inside and out.

Your gaze turned back to Alastor, and you were surprised to see his cheeks flushed bright red. You could see his claws digging into the edge of the table as he gripped it. And all of a sudden you weren’t so sure he was doing this on purpose. Did the shadow have a mind of its own?

Before you could stop it, a horribly loud whine escaped your mouth. Drawing everyone’s attention. You blushed dark, the fingers inside you stilling as everyone stared at you. Everyone except Alastor, who remained staring straight again. Embarrassment clawed up your throat and you stammered to explain yourself.

“Oh yeah! That's what I’m talking about!” Angel Dust moaned across from you, leaning back in his chair as he mimicked your whine, though much louder and far more exaggerated. The table laughed along with him, before returning to their conversations. You frowned at Angel in confusion, but he simply just winked at you and returned to Husk.

You took in a deep breath, right as the shadow curled its fingers inside you. You squeezed your eyes shut and breathed through your nose, focusing on remaining still and quiet as it drew you closer and closer to your orgasm. The coldness of its being a stark contrast to your burning skin.

Glancing once again at Alastor you could see how he was gritting his teeth. For a brief moment the shadow disappeared, not pulling away, simply fading out of existence. Before returning back full force. Seemingly intent on making you finish before Alastor dragged it away from its work.

You clenched your fists and bit down on your bottom lip hard as you rolled your hips against the shadows fingers. Eyes fluttering shut as you felt your pleasure nearing its peak. Distantly you hear Angel talking louder, making lewd jokes and making sure the attention was off you as you tipped over the edge. Thighs trembling as your orgasm flowed over you. Each and every nerve on fire. The wonderful sensations quickly turned into overstimulation as the shadow continued its motions. You squirmed in your seat, struggling to get out of the tendril’s grip so you could push it away. It was hopeless.

You had long since forgotten about keeping quiet. Far too distracted by the fingers and tongue driving you crazy. Right as you were being dragged towards your second orgasm, it all stopped. You whined needily and glanced down, the shadow was gone. Looking up in a daze you noticed so was everyone else. Except for Alastor.

The tall demon stood from his chair, adjusting his coat and running a hand through his hair. He looked embarrassed almost. Avoiding your eye as he turned towards the door. You sat up slowly, watching him as he walked away from you. Still trembling and a little bit out of breath.

“Alastor. Don’t you dare fucking leave. I was just about to cum.”

He froze. And you grinned as the room around you darkened. The length of the shadow crawling up the wall, grin spreading across its dark face. You felt another tentacle of darkness wrap around your waist and lift you out of the chair.

The door in front of Alastor opened and Angel Dust stuck his head in.

“Hey I got everyone to leave and- oh! Well I’ll leave you to it.” He laughed, watching you be maneuvered by Alastor’s shadows before leaving the two of you alone once again.

#tkb fics #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x you

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cherrysoulth · 5 months ago

Text

Pissin' Our Pants Yet?- Chapter 4: New order

💕Pairing: Negan x Female Reader

✏️Genre/au: Canon, Action, Smut, Sci-fi, The Walking Dead Fic

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: 9173

⚠️chapter warnings: Shitloads of cursing, Gore details (zombies), Mentions of cults, mentions of cult practices, dictatorship status

<<< 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 3 | 𝕸𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 5 >>>

Hii! Did you stumble across this work? Glad you're here 😊 Please, let me know your thoughts once you are finished. Feedback keeps me motivated to write 😁

Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)

My gratitude goes to @alldevilsarehere90 for her hard work on beta reading this huge chapters🧡

"Pissing our pants yet?" says Negan, the wicked big bad wolf on full display, the dance of shadows and lights in the clearing only making him look more imposing. The alpha in him is exuding from every pore through the depths of his hatred.

'That's how he uses his anger. He channels it to dominance and subjugation,’ you think as you watch Lucile with her dangerous wires resting at his shoulder, his head held high. If you would have met him in this situation instead, you would have felt far more terrified of him than you were back in the mall. His characteristic smile back to his lips as he starts to walk, knowing they are not yet aware of the things Gregory the pencil dick has told Simon about them. "Boy, do I have a feeling we’re getting close.'' He keeps on his advances, calmly, inspecting the prey, checking each one of them in a semicircle. "Yep, it’s gonna be Pee-Pee Pants City here, real soon," his smile doesn't fade an inch at any moment, then casually points at each one of them while asking: "Which one of you pricks is the leader?"

"It's this one," Simon replies, pointing to a slim man seemingly in his mid-forties, judging by his peppery beard. Looking at Negan as if he isn't surrounded by at least fifty men or as if Negan is as much of a threat as a walker without legs. To a certain point, you can understand his attitude. 'The dude has taken down a bunch of Saviours like they were pigs waiting to be slaughtered, instead of soldiers to a tyrant's regime,' you remind yourself. "It's this guy," adds Simon with his typical second-in-command tone. Negan looks at the guy up and down, first curious, then gets closer, smiling widely. He already knew.

"Hi, you’re Rick, right?" he licks his molars, knowing he’s about to break some tough questions for these people, surely: the 'What's he going to do to us?' one. But starts talking seriously and the darkness shown in his features just seconds ago, makes its way into his words. Simon, in front of you, seems to be somewhere darker, his body so tense while seeming to be standing casually, you are sure you heard his joints snap. Like a contained animal on a tight leash. "I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killing my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people, you killed more of my people," his eyes strain and his voice grows lower with those words.

"Not cool. Not fucking cool. You have no idea how not fucking cool that shit is," the guy looks at him and you notice that sparkle in Negans eyes. Something crosses his mind. "But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly. Yeah, you are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes," that smile slowly comes back to his face, the lights making his pearls stand against the dark expression in the rest of his demeanour. "Yes, you are," his tongue travels to the side of his mouth again and for some sick reason you find that sexy. "You see, Rick, whatever you do, no matter fuckin' what, you don’t mess with the new world order. And the new world order is this, and it’s really very simple, so, even if you’re stupid, which you very well may be, you can understand it." There's a short pause in his speech. "You ready? Here goes, pay attention:" he adds, dropping Lucille from his shoulder to point to the guy who's sweating and shaking like jelly, probably starting to notice there's no way out or trying to figure one out, making him move uncomfortably away from her.

"Give me your shit, or I will kill you," a confident smile appears on Negan's lips. You are the only lucky bastard at Sanctuary on that matter, there's nothing that Negan can threaten you with besides your own life and you are sure he already knows that wouldn't even be a threat. That is until Daryl has reappeared in your life and something has twisted in your soul. Bringing back the threat of trouble and something old, something you thought you left on the road. "Today was career day." Negan starts to pace in front of them with Lucille at his side, talking louder for everyone to hear. Not that you couldn't in this forest of silence. "We invested a lot so you would know who I am, and what I can do. You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me," he points to a short-haired woman. "That’s your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow, but swallow it you most certainly mother-fuckin' will." there's some rage in his voice but he knows tonight the rules will be engraved in every single one of their minds with blood. That smile coming and going in the meantime, makes you hope it's just his way of making people think he doesn't care about hurting people to make them fall in line. "You ruled the roost. You built something. You thought you were safe. I get it. But, the word is out: You are not safe. Not even close." emphasising those last words to make a point. 'We are the only ones safe, the Saviours. Only if we follow his rules.' It makes you shiver.

"In fact, you are fucked. More fucked if you don’t do what I want. And what I want is half your shit. And if that’s too much, you can make, find, or steal more, and it’ll even out sooner or later. This is your way of life now," he explains, extending his arms referring to the situation they are in. "The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So if someone knocks on your door, " he chuckles, "you let us in. We own that door. You try to stop us, and we will knock it down. Do you understand?'' Then he cups his ear not really expecting a response, as he arches his brows towards Rick. All probably because there's still some glare-fight coming from his little crowd. The courtesy isn't replied. "What, no answer?" He steps back again to direct himself to the kneeling group.

"You don’t really think that you were gonna get through this without being punished, now, did you?" you look at the group stopping your eyes from staying too much on the one body you know. You knew him but you can't stop the thought: 'Anyone but him, please.' "I don’t want to kill you, people. Just want to make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can’t do that if you’re fuckin' dead, now, can you? I’m not growing a garden.'' Then you notice a change in the air, so thick it could be cut with a knife as if the words before were just a warm-up and he is starting the main event. Starting to get serious. "But you killed my people, a whole damn lot of them, more than I’m comfortable with. And for that, for that, you’re gonna fucking pay. So now, I’m gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you." he makes a slight pause to put his weapon of choice on display.

"This, this is Lucille, and she is awesome. All this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor.'' He keeps walking and stops in front of a redhead that gives him a 'Let it be me, I'm not scared of you,' kind of look, to which Negan smiles, inhaling sharply while rubbing his beard. "Huh. Ugh, I gotta shave this shit," he mutters to himself, then keeps walking till he sees the young man with the patch on his eye. "You got one of our guns." Negan squats in front of the kid. "Yeah. You got a lot of our guns," his gaze grilling on the kid but the boy keeps eye contact. You shiver, thinking that giving him a stink eye in this situation is probably a dead sentence but the boy is so young, he's probably not yet had the time to make big mistakes to pay for.

"Shit, kid, lighten up. At least cry a little," Negan tells him with a chuckle before clearing his throat. He moves around still not deciding, just creating tension before choosing who's gonna die tonight. But stops in front of the short-haired woman again, who already looked like she was going to pass out when she was put down from the makeshift bed and she looks even worse now, judging from Negan’s ‘not giving a fuck tone’, says: "Je-sus. You look shitty. I should just put you out of your misery right now-"

"No! No!" shrieks an east asian guy, near to tears as he launches forward towards the woman. You bet, to protect her. 'They are a couple, definitely.' Dwight and another Savior reduce him quite violently, the first one pointing the crossbow to his head while the guy grunts on the ground.

"Nope," Negan, who has been watching the whole thing, starts to move again. "get him back in line," commands before sighing.

"N-noo…" grunts the guy while Dwight drags him to his place again. Then growls and yells with impotence and desperation. 'They don't look like bad people, in fact, they look like pretty normal people you would find at the grounds of Sanctuary. Maybe they just wanted to defend themselves' but it's not your call. "Don't... Don't…" the guy continues to plead, Negan chuckles again but you can't see the fun in all this even if he pointed it out to you.

"Hey, listen. Don't any of you, do that again. I will shut that shit down. No exceptions. First one's free. It's an emotional moment," Negans' smile comes back again, "I get it." He pauses. At this point, it seems obvious how many times he's done this to know how to increase the tension and not let the situation become a bloodbath. You realise that this might, indeed, be a tough choice. He has to choose between them the one that will seal the deal. They all are very close to each other somehow, from what you've heard along the waves, seems like the community is tightly bonded together. "Sucks, doesn’t it? The moment you realize you don’t know shit?" He looks at them and stops his eyes at the kid again, then points him with Lucille and his gaze shifts towards Rick. "This is your kid, right?" he laughs cruelly, sucking in a croaky breath. As if it's been a funny realisation, although you know he already knew somehow before making that comment. "This is definitely your kid!" he adds with a chuckle.

"So stop that!-" growls Rick, finally saying something.

"Hey! Do not make me kill the little future serial killer. Don’t make it easy on me," he suggests, showing off that he already knows who is who and what's been done. "I gotta pick somebody. See, everybody's at the table waiting for me to order." He starts to walk again, with his characteristic whistle, letting the air break through his teeth before saying: "I simply cannot decide..." Then turns, giving them his back, before another dark chuckle escapes, adding to his mystique. Turning, again, to look at them, he adds: "I got an idea…" wetting his lips, giving it a little thought and his teeth gleaming brightly again. A terrible one, you guess.

"Eenie. Meenie." he starts, pointing at each one of them, starting at Rick. "Miney. Mo. Catch. The tiger. By. His toe. If. He hollers. Let him go..." he moves to the other end of the lined-up people. "My mother. Told me. To pick. The very. Best. One. And you. Are. It." The time stops for a second, so does your heart in anticipation. Something familiar, yet unknown, stirring up some old emotion close to terror in you. Pure terror. "Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy’s other eye out and feed it to his father, and then we’ll start. You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you’re all gonna be doing that!" The mighty strength put on Lucille for the first hit affects his last words. Then something stops in you, a numbing sensation, swallowing anything you'd been feeling until this moment. Your blood cold in your veins as you see real blood dripping. Some old memory triggering but it doesn't clarify, it doesn't show in your mind. "Oh! Look at that! Taking it like a champ!"

"Suck. My. Nuts," replies the redhead as the blood starts flowing through his head and drips down. The people who know him cry and grunt in desperation. You can do nothing, you just stand there trying to seem like you are looking, but your mind is not focused on that anymore.

It is hard to see someone you know, do those kinds of things to someone else but you remind yourself that this is survival to the fittest, you have chosen a side, you don’t know these people. You have to stick to the plan. They killed a bunch of your people. You are not a heartless bitch for this. Just one kill, just one and everything will be over. Your head spins on the times you've killed, it was always personal somehow: someone who was a threat, someone who'd hurt you or your family, someone hurting someone else who couldn't defend themself… What was really that different from this? Nothing. Your hands are dirty too. Who hasn't killed these days?

"Did you hear that?" You focus back to a mass of brain and blood instead of where a head should be, on the floor. Negans' voice is tired from the effort. "He said: Suck my nuts!" He exclaims, before laughing. He continues to smash the mass. This only adds to the distress of the people on their knees. Negan moans by the strength put on his act and you forget for a second the situation you are in. "Look at this!" he swings Lucille, spraying blood everywhere and makes that deep husky laugh, when he’s enjoying something way too much. "You guys, look at my dirty girl!" he continues between tired breaths. "Sweetheart. Lay your eyes on this." He adds, pointing to a woman within the kneeling group and sighs heavily. "Oh, damn. Were you- Were you together?" points out moving Lucile between the corpse and the woman. "That sucks. But if you were, you should know there was a reason for all this. Red- and hell, he was, is, and will ever be red. He just took one or six or seven for the team!" he concludes, with dark humor added to his last line. You can hear all of them breathing shakily, affected by the circumstances and it spins your head, unable to get joy from it. Unable to convince yourself that joking around in a situation like this is acceptable. "So, take a damn look!'' Then, before you notice that you have been walking at all and even less moved, you are grabbing Daryl who has tried to jump on top of Negan, surely to punch him. You whisper in his ear "Be smart, don't get anyone else killed..." he moves his head to look at you, eyes wide open, then tries to shake off from your grip.

"Daryl!" shouts Rick.

"No! Oh, no." You see Negan pointing at Rick. After a little silence, he chuckles looking at you. Your mind processes then that he might assume you protected him, which you did too, somehow. But the darkness in his sight gives you the thought he might have caught on to you and Daryl knowing each other. If that is it, you two are fucked, in one way or another. "Get him on his knees."

You obey and retire back to your place on the right side in the background, you begin shaking worried he might kill Daryl as he warned just minutes before. Simon approaches, "Calm down, sweetheart," he whispers, but you barely notice. The way you shake being the telltale sign of how troubled you are, makes you shoot him a murderous look and even with all his height and strength he backs up, hand leaving your shoulder. A thought occurs to you, that if Negan kills Daryl... 'Why do you still care, you idiot!? He broke up with you ages ago! Literally, ages, what? Ten-eleven-twelve years ago? Shit, who can remember that...? Maybe he is not the person you remember him to be.' You keep strong but know you will hate Negan if he kills him. You would kill him.

In a normal situation, you would be working in a conversation with Daryl. Settle things for you to move on from the past for good. Not that you would bother with anyone else. After all, you were raised not to take bullshit from anyone. But now, 'Shit... This totally sucks...'.

Negan looks at you once more but your head is already spinning to the past.

You tie your middle-length, dyed black hair in a ponytail before you hand him a cup of hot chocolate from the thermos. Then you rest your head on his thighs once again. Staring up at the sky full of bright tiny dots in the darkness whilst you caress the picnic blanket next to his legs with your index, making circles while watching your breaths making foggy clouds in the air.

It was your idea to go see the stars in the middle of November but it's the best time to go stargazing, when there's less heat and humidity haze, not that you couldn't see them in summer but the view was definitely better.

The road to Brasstown Bald has also been enjoyable by itself. Anything that has to do with going on Daryl's bike is pleasurable to you. Sometimes you wish you could just have your own and at this point, you know Daryl wouldn't be the kind to shame you about it. You can't say the same about your mum, she definitely would oppose the idea. She has had enough of her son being a biker, she doesn't want her daughter to be a biker herself. Little does she know you are actually an ol' lady. Even Merle calls you that.

You pull your furry blanket higher due to the cold and Daryl's gaze drifts towards you. In a quick movement, he places his drink over the grass, peeling off his own blanket and lies down next to you. Then takes the spare blanket and pulls it over the one you already have.

Although your heights are not so different, his much bigger frame makes you feel tiny in his arms as you cuddle, with your head against his chest. His breaths and his heartbeat are like lullabies. The tenderness filling your heart makes you wish moments like this could last forever.

It's surprising how many things your body can do automatically. You've moved into the background from one edge of the crowd to another, being now on the left. Even with that, you've seen it all, as if you were watching. Even if you've tried to eradicate it.

"Sure. Yeah," Negan keeps his squat in front of Rick. "Give me his axe," ’Jesus. What's he gonna do with it now…?’ you wonder. Simon walks forward from his corner and hands it to Negan, who puts the axe in front of Rick and starts to get into an ironic stare-off, smiling and analyzing the man he has in front of him once again. After seeing there is no back down from Rick, his demeanour turns stern. Standing, he puts the axe in his belt with a deep sigh, then grabs Rick by the collar of his jacket and starts to drag him through to the RV. "I'll be right back. Maybe Rick will be with me. And if not, well, we can just turn these people inside out, won’t we?" He pushes Rick through the open door and adds: "I mean the ones that are left." He points at you and then points to the vehicle in a silent order. You jog following after him, closing the door behind, you can locate the axe pinned on the table before you sit in the copilot. Negan is already in the driving seat. He’s looking straight ahead with determination.

"Let's go for a ride." He tries to start the engine with no success. "Wow. What a piece of shit!" Then he sucks in with his tongue between his teeth and adds: "I'm gonna kill you..." with mockery, imitating Ricks' previous statement and chuckling at it. "Are you kidding me? Did you see what just happened? What I just did? You just..." he comments, sighing ironically. "Your best chance, is to stand up, grab that axe, and drive it to the back of my head," he states, without even turning around. You are not sure if it is due to cockiness or because he is sure Rick will not do it but you're still sitting with your legs halfway in Negan's direction in case you have to stand abruptly. "See how you do?" Now you see Negan looking through the rearview mirror. "Keep acting tough. Go ahead. Grab, the damn, axe.'' When Rick does exactly that, Negan stands up at the second, pointing an M4A1 SOPMOD previously left next to the driver seat while you point him with your Magnum Desert Eagle. You have not even bothered to get up and just turned in your seat. Negan makes a denial gesture with his head and chuckles.

"Drop it," He says in a tone that almost mimics the sigh, which causes a shiver of excitement in your body. ‘At what point have you started to like his dominant tone…? Damn girl, you're fucked up.’ Rick obeys, the clink of the axe on the ground sounds around you. Then Negan uses the base of his weapon to hit Rick's belly, cutting off his breath. Sighing again, he sticks the axe back on the table in such way that it makes Rick reel back, even though you remain impassive. "Do not make me get up again." Concludes Negan dryly. When he turns back, you exchange glances. "Well, look at that. Dawn is breakin'." his eyes meet yours again, with a face you can not decipher, then turns back, his pearly smile doing the honors on his face once again. "It's a brand-new day, Rick," he announces with a chuckle and sits in front of the wheel, ready to go. "I want you to think about what could have happened, think about what happened, and think about what can still happen." Negan sighs as if tired of repeating himself, which is probably not a good thing for the dude on his knees. Then Negan starts the engine and the big machine finally moves. Silence falls upon you all for a few seconds and you take the chance to observe the person who has become Negan’s plaything, only to realise he is lost inside his mind. ‘Good, he's thinking, maybe this will end soon for all of us. This shit is taking too long if he just accepts that he has nothing left and that he lost… I hate this shit I wanna go home.' The day is brightening but the road is covered in a dense fog that won't let you see in an inch of distance without the lights. You hear a walker approaching just before the RV splashes its head in the front window.

Negan laughs with malice "Oh! Boom!" jokes Negan before he keeps laughing. "That reminds you of anybody you know?" ’Oh boy...’ Another giggle comes along while bashing another walker’s head against the front of the vehicle. "Oh, yeah." The growling continues, you suppose it must be a herd attracted by all the noise that has been going on the past few hours. The brakes squeal and the engine shuts off, then Negan makes the keys jingle in his hand. Grunting, he walks to the back but you just stay and observe. Squatting on Rick’s side, he states: "You are mine. The people back there," Rick does not meet Negans' eyes as he speaks "they are mine. This," He shows Rick the axe "This is mine."

All the grunting noises coming from outside indicate a large amount of walkers approaching the RV. Negan stands up and walks to the door opening it and does something you would not expect. After killing one of the undead, looks at Rick whose eyes are on the carpet that covers the floor and with a naughty face, he throws the axe over the roof of the motorhome. "Hey, Rick, go get my axe. Let's be friends." Rick looks at him for a second, pissed off, not wanting to bow his will to Negan’s ways of humiliating people. Another walker tries to get inside, fighting for the taste of flesh. "Oh," Negan says with a chuckle, then bashes its head with Lucille. Negan sighs and angrily approaches Rick, threatening him with Lucille. "Get my axe." Moving away to leave some space for the guy to reach the door, you can see in the obvious expressions of his face that Rick is struggling to give up. But then Negan throws him out of the truck without giving him a thought and closes the door behind. You stay put, staring at Negan who's now looking back at you.

"I can't wait to get home," you whisper, looking away while you stand, more for yourself than anything else.

"Yeah. Well. I have a better idea after what I saw earlier," says Negan with a lusty whisper. You suppose he is referring to the fact that you saved his gorgeous face from a punch.

"You're welcome," you say, looking at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. "It was nothing, really. But I was referring to going to take a nap. I'm so done..." you talk back in a playful tone while closing the distance between you. His features show he's not in the mood for pull-and-push.

"I was expecting to end what we started before. Maybe get that sweet a-" You give him a killshot glare to which he responds with a dark smile from his side.

"Language," you grill.

"Hey, didn’t mean to-" he responds quietly in contrast with his previous attitude but gets interrupted by Rick's footsteps on the roof of the RV. He looks up, forgetting about you and loud enough for Rick to hear, says: "Bet you thought you were all gonna grow old together, sittin' around the table at Sunday dinner and the happily ever after," pausing for dramatic effect. "No. Doesn't work like that, Rick. Not anymore. Think about what happened," then his eyes meet yours. "People died, Rick. It's what happened. Doesn't mean the rest of them have to. Get me my axe." There’s the lesson you mustn’t forget: he doesn’t feel like what he is doing is wrong. "Get me my axe!" repeats looking at the ceiling and then whispers to you: "So, sweetheart you are on my top list now. The way you stopped that guy, your fury..." he gets closer, expecting you to react but instead, you press your hand on his chest. He wastes no time grabbing it and kissing your wrist.

"Let's leave this for the privacy of Sanctuary, shall we?" you whisper in his ear. He puts his hand gently in your throat, catching your jaw and kisses you. You can hear in the background how the amount of walkers around the RV is increasing.

"I thought you were the guy, Rick. Maybe you're not!" speaks Negan but this time doesn't look away, his hand moves to the back of your hip. His voice louder and intense. "We'll give it one more go. Now, I really want you to try this time. Last chance," his face gets darker when he hears no movement from up, his hand leaves your hip to unlock the automatic weapon and his eyes look up before shouting: "Bring me, my axe!" then he moves quickly away from you and starts to fire it towards the ceiling, slightly away from where you could hear Ricks' footsteps. You note the thud of his run and the sound of a chain rattling. The two of you head to the back window to see him hanging, grasping like a koala onto an undead guy hanging off the bridge. Then the walkers start to pull him down by his feet when he slides a little from the moving body. You look at Negan, who only smiles at you. You gesture at him with a: 'Please, do something,' look, his only response is a chuckle and an eye roll as if he thinks you have no sense of humor. When your eyes make their way outside again, you both see how the head of the hanging corpse is separating from the body 'Jesus! That's awful!' you think, totally disgusted. Negan quickly opens the back window and starts to shoot at the walkers surrounding Rick. You move back to your seat, expecting this to be over soon.

"Clock is ticking, Rick!" Says Negan, closing the window with a knock of his hand against it, then adds, "Think about what can still happen!" You can hear Rick outside grunting, assuming he's fighting the walkers. Negan winks at you and you have to hold back the disgust you feel for his enjoyment. Negan presses the horn, to alarm Rick outside, you guess, or maybe the walkers. You can hear Rick bashing walkers on the other side of the door. One splashes against the RV, like a popped water balloon. He tries to enter but the door is locked and you can hear one more crashing against the bodywork.

Negan calmly opens the door and shoots with his M4 clearing a little area for Rick to enter, then gets out of the way before Rick jumps in closing the door behind him, panting hard. Negan paces in the same spot, while Rick attempts to get the air back into his lungs. When he finally stands, the big boss looks him over, demanding the object with his hand. Rick reluctantly gives it to him with hate in his eyes and sits at the table with his head down. Negans' stare stays on the other man and even with his back to you, you know he is smiling. "Attaboy!" with that he sinks the axe into the table once more and walks to the wheel. You see from the corner of your eye how Rick follows him with his eyes, staring daggers at him. 'Man, you are not understanding shit, are you…?' you think. He is so focused that he seems to have forgotten your presence. Negan starts the engine and drives back to the meeting point.

"We're here, prick," states Negan, standing up and walking over to Rick, who at the same time keeps that killshot glare fixed on him. Negan notices and judging by the way he smiles, you know he's not having any of it. 'This guy has way too much testosterone or he’s just a fucking idiot. Oh lord… Just bow your head and accept you lost'. Negan starts to talk while checking on the cabinets. "This must be hard for you, right? I mean, you have been King Shit for so long. Losin' three of your own like," He snaps his fingers in front of Rick. “And yes, I'm taking the punching hellcat too.”

“Oh. Goody!" he exclaims when he finds a bottle of ethyl alcohol before opening it. Following the motion with a sigh, he leaves the cap on the table and leans on top of Rick before adding. "You were in charge." He unhooks the axe from the table, "Hell," he rubs it against Rick's jacket to remove the traces of clotted blood that cover it, making Rick wince. "you were probably addicted to it. And now," Negan starts throwing the liquid over the metal of the weapon to clean it. "well, clip, clip- that's over. But," he points out, as he takes a seat in front of Rick, "you can still lead a nice, productive life producing for me." Rick's eyes meet Negan's, not submitting and this time he passes Rick the axe by the handle. You can sense his smile again. "I think you're gonna need it. I just got a feelin'," Negan tells him before he sighs. You know that Rick is pushing his patience with the useless resistance he is showing. "So take it," he concludes, demanding. By his tone, you'd say Negan is borderline angry but you can't really tell if it's part of the game or if it's real. 'His mood swings… damn…' He stands and you follow his lead, only to see him throwing Rick out of the RV.

Negan grabs Rick by the nape again, to put him in front of his group as if he was a dog. You follow out of the RV and close the door behind you before reuniting with the rest of the crew.

"Here we are. Let me ask you something, Rick. Do you even know what that little trip was about?" inquires Negan without moving. You can now see the faces of Rick's group in detail and notice, that Daryl now has blood running down his shoulder, which pisses you off, awakening old feelings of protectiveness. "Speak when you're spoken to."

"Okay. Okay," replies Rick breathing heavily.

"That trip was about the way that you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand..." explains Negan, adding a smile when Rick gives him the look, again. "But you're still looking at me the same damn way. Like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that's not gonna work! I wanted you to understand. So," then he squats next to the man in question, playing with Lucille in his grip. "Do I give you another chance?"

"Yeah," replies Rick rapidly, still panting. "Yes. Yes."

"Okay." Negan taps on Rick's shoulder before adding: "All right!" standing again and rubbing his nose thoughtfully. "Here it is," bouncing he paces for a moment, "the grand prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone's last crap day or just another crap day." He then gestures to the Saviours at the back. "Get some guns to the back of their heads." obedience takes only seconds. "Good. Good. Now level with their noses, so if you have to fire-" gesturing an explosion paired with sound effects in a very graphic way, adds: "it'll be a real mess." then chuckles. "Kid," he says, calling the youngest subjects attention, inviting him with a hooked finger, then pointing to the floor where he wants him to go. "Right here." Disobedient, the boy does not move and stays put looking back at him. "Kid. Now." Finally he moves.

"You a southpaw?" Negan asks him once he is where he ordered.

"Am I a what?" asks the kiddo, giving Negan a strange look.

"You a lefty?" Negan inquires, rephrasing his question as he would to a child.

"No." replies the boy, derogatorily. ‘This kid has a fucking nerve! Like father, like son...’

"Good," adds Negan, while tying his own belt on the left arm of the kid with Lucille held under his own. "That hurt?" he wonders then, with no genuine care in his tone.

"No."

‘God, Negan will fool himself into thinking this kid would make a good Saviour. His face says it all...’.

"Should. It's supposed to," he replies with his characteristic grin. "All right. Get down on the ground, kid. Next to daddy. Spread them wings!" orders the man, throwing the boy’s hat away at his back. The kid obeys when Negan makes him go down to the floor and gives him a final push to make his belly touch the ground, with a grunt. "Simon, you got a pen?"

"Yeah," Simon responds, unimpressed.

"Sorry, kid," apologizes the big boss as he takes off the lid from the marker pen, then groans when he squats next to the boy as if his knees hurt after so much bouncing. With the cap held between his teeth, he starts drawing something on the kid's arm and adds: "This is gonna be as cold as a warlock's ballsack, just like he was hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it right across the forearm." then takes the cap from his mouth and returns it to the pen before passing it back to Simon. "There you go. Give you a little average."

"Please don't. Please don't," begs Rick, eyes pleading with Negan.

"Me?" Negan chuckles dismissively. "I ain't doing shit." then stands, with Lucille back in his grip again. "Ahh...Rick, I want you to take your axe and cut your son's left arm off, right on that line."

‘What the fuck…’

"Now, I know- I know. You're gonna have to process that for a second. That makes sense. Still though, I'm gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die," Rick begins hyperventilating. "then Carl dies, then the people back home die, and then you, eventually. I'm gonna keep you breathing for a few years, just so you can stew on it."

"You-You don't have to do this. We understand. We understand." pleads a dreadlock-haired woman.

"You understand," emphasizes Negan. "Now. I'm not sure that Rick does," he remarks, before returning his attention to the man in question. "I'm gonna need a clean cut right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed-up thing to ask, but it's gonna have to be like a salami slice."

‘He’s got to be fucking joking… why am I even surprised at this point...’ you think.

"Nothing messy, clean, 45 degrees- Give us something to fold over. We got a great doctor. The kid'll be fine..." Then fakes to ponder on it for a second. "Probably." Squatting again directly in front of him he continues, "Rick this needs to happen now, chop-chop, or I will crush the little fella's skull myself." he adds, aiming the baseball bat at the kids' head.

"It can-It can-It can be me. It can be me. W-W-" Rick stutters sniffing, completely discomposed. "Y-You can do it to me. I c-I can go with-with you."

"No. This is the only way..." Negan replies calmly. "Rick, pick up the axe." He orders as he stands again. A short silence is the response. "Not, making a decision, is a biiiig decision." Negan’s tone is starting to rise, meaning his patience is cracking. "You really want to see all these people die? You will. You will see every ugly thing," Rick hyperventilates again. "Oh, my God. Are you gonna make me count? Okay, Rick. You win. I am counting. Three!"

"Please…" Rick starts crying, "Please…" he gasps, "It can be me. Pleeease!" the crying intensifies, desperation evident in his words. "Please don’t…"

"Two!" Shouts Negan without compassion.

"Please, don't do-" "Rick continues pleading while sobbing.

"This is it," replies Negan, after he squats to grab the crying man's face to make his point clear. "One!"

"Aaah!" Growls Rick desperately.

"Dad just do it." you can hear the kid whisper. “Just do it."

‘What a pair of balls.’

Rick stays there struggling, breathing heavily and you start to think he might pass out. You have seen someone do so before, being under pressure, sometimes the body just collapses but instead, he keeps screaming, grabs the axe and points it to the sky, getting ready to do what he knows will change his kids' life. Negan squats next to Rick again, but his face is an image of winning and pride. Rick looks at him with the most pleading eyes you’ve ever seen. Broken.

"You answer to me. You provide for me." Rick nods obediently. All you can think is, 'This is what Sherry meant when she said he always gets what he wants, no matter what…' "You belong to me. Right?" growls Negan, while the man continues nodding, eagerly trying to get air back into his lungs. "Speak when you're spoken to!" shouts Negan grabbing Rick’s face violently "You answer to me! You provide for me!"

"Provide for you" replies Rick in a broken voice.

"You belong to me, right?!" remarks Negan, still shouting.

"Right," Rick answers.

"Right." Negan wins. ‘Negan always wins.' you think.

"That. Is the look I wanted to see!" He exclaims, standing again. But things aren't over yet as he grabs the axe. "We did it, all of us, together. Even the dead on the ground. Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure." sighing, he adds: "Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope, for all your sakes, that you get it now. That you understand how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you, that," he interrupts himself, chuckling. "is over now. Ah..." he adds before doing something that puts you on high alert, pointing at Daryl with Lucille: "Dwight! Load him up.'' The man in question has to put some effort to pull him back to the back of the van before he points at Daryl with the crossbow. Then you look at Daryl for a last time, his eyes meet yours before they close the doors.

Negan squats again, next to Rick. "He's got guts- Yeah, he does. Not a little bitch like someone I know," he remarks, mocking Rick. "I like him. He's mine now. But you still want to try something?-Not today, not tomorrow- Not today, not tomorrow-? I will cut pieces off of-" he looks confused for a second and directs his eyes to Simon. "Hell's his name?"

"Daryl," Simon answers solemnly.

"Wow." Negan chuckles. "That actually sounds right!" his eyes dart back to Rick. "I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep." smiling he decides to rephrase: "Or, better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do it for me." then he chuckles and pats Rick's shoulder before standing up. "Welcome to a brand-new beginning, you sorry shits!" he shouts, theatrically. "I'm gonna leave you a truck. Keep it. Use it to cart all the crap you're gonna find me." Then everybody starts to move, including Negan. You too in his direction. "We'll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then ta-ta!"

With that, he leaves behind his trail of destruction. In this case, it is more psychological than physical.

You leave along with Negan, right behind him as you both get into the car. There and then the tiredness hits you. ‘Shit, I’m getting too comfortable… I was never this tired when alone.' But you put your seat back and close your eyes in what could be read as a trustful gesture towards Negan. You can feel his glare for a second but you just relaxe and let the darkness consume you. Then you are in a different place.

It’s a cold night, too cold to be outside but your group has not found a shelter yet. After two days of walking around, trying to find food and medicines for Eric, the member who has been ill for a few days. Without that luck, it’s just getting worse. You have no other option than to light a fire for all of you to warm up. Laura and Alan, the blonde couple will keep the watch during the night so the rest of you can sleep.

You wake up, startled by a scream, to find Eric has inexplicably become a walker. He had just a bad cold, no bite, no scratch. Now he's attacking your mum, who was sleeping right next to him to offer some aid during the night.

He is ripping right into her throat by the time you all react to the horrible scene unfolding before you. Your first reaction is to put a bullet through his head. Running towards your mum, you can only watch as she chokes on her own blood. Tears start running down your cheeks and a hard lump forms in your throat, as you contain a scream of pain. Out of love and compassion, you show mercy by shooting her right in the middle of the forehead.

You stand there, staring at her lifeless body with no light in her eyes, it's as if time has stopped, as if you were frozen, unable to move a muscle. She’s gone. Your mother is dead.

The warm tears keep falling but you are numb, your thoughts collapsing, until you feel a hand pulling you before snapping back to reality. The screams and the gunshot have attracted more walkers to your camp. Some members of your group are already dead, their bodies scattered around you with chunks of them missing. Finally reacting, you run in the direction you are being pulled in. Your brother has your hand and you are both already breathless in your escape.

After killing a few walkers on your way, you two get to a tree to rest for a few and that is when you notice it. Your hand is wet with red, blood, your brother's blood. You follow the trail up to his shoulder to see a bite. He is already losing too much blood, it probably nicked an artery.

"John…" he hushes you. "John." You whisper this time. "You are bleeding..." you say. As if he hasn’t noticed yet, his eyes follow your gaze to his arm, under the light of the moon it seems to illuminate it.

"Shit!" he whispers. "Fuck!" you see a walker go the way you just came from. "You have to shoot me, Allie."

"What!? No!" He hushes you again. "No way…" you insist, adamant.

"I’m going to die, Alice." That shoots you like a bullet through the heart and you start to sob. "I don’t want to become one of those things… and I will only slow you down if we go together, for me to end up like them anyway. I don’t want to put you in danger.'

"Please don’t…" You can't stop crying. You feel weak and lonely all of a sudden. Unable to believe you are going to lose the only people you ever loved in your life on the same night. Your mum and your brother wiped out like dust in the wind. As if they were nothing. "I can’t do this alone… Please…"

"Allie, I love you and I want you to try to live. There has to be somewhere you can live a life, there has to be somewhere. I want you to find it. I want you to fight for it. I want you to live. Promise me you will live." You don’t say anything. "Promise me, Alice."

"I promise." You say and hug him, only to feel the accelerated beating of his heart, working very hard to keep the blood pumping through his body.

"You have to do it now," he mutters. You don’t know how much time has passed but you can see your brother looks paler. He tries to pick up the gun that is still in your hand but you pull your hand away. He looks at you, eyes pleading, but you can’t do it. Something stops you. Something selfish that wants to keep clinging onto your bond.

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…" you whisper as you cry. He nods, understanding, and with a movement faster than you expect, he yanks the gun out of your hand and shoots himself in the temple.

You whimper and automatically cling to his body stopping it from falling. You cradle him, burying your head against his chest, letting the knot in your throat break in a pained cry.

You wake up with a whimper as someone's hand moves you. You panic for a second but then notice you're still in Negan's car and he’s been the one to shake you awake.

"Sorry, love. You seem to be going through hell there." You notice the warm sensation of tears falling through your cheeks. "Oh shit…" You rush to swipe at your skin unwilling to show your weakness.

"I’m fine" he looks at you, clearly not believing it but he doesn't press it as he returns his eyes to the road. Noticing you’re shaking, you put your seat straight and rub your hands feeling strangely numb. ‘If the nightmare is back, it has to mean something’.

You are still restless when you get out of the car. Negan starts ordering you, the Saviours, to occupy your next hours resting since he's satisfied with the job you all did. You see Dwight taking Daryl out of the van, Negan gives him a nod, and then he walks to the door and disappears through it. You feel the urge to go behind them and make sure Daryl is fine but that would be a serious mistake, for the both of you. So masking your nervousness, you lead the way through the corridors. Feeling a big, warm hand take hold of your wrist, takes you by surprise and your first response is to snatch your hand away that is before you realize it’s Negan.

"What’s going on?" He wonders seriously.

"Sorry, I'm just really tired," you reply showing a toothy smile but Negan does not buy it.

"I wouldn’t like to have a misunderstanding here, so, for your own sake, tell me what’s going on." He asks politely, yet there's a threatening undertone to it.

"I just vividly dreamed about how my mum and brother died… I think I’m feeling a little bit out of my body right now. My apologies," you answer, deleting the smile from your face. You can’t believe the fact that Negan gets closer and kisses your forehead.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll see you in a few hours," he whispers. You nod appreciating the gesture, and with that you leave, walking slowly through the empty corridors. Once again in your room, you let your body fall on top of the bed and everything becomes pitch dark again.

You wake up confused and alarmed for a second before realising where you are. It's night time and silence reigns at Sanctuary, as always. That's one good thing that came along with the disease. The silence. 'Some day nature will win it's place back.' you wish.

You get up from the bed thinking it could be a good chance to sneak out and get into the cells and see Daryl again, to know what kind of treatment he has been given.

'Am I stupid to worry about him?' you wonder. Looking through the room in the darkness, only the moonlight allows you to find the clothes you were wearing earlier. Still not showered, there is no point in changing the garments.

Your steps lead you to the cells. The door isn't closed but you take a careful look at what's around you, in case there's someone on watch. There's an annoying song playing on repeat but you don't dare touch the music player. Surprisingly, there is no one looking after the prisoners. Taking the chance to look at which doors are locked before you find out only one of them is. Then you find yourself entering the guardian's room, looking for the set of keys.

Opening the door you see a plastic plate on the floor with some sort of sandwich and Daryl covering his eyes from the light in the corridor, in one corner of the room. Your eyes fall over his dirty clothes and hair, thinking how the man has definitely seen better days. Then you realise he's looking at you.

"Are you okay?" you ask, feeling stupid. He's obviously not but it's more like an opener of conversation. You begin to squat in front of him and reach out to touch his shoulder, only for him to avoid it.

"I mean no harm…"

"Why are you with them?" he inquires, fierce eyes meeting yours.

"Seems things have taken a twist, uh?" you reply bitterly, unable to hold your tongue without that judgement. "Now I'm the one with the bad guys and you're with the good ones. Who would have said that ten years ago, when your brother screwed everything up and you… still chose him," you grill him sarcastically, he lowers his head just slightly while still analyzing your face. 'Are you sorry or you are still your brother's puppy dog?'

"It was-" he tries to speak but you interrupt him.

"I was alone. I had no option. Also… I thought it could be a better chance of survival," his eyes still hard on you soften a little, just slightly enough for you to notice. "Don't lecture me, from what I've heard you killed dozens of Saviours for no apparent reason…"

"If you think they are good people you're delusional," he comments. You chuckle. It seems that some of Negan’s traits might be running off on you.

"Call me whatever you like Daryl… I've always done right by my conscience, I'm not going against it now." You whisper the last word. "I'll also remind you what I said that day; 'I forgive you'. No matter how bitter I am about it." you whisper that close to his ear, waiting for him to lash out at you but only surprise alters his features. He says nothing. When you move to stand, you find something calling your attention in the corner of your eye. Dwight's shocked look from the other side of the door with a sandwich in his right hand.

You calmly close the door and walk his way handing him the set of keys, with a dangerous smile, warning him to keep it a secret. If he were to drag you down, he would fall too and you both know it. Instead, he just nods and you keep walking while deciding it might be a good idea to have a shower and some food.

In a hurry, you walk to pick up your stuff and rush to the showers, in case you are needed for anything. Afterwards with your hair still damp you sit on the couch of your room, opening a can of sardines, and cutting some bread to fill your stomach, even though it's still quite nauseous from the previous events. 'He's there, eating shit and I'm here eating like a monarchy these days. If I was lucky I wouldn't even know he's still alive…'

You are almost done when you hear a recognisable knock.

"Come in," you call.

"Hello, darling," says Negan, swinging the door open slowly and entering with his hand still on it. His eyes meet yours with darkness.

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