#see how much livelier we used to be!

[pearlymel]

"The Masks We Wear"

Summary: as a journalist, you are itching to find the identity of this mysterious hero. But could it be that the hero is closer to you than you think?

Wc: 7.3k eat up

Warnings: Wriothesley x afab!reader, gn! reader, modern au, hero and villian au (one of each), reader is a journalist/cameraman, fluff, making out, crack (i laughed a lot writing this), angst (oops), one small sex scene, slightly under the influence, cursing, it's pretty unrealistic, petnames used: sunshine, love, and sweetheart.

Notes: i poured my heart and soul into this, i think it's my best piece so far ^^ give it a chance, maybe you'll love it. (Pleasepleasepleaseplease) Rbs are greatly appreciated!

Credits: banner art by the great @/danijaci

Click!

The city is absolutely beautiful today. No, no. It’s not because of the lights that makes the place brighter and a bit more magical, how it seems livelier with a group of teenagers laughing together while buying street foods together, or the old couple that seem still very much in love, the gentleman kneeling down and tying her shoes just to make sure she wouldn’t trip this time.

Humans can be cute, you think.

But of course, among those innocent ‘humans’ are those who desire destruction.

This time, you think you might have caught something in the shadows, and you stare intently at your camera, zooming it in to see the faintest color blending in with the darkness. Hair? A part of clothes? You don’t know, but you got it.

you have this obsession of finding out who the hero of this city was, or even the villian. Although, you would be technically be walking into death if you try finding out who the villian is.

Where did this hero come from? No one knows. Sure the crime rate has lowered, but it felt like the world became even more messed up.

It all started a couple of years ago when you were in your college days, one day almost dying from a falling building, and you thought you saw the scythe waiting to take your soul at that very moment but, no.

The mysterious hero of the city that you never thought you would never encounter carried the building with his super strength power, apparently.

He who has no name, took your hand and lead you into a safer area with the police.

cliché story, right. But that’s what got you into journalism and media now.

And let’s say… you’re too far into the deep black hole to back down now.

The almost blinding light made you come back to your senses, the sounds of engine roaring in the air as the bike approached you, and your shoulders were already slumped.

“How did you find me?” You raise your voice due to the loud engine running, covering parts of your vision from the light.

“Lucky guess.” Wriothesley replied gruffly, pulling his helmet off and shaking his head slightly to fix up his messy strands.

“Care to explain what on earth are you doing here in this shady alleyway? At nine thirty where the moon is out and wolves could be coming for you?” He starts scolding you, quirking an eyebrow when you give him the bored expression, and he immediately mimics it back.

“Taking pictures.”

“Of the rats?”

“Wriothesley.” You shoot him a look and he raises his hands in the air. “I understand your… obsession. But it could hurt you in the process, mentally and physically.”

You know he’s saying all this because he cares so much about you. Loves you too much that it would break his soul piece by piece if one day what you’re doing will hurt you.

“Hop in, sweetheart.” He hands you the extra helmet, and you take it with a sigh. Securing it around your head before taking your place behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he revved the engine.

The whole ride back was silent, yet traffic, which entirely ruined the whole mood. With the constant car horns ringing in your ear.

You tap at his thigh to grab his attention, “Why’s it traffic?” You grumble, rising yourself from the seat to look at the row of cars trying to get through.

“Not any holidays or events i can think of,” he responds back to you.

Red mixed with orange fills your vision, suddenly the car at the very front explodes. The car parts flying in the air and landing at the other vehicles which makes you frozen in shock.

Wriothesley’s clenches his hands tightly as he turns the bike around, speeding his way far away from the scene. “Hold onto me tight, and don’t look back, you hear?” He yells enough to grab your attention, and your arms tightens around him, but you have your head turned around to see the people yelling and dashing out of the vehicles. You want to capture the moment with your phone so you could submit it in for the news, but you know more than to ignore Wriothesley right now.

It’s not rare to see destruction happen in your city, it’s just… terrifying every time anybody witnesses it.

Maybe it wasn’t an accident, maybe it was planned.

“You’re not allowed to go out after seven.” Wriothesley makes it clear to you with his firm tone as you both step inside your shared apartment, locking the apartment with a click. He then tosses his keys into a bowl on a small table, before turning to look at you.

“Are you seriously setting a curfew for me? Please. what happened was not new—”

Your face is now being cradled by his rough hands, but the way he swipes a thumb under your eyebags really makes you melt. And you forget what you were going to say when his lips curl the slightest.

“I don't want anything happening to you. Ever.” He takes you in his arms, holding you like you were the most precious thing he ever held. “I didn't mean to pressure you like that. I'd hate it if you were in the position of those injured people.”

You pat his back to reassure him that hopefully nothing like that will happen. “And, if, hypothetically, something like that happened; What would y—”

“I'll kill everyone.” he doesn't even let you continue before he answers, though the chuckle against your hair followed after makes your tense shoulders relax.

“maybe not to that extent,” he lifts your head up to lean in and press a tender kiss on your forehead.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“what is it?”

“… something or someone.”

Your boss gives you a nonchalant sharp look when you eagerly showed him the bits you managed to capture last night before you were interrupted by your great boyfriend.

His eyes squints at the more of a blurred photo that sits on the display of your camera, taking the glasses that hanged from his collar.

The sigh afterwards makes you feel discouraged when he hands you back your camera.

“i see it.” He starts and you perk up immediately.

“it looks like a blurred image of a fucking bird taking a shit on the electrical cords.” You press your lips into a thin line at his description. Too detailed of a description,

what a bastard.

It.. certainly didn't look like that.

You clear your throat, pinching the bridge of your nose to compose yourself.

“You're lucky i like your determination or you would've been fired,” he utters out in a lax tone, resting his glasses on his big bald head that you want to spill with ketchup.

“Keep looking, i need the hero's face, details, anything. Just think of the money you and i could both earn.” He seems too enthusiastic about it, showing you determination with his fists pressing together and his wide ear to ear smile.

You leave work early that day, starting your daily walk of looking around for at least two hours or—one hour?

No, Wriothesley would be too worried if you came back after… nine. Your words not his.

You need to rearrange a schedule in your head.

Step one: somehow convince your boss that you need to leave early everyday.

Step two: search every nook and cranny of the city, ask every shady person if they get to talk to the hero in person or got a glimpse of his name.

Step three: go to the dark web— is that car flying infront of you right now?!

Shit. Just why does everything have to go down wherever path you go?

The people around you panics, and you equally panic with them because you're no fucking hero to tell them to get away from that flying car.

You take your camera out hurriedly from its case that slung around your shoulder, pressing record while frantically looking around. The ground shakes, it shakes so much that it feels like an earthquake almost.

“it's him! The villian!” Someone shouts from the distance, and just like that the screams that follows are in sync.

You know why the ground shook, the street has become a battlefield for the hero and villain fighting together with all their strengths, the air is filled with tension as they both clash in an epic confrontation. The ground trembles beneath your feet again as they traded blows, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. The once tranquil street has now been transformed into a chaotic arena of power and destruction. As the battle rages on. The hero and villain continue their fight, each strike more powerful than the last, their movements a blur of speed and precision.

You try capturing anything with your camera, but your hand shakes that it was impossible. When the villian lands a powerful punch on the hero’s shoulder, sending him way back, it makes you think it's time to leave.

You run with the rest without stubbornness this time. You should've listened to Wriothesley, why did you always have to be so curious about everything?

This curiousity will kill you next after the cat.

“Taxi!” You shout, waving your hand at the yellow vehicle, but every taxi seems to ignore the people's pleas, determined to save themselves instead.

Guess it's time to burn calories and run back home.

You were a panting mess once you reached back to your comfort space, eyes zeroing at the running television in the living room. Watching the newscaster talk about today's battle and how it affected the shops and buildings.

It seems like the battle lasted twenty minutes before the villian gave up and fled away.

Your head snaps to the bathroom once you hear the sink water drip, you didn't even think if he would be here this early.

“Wriothesley,” you say breathlessly when you swing the door open, arms squeezing his side as you take a deep breath in.

“woah, easy there. What happened?” He takes you in, hand rubbing at your arm.

“i was…” nevermind. Maybe you shouldn't tell him what you have witnessed, he'll know once he checks the news.

You only realise that he was chest bared at the moment, and you furrow your eyebrows once you see a bruise on his shoulder.

“What happened?” It was your turn to ask, talking a gentle finger and running it over the bruise, earning a hiss from him.

“was changing the car oil at the repair shop.” He mumbles, gaze turning to the mirror, “then accidentally hit my shoulder once i got up.” he turns his arm, swinging it slowly.

“but you don't work at a car repair shop?”

“it's a side hustle, sunshine.”

“why didn't you tell me?” You press on, and he hangs his head low, both of his hands gripping the sink bowl.

Okay, maybe you have annoyed him a little too much now. Upon sensing your incoming apology, Wriothesley smiles at you.

“don't worry your pretty little head too much. The bruise will fade.”

“i can massage you later?” You offer, and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “You're the best.” He gives you a chaste kiss on your lips on his way out, which makes you feel a little fuzzy.

The evening gave way to the night sky, and you found yourself lying on the bed, replaying the video captured on your camera. The footage was far from perfect, shaky and lacking in clarity, but it still managed to capture fragments of the intense confrontation between the hero and the villain. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement as you watched the brief glimpses of the clash that had taken place earlier.

How the villian managed to blow a punch on the hero’s shoulder, sending him way back. Must've hurted.

It's almost like the same spot Wriothesley got his bruise on.

…

Wait, the same spot?  You sit up on the mattress, replaying the video on repeat of their fight.

The hero was about the same height as him, the same physique, same cake—

You shake your head, focus. Wriothesley can't be the hero, no that's impossible. He was a busy man, doing… side jobs and whatnot.

Sure he was kind, always helping everyone, even walking the neighbors dog because they got sick one day.

But then again… you never saw Wriothesley and the hero at the same time,

Or was it merely a coincidence, a random alignment of physical features?

“Sunshine?” You gasp when you snap your head up to find Wriothesley leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“y-yes?” You set the camera aside on top of the drawer. He moves closer, seating himself on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixated on you then glancing at he camera.

“dinner's ready.”

You nod, silence fills the room after. You know he's waiting for you tell him more, on why you were so shocked.

“was looking at the hero's pictures.”

“not mine? I'm wounded.”

You roll your eyes, a slow smile creeping up your face, and he loves it. He takes it as an invitation to lean closer, suddenly pinning you down on the bed to capture your lips with his.

It's slow, and gentle. It makes you hum softly, taking his face in your hands to kiss him back, moving your lips together until you were gasping for air.

You forget you were even suspicious of him a second ago.

Your fingers lightly trace his jawline and you feel the pricks of his growing facial hair. A small smile plays on your lips as you inform him in a soft tone, "You need to shave." Wriothesley chuckles softly, the sound warm and low. He reaches up to your hand, gently taking hold of it and bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss on your palm. "Is that why you stopped kissing me?" He says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "No! I find you more.. attractive. Plus it.. yeah, it feels like little needles on my face.” you admit quietly.

Wriothesley presses his face into your neck, his lips tracing soft kisses along your skin. His hands begin roving your body, each touch sending a gentle shiver across your flesh. He whispers quietly next to your ear, his voice low and smooth as he responds, "I'll shave after dinner." The sensations of his lips against your neck and his hands exploring your body mix together, creating a heady combination that heightens your senses and ignites a slow fire within you.

“I'll.. help.” You whisper, bringing both of your arms to wrap them around his back. “What a sweetheart.” he uttered out, voice muffled from trying to mold into your skin.

Your mind stops working for a second when he presses his knee gently between your legs to pull them apart, “Wriothesley, what about dinner?” You frantically ask him, tugging his hair up so both of your gazes could meet. And the almost drunken expression he has on makes you let out a shaky breath.

“later,” he drawls, his fingers tracing lazily along your sides.

Hero? Pftt, what hero? This is just your wriothesley, it's quite impossible for him to be the hero.

You snap out of your daydream when your colleague hands you a cup of coffee, he raises an eyebrow at you and you smile back awkwardly.

A sip of the coffee to get a bit of energy, but only just a bit, since too much caffeine makes you nervous.

“You filmed the crazy battle yesterday?” Your colleague sneaks from behind you, watching the video replay again on your camera.

“they do movies about them now, insane huh?”

“well atleast the hero knows he's popular.” You reply bluntly, taking anothsr sip from your hot beverage.

“flash news, someone heard that his name starts with the letter ‘W’ or som—”

You spit out your coffee all over your white attire. You both exchange surprised looks, but you quickly wipe your mouth using the back of your hand.

“where exactly did you hear that?” You get straight to the point, gesturing them to sit next to you.

“from my father's friend’s cousin sister.”

His reply makes your eyes twitch, from who and who?

“Okay…” you whisper, turning around and thinking of the utter nonsense they spouted.

“you don't believe me.” he sighed, “I've been telling this to everyone in the building but no one is believing me! Just tryna’ do my job here.”

Let's say maybe you believe him. But the dots are connecting too fast that you want to refuse from believing it.

Was your target closer to you than you had expected?

“I'm clocking out, can you cover for me today?” You inform your colleague, and he crosses his arms while eyeing you up and down.

Your roll your eyes, “I'll be the cameraman for next week. So you could get three days off.” You force a smile and they smile back enthusiastically.

Wriothesley is definitely home. Earlier than the usual time he'd be back.

Oh, he's asleep on the couch. Leaning back tiredly with an almost stern expression on, but his body seems relaxed.

Now is the time to do anything. Investigate? Go through his things without his permission? That sounded all awful… surely he's not hiding any—

“go search his things.” You furrow your eyebrows when the devil on your left shoulder speaks, it makes you rub your face in annoyance.

Then a sudden white little angel poofs on your right shoulder with a disappointed face, “no, don't do it. He's a little scary when he gets mad. But he'd never betray you!” you feel reassured at it's words and you nod in agreement.

“don't listen to it. He could hurt you if you keep it a secret.” The red devil whispers again and it makes you shiver a bit.

“he would never hurt you.” The angel frowns.

“yes he would, he's a man.”

“a good man.”

“yeah? You're no better than me, you just want that—”

“okay shut up both of you. Shoo.” You brush both of your shoulders off before taking a deep breath to brace yourself.

You'll just search his.. clothes.

You feel guilty once you pocket his jackets and pants in his side of the wardrobe, checking every hidden pocket thoroughly while glancing at the door once in a while to make sure he doesn't wake up.

As your fingers brush against his jacket, you notice an unusual sensation – a cool, metal feeling hidden underneath the fabric. Your eyes widen in surprise as you recognize it to be the form of a gun's handle. A mixture of curiosity and concern floods through you, freezing you in place.

It really is a gun. You study it carefully, turning it around and feeling it's heaviness in your palm.

But you feel your heart run out of your ribcage when two pairs of arms wrap tightly around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Shit.

“hi,” he whispers next to your ear, but you're too nervous to even look back at him.

“nice thing you got there.” He muses, and you feel like you're losing oxygen once he tightens his grip around you even more.

“… i just found it.” You mutter, mostly to yourself. Your head hanging too low to avoid his eyes.

“Could've just asked me, no?” He clicks his tongue, almost in disappointment.

“i have it on me because—”

“because you use it for the good, right? Because you're the hero?” Your voice is shaky when you ask, the gun in your hand shaking with you, and you're afraid to drop it.

“hero?” Wriothesley repeats, shaking you gently awake and you gasp harshly, taking in big breaths, your boyfriend immediately trying to soothe you.

it was a dream.

“you were mumbling something about a hero in your sleep. Are you okay?” He asks in concern, brushing a strand off your face. You were sweating too much for your liking.

“when did i get here?” You look around, taking your palms to rub the sleepiness off. “Right when you got off work. You slept on the bed without changing your clothes.”

Oh… so you never checked his clothes. Deciding to just sleep instead.

Your head turns back to the wardrobe, staring at it intently. Could the jacket be in the same arrangement as you found it in your dream? Or will the gun also be there?

“you're going to poke a hole through it if you keep staring.” He stifles a laugh, and you couldn't help but try to smile as well. “Drink up. Slow sips.” He offers you a glass of water, and you hold the glass firmly in your hand.

“so… what was your dream about? Even this hero appears in your dreams? Can't say I'm not jealous.”

“You'll have grey hairs too early from overthinking.” You tease, sitting upright in bed, “oh no, you already do, old man.” you frown, tracing the grey strands along with his black hair. He watches in amusement.

Wriothesley lets out a deep sigh, “give your old man a break. They're a badge of wisdom and experience,” he rests his head on your lap, nuzzling close as you massage his scalp.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Breaking news: the ‘’lola” flower shop sets on fire just three hours ago. Our dear hero saves the day yet again, protecting the old lady just in time before her shop explodes. The cause of the fire is still unknown…”

Destruction out of nowhere again. Accidents out of nowhere again.

The voice of the newscaster on the television fades away in this little diner you're in. You drive your attention away from it, instead focusing now on the Polaroid pictures laid out infront of you.

The hero always wore a mask to cover his identity, obviously. But even after watching the countless of interviews he had, the deep tone slightly matches Wriothesley’s voice, or maybe he's changing his tone on purpose. You can see it by zooming in on the video, how he's catching his breath everytime he speaks when he's just sitting down.

Asthma? Nah.

You tap your fingers impatiently on the table, this is not helping at all, and the slightest itch in your brain worsens as the time goes by.

You think about giving up on this, but the possibility of finding the answer on how or why did all of this happen is probably closer to you than you think.

“Bad guys never end with their schemes. Bunch of attention seekers.” The hero speaks on the television, and you hum curiously as the hero salutes the camera playfully before disappearing from the crowd.

Is it possible that there are multiple heros? Working all together in some basement and taking turns to go out and do a better job than the police?

Possibly, and you write down your new theories down on your little notepad.

You check your phone next, Wriothesley still hasn't answered you back from your most recent text to him.

It's nothing to worry about, but the thought that he's busy saving the city is gnawing at you.

Batman?

You shake your head again, gathering your things to stand up from your seat. You should be blunt asking him about it tonight.

It's cold. Colder than usual. Was the air conditioning on? No. But the windows are sure wide open. You look around the living room before closing the windows and curtains from the outside world, as you draw the curtains, the outside world becomes obscured, leaving the room in a soft semi-darkness.

“Wriothesley, honey?” You call out softly, peeking through the bathroom, not there. The bedroom? Nope.

That leaves the kitchen, you slowly peek your head in he kitchen, and sure enough, he was there.

Wriothesley was rubbing his face in exhaustion while mumbling words under his breath that you can't quite hear. Having one singular glass of some drink in his hand.

“hero this.. hero that..” you finally listen to his mumbles, which makes you furrow your eyebrows together.

"Wrio...?" You call out softly, flipping the switch to turn on the light. His sharp eyes immediately dart up to look at you, and you can't help but shiver under his intense stare. You let out a small gasp of surprise as he suddenly stands up, the glass in his hand slipping from his grip and shattering on the ground along with its contents.

Taken aback by his sudden movement, you instinctively take a step back as he approaches you. But before you can even register what's happening, he crashes his lips against yours in a hasty, rushed kiss. Caught off guard, you cling tightly to him, desperately seeking support to prevent yourself from toppling over.

“You love me,” Wriothesley's voice breaks through the heated kiss, his words coming out in a low, guttural groan. He grips the back of your thighs, hoisting you up against the wall and wrapping your legs around his waist. “right?” His voice holds a hint of vulnerability and desperation, as if seeking reassurance and affirmation of your feelings for him.

And when you don't answer him right away, he takes your lower lip between his teeth, nipping at it gently, “answer me.” He almost growls.

“love, what are you taking about? Are you drunk?” You ask breathlessly in concern, your lips feeling swollen.

His jaw clenches, “Why can't you say it?” he inhales your perfume, your scent filling him that it makes him groan, his mouth lavishing your neck and collarbone, leaving kisses and littering marks then soothing the area with his tongue that it makes your pant softly, pressing your face into his hair while your fingers weaving through his black-greyish strands.

“i love you,” you utter quietly, and it suddenly makes him start grinding his hardened length against you. “I'm sorry in advance, sweetheart.”

One minute you're confused about his words, and then the next he's pounding so hard into you like there was no tomorrow.

Strings of “don't leave me,” and “i love you’s,” are echoed in the air. Wriothesley's mouth moves against yours with a sense of urgency and haste, his tongue gliding and tangling with yours in a fervent dance. The bed creaks so loud underneath you that you think it might break anytime, the embarrassment of the headboard banging against the wall immediately gone once he hits your sweet spot rapidly.

Poor neighbors

"Wrio... Wriothesley?” you slowly flutter your eyes open, still in the hazy realm between sleep and wakefulness. The sunlight streams through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room, and you blink a few times as you take in your surroundings. A quiet sense of contentment washes over you as you remember the events of the night before, the memories of Wriothesley's body against yours and his lips on yours still fresh in your mind.

You prop yourself up using your elbows, only to look down at the sight of your sleeping lover with his head pressed up on your chest. You collapse back on the bed with a tired sigh.

You still couldn't understand the reasoning behind his.. desperate actions last night. He seemed so pent up and stressed, you'll forgive him this time.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• It's the day where you're covering for your colleague, being the cameraman for tonight's news. Yes, tonight.

Wriothesley would kill you if he knew you were working so late at night, but only because he cares about your safety. Good thing he's out of the city for a day.

Or he claims to be out of the city for some important work.

You press the button on your video camera, adjusting the lens to focus on the newscaster standing in front of the camera, holding the microphone with a serious expression. The news van is parked in front of a desolate, run-down neighborhood known for its high crime rate and dangerous reputation. The newscaster speaks into the camera, her eyes boring into the lens as she reports on the neighborhood.

“We are now standing in the heart of one of the most dangerous areas in the city. This neighborhood is notorious for its high crime rate and volatile atmosphere.”

Your senses are heightened at this rate and you really try to focus but the moment you hear the faint crunch of leaves, you lose composure just a bit.

Okay you're a bit scared, but as long as your workmates are he—

a group of armed gang members suddenly appear from the alleyways between the buildings, surrounding the news van and the camera crew. The newscaster, taken off guard, gasps and steps back.

The gang members brandish their weapons, circling the news crew menacingly. One of them shouts at the newscaster, waving his gun in the air. “Hold it right there, pretty lady. This is our turf! You ain’t gonna be broadcasting nothing about us!”

You're about to shit your pants for real this time.

“Drop your cameras and get outta here, or things are gonna get real ugly real fast,” he growls, and one of them points the gun right on your camera.

“I'm talkin’ to you too.”

Yeah, you're not going to fight anyone and act all big. You simply drop the camera on the ground to raise your hands in the air.

As the gang members close in on the news crew, the atmosphere is suddenly shattered by the sound of footsteps pounding against the pavement. Everyone turns to see a tall, muscular figure approaching from the distance.

It's the hero.

You watch in awe as the hero strides towards the group of armed gang members, his movements fluid and precise. With a swift swing of his fist, he lands a powerful punch on the leader's face, sending him stumbling backwards. The other gang members are taken aback by his sudden appearance and the display of force, their eyes widening in surprise and fear. They exchange nervous looks, realizing they're facing a much stronger opponent than they anticipated.

“Hey, let's go!” Your workmate calls for your name. Her hand waving at you so you could all retreat back to the van.

And before you could follow, the van explodes.

The sudden explosion catches you off guard, jolting you out of your stupor. Shouting in surprise, you recoil from the loud blast, ducking instinctively as debris and fragments fly through the air. Your colleague, sitting next to you in the van, lets out a terrified yell as the force of the explosion propels the driver backward. The van shudders and lurches from the impact, the windows shattering and various objects sent flying.

“in the building! Let's go!” All three of you dash to protect yourselves inside this tall company building.

“I will call the police,”

“but the hero is here!” the driver of the van speaks, almost yelling in frustration.

“the hero is also a human. Just a strong one. We can't rely on him—” but before you could continue, you all cover your ears once you hear gunshots come from outside.

Ohmygosh. It’s—it could possibly be Wriothesley who's getting hurt right now. What are even the chances?!

“Fine! Just call the fucking police!” The driver gives up, leaning back against the wall while breathing heavily.

You want to go out there. You want to see. It's your chance to see who the hero is if he got hurt. Just to get the crumbs of news in exchange for your life apparently.

When it grows quiet, you peek outside, “it's clear, I'll take a look—”

“No, you're not.” her hand is firm as she grips your wrist, “just let them go.” He, on the other hand, scowls.

“Be safe!” She shouts at you as you make a run for it, running down the alleyway while looking left and right.

Someone's in the area.

You dart behind the nearby dumpster, heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline courses through your veins. Hiding as best you can, you press yourself against the rough metal, trying to keep your breathing steady and quiet. Peeking out from behind the dumpster, you cautiously scan the surroundings, trying to catch a glimpse of someone nearby. For now, the area seems to be clear, but you can't shake the feeling that someone is in the vicinity, lurking in the shadows.

“Where ya at, lil’ birdie?” You cover your mouth when you hear someone speak, it sends a chill down your spine and you can feel your heart drumming in your ears.

Your sharp eyes turn to your side to find a metal rod, you don't hesitate to grab it before smacking the shit out of the guy.

No that did not happen, but you wish it did.

Instead, the minute you see his feet pass the dumpster, with a swift movement, you grab hold of both of his ankles, using your weight and leverage to pull them out from under him. He lets out a pained shriek as he suddenly loses his balance and topples to the ground, his body hitting the pavement with a thud.

Alright, you can be cool sometimes.

Stepping at his hands to hear him cry again, you run put of the place, making turns and finally spotting the hero sitting down against the building wall while panting, seemingly exhausted.

“…” you take slow steps once you approach him, looking down at him with your eyes already glistening.

This is it, you just have to confirm it.

Your hand pulls at his mask, “Wrio—”

Huh?

This…

Is not

Wriothesley.

“Ah, what the fuck?” He grunts, the blonde grabbing the mask from your hands and you take a step back.

“Elias?!” You yell out in confusion, it's your colleague that you're covering for supposedly today's shoot.

“You're the hero??”

“not a word. Scram, you freak.” he mutters, eyes diverting away from you and staring up at the roof. “The roof,” he whispers to himself, making the effort to stand back at his knees.

Is this bitch serious? He's the last person you expected to be the hero. With his stupidly arrogant and lax attitude.

You give him an almost death stare, studying his features again before making your way out.

You need to check the other people that were with you.

But when you arrive back at the building, they were gone.

Did the police arrive? You don't hear any sirens. Could they have possibly went up on one of the floors to hide?

You find yourself in the elevator next, watching as the doors close with your hands clasped infront of you nervously.

You take deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and steady your nerves. Hey, at least there's nice elevator music.

As the elevator comes to a halt, the doors slide open with a soft ding, revealing the rooftop and the figure standing in the open space.

There's a figure standing at the edge of the building, you can see the person's silhouette clearly now, but you can't make out their features just yet.

Your steps are hesitant as you slowly approach the figure, the wind gently billowing around you. The city lights twinkle below, but your attention is entirely focused on the person standing at the edge of the roof. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever may come, and call out tentatively, "Hello?”

Your voice rings in the air, that the person's shoulders tense.

When they look around, you're met by the same blue eyes you've known for three years now.

“Wriothesley.” You whisper, in shock, breathlessly under your breath.

He's holding.. a gun? The same gun you remember seeing in your dream.

Something in his mind snaps when you turn around, in fear. Like it was a mistake to ever see him in the first place.

Wriothesley doesn’t even give himself time to think before his body suddenly reacts, suddenly reaching out and circling his hand around your wrist to forcibly tug you back.

He yanks hard enough that you lose your balance and fall against him, his other arm coming up to wrap around your shoulders, preventing you from going anywhere.

“W-wrio—”

“think it's time we talk, sunshine.” He speak into your ear.

When you try to move the slightest from his hold, he grips you around him tighter. You figure it's best to stay still for now.

“what? Are you going to kidnap me now?” You manage to chuckle out, nervously though, your voice coming out more shaky than you intended to.

“Is that going to satisfy your little fantasy? What, I should play into it and shove you into a corner, keep you under my thumb until you’re begging me to set you free? Or no… you want to be saved by the hero.”

"You know you're not helping with your case, right? You really sound like the bad guy now.”

You’ve definitely found his breaking point because that comment makes him snap.

Wriothesley suddenly whirls you around so you’re facing him before he’s pinning you against the nearest wall, his body practically covering your own.

“Well…” He whisper, raising an eyebrow calmly in the way you look being at his mercy. “Aren’t I?”

Your jaw practically hangs at his words. Is he... Playing the bad guy now?

Or was he really… not the opposite of the hero?

He sees the shiver you try so hard to suppress and smirks at that, clearly satisfied with your reaction, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Finally realize that the man you’ve been dating isn’t the hero you've obsessing over?” He chuckles.

“i… i knew it—”

“You didn’t,” he says, his tone suddenly becoming cool and firm.

Wriothesley leans forward, pressing into you so that you’re smashed between him and the wall. His hand suddenly comes up, cupping your jaw so that he tilts your chin up to look directly into his eyes.

“If you’d known, you’d never have come within twenty feet of me. You’d never have been alone with me or spent a single night in our bed.”

He's right. And you hate it. You feel betrayed, lied to, even.

It makes you rethink your life choices.

You've gotten too comfortable with him that you didn't even think about him being the villian. You've gotten too close while you were being a complete idiot.

“you hid it.”

Wriothesley laughs, the sound almost sounding cold, “of course I hid it, sunshine. I wasn’t going to just come strutting in wearing a big, red sign saying ‘look at me, I’m a bad guy!’ was I?”

You clench your fists together, “you tricked me.”

“Tricked? No.” He shakes his head slightly. “I simply… left out key details.”

“Why?”

“ah, there it is.” He steps back, giving you space to breath, to recollect your thoughts.

“why? Because the hero isn't a hero. He started all of this destruction. Why? To get fame, recognition, power, and to be seen, to look like he's doing something when he's not.” He lets out all in one breath, and you lips part again.

“four years ago when the building almost fell on you? He did that, on purpose. then saved you to make it look like he's the one that everyone needs.”

What the hell?

“Wriothesley, we were strangers to each other four years ago. How did you know?” You don't hesitate to step closer to get more answers out of him, but he only stares at you.

You swallow thickly when he draws infront of you once again, “i did this all for you, love. I-i will do everything in my power to stop him, i will kill him so you wouldn't get hurt—”

“Okay, fucker. Out of my way,” Elias, the ’hero’, suddenly barks, and without warning, a gunshot rings out. The bullet pierces through Wriothesley's shoulder, causing him to flinch and stagger backwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as you watch the scene unfold. "Wriothesley!" you cry out, watching as he turns around despite the injury and charges towards Elias.

Despite the pain he must be in, Wriothesley doesn't relent. Ignoring the gunshot wound, he barrels towards Elias with unmatched determination, closing the distance between them.

"Bastard," Wriothesley manages to grit out as he collides with Elias, knocking him off his feet and sending them both crashing to the ground.

You don't hesitate to rush forward, with adrenaline fueling your actions, you move quickly towards them as they roll dangerously close to the edge of the roof.

"Stop!" you shout, your voice filled with desperation. "You'll fall!”

And surely enough, Your two hand clamps down on Wriothesley's, desperately grasping onto anything you can to prevent him from plunging off the edge.

Meanwhile, Elias grips Wriothesley's leg, using his strength to anchor him in place. The three of you hang there, suspended over the city, Wriothesley's body along with Elias’s dangling in the air.

“Sweetheart—”

“shut the fuck up I'm not letting go.” They're both too heavy, the feel of his fingers slipping away from yours increases everytime you try to pull them up.

Elias is purposely pulling Wriothesley's leg down to drop them both, your lips quiver, crying when two of his fingers slip now.

“hey,” his voice is soothing when he calls for you.

“at least… i protected you till the very end, right?” He tries smiling but it only makes the lump in your throat grow.

“i love you.”

“Wriothesley!”

…

“Wriothesley—!” You gasp harshly when you open your eyes so wide, finding that your hand was already reaching out for nothing.

You rest your hand on your chest before leaning back on your seat.

“are you okay?” The newscaster, the friend you made, offers you her handkerchief so you could swipe the sweat off your face.

“i think… continuesly searching about this, is making you stressed.” She points out, looking at the papers and drawings splayed out on your desk.

More theories of the disappearances of the hero and villian. Not their death. Their bodies were never found.

“it's been a year.”

The realization is like a punch to the gut as you bring a sweaty palm to rub at your temples.

“This is not over.” You whisper, more to yourself than to her. “We got no more trouble. No more heroic or bad guy news. The world is back to normal, almost like they never existed huh?”

Never existed.

She then suddenly gasps, which catches you off gaurd, “are engaged??” She eyes at the gem resting on your left ring finger.

The ring you found in one of his jacket pockets when you sorted his things out.

“yeah…” you decide to drawl out before sitting upright on your seat.

“now, if you'll excuse me, i got work to do.”

You're never going to stop searching, to find another answer of the question; 'why?'

Even if it will mean risking your life this time.

[sunny44]

I’ll love you to the day I die

Pairing: Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader

Warnings: it’s a sad story guys so be prepared. And English is not my first language.

Summary: It’s yours and Landon’s one-year anniversary.

I look out over Monaco's stunning landscape as the sun slowly rises, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The city, usually vibrant with the sound of engines and the glow of lights, is quiet this morning. I adjust my shirt collar and check my watch once more. The flight to London is scheduled to leave in a few hours, and I want to make sure I arrive on time for such an important date.

As I drive to the airport, my thoughts turn to Y/n. I remember how she always laughed at my jokes, how her eyes sparkled when I talked about racing, and how she supported me unconditionally in every challenge. Today, we would be celebrating one year together, and I want to do something special.

At the airport, I meet some fans asking for autographs and photos. I smile and answer them all, but my mind is far away, focused only on the surprise I'm preparing. The flight to London is smooth, and I spend most of the time mentally going over every detail of my plan. I want everything to be perfect.

When I land in London, I take a cab straight to the city center. The streets are busy, as always, but I don't pay any attention. My destination is clear and fixed in my mind. I get out of the cab and walk through the streets until I reach a small flower store. I choose a bouquet of white roses, Y/n's favorite flowers, and go on my way.

As I walk, I mentally revisit every moment I spent with Y/n. Every laugh, every kiss, every promise. Finally, I reach my destination. The entrance to the cemetery is sad and silent, a shocking contrast to the liveliness of the surrounding city.

With slow steps, I enter the cemetery, walking among the gravestones until I find Y/n's. My eyes fill with tears as I see her name engraved in the marble. I kneel down, placing the bouquet of white roses on the grave after cleaning it up with my hands.

"Happy one-year anniversary, my love," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I miss you so much. I promised I'd be here today, and I am. I wanted you to be with me so we could celebrate together. I love you so much."

I stay silent, just staring at something that still seems like a lie. Today was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life, but it has become one of the worst. Five months ago, I wouldn't have thought I'd be coming to the cemetery to celebrate one year of dating the love of my life, but here I am.

"It's funny how I never thought that out of the two of us you'd be the one to passed away first, and considering what I do for a living it's ironically sad." I sniffle again and feel my heart break more and more.

"You have no idea how much I love you and how much I miss you. How I miss your wet towel on the bed, seeing you walking around the house in your bare feet and the post-it’s you used to put in my suitcase before I traveled to a race you weren't going to."

I stand there in silence for a long time, remembering all the precious moments I shared with Y/n. I think of the first time I saw her, the way our eyes met and I knew, in that instant, that she was going to be special.

I think of all the races where she was there, cheering me on, sending me strength and love. I remember the quiet days when we walked hand in hand through the streets of London, laughing and making plans for the future.

Even in her absence, I feel her presence, and that gives me the strength to carry on. I know that, somehow, she will always be with me, guiding me and loving me, no matter where I am.

And I feel that it’s so unfair that I could only have her in my life for such a short time, cause I know and I feel in my heart that we should’ve had more time together.

Finally, I stand up, wiping away the tears. I take one last look at Y/n's gravestone, promising to come back soon. With a heavy heart, but full of love, I leave the cemetery, determined to honor her memory in every race, in every victory, and in every day of my life.

As I walk back to the city, I think about how Y/n had changed my life. She taught me to cherish every moment, to live intensely and to love deeply. I know that, no matter how difficult it may be, I will continue to live for her, keeping alive the flame of the love we shared. And so, with Y/n's memory engraved in my heart, I prepare to face another day, knowing that she will always be by my side, in spirit.

Bonus Scene!

Landonorris instagram post

Liked by @carlossainz, @olivernorris, @maxverstappen1 and other 917291

@landonorris missing you extra hard today my love. These past few months have been the worst of my life and I still can’t believe that you’re gone.

I love you so much and I’ll make sure to live for the both of us.

Happy one-year anniversary muppet, you’ll be forever my girl 🖤.

@carlossainz I’m really sorry mate, we all miss her so much. Stay strong

@oscarpiastri sending you lots of love Lando

@maxverstappen she was a very special girl, we all will live for her

@charlesleclerc a very special person taken away from us so soon, we’re all here for you mate ❤️

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[colleendoran]

How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.

[mirai-e-jump]

Animage December 2024 Issue Kamen Rider Gavv ft. Hino Yusuke Interview (translation below)

Publication: November 9, 2024

Letting his fighting spirit "melt" into his bullets

Even within the Kamen Rider series, which has enjoyed a history spanning over half a century, there are only a few who have been chosen to become a Kamen Rider with as much tragic resolve weighing on their shoulders as Karakida Hanto. Hanto's mother was kidnapped by a Granute when he was a child, and while investigating the Granutes, his mentor, Shioya Soji, loses his life. In order to avenge Shioya's death, he decided to accept the offer to undergo a life threatening remodification surgery from Suga Kenzo, someone who's researching a method to exterminate the Granutes. The result of his suffering is that he obtained the power to transform into Kamen Rider Valen.

Sometimes, he guesses a Granutes true identity based on the slightest bit of evidence, other times, he shows his kindness in order to support a girl who's chasing her dreams, and at other times, he shows his playful side by instinctively posing when the cameras are pointed at him……Being able to calmly consider the situation and remain open to one's emotions like that may be what's needed to confront the "monsters" that prey on people's happiness.

Although allies like Suga are currently present, Hanto's still pursuing information about the Granutes on his own. Will he be able to reach the enemy responsible for taking his mother from him? We hope you'll watch as Kamen Rider Valen's battle intensifies. _

-This also expands the range of Hanto's feeling-

"Since his first transformation in episode 6, Hanto's also been active as a Kamen Rider."

Hino: After the first transformation episode, I received heartfelt messages from tons of people, such as, "I'm looking forward to seeing what Valen will do going forward." I was also impressed by the response to the sequence of events leading up to the transformation, with comments like, "They're depicting a setting similar to a Showa Rider in a Reiwa Rider."

"It was a very unrefined first transformation scene."

Hino: It was my first transformation, and I was just trying to keep up with the flow of the performance, so I acted with conflicting feelings. I think it was because of the way Director Morota Satoshi said, "Let's make it this kind of taste," and created it on the spot that a sense of liveliness was born. This is one of my personal favorite scenes, as since I started this job, I've been working hard and doing my best, and I felt as though it connected me and Hanto.

"The avant garde exchange with Kamen Rider Gavv in episode 7 was also funny. He calls himself Valen, a name he associates with Valentine (laughs)."

Hino: That scene was fun to act out (laughs). I got into it as best as I could imagine, and the "In the end, the concept is still chocolate….." scene was given the OK with just one take. Still, I had a hard time at first deciding on which of the emotions from my previous performances to keep consistent. For everyone watching, a week has passed, but Hanto's just fought his mentor's enemy out of revenge, and he's still physically damaged. However, Sugi-san (Director Sugihara) told me to go all out, and since I myself like comedic scenes, I didn't hold back.

"Is there anything memorable from filming the transformation scene?"

Hino: For the fixed transformation pose from the second time onwards, I couldn't close the lever of the gun (Valen Buster) fully, or the Gochizou would pop out when I swung it downwards too aggressively, so I had to do alot of retakes until I got used to it (laughs). I remember having to work at it until I could make cool gestures and movements like a Kamen Rider. One of the Directors gave me some advice about the transformation, and it really struck me. It was, "It's a privilege for the chosen ones to be able to say "Henshin," and the word transformation must convey how the character is feeling as they fight." So, every time I transform, I'm conscious of how to convey my emotions in that moment.

"Once again, please tell us your impression of Hanto."

Hino: Hanto became lonely after losing his mother, met his mentor when he was acting like a delinquent, became his apprentice, and is looking for monsters in his work as a writer. He's someone who's had many experiences that I haven't had. I was conscious of this past before we started filming, and I thought that he was nothing like me. But as I talked with Screenwriter Komura Junko-san and Sugi-san, it was almost like Hanto came to me. While respecting what was different between me and him, I began to draw from my own clumsiness and roughness in order to become closer to Hanto.

"Considering he has a passionate side, and a serious backbone despite being silly, Hanto seems to have a wide range."

Hino: That's right. Shouma's pure and Sachika's a gyaru, but I think there are situations and relationships that are created by each and every one of Hanto's "faces." I'm challenging myself to widen my range, and not settle for, "This is just how Hanto is."

"You're thinking, "If this isn't Hanto, then this is," right?"

Hino: Yes. If I perform as Hanto, then I become Hanto, or to put it another way, it's my job to create Hanto, and I consider it rewarding.

"In episode 9, the most recent episode, we got a glimpse of Hanto's more mature side in a scene with Kirari."

Hino: I wanted to express Hanto's clumsy yet passionate attitude toward children in the scene where he consults with Kirari-chan in a friendly and helpful manner. In the scene before that, when the safety buzzer is set off, he's mistaken for a suspicious person even though he didn't mean it that way, which is typical of Hanto (laughs). I think it's a funny scene that shows off Hanto's cuteness.

-We hope that Hanto will be rewarded one day-

"What are your impressions of Kaji Kotaro-san, the Suit Actor who plays Valen?"

Hino: I feel that Kaji-san has a passionate kindness within him, and that he's pulling me along. Valen's actions are also broken down into a fighting style that's typical of Hanto, and I realized that we were creating one role together. We sometimes talk over a few drinks, and in a positive way, we have friendly competition, where we can say what we want to say to each other.

"What do you find important when doing post recording?"

Hino: Hanto has a wide range of expressions, but when he transforms into Valen, he's fighting a Granute, so I'm aware that he's in a state of hostility and wanting revenge. I try to avoid feeling strangely calm, I always act with the feeling that I'm risking my life.

"Maybe it's like you're switching over into battle mode."

Hino: That might be it. When I speak as Hanto, I go back to my natural self, so I think that this is fine.

"How's the atmosphere on set?"

Hino: Hide has a strong sense of responsibility as the main character, and thanks to his leadership, we were able to communicate with each other from the very beginning, and as filming progressed, the vibes between Shouma, Sachika, and Hanto were established. Hide and Miyabecchi tease me in a nice way, so I think we've established an equal relationship. In regards to Hide, I've always played younger brother characters, so I was alittle nervous that "the younger generation has appeared" (laughs), but he has a pure, brotherly cuteness to him that naturally makes me want to spoil him.

"Speaking of Hanto, we think the presence of his mentor, Shioya Soji, who was mentioned earlier, is significant."

Hino: Komatsu Toshimasa-san's performance gave me goosebumps…..! It's natural, subtle, convincing, yet very unconstrained. I feel a sense of respect for him and thought that I'd like to do a performance like that in the future. He's someone I truly want to call "mentor," and I think it was thanks to Komatsu-san that I was able to cry real tears in the scenes where Hanto cries thinking about his mentor.

"Now that Shioya's passed away, his interactions with Suga Kenzo at his lab are striking."

Hino: Suga's making a mess out of Hanto's life (laughs), but the scenes with Suga are also interesting to perform. The very beginning of the show is focused on Shouma and Sachika, and Hanto and Suga, but it was a valuable experience for me to be able to perform one on one with Asanuma Shintaro-san, as I learned alot from him. I'd seen some of the anime that Asanuma-san was in, but when I looked up his appearances, I was shocked and thought, "He was in this one too?!" I'm happy that we communicate with each other on set, talking about all sorts of things, from matters relating to personal life and acting.

"He's a reliable senior who's the complete opposite of Suga."

Hino: That's true (laughs). I think the gap between him and his role is interesting. I'm working together with him with alot of respect.

"Do you have a favorite anime?"

Hino: Most recently, I like "The Dangers in My Heart." Once I became an adult, I stopped watching romance series like that out of embarrassment, but when I watched The Dangers in My Heart for the first time in awhile, it made my heart skip a beat! I'd say that it gives off a sense of purity that only a middle school student can have, and injects you with emotions that we can't get in the real world….it's a really good series. I myself used to play soccer, so I watched alot of sports anime and manga such as "Haikyu!!," "Ace of Diamond," "SLAM DUNK," and "Major." Those are what got me addicted to watching real sports like the NBA.

"If you had to pick an anime that you especially like, what would it be?"

Hino: I love Kyoto Animation's "Beyond the Boundary," and not only have I seen the main TV series, but I've also watched the movie more than 10 times! I was in middle school at the time, and I used to imitate Kanbara Akihito, the main character who's obsessed with glasses, and say, "Pretty girls with glasses are nice, huh?" (laughs). I was so absorbed in it, that I even established a glasses research club at school using my authority as the student council president.

"Isn't that an abuse of power? (laughs)."

Hino: Of course, but it was an unofficial club, okay? (laughs). Now, I'll often watch live action movies and TV dramas in order to study acting, but before I became an actor, I was exposed to various works to the extent that I had a modest interest in them.

"In the future, are there any situations you'd like to perform as Hanto?"

Hino: Things like explosions are areas I haven't experienced yet. Falling into water……isn't a challenge I'm actively looking to take on (laughs). Personally, I'm interested in what would happen if Hanto were to experience something like love being directed toward him. Hanto lost his mother, and he's the type to have narrow, but deep relationships with people, so along with friendship and human affection, I think he's hungry for love. What I imagine is that in a peaceful world where he doesn't have to fight against the Granutes, Hanto will most likely develop a longing for family and a desire to overcome the trauma of losing his loved ones.

"Only painful things happen to him, so we hope it all works out for Hanto."

Hino: I really hope so. On the other hand though, there's something appealing about being unrewarded (laughs). While being the spice that enhances the excitement of Kamen Rider Gavv, I hope that Hanto will continue to be loved by everyone, and I too will continue to devote myself to Hanto with love and care every day!

[actual-changeling]

Y'know Scully needed to be pregnant during season 8 or she would have offed herself the second Mulder was dead and buried. Just leave the grave open, Skinner, she'll jump right after him and call it a day—same thing with their roles reversed.

There's only so much she can take, and finding Mulder dead in that field without a pregnancy giving her a reason to keep living would have been too much by a mile. She would have suffocated on the emptiness he left behind.

Even in canon, Skinner and her mom must have had one hell of a time taking care of her after the funeral 'cause i don't think Scully was particularly eager to go through her daily routines except to avoid not perishing on the spot.

While they were still searching for him, she was visibly numb to the world and lost the spark that had survived all the way through their numerous kidnappings, the cancer arc, Emily, Antarctica, weird brain diseases and stranded alien spaceships, and failed IVF.

No Mulder, no faith, no life. For them, it really is that simple.

And the thing is that we get used to seeing her like that! We know something is wrong, we know what is wrong—what is missing—but it only really hits you how much of a walking corpse she was once Mulder is breathing again.

Before his return, she wears exclusively dark, muted colours and high-collared shirts; a lot of the time, she's completely drowning in her black coat. Her cross necklace is invisible and hidden away, she solves cases and does her job, sure, yet there's no actual joy or excitement, no scientific wonder.

Without mulder, the x files are reduced to simply that: files. There's nothing to fight for without him.

This is the only Scully Doggett (and Reyes) get to know, their understanding of her and Mulder's relationship is based on rumours and stories, and what little they can extricate from Scully herself.

Then they find him, they bury him, they bring him back to life, and the SECOND she feels and sees him breathing, his heart beating, that spark roars back to life. There's more determination and liveliness in her eyes during this one conversation with Doggett than when some fucking cult whackos shove a worm up her spine and try to make her their worm god carrier.

But no matter what Mulder's chances are, the choice not to open up that grave was wrong.

You could have dropped her in front of his grave with nothing but her bare hands and a mission, and she would have dug him up and wished him back to the world of the living all by herself.

They're irrevocably bound together, they need each other not just to survive but to LIVE period, and god help anyone who comes between them.

[crabonfire]

Scout falling for reader

characters: scout

tags: fluff

note: writing this on a whim and ignoring all the other drafts I really wanted to write! also hi :)

I was writing an enemies to lovers but um....maybe later

I have a love for scout okay :( I'm sorryyyyyyyyy ill do full characters right after this one (I'm in a writing mood for once in years)

and of course reblogs and comments very much appreciated <3

♡Scout♡

• You were really the only true friend he had in the base. He considered all the other mercs his friend too but, he knew they'd never really share that friendship. He felt appreciated, and had someone to talk to who would really listen to him, not finding him stupid like the others do.

• He didn't realize he fell for you. The last time he fell for someone he acted shy, aloof, awkward and honestly embarrassed himself a little. He never knew what to say. So it took him a while to figure out he liked you, because whenever you two spoke, words always came so easily to him.

• The day he truly does realize his feelings though, is a day like any other. Your team, victorious, going out for drinks at the local bar. Scout could never handle himself well to alcohol, and you didn't really seem to be a drinker either. You two were sitting outside for the most part, laughing and making fun of the other team, as well as you listened to him ramble on his accomplishments of the day.

• Though, something lingered on his mind. A question he really thought about for a while. He knew you wouldn't judge, so he asked you your opinion.

"How long do you think we're gonna have to do this for?"

• You turned to him, confused. He continues.

"Fighting. Like- how long do you think it'll take before it's over? I'm not sayin' I don't enjoy kicking the other teams ass or the money we get, but well- I don't know."

Anytime he asked this question, Spy, Demo, everyone in the team really, all just said "not to think about it and to do it until it's done." He was never satisfied with that answer.

He saw how you contemplated it for a moment, seeing a small smile curl onto your lips when you looked back at him to reply.

"I don't know. It's probably for a bit longer, I mean- it's been 2 years. Pretty sure there were mercs before us who fought for this stupid war.*

You paused, "Why? You wanna quit or something?"

He shook his head. "Quit being able to kill people for a bunch of money? No way! I just- I think of doing other stuff. We barely have any free time and I don't wanna do this stuff till I'm old or something. And I know old- just look at Spy. He's probably from the ice age or somethin'."

• You snorted, chuckling a little at his comment. He smiled, he always liked to see you laughing at his jokes, made him feel funnier than he really was. You mirrored his smile, turning to look at the road. The night was a bluish gray, a striking contrast to the liveliness and warmth the bar brought.

"I get it."

It went quiet, he wondered if that was it.

"I don't wanna grow old and retire from this job either. But I don't think it'll be so bad."

"Really? Why?" He asked.

• He saw the way you turned to look at him, that same smile he knew all too well, one side of your face shone so brightly under the bars lighting while the other side was slightly masked with moonlight. Your reply was so simple, but it made his heart race.

"You'll be there. And I guess having you around makes things less worse."

• He stared bashfully at you upon hearing those very words. His palms got sweatier than they usually did as he felt his chest tighten. You must've noticed, because you let out an embarrassed chuckle.

"Haha- that was corny as hell. Anyway, I'm gonna go get another pack of soda for us."

• You stood up and walked back to the bar, but he couldn't look away from where you sat before. His face felt warm, damn.

He didn't know what it was. Maybe it should've hit him sooner, the fact he had feelings for you. The fact that- whenever you pull him in for a hug, his heart beats a little bit faster. When you laugh with him he laughs just a little harder because your laugh is his favorite. That your playful fighting with each other, it really does mean a lot to him.

All he knew was from that day on, it became difficult to think of you without realizing everything it was he loved about you.

♡♡♡

I don't know how to write endings anyway scout fans here's your food I know it's been a while it's okay mama is here 🫂

and yesssss sigh don't worry there are other fics I'm writing 😪 just...wanted to do scout first as a practice :)

hope you enjoyed! reblogs and comments always appreciated, I'd love to know your own opinions of scout and such!!! #scoutlover

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part eleven.

Lando’s hotel room isn’t terribly bigger than yours. The bathroom is definitely a bit more spacious, and he’s got an actual seating area off to the side next to the bed rather than a single uncomfortably stiff chair, but the only difference you care about is that he’s got a balcony looking out over Manama and it provides a gorgeous view of the city’s nightscape.

The lights glimmer and gleam down below, a sea of liveliness that contrasts the peaceful quietness of the world from where you stand so high up above it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how beautiful some of the places we get to go to are,” Lando says, breaking the silence as he steps out onto the balcony with you. There are two glasses filled generously with the promised wine, and he hands one off to you before coming to rest against the railing beside you. “Six years now, and the view still takes my breath away.”

You hum in agreement, taking a sip from your glass. The taste of the wine is still sweet on your tongue when you answer back, “Getting to see the world like this always reminds me of how lucky I am to get to work in this sport.”

“Me too,” he murmurs softly. When you peek over at him, his gaze is cast out across the city, but there’s a look on his face that suggests the lights and streets below aren’t really what he’s focusing on.

You take a moment to observe. He’s no longer clad in the endearingly obnoxious papaya orange that makes up McLaren’s teamwear, and is instead dressed in a pair of baggy sweatpants that sit low on his hips and a T-shirt that’s been worn thin and hangs loose enough around his necklike that you can see the defined contours of his collarbones. His hair is freshly washed and the curls are still loose with the lingering dampness. From where you’re standing, you can make out the familiar tea tree scent of his shampoo.

It’s so domestic— and close to what things were like before Garrett Ward threw a wrench into it all—that it makes your heart clench painfully in your chest.

The dark circles are still there and you imagine they will be until he’s able to get some real rest, but there’s an easiness to him that wasn’t present earlier in the day. His shoulders aren’t as tense, and neither are they sagging under an invisible weight. He looks lost in thought, but not in the way you’ve seen in the past when his anxiety grabs hold and forces him into a worsening spiral of insecurity-fueled self-doubt.

Part of you wonders if it’s because of you— if your agreement to spend time with him and now your presence here beside him is partly responsible for this change in demeanor. The other part of you is desperately trying to bury those thoughts beneath the reminder of why you can’t think those things.

“I promised you stupid TV,” he says all of a sudden, turning his head and meeting your eyes.

You’d be embarrassed about being caught staring if it weren’t for the fact that his own eyes seem to trace every feature of your face before gesturing with a nod of his head towards the balcony’s door.

It’s easy to fall back into the swing of things from there.

The loveseat is quickly agreed to be too stiff and much too small to fit both of you and your shared tendency to stretch out and take up as much room as possible. Back at your flat, the two of you would’ve sat on either side of the couch with your legs tangled together in the middle and a blanket or two draped over your laps. Normally, Lando would poke the meat of your thigh with his cold toes, and in response you’d kick his shins until both of you were lost in fits of giggles and cackling so hard you’d have to rewind the TV to catch what was lost beneath the sound of your laughter.

There’s no cold toes pressing against your thighs or shin-kicking tonight, but you’re both bundled up under the covers of Lando’s bed and it feels right in a way that you haven’t had in a long time.

You’re watching pretty people clad in pretty bathing suits run around a pretty island complaining about their pretty people problems. A girl who looks like she could be a runway model falls into a sobbing mess after finishing a dramatic retelling of how the guy she fancies is tripping over himself for the other girls who all, also, look like they could be runway models.

Lando scoffs. “He looks like he’s a bad haircut away from being a troll. What does she even see in him?”

“The haircut combined with the abs are enough to make up for the rest of what he’s lacking in the visual department—” you drain the rest of your glass and bump him with your elbow to fill it back up again. “But if he got a haircut,” you continue when he’s taken your glass, “it’d be game over. At least the guy she was with before was nice and listened to her talk without interrupting every five seconds to say something about himself.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Lando exclaims, handing your newly filled glass back over to you.

The glasses you’ve already had sit warm inside you, like the relaxation the alcohol has brought about within has ignited a fire in your chest and is working to melt away the frost and the bone-deep chill of your loneliness.

Lando seems to be faring similarly, if the heated flush to his skin is anything to go by. His cheeks and, adorably enough, the tips of his ears are a rosy pink that remind you of what he looks like when he’s sunburnt. There’s an upward curl to his lips that looks more natural than some of the other smiles you’ve seen these past few days, and it gives him a lighthearted appearance that contrasts greatly to the frustration of earlier today. He’s giggly in the way he only gets when he’s tipsy, and the joyfulness is infectious.

You both started on opposite sides of the bed, leaving room in the middle like a physical reminder of the distance that still exists between the two of you until you can sort everything else out. But that distance has slowly disappeared as the night has progressed. You’ve each somehow migrated into the middle of the mattress and now his arm is pressed against yours and you can feel his body heat seeping in through the fabric of your hoodie.

You should probably be trying harder to regain and maintain the distance, for Lando’s sake if not your own. You don’t want to lead him into thinking that everything is fine and dandy again, especially when it isn’t. There are a number of conversations the two of you need to have still, and though you’re just as desperate to cling to the comfort of familiarity as Lando seems to be, you know that if you don’t hold yourselves accountable to confronting the misunderstandings then he certainly won’t.

Lando’s always been like that. He’s not afraid, persay, of confrontation, but he’s keen on avoiding it if possible. It’s one of many things that sets his anxiety off and you’re often very understanding at letting things go if only because they’re petty and small and not worth making him feel so bad over. But, despite how little joy you find now at the idea of forcing him to acknowledge his mistakes— the complete opposite feeling you imagined having weeks ago when you were still fueled by anger and frustration at his avoidance and seemingly lack of desire to take responsibility for the hurt he’s caused— you know it’s something you need to do.

Even still, having him close like this both physically and emotionally is so comfortable and familiar, and the wine has done it’s number on you and Lando both. The barrier you’ve kept around yourself the last few days— the barrier that serves as a reminder for why you need to be careful and stay away— has been chipped away by the sweet tartness of the alcohol and it feels liberating to be free of it, albeit temporarily as you keep telling yourself.

You think that if you tried to pull away now, to reinstate that distance and the subsequent reminder that it’s meant to be, it would be and feel like tearing off a limb and then expecting everything to be fine as you watch yourself bleed out.

So, instead, for the time being, you bask in his warmth and cherish what you have while you have it, until the alcohol fades from your system and your head clears and it’s time to be the bigger person again.

It’s significantly later into the night when Lando speaks up again. The clock on the nightstand says it’s nearing three in the morning, but the TV is still on and you and him are still curled beneath the sheets watching with rapt attention.

The bottle of wine is empty and on the floor, but the buzz of being a little more than tipsy still lingers in your blood, and in Lando’s too, considering his occasional fit of giggles.

“This is really nice,” he says quietly into the darkness of the room.

You raise an eyebrow at him, head murky with thoughts all swirling together in a whirlpool inside your mind. “I mean,” you shrug, “it’s a more interesting episode than the last, but I wouldn’t really call it nice. It’s still reality TV—”

He laughs and the sound is like bells ringing in your ears. It occurs to you briefly that you don’t recall having ever heard a more beautiful sound, but then you shove it down and brush it away with the reminder that it’s just the wine talking.

You try not to think about the fact that you weren’t drunk the last time you had that thought.

“No,” he shakes his head, “I mean, this. You and me, here, hanging out again.”

The silence hangs heavy between the two of you, broken only by the muffled sound of the voices on the TV and the occasional squeal of flirtatious laughter that’s louder than everything else. You let it linger for a few moments longer, tracing the profile of his face with your gaze and taking note of the downward twitch of his lips as his words sit unanswered.

Until finally, you whisper back, “I wasn’t the one who stopped, Lando.”

He swallows thickly, and suddenly the exhaustion is back on his face, painted across his features like a mask has suddenly been lifted. The soft flickering glow of the TV accentuates the bags beneath his eyes, making them appear deeper and darker, like bruises across his tanned skin.

“I know,” he whispers back. “I was afraid.”

“Of what?” You ask.

He shrugs, but the flinch he just barely suppresses tells you he knows perfectly well what he was afraid of. He turns to look at you, meets your eyes for a few fleeting seconds, then looks away once more and heaves a sigh that seems to carry with it all of his current troubles.

“That you wouldn’t need me anymore," he hesitantly reveals.

Lando’s anxiety is something you came to terms with relatively quickly into your friendship. It was hard, at first, to imagine someone who portrays themself with such confidence and friendliness to be so insecure and afraid, but the more you got to know him the more you realized that Lando has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders whether people asked him to or not. It was a burden he took onto himself as a way of proving— more so to himself, than anyone else— that he deserves everything he’s been given

He’s a perfectionist, you know this without a doubt. He’s too hard on himself, and doesn’t understand that failure is a part of growing.

He once tried to take up painting, but despite you mentioning multiple times that he didn’t need to know how to perfectly mimic a Rembrandt or a Caravaggio, the fact that he wasn’t immediately great at it was enough to have him spiraling into an anxiety attack that you coached him through in the family bathroom at a library in downtown London.

Afterwards, he’d reluctantly admitted that he was a perfectionist because nobody could argue he didn’t deserve to be where he was if he was the best.

But a person can’t be the best at being a friend. And you suspect that between changing schools as frequently as he did and karting taking up a majority of his freetime, Lando didn’t have many friends growing up. He never learned that some people genuinely enjoy him for who he is, rather than what he can do or offer.

“Lando,” you murmur sadly, reaching out from beneath the covers to take his hand. You shouldn’t, but seeing the way his eyes immediately focus in on the contact and the way his fingers squeeze back desperately at yours is enough to justify it. “You don’t ever have to worry about me not needing you. You’re my best friend. You’re the first person I’ve ever called my best friend. I will always need you.”

He sniffles. “I guess, I thought you wouldn’t want to, though. Still be my friend, I mean. If you had someone more important in your life to go to instead of me.”

“I’ve never wanted to be friends with someone more than you,” you answer back, squeezing his hand.

“But that’s the problem,” he says suddenly, voice upped an octave in a distressed whine. He turns to look at you and shakes his head, eyebrows pinched together like he’s in pain. His cheeks are still flushed from the alcohol, and the wine has stained his lips red. He looks so different from the Lando you know— from the Lando you’re usually allowed to see. “We’re just friends.”

“Lando…” you whisper.

He’s watching your lips.

When he kisses you, you can taste the sweetness of the wine on his tongue. It’s frantic and desperate, and he holds you with both hands like he’s worried you’ll slip away if he doesn’t. There’s no butterflies in your chest or fireworks in your head like they always write about in novels, but there’s a buzzing at the tips of your fingers and toes━ pins and needles━ like your body’s been numb and is just now regaining sensation for the first time in forever.

You kiss back, despite a muffled voice in the back of your brain screaming at you not to. How can you listen to something that sounds so clearly like self-sabatogue when you finally have the opportunity to have what you’ve always wanted?

Lando pulls away first, only to catch his breath. His eyes dance across your face, like he’s trying to sear each and every feature into his memory. He caresses your cheek softer than you’ve ever been touched before, a brush of his thumb against your skin so gentle that you’d think you imagined it if not for the way his gaze follows the path of his stroke. He’s treating you like you’re precious━ not in a way that implies fragility, but like he’s too afraid to even take the risk of hurting you.

It’s a sentiment you can share, though you’ve never admitted it to anyone else and are reluctant to even acknowledge it yourself.

Lando is special━ all of the athletes you work with are special, but Lando is a different kind of special. Carlos, Daniel, Oscar, and Jack are all wonderful people that you’re incredibly thankful to have had in your life, but Lando’s the only one that you need in your life, that you’ll always need in your life.

He’s everything to you.

When he smiles, it’s like he’s taken a piece of the sun itself and found you worthy of being shone upon. When he laughs, it’s the most magical sound in the world, like music to your ears in a song composed for only you to hear. When he wraps you up in his arms, it’s like coming home and knowing that nothing can hurt you when you’re there. When he━

“Y/N,” he breathes. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, needy and whiney. He’s still panting, but he’s already leaning back down to take your lips again. You meet him half way in another heated kiss that rivals the desperate passion of the first, swiping your tongue against his lower lip and feeling a spark of heat jolt through you when he opens himself up to you easily.

Emboldened by his reaction, you brush against the hem of his shirt. You let your fingers dance teasingly across the sliver of warm skin that peeks out beneath, swallowing down the next desperate sound that threatens to slip past his lips.

“Lando,” you murmur against him. “We shouldn’t.” It’s a pathetic last ditch attempt to stop now while you’re ahead━ to do what you should’ve done from the beginning and pull away, go back to your hotel room a few floors down, and pretend this didn’t happen. To keep the distance.

He pauses, pulling away just far enough to give you a look. It takes you an embarrassingly long moment to stop staring at his kiss-swollen and spit-slick lips and actually meet his eyes. Between quick breaths he says, “Last I remember, you weren’t actually dating Garrett Ward.”

“But━”

“Do you want this?”

You nod.

“Then have it.”

And who are you to say no?

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght @bellezaycafe @whentheautumnleavesfall @mess-is-my-aesthetic @ssprayberrythings @landosgirlxoxo @lifelessfan @81ja @wcnorris @a-disturbing-self-reflection (CLOSED).

━━ a/n: writing this last bit had me kicking my feet and giggling like a school girl i swear. but huzzah! it's here! i mentioned in the last author's note that i was ill, and i unfortunately still am. i've gotten over it enough to at least entertain the idea of doing more than sleep all day, but i'm still pretty much confined to my bed which makes it hard to get over to my desk where my computer is. most of this was written on my phone, so i do apologize if there are more errors than usual. similarly, this part is also a bit shorter than some of the past parts due to the same reason. anyways, talking about the actual story now, i have a love-hate relationship with this part because i like it but i also found it very frustrating and felt like i repeated myself an annoying amount of times with certain things. i hope it's enjoyable nonetheless, and that you're all happy they finally (after eleven parts, jesus christ) kissed.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Dali and Henrique with a artist lover teaching their children to make art of their dads?

Dali sighed the moment he walked through the door of his estate. As if the weight of the world had just come of his shoulders.

Though Lord Johannes was respectful of his desire and plan to raise his children directly, there were certain matters of his VLAD work that required him to be away from home. Typically it would not take this long but since he had been putting the old man off it had been almost all day.

Ferdinand greeted him and Dali asked where the children were.

“[Y/N]-sama came by not long after you left, Master Dali.” Johannes informed him. “They and the children have been in the nursery for most of the afternoon.”

Dali was surprised. He didn’t expect [Y/N] to be here in his absence, but he was glad to hear that the children had not been left on their own with staff all day. He was glad he had such an understanding partner who was open to his goals in child rearing.

When he came into the nursery, he found [Y/N] and his sons on the floor with paper & pens. “What’s all this?”

“Papa…” Raphael’s soft voice called out before he got up to hug his father hello. Ul just babbled joyfully in [Y/N]’s arms. “We’re coloring.”

“Coloring, eh?”

“Yes.” [Y/N] confirmed from their seat on the floor. “I did the outline work and Raphael did the color fill.”

Dali walked over to where they had been seated with Raphael and looked over the pictures on the ground. The linework was beautiful. Places he recognized around the estate and inner city. “These are masterful.” He praised while holding one of them. “The colorwork is spectacular too. I like your boldness to use purple for the buildings, Raphael. Well done!” His son beamed at the praise and went back to coloring. “So, you’ve been here all day?”

“I thought they might be lonely.” [Y/N] explained as they played with Ul’s arms. “It’s been so much livelier here recently. With you all meeting with Lord Johannes, I thought I might act as a distraction. Though, I may be a poor substitute for everyone in that regard.”

“You aren’t a poor substitute for anything.”

Dali lifted another piece of paper from the floor, using it as a privacy shield as he gave [Y/N] a quick kiss. “Now, which one should I color? I would be a poor manner of a parent if I didn’t show Raphael some of my own artist techniques.” [Y/N] chuckled, but handed him one of the front of the estate to fill in.

Henrique sighed as he came home from a very long, very boring meeting with Lord Johannes. He loved the old man, but by God could he be long winded.

They got it already! They had to find the mass murderer plaguing the city. Vampire kind at stake. Mass suicide and the rivers run red or something. Alright! Did the old man think they were just sitting on their hands all day, or taking naps with the kids? Henrique wished he had time to take a nap in the afternoon these days.

Heading upstairs to see what the girls were doing, he was surprised to see [Y/N] there. The girls with matching easels he was pretty sure had not been there the last time he was in their room. “What are you guys doing?”

“We’re painting daddy!”

“Yes! [Y/N] is showing us how to use oil paints!”

“In hindsight we maybe should have started with charcoals.” Henrique chuckled at [Y/N]'s predicament. Seeing the girls in paint covered smocks but also with paint all over their hands and faces.

“Well, I’m sure they’ve been having fun. Can you show daddy?”

The girls eagerly hop off their chair and take their canvases, nearly as big as them, off their easels. “Wow!” He praised, even though he had no idea what the brightly colored smudges were. “These are so good girls! Lucia, I like all the pink you used. Elena, that’s a very nice tree in the middle there.”

“It’s a fountain daddy.” Elena corrected with a huff. To which Henrique smacked his palm to his forehead, told her of course it was, daddy was clearly an idiot, and told her it was a beautiful fountain.

“Why don’t you girls go get washed up and when your paintings are dry, we’ll find somewhere to hang them?” The girls then run off to get cleaned up and Henrique asked. “Those easels weren’t here before, where they?”

“No.” [Y/N] replied with a chuckle. “I got them for them today. I didn’t want them fighting over mine anymore.”

“Hmmm….that’s fair.” He then sat on the little stool set up for the children. Spinning around once in his chair. “Did they have a nice time?”

“They seemed to.” [Y/N] replied as they started picking up the paint brushes. “Although, Lucia & Elena like anything that they get attention for. Like someone else I know.” Henrique snickered with a grin. “Are you really going to put their artwork up for them?”

“Of course!” Henrique replied. “It’s better than all that old, stuffy artwork we got around here.” He wasn’t really sure where it came from. It had probably been put in when the house was built in ot-not-fourteen-whenever it was and had never been changed since. “Brings a little color to the house.”

[Y/N] smiled a little and Henrique hopped off his stool to his full height again. “Let’s put some of your work up too.”

They looked surprised. “Henrique…are you sure?”

“Of course!” He told them. “I’ve seen your stuff and its way better than anything up now. Let’s show it off.” What he meant was that he wanted to show them off.

[Y/N] looked a little nervous but nodded. Henrique smiled again. “Good! Lets see what the girls are up to and we’ll go pick out places for everybody!” He then took [Y/N]’s hand and led them out of the girls’ room. His day already a little brighter thinking about how bright these halls would be with new art.

[cmdrfupa]

Family Day

  You’ve turned a house into a home and a home into a sanctuary for Choso. He never thought he’d be given the gift of parenthood or love, so he wants to say thank you on an important anniversary.

Sfw, cute Papa Choso x reader. Fluffy, cutesy, teeth-aching sweetness. Reader called Mama but mostly gn.

a/n: I’ve been watching turtles go into the ocean after hatching, and now I’m here. Idk how I got here but we are here so let’s smile about it 😭

Weekends were meant to rejuvenate and catch up on the hobbies you neglect during the week. Waking up just in time for brunch and pajamas all day until time to get out of the enclosure.

Weekends for Choso were meant to play battle ninja princess and make pasta because his daughters wanted it for literally any meal when you weren’t around to say otherwise. He cherished the busy days as much as the calm ones. Running across town to toy stores and the bakery was his rejuvenation today.

“Mama would want the sprinkles!”

“Yea! Sprinkles! With the cereal, too, papa!”

“Make it five!”

With an apologetic expression to the cashier on his face, Choso took his wallet out of his fanny pack while using his free hand to massage his energetic children's heads gently.

“I’m sorry. Would you please give me two of each specialty donut and a dozen matcha macarons? Oh! And if possible, one of your full-sized ube mango tarts?” The twins exchanged "thank yous" to the cashier as Choso picked up the boxes, placing them in the stroller's attached storage bag before heading home.

It wasn’t a lengthy walk home. The weather, however, proved pleasant enough to go a longer route. Early summer was always more forgiving. The blossoming trees shadowed the ground, reprieve from the hint of heat. A soft breeze carried the delicate fragrance of blossoms and mowed lawns that lingered as Choso glanced in both directions before joining the group on the crosswalk.

“Papa. What’s a tart?”

“It’s like a pie but with less crust and more tasty filling like berries or custard.” Choso focused on the pathway ahead while answering.

“Who’s gonna eat the obey tart you got?”

Choso chuckled. “Ube, birdie. And Mama likes it. It’s her favorite.”

Saturdays started with the inevitable cuddle mountain attack from Ani and Nori once they realized it was a no-school day. This promptly led to them dashing around the house as ‘Papa Kong’ chased them until breakfast was done. Perfected chaos.

On this Saturday, things were different. Choso, with the twins accompanying him, instructed you to stay in bed as he ran a few errands. You didn’t even try to protest. You nodded, turning over to go back to sleep for another hour.

While you enjoyed the morning of reading with the humming humidifier in the background, you began to miss the sound of your rowdy duo and patient husband.

When you first met Choso and a teen Yuji, weekends were filled with nothing but noise as Yuji had his 2 friends over often. The liveliness around the house reminds you of those days when you watched the three having the “Is a hot dog a sandwich” debate in your cute little apartment back then.

“We’re back!”

“Mama!”

The energetic war cries sliced through the silence, and you sat your book down. “Well, there my little birdies are! Where did you all go?”

“We went to eat pasta! And we went to the park! Papa took us to get sweets!” Nori stated as she sat beside you, wrestling with her shoes before pulling them off.

“yeah! We got mac’rns and donuts! Ones with berries and sprinkles!” Ani added, setting her small bag down before she climbed into your lap.

You looked to see Choso heading to the sunroom. Curious, you attempt to get up, but Ani traps you with a toothy smile on her cherub face.

“No, no, sorry! Papa said to keep you here until he finished uh… Preppering for you!”

“Preparing for me?”

They nodded in unison, snickering with glee.

The raven-haired girls tugged at your heartstrings with their sweet existence. Spitting image of their father with you being seen in their mannerisms and warm smiles. “What’s happening with you three, hmm?” The pair smiled at you as they spoke in hushed tones about the super secret Kamo party in what could only be described as the loudest whisper known to man.

While your children were talking to you about the squirrel they insist said hello to them, a very familiar knock was suddenly heard at the front door. “Be right back, birdies.”

The knocking persisted, and you knew exactly who it was the moment you saw the pink hair through the door's frosted glass.

“Yuji! What on earth are you doing in town?”

Yuji embraced you tightly, his bag falling to the floor as he practically picked you up, his boyish grin never fading.

“Cho called me! He said he wanted to get together soon. Though maybe I should’ve asked when…”

“Nonsense! Now is the perfect time. It's so good to see you.” You gave his cheek a slight pinch as he closed the door behind him.

He gave you another hug, this time squeezing you like he used to when he was younger. The familial warmth set in as he pulls away, looking at you. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you all. It's been forever”

“It has been. And your nieces are going to be thrilled to see you.” On cue, the twin girls ran into the foyer, screaming with excitement as they jumped onto Yuji.

“You two have certainly grown. You'll be bigger than Uncle soon! Must be eating your veggies, hm?” They giggled as he kneeled down to be at their level, his new tattoos being their point of interest with shock and awe.

A few minutes into your mini-reunion, Choso appeared at the foyer entrance.

“Little brother!” His tone was warm, and his eyes were shining. Choso went to Yuji, kissing his forehead before subjecting him to the most suffocating hug he could. “I’m glad you could make it!”

“Of course. I’ll never miss the chance to see you guys!”

Taking in the energy from his most beloved people, he settled his eyes on the twins “Birdies? Do you mind leading the way to the back?”

“Uncle Yu, come on!” They both took one of his hands, you and Choso following behind.

  “Choso? What’s all this about?” Most of them being a much younger version of yourself and Choso; curiosity sets in as you scan over the various Polaroids that trimmed the hallway.

One in particular with you, Choso, and Yuji, eating ube tartlets after your graduation, catching your eye.

“Just wanted to do something for our family to celebrate today,” his lips landed a peck at the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve forgotten a holiday? Oh hell, Cho-cho, I’m so sorry-”

“Baby, you forgot nothing. It’s a new holiday.” Squeezing your hand, reassuring you, “One I declared and didn’t announce til today. So, do you remember what we did on this day 9 years ago?”

You pondered a moment. Your anniversary was a few months away, while birthdays were set for later in the year.

Hanging on the wall was a framed photo of Choso, Yuji, and you. Taken in front of your first apartment when Choso became Yuji’s guardian. It all clicked. “Oh Choso”

You paused at the opened French doors leading to the sunroom. Cherry blossom fairy string lights cross over the ceiling, highlighting drawings made by the twins. Sweets were arrayed on a table, and traditional tea was set in the center of the room. Yuji stood next to the setting, proudly looking at his brother's work.

“9 years ago, you stood right with me as I became his guardian. And you never left.” Yuji smiled on, remembering the moment when you welcomed him into your arms like you’d known him all his life. “You helped me grow. You became a figure in both our lives that we needed, and I haven’t properly shown how much I appreciated that.” Choso led you into the room, the girls sitting down as Yuji began to pour tea and plate their sweets. “You became my family and gave me the best gifts anyone could ever ask for.”

Speechless, you hugged him tightly, butterfly kisses to his now flushed cheeks before you looked around the room. Every detail from past dates to recent events in your lives is shown in the decor. “Thank you”

“Im pleased to say our first Kamo Family Day is officially here!”

Ani and Nori cheered as you sat with them, passing you the designated party hat as Yuji and Choso shared stories of their first years together.

Later that evening

  With both the kids and Yuji settled in for the night, you and Choso settled on the couch with the leftover tart.

Holding the fork out for him to take his bite, you peered over at him, deeply engrossed in the episode of Master Chef.

“I really feel like Gordon Ramsey would make me cry.”

“Hm?” you swallowed, trying to hide your laugh.

“I’m serious.” He glances over at you, low-lidded eyes showing a hint of melancholy. “Remember when the girls talked about how I did their space buns, which were all wonky, according to Nori? That haunted me for a week.”

He finally took a bite of tart and looked back at the TV. “Gordon would have me sobbing in our linen closet over how raw I like my burgers.”

You couldn’t help but grab the pillow, chortling into it. “I’ll protect you Cho, don’t worry.”

[angel-kyo]

Pay it no mind

Part XXI

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself, but... as for this part in particular, this is mostly half-ish fluff.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX

----------------------

“I know what you’re thinking,” Suguru said not even glancing at the white-haired boy who was keeping a steady but disturbing look on him since earlier that afternoon. “And to be clear now, it’s not like that,” he reiterated, brown eyes finally meeting the accusing blue ones.

“I know, I know...” he heard Satoru replied in a not so convinced tone, but the scrutinizing look remained.

“I thought we were past this,” Suguru muttered as he laid on his bed and busied himself with a new book he had gotten that week.

Suguru could swear on whatever Gojo asked him to, that he was just trying to comfort you. He had seen you bit down since Ikeda had left for who knows where, but training sessions always seemed to lighten your mood, so Suguru had kept on training with you.

Once in a while, Gojo would join or just sit and watch, no issues there. But that afternoon, it had been just Suguru and you, and while you were taking a break after a sparring session, he had brought up the idea of going to the spring festival that was being held in the city that weekend. Alas, your reaction had not been what he expected.

“It’s been a while since all of us went out, right? It’ll be fun,” Geto said with his ever-light smile.

“That festival?” Geto saw your eyes started losing some of the spark they always had after a good fight, “I think I’ll pass…” What he saw then was a sad smile on your face, “It’s just… “

You explained to him that Haruki had promised to take you to that festival too, saying every year it was livelier and more beautiful than the last; the decorations, the food, the fireworks at night… Of course he would not fulfill that promise now, not that one, not any other.

“I know it’s lame… I really don’t want to miss him, but I do,” you admitted. “You guys should still go. I heard this year they are really going all out…”

You did not notice how your voice had lowered, but Suguru did. “There is nothing wrong with missing someone.”

He could not help but to compare your current mood to how you used to brim with excitement about your friend. Unfortunately, Suguru was not like Shoko, and he was not sure of what you needed to hear in this situation, nor was he like Satoru, who seemed to know what you needed even when you did not want to see anyone. So, he did the only thing that he could think of: he hugged you.

To say it surprised you to have Suguru’s arms around you would have been an understatement; he was not the type to initiate that sort of contact with you, but it still conveyed his message: you are not alone.

And after a moment, you and he noticed, you were in fact, not alone.

“Is this what they call training now?” Satoru appeared behind of you with a mocking smile on his semblance.

Instinctively, you and Suguru separated. Gojo would definitely tease you both for looking so vulnerable when you were supposed to be training to become stronger, but if you were waiting for another quip, it never came. Satoru was too busy directing a questioning look to his other friend.

When they were alone, Suguru tried to make it clear to Satoru that you were fine; what he had seen in the training grounds was just a nice gesture between friends, and that the look he had given him was not necessary, but he was not having much success in putting the matter to rest.

After all, even if Satoru was okay with him and Shoko being your friends, he still was a little too protective of you sometimes, and after seeing what had happened with the last person you had become too fond of, Suguru could not blame him for worrying a little.

“Satoru, you know Ieiri and I just want to be there for them, right?” Suguru finally said to him. “That’s what friends are supposed to do, so let us help, okay? We won’t take them from you.”

***

When Satoru opened his eyes, it was still dark outside.

It was odd for him to have dreams like those. He was used to little sleep and unpleasant dreams he would force himself to forget after waking up, but dreaming about his old best friend the way he had been in high school was... bittersweet. That was the Suguru that had been your friend and his, but also the one that had left.

What would he say if he could see him like this, dinning at your place, sleeping in your bed, accommodating himself in your life, now looking so comfortable with the feelings he had always denied?

Satoru smiled at the thought and turned to look at your sleeping form. He should have seen it coming.

While he was confident in his feelings now, for some reason, the words he had read earlier still bothered him.

“My affections and wishes are unchanged.” -I.H.

Satoru had never seen that book in your apartment before, and he knew you and Haruki had somewhat resumed your friendship now that he was back, but had he really written that for you recently?

He knew better than to jump to conclusions based on a badly written line on the inside of a random book. Maybe Ikeda had not written it for you at all; and even if he had, he may not have meant anything by it. He had been gone for years, right? He would not hold onto a high school crush after all this time, would he?

Satoru suddenly remembered the Ikeda that he had seen that night in front of your building, you and him smiling to each other, how he had leaned down…

He shook his head, wanting to forget it.

He would, of course he would.

He turned again. If he kept thinking about that, he would not sleep.

Did he have any right to ask you to explain what your relationship with that man was now? Was he just a friend who wanted to be there for you, a friend of yours Satoru was supposed to trust? Because he was not sure he could do it if Ikeda himself did not want to remain as just a friend as he had oh-so-kindly clarified in the past.

“Why should it bother me?”

“I like them.”

To think he would still remember that guy’s voice after so long….

Satoru closed his eyes and tried to ignore the memory of that evening, the certainty in the boy’s words, his own inability to say anything back, and the echo of an approaching train.

***

You watched Satoru generously poured some more syrup over his pancakes while he told you he had cancelled his plans for earlier so he was able to have breakfast with you.

“Well, ‘cancelled’ is probably not the right way to put it. I just had Ijichi take care of it.”

Isn’t that too much syrup?

“He complained a bit, but this is nice,” he gestured to the breakfast he had almost burned a few minutes ago, “don’t you think?”

You took the syrup from him.

“I think that’s enough,” you said looking at his plate. “And…” you sat down back on your seat in front of him, “I also think you should be nicer to Ijichi. You can't just boss him around like that all the time.”

“He owed me one,” Satoru gave you a sweet smile before digging in on his plate.

Since he was busy with his meal, you talked. “I will need to go out for a bit but will be back later. Do you want to have dinner at that place from last time?”

Satoru shook his head. “Let’s try something different this time.”

Him wanting to try different restaurants was not weird, but what he said next almost got you choking on your pancakes.

“Let’s go on a date.”

***

“We don’t need to do that, Satoru… I mean, aren’t dates just like going out for food or coffee? We do that all the time,” you tried to smile at him despite how odd you found his proposition.

“Maybe, but I think it should be fun, no?”

That was how you ended up walking next to Satoru in a museum among some of the most valuable works of the Edo period.

You had to give him some credit; it had been a while since you and him had gone to an exhibit, and he had actually dressed up for you.

Not that Satoru had ever been under-dressed for any occasion, and he certainly had the charm to make the most simple outfit look stylish, but this time he was purposely wearing the shirt you had given him for his last birthday because you had said it would look good on him even if it was not from a well-known designer, and the cologne he knew you liked because you always told him he smelled nice when he wore it.

“Many of these are not pretty, don’t you think?” Satoru had leaned down and whispered in your ear, giving a side eye to the piece you were admiring.

You smiled. “You know? The impression of the smart, cultured man you give really loses credibility when you say things like that.”

“You think I’m smart and cultured?” You could see the smirk growing on his face despite the lighting that was meant to focus all attention on the artwork, leaving the visitors poorly illuminated.

Satoru looked good with or without good lightning, and he knew it, so you would not add up to his ego.

“Of course not.” You took a few steps to the next piece.

Satoru smiled as he watched you move from one print to another. You were on a date with him, so even if you were teasing him, he did not care.

To his credit, he did like some kinds of art and was not such a bad critic of composition and relevance when he would actually pay attention to an art piece, but now, his main focus was on you.

***

“I didn’t know you could eat that much,” you grinned.

“There are many things you don’t know about me.” Satoru winked in your direction.

You laughed. “I know you since you were six. I'd dare say, there isn’t much I don’t know about you.”

“I can think of a few things.”

You and he were walking on your way back from the sushi restaurant where Satoru had invited you to dinner to finalize your date, and his statement made you stop and look at him to challenge him.

“Name one,” you said.

His smirk was that of a winner. “I don’t know how to tie a necktie.”

You rolled your eyes. “I knew that. It’s always been me or Shoko doing it for you, dummy.”

You also thought he knew how to do it but was just too lazy for it.

He took a step further, still smiling. “What about this? I still watch Digimon sometimes.”

“I’m not impressed… I saw your Digimon boxers.” You tried to suppress a laugh but failed when looking at his expression. “They were in your laundry room last time.”

He laughed, and the light flush on his cheeks made him look younger. “Why did you go through my laundry?”

“I didn’t! You had them hanging there for any unfortunate eyes to see.” You took another step back and he, another one closer. “Don’t tell me you are wearing them now.”

“Wouldn't you like to find out?” You were both chuckling. and as you took another step back, you realized Satoru was much closer than before.

He had taken off his sunglasses from earlier. He did that often around you, these days more than ever, as if he wanted to see you without obstruction, as if he wanted you to know he was looking at you.

“Not fair…” he was still smiling but his voice was lower, and your back finally made contact with the wall behind you. “You know this much, but I don’t know everything about you, do I?”

He was not just joking; you were not being fair. You did not tell him about the proposal from the Zen'in clan; he did not know what the situation was with Ikeda, and more importantly, Satoru was not sure of where you wanted things to go now that he had confessed his feelings for you.

I said I did not need an answer now, but are you at least thinking about it, [name]?

Satoru knew there would be no turning back if you started something, if you told him that you loved him as he loved you.

“You don’t? I’m a bit offended.” You tentatively raised your hand to touch the collar of Satoru’s shirt. You had recognized it immediately when he had shown up that afternoon.

I was right, it looks good on him.

“I heard the most hilarious rumor recently.” Satoru wanted you to touch more than just his clothes, but he wanted answers too. “About you on the verge of making me attend your wedding with a Zen'in.”

Your hand froze. The fabric of his shirt was extremely soft, contrary to the look in his eyes that seemed to want to read through you.

Who told you about that?

No. If Satoru had not told you from the start, he would probably not tell you now. In any case, he had you cornered, both figuratively and physically.

You averted your gaze and tried to keep the mood playful. “As if you would have attended.”

No, I wouldn’t have. Over my dead body you would marry into that hideous clan.

Seeing how he was not going to play along, you sighed. “It was nothing. They summoned me a couple months ago, and I told them I wouldn’t marry them, and that was the end of it.”

Was it? They had been insistent but eventually left you alone, or so you thought.

Satoru tried to find your gaze again. “Why didn’t you tell me? If they are still bothering you…”

“They asked me not to comment on it with anyone, since my response was… not what they expected.”

As if there was a reason why they should have expected you to accept, those fools.

“And they’ve let me alone, so it’s alright.” Satoru’s skin was warm when your hand touched his face.

He leaned into your touch. “Who was it?”

Now, that was something you were not supposed to disclose either, and you did not want Satoru to try to take the matter into his own hands.

“Don’t go looking for trouble. You have Megumi you care about.”

“I know... He’s not like them, you know? Won’t ever be.”

You mouthed ‘I know’.

And you did, you trusted him to protect that kid just as he always tried protecting his students.

There were other things Satoru wanted to ask, but your eyes staring into his and the proximity were making his mind deviate. He had felt that before with you, too warm, too at ease, so much that he could forget the world.

He brushed his nose against yours. “Did you know I really want to kiss you now?”

The street was deserted but for you too, but it still hit you that he was asking for a kiss in a place where any passerby or curious neighbor could see.

Still, you pulled him in because you wanted to kiss him too, and when your lips connected, albeit unsaid, the same thought flashed through your minds.

We cannot go back to how we were.

And if there had been such neighbor who wanted to open their curtains to glance into the peaceful darkness outside, or such passerby with business to attend in the middle of the night, when they noticed the couple on the street, they would most certainly think they were just another pair of lovers, because who would mistake them for friends?

----------------------

Note: I almost feel tempted to end everything here, even if that was not my original plan lol.

Thanks for reading!

Next: Part XXII

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth @bloopsstuff @cheesemachine44 @tetsuski @rosellerinfrost @catowru @bi-narystars @wondermilka

[angel-sweets666]

Let’s adopt a kitten! One shot

Hitoshi Shinso x reader

Shinso loves kittens, so you take him to get one<3

this is gonna be shorter btw

”Hitoshi~” you cooed, sneaking into his dorm room “yeah what’s up hun?” He replied , playing around on his phone “soooo… you know how we were trying to convince mr aizawa if we could get a dorm cat?” You asked him, shinso puts his phone down and looks up at you “yeah? What about it?” He raises an eyebrow “I CONVINCED HIM TO LET US GET A CAT! Since Koda has a bunny how come we can’t have a cat?” Shinsos eyes light up as you say that “no way really?!” He grins ear to ear “yep! He said we can go later today!”

"Hitoshi~," you cooed, sneaking into his dorm room.

"Yeah, what's up, hun?" he replied, glancing up from his phone.

"So… you know how we were trying to convince Mr. Aizawa to let us get a dorm cat?" you asked, a mischievous smile spreading across your face.

Shinso put his phone down and looked at you, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah? What about it?"

"I convinced him to let us get a cat! Since Koda has a bunny, why can't we have a cat?" you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement.

Shinso's eyes lit up as he processed your words. "No way, really?!" he grinned from ear to ear, his usual stoic demeanor melting away in an instant.

"Yep! He said we can go later today!" you confirmed, practically bouncing with joy.

Shinso stood up, his grin widening. "This is awesome! I've always wanted a cat," he said, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. He wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. "Thank you for convincing him!”

Later that day, after studies, Present Mic tapped on the door. "C'mon, kids! We gotta go get that cat!" he yelled loudly, making both of you wince.

"They're getting a cat?!" a high-pitched voice exclaimed from down the hall. It was clearly Ochako, her excitement clear

You and Shinso quickly pushed your way out of his dorm, eager to get going. Shinso's normally tired demeanor was replaced with an unusual liveliness, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Let's go!" you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

Present Mic led the way, his energy infectious. "This is gonna be so much fun! I can't wait to see what kind of cat you guys pick!"

As you made your way through the halls, you could hear murmurs and whispers from other students, all curious about the new addition to the dorm. Shinso glanced over at you, a rare, genuine smile on his face.

when you two came home, you now had a little fluffy blonde cat (catsuki?) you two named him kiko because you two hoped for a cat. Kiko was sweet and small, the whole dorm loved him! Shinso placed Kiko on his bed, the little fur ball looked around before meowing loudly. You two laughed, and played with him for hours

[mikavlcs]

False Meridian

Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x reader

Summary: Another Ghostface appears out of the blue and Tara will do whatever it takes to eliminate them before they get the chance to hurt you.

Warnings: graphic violence & gore (!!!), bad decisions, bad writing, the usual shit honestly, this fic also follows scream logic (stab wounds are akin to paper cuts)

Word count: 8.2k

Notes: this was requested by a few people. read the warnings pls. i hate this.

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

It had been two months since your father’s death and things were very slowly but surely improving.

You integrated into life with the Carpenter sisters well. So well that Tara honestly thought you were always meant to have a place here. Even during those first few days when you were drowning in guilt and grief, you walked the halls of her house like you belonged there, and Tara loved it.

Unsurprisingly, through the impending days and weeks, your mother never came to check on you even once and, in turn, you never asked to see her. Tara couldn’t help but think it was for the better.

Now, she and Sam were your family, and everyone involved seemed more than happy with the arrangement.

Tara could do without having Sam there, personally, but she still had her uses and you loved her for some reason. Well, not for some reason, you’d mentioned how you always wanted an older sibling a few times, but why you adored having Sam in that position was still a mystery to her.

Sam had abandoned her when she needed her most, and her being back now, five years later didn’t change that, no matter how apologetic she tried to seem.

But Tara buried those thoughts whenever they came forth. Sam, for all of her many faults, was helping you and she wouldn’t begrudge you a connection with her sister because of her own hang-ups.

Plus, there were more pressing issues at hand to worry about anyway.

Returning to school after the bruises had healed enough to be believably covered by makeup and strategic wardrobe choices was tense for both of you.

Tara knew her friends could be nosy, and the last thing either of you wanted to talk about was what happened that night.

And the questions started immediately when you sat down at the group’s picnic table before first period. The boys were practically talking over one another, but they calmed when they noticed the way you shrunk into yourself.

Mindy specifically, being the only socially conscious one, was determined to give you space about the issue, whacking Chad and Wes when they crudely tried to question you and reminding you that they would be happy to listen whenever you were ready to talk.

For that, Tara was thankful, and she made sure Mindy knew that.

Over the days, weeks, and months, you established a new normal bit by bit. Your usual liveliness began seeping back in as the blood on your hands faded with time. Dinners and family nights were riddled with your laughter, and you started going to more and more group hangouts.

You seemed freer now, without the shackles your parents placed on you, and the sight made Tara overjoyed.

So things settled once more and a peace of sorts came to rest over her.

Sure, there were the daily annoyances like boys at school who stared at you in the halls, Wes’ insistent crush, and Sam’s overprotectiveness, but none of that mattered because you were there to soothe her every time.

And now that you lived with her, she had unlimited access to you—her favorite drug, her unending addiction. It was utter bliss.

But of course, peace, however relative it may be, never lasted for Tara.

It happened on a normal night, which only made it that much worse in Tara's mind.

You all had finished eating dinner together twenty minutes ago. Sam, as usual, left for her night shift just as you and Tara began washing dishes, walking out the door chuckling at Tara’s grumblings about getting out of chores while you waved.

Per the routine that you both had been cultivating, you washed, and she dried. You’d gotten to the point where you were both automatic, not needing to look to know where the other was and what they were doing.

When you blindly handed her a dish, she was already waiting for it with an open palm. You worked in tandem efficiently, like a well-oiled machine.

The only thing that actively broke the set-in-stone routine was the ringing of the landline on the kitchen counter.

It was an odd occurrence. The number connected to it was long forgotten by Tara, so it sat silently on the counter most days, completely invisible save for the few times it got knocked over while cooking.

So the sudden sharp ringing startled you both. Tara flinched, her movement nearly imperceptible, but you literally jumped. The only thing that kept you from dropping the dish you were scrubbing was the steadying hand Tara placed on your forearm.

You shot her a bewildered glance, which she returned, but ultimately you ignored it and went on with your shared task.

But then it rang again, and again, and again.

Both of you tried to continue ignoring the sound, but it persisted for minutes on end, unrelenting.

You dried your hands off roughly with the towel by the sink. “I’m just gonna answer it.”

Tara nodded mutely, her eyes following you as you answered the phone.

She continued to dry off the last few dishes, sending you small glances as she set them on the counter. You were leaning against the island, exchanging tense small talk with what Tara assumed to be a particularly insistent telemarketer and she could tell by your tone of voice that the conversation would be over very soon.

Just as she was about to put the dishes away, you gasped, and the phone clattered loudly onto the island counter. Tara was by your side instantly.

“What happened?” she asked urgently.

You didn’t answer, too busy pressing yourself against the sink to try and put as much distance between yourself and the landline as possible.

She carefully took one of your hands and cradled it between hers, hoping to calm you enough to talk and it worked.

“He—he asked what my favorite scary movie was.”

Oh, she thought, her previous tension abating a bit.

Stupid calls like this had been happening ever since her initial killing spree. Immature teens and twenty-somethings loved pretending to be her so they could scare a stranger and get a cheap laugh. Tara adored the Stab movies, but the hardcore fans could be such disruptive assholes.

She sighed, stroking her thumb softly over your knuckles. “It’s okay, baby. It’s just a prank call. People have been getting them for months now.”

You shook your head vehemently. Only now did Tara feel the slight shaking of your hand in hers.

“No, Tara,” you whispered, fear staining every syllable. “He knew my name.”

Tara froze. Immediately, she picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear.

“Who the hell is this?”

A sardonic laugh chimed from the speaker, and even from that single noise, Tara recognized the use of the voice changer.

“I’m just somebody who knows your little family secret, Tara.”

Her heart stuttered but she didn’t miss a beat. Thinking quickly, she decided to try and bait him.

“And just who are you? A loser who needs to hide behind someone else’s identity to mess with some girls? Don’t be a coward, show yourself.”

A clumsy attempt, but the only thing she came up with on the spot. Unfortunately, he didn’t bite.

“Oh, now where would the fun in that be? One of the best parts of the Stab movies is the mystery. Revealing the killer’s identity in the opening scene would be disappointing. As a fellow fan, wouldn’t you agree, Tara?”

The way he said her name, like a taunt rather than a title, made her skin prickle. Her irritation was rising steadily, but she couldn’t lose control. Not in front of you.

Narrowing her eyes, she walked to the other side of the kitchen and dropped her voice to the most menacing whisper she could muster.

“Is that what you think this is? The opening kill scene? Because I think you have it painfully backwards.”

“And what makes you think that? I could kick down your front door and dismember you both right now. Who knows, maybe I’m already inside.”

An empty threat, she knew, but still opened her security system app, silently thanking her intuition when she all but forced Sam to install one after you moved in. As expected, it was green. No doors or windows had been opened.

With that reassurance in mind, she set her phone down and turned her back to you.

“Believe me when I tell you that if you step foot inside of this house, I won’t just kill you, I will brutalize you. I will maim you so badly that your family won’t even be able to identify your body.”

The threat did little to deter the stranger. If anything, it seemed to excite him.

“Oh? And how can you be so sure?”

Tara chuckled. “Call it personal experience.”

“Well, luckily for both of us, we’re diverging from the formula. This isn’t a kill scene; this is a warning. A message, if you would.”

Confusion swelled in her. She asked, “A message for who?”

A laugh from the other end. Then, “You, Tara. And your dear sister. And your… ‘friend,’ of course.”

Her teeth grit harshly at the mention of you, but she needed to uncover a motive of some kind if she wanted to identify this person, so she tried another tactic.

“You’re a Stab fan, but you’re changing the iconic opening sequence?” she asked. “Why? Isn’t changing the franchise formula sacrilegious? I mean, they tried that with Stab 7, and look where that got them.”

“Ah, but this is my movie, Tara. And altering the structure serves a purpose. It destabilizes audience expectations and builds tension for the impending bloodbath in the future.”

“And when exactly will this bloodbath be?”

“I’ll be back for the seminal third act soon when both family members are present to witness it. In the meantime, I’ll keep your secret safe.”

Tara went to respond but the line went dead.

You watched her intently as she turned back around, glancing between her and the phone. Cautiously, you asked, “Did he hang up?”

She nodded, placing the phone back on the receiver roughly. She hadn’t managed to ascertain a solid motive, but there were pieces. Bits of a breadcrumb trail for her to try and follow.

He mentioned that this was his movie, could that be his motive? Was this just the work of a fanatical fan that wanted a movie made from their actions?

But at the same time, this sounded far too personal to just be some random fanboy. Why target her specifically? And what exactly was he talking about when he said he knew her secre—

A sharp knock on the window resounded through the kitchen.

Both you and Tara jumped. There was a moment of stillness, both you and Tara seemingly frozen in time, but she forced her legs to move. Slowly, she crept toward the window, ignoring your frantic whispers, and pulled the curtain aside.

Standing right on the other side was someone in a Ghostface mask and a black robe. 

When he knew he had her attention, he tilted his head to the side and raised his hand, proudly showing off the knife within it.

Tara’s eyes widened. Her fingers curled instinctively, muscles tensing in preparation for a fight. But he simply waved, waggling his fingers around the hilt, then turned and walked away.

She wanted to chase him down, tear off that mask, and use that knife of his to tear out his insides. But she couldn’t leave you here alone, vulnerable to an attack from a possible accomplice. After all, there were usually two killers in the Stab movies.

So she stood with her feet planted before the window and watched as he disappeared into the night.

Behind her, she heard you speaking urgently with someone and her answer as to who it was came not even ten minutes later when her sister’s car screeched into the driveway.

There were only seconds between Sam haphazardly parking and her crashing through the door. Before she knew it, Tara was being pulled into a group hug, but her eyes remained on the window.

Distantly, she heard you recounting the events of the past half hour or so, and Sam’s repeated attempts to calm you finally pulled her from her stupor. She reached, put a consoling hand on your back and cherished the way your muscles relaxed under her touch.

A combination of Sam’s ushering and Tara’s reassurances got you to finally go upstairs and as soon as you were out of view, it became apparent that Sam was going to attempt to get Tara to follow suit.

“Hey, I know you’re probably shaken about what happened, but you need to rest,” Sam urged her kindly, but the words went largely unheard.

The only part Tara registered was the error in her statement. Because shaken wasn’t quite how she felt.

Her smoldering anger was present, burning her veins with its intensity, but more than anything she felt…dishonored. Aggrieved, even, that someone would dare don the mask and robe that she adorned months before and attempt to terrorize her in her own home. Not to mention the extended threat to you as well.

So, no, Tara was not shaken in the slightest. If anything, she was rooted more firmly in her ways than she had been in a while.

Sam approached and rubbed her shoulder gently. This time Tara looked over at her, which made the taller girl smile.

“Go get some sleep, Tar. I’ll stay up and keep watch.”

The use of the old nickname made Tara’s hand twitch. She wanted to protest, she didn’t trust her sister to bear that responsibility alone, but you were upstairs waiting for her. You needed her so she forced a nod and trudged up the steps.

As expected, you were in bed waiting for her. She climbed into bed next to you and pulled you into her, cradling your head to her chest. Neither of you spoke a word, just laid with each other in the silent reassurance that the other person was alright.

And even when your breaths eventually evened out, her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling above.

-

Tara didn’t sleep.

Her eyelids never even drooped. There was too much adrenaline, too much to think about, too many opportunities for someone to sneak in and hurt you for her to even think about sleep.

So instead, she cycled through all of the possibilities of who the imposter Ghostface could be and who their target was.

Her first instinct was to say they were after her, but that couldn’t be true. No one knew that she was behind the murders earlier that year. No one.

There were no witnesses, no clues left at the crime scenes, and no reason for anyone to suspect her.

Next would be you. But she couldn’t think of a single person who would want to hurt you. You had no enemies, at least none that she was aware of. It could theoretically be someone who knew about your father, but no one in their right mind would be seeking retribution for that waste of oxygen, so she wrote that off as well.

Lastly, there was Sam.

Sam was the biggest unknown factor for Tara. She knew next to nothing about her sister’s whereabouts in the past 5 years, besides the vague knowledge about her residing in Modesto for most of that time.

But faux Ghostface’s words kept replaying in her head.

“I’m just somebody who knows your little family secret, Tara.”

In the meantime, I’ll keep your secret safe.”

Tara thought that those comments were directed toward her, that someone had figured out what she had done. But what if they were about someone else? After all, she wasn’t the only one in the family with a dark secret.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

She was hesitant to leave you alone, even when she knew you were safe, but this was a conversation she had to have with Sam alone. So she carefully untangled herself from you and laid you against the pillow before heading downstairs.

Her sister was lying on the couch with her eyes glued to the tv, looking every bit as tired as Tara felt. She sat up as Tara entered. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Tara muttered, sitting down where Sam’s legs had previously resided. She gave her sister a serious look. “I need to talk to you.”

Sam’s brows furrowed at her tone, but she nodded. “Okay.”

“I need you to be honest with me, Sam. Please.”

Another nod. “I will.”

Tara took a deep breath. “Is there anyone from your past that you think would want to hurt you?”

“You think Ghostface was here for me?” Sam asked.

“I’m thinking it could be a possibility, yes.”

“Okay, um,” Sam bit her lip, thinking. “I don’t think so. I haven’t been involved in anything…bad for years now. What makes you think he might’ve been targeting me specifically?”

“He mentioned a family secret. Twice,” Tara explained, watching her sister’s reaction closely. “I’m not trying to accuse you, I promise, but is there anyone that you told about your parentage besides me? Anyone?”

After thinking for another moment, Sam paled. She looked away for a minute then, straightening up, she said, “I have to tell you something…”

“What?” Tara asked, trying to decipher her sister’s behavior.

“There’s…this guy that I’ve been talking to online. His name is Richie,” Sam said, voice unsteady.

Tara’s stomach dropped.

“Sam…”

“It was just casual at first, I swear. I wasn’t intending on getting too close, but I was struggling, and he offered to listen,” Sam whispered. Tears were welling in her eyes as the full realization hit her, but Tara didn’t care. She couldn’t, not with what she was hearing.

“Did you tell him?” she asked, heartbeat kicking up.

There was a beat of agonizing silence. Then, “Yes.”

Tara stood abruptly, fists clenched. Sam stood with her, hands hovering around Tara’s shoulders, but the smaller girl took a step back. Her mind raced. She was trying to simultaneously work out what was happening while actively refraining from strangling her sister.

A question rose to the forefront of her mind.

“How did he know where you lived?”

Sam looked away, shame radiating off of her. “…My birthday’s coming up. He said he wanted to send me something—"

Tara spun on her heels and stormed into the kitchen. Her sister was hot on her heels, the stuttered beginnings of an apology on her lips, but Tara couldn’t hear it over the blood roaring in her ears.

“Tara—"

“I can’t believe you,” she growled. “You risked not just your own life, but the lives of everyone in this house, and for what? A man that was just trying to use you? Jesus Christ, Sam. That’s pathetic, even for you.”

That nearly made, a few tears overflowed and spilled down her cheeks, but she kept herself together long enough to get out one more coherent sentence.

“I’m sorry, Tara. I never meant for something like this to happen, I swear.”

Shaking her head violently, Tara looked away.

She didn’t want to accept it. She wanted to go even further, to stick her finger in the wound and dig even deeper. Twist the knife even further and watch Sam squirm under the pressure. But she held herself back.

There was an unpredictable man in a Ghostface costume specifically targeting them. She needed all hands on deck. This wasn’t just about her feelings, even if entirely justified. You were here now, and your safety took precedence over her personal vendettas.

So she forced her tense muscles to go slack, wiped the fury from her features, and turned to pull Sam into her arms.

She disregarded the way her sister’s pathetic cries made set her nerves alight and whispered out meaningless we’ll be okay’s until the emotion passed.

Through it all, Tara tried to ignore how badly her palms itched.

-

Time passed in an odd, infrequent manner.

It was no longer a steady, unending stream of hours, days, and weeks. It trickled by in short, uneven bursts as if it was leaking from a broken faucet. Some days were long, the eight hours spent in school feeling like an eternity, while others seemed to last for minutes.

But eventually, the days added up until three entire weeks went by in paranoid quiet.

No sign of a lurking killer. No calls on the landline. Not a single glimpse of a white mask.

It was tormenting. Every day that passed without incident made her tenser, feeding her paranoia steadily until it was impossible for Tara to get a single good night of sleep.

Sam appeared to be suffering the same fate as her, but Tara didn’t care. She had offered the illusion of forgiveness in the moment, but they were on far from good terms.

They still saw each other every day since they lived in the same house, but apart from greetings and small pleasantries, Tara was trying her best to avoid interacting with her sister. The lingering anger and bitterness were still simmering beneath the surface, and she didn’t want to risk unleashing that in your presence, so she took to avoidance.

Sam noticed and tried to bridge the gap, mostly at dinner with incentivizing questions and comments, but her attempts were brazenly ignored by Tara, leaving you to awkwardly pull on the conversation threads in her place.

Of course, because of that, you picked up on the tension between the sisters. It was hard to miss, honestly.

Tara thought you would confront her about it, but you must’ve learned that head-on confrontation accomplished little when she was set in her ways about something because, suddenly, there were far more “family movie nights” than there were previously.

She participated half-heartedly, mostly for your sake but also because there was strength in numbers, and being together was safer than staying apart.

Tonight was one such night. It was 10 pm on a Friday, and you were practically buzzing with excitement beside her. For movie night tonight, you weren’t even watching a movie but instead finishing some Netflix show that you and Sam had gotten hooked on.

So you were snuggled into Tara’s side on the couch, pulling the show up on the tv while Sam made the popcorn (Tara’s personal favorite part of these nights, besides you).

“Ah, shit,” came Sam’s voice from the kitchen, and you both looked over to see what was going on. Sam closed the cabinet, a frown pulling the edges of her lips downward. “We’re out of popcorn.”

Your excitement tempered some, a disappointed sigh leaving your lips. You went to say something, but Sam straightened up, her frown disappearing.

“I can run to the store real quick and get some.”

Whether she was trying to dote on you to build rapport with Tara again or she just genuinely wanted to do it for you was unclear, but Tara didn’t like the idea of her going alone.

“Sam, maybe that’s not a good idea,” she reasoned. At her side, you nodded in agreement.

“Yeah,” you said, “it could wait till tomorrow.”

“There’s a convenience store a block or two away. It’s barely a trip.”

When neither of you responded, Sam pursed her lips, looking around briefly before grabbing her phone from the kitchen island and opening it. She spent a moment fiddling with it then came to kneel in front of you.

“Here,” she gestured to your phone, “accept the call, and I’ll stay on the line until I’m back.”

You hit answer, still hesitant. Tara said nothing, unease building in her gut steadily. It had been three whole weeks without a peep from Richie. And sure, the possibility of him losing his nerve and giving up was technically feasible, but was that really a risk worth taking?

“Are you sure you don’t want me or Tara to come with you?” you asked, worry tinging your tone.

Before Tara could say no, Sam shook her head. “No, you two stay here. I like knowing that you guys are safe with the security system in place. This should take no more than fifteen minutes and I’ll stay on the phone with you both the entire time, okay?”

Tara narrowed her eyes, flicking them over to you to see your response. For a moment you just sat there, looking worriedly at her sister, but you nodded slowly.

“If you hang up, I’m finishing the show without you,” you threatened with a small smile.

Sam laughed, patted your arm, and stood. Both you and Tara watched as she pulled her shoes and bomber jacket on. Tara was tempted to call her back but by the time the urge hit, Sam was shutting the door.

Throughout her journey to and inside the store, Sam kept her promise and didn’t hang up, keeping a steady flow of conversation with you even as she was being rung up by the clerk.

Tara stayed quietly by your side the whole time, trying to ease the pit in her stomach, but it didn’t go away. The dread persisted still as Sam announced that she was pulling into the driveway.

The muffled sound of a car door closing outside had you rushing over to the door. Tara smiled at your excitement, stepping up behind you as you pulled it open.

Outside, Sam was standing in the driveway, victoriously waving the popcorn in the air. “I got the last box!”

She started walking up to the open door when suddenly, a streak of black flashed across the yard, and before Tara could properly register it, her sister was being tackled to the ground. The sharp crack that accompanied her head hitting the ground barely resonated before Tara was slamming the door shut and twisting all the locks back in place.

You ran toward the door, but Tara grabbed you. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Sam’s out there, Tara. We have to help her.” You started toward the door again, but Tara wasn’t budging.

This is all her fault, she wanted to say but didn’t. Instead, she said, “We can’t. It’s not safe, but we’ll go back for her, okay? I promise.”

“Don’t be so sure about that, Tara.”

Tara inhaled sharply at the sound of the voice, while you dropped your phone with a gasp. But then the implications hit her just a second later and made her stomach drop to her feet.

The call was still connected. Sam’s phone was still unlocked, meaning Richie had full access to the security system app.

Seconds after Tara’s revelation, her phone dinged, and the voice notification automatically played.

Security System Disabled

A horrified gasp from her right told her that you heard it too. She tried to reenable it, but it was immediately disabled again, the green turning back to red while the mechanical voice taunted her.

Security System Disabled

There was no time. He was going to make his way in here, there was no stopping it.

Her greatest concern was making sure that you were as far away from him as possible when that happened. She grabbed your shoulders, caught your eye.

“Listen, take one of the kitchen knives and go lock yourself in my room. Hide in the closet and call 911. Tell them to bring police and paramedics, okay?”

You immediately shook your head and protested, “What? No, I am not leaving you alone with a serial killer, Tara.”

“Yes, you will. You need to.”

“Tara—"

“Please,” she begged, her voice strangled. She tightened her hold on your shoulders, thumbs digging into your soft skin. “Please, I can take care of myself. But I need to know that you’re safe. I can’t focus if you’re in danger. So please, just do as I say right now, ok?”

Reluctant, you nodded and pressed your lips to hers in a quick but firm kiss. After parting you held her gaze for another moment before running up the stairs toward the bedrooms.

Tara watched you go and once she knew you were safe, she ran into the kitchen and scoured through the cabinets until she found the large, cast-iron skillet she used for stir-fries. She tried to peer out the window, but with the curtains tightly drawn, there was no telling what was happening outside.

Tara paused, a strategy forming. She could use the lack of visibility to her advantage.

Quickly, she moved the knife block to the opposite end of the island then began to cut the lights in both the living room and the kitchen one by one.

She saved the kitchen for last, keeping her eyes on the door as she flicked the switch down and crouched behind the island near the knives to wait.

Minutes passed in eerie silence, then finally, she heard the tell-tale jingle of keys in the front door lock. The knob twisted and the door creaked as it was pushed open, soft and slow. The sound only put Tara even more on edge.

Light footsteps could just barely be heard even in the silence, and Tara’s ears perked. The sounds stopped momentarily, then started in her direction. Quiet footfalls neared at a glacial pace, giving Tara ample time to steady her grip and prepare herself.

Once the footsteps were practically next to her, she swung with all her strength to the left. She connected with the nearest leg, and the force of the blow sent shockwaves up her arms.

The pained shout that arose was distorted by the voice changer inside the mask, but the clatter of the knife he was holding falling to the floor was clear as day.

Tara stood and, as soon as she located the knife, kicked it away. She took another swing, but he seemed to hear this one coming because he jerked back, so she struck the hard counter instead. The physical shock of it made her drop the pan in surprise.

He stumbled to his feet, clearly favoring his left leg. Desperate, he swung wildly a few times. Tara backed away but in a stroke of luck, the last one connected with her cheek.

Pain exploded where his fist connected, echoing through her jaw. The familiar, addictively metallic taste of blood coated her tongue and teeth. The pain only served to ground her, focusing the smoldering fire of her rage solely on the man in front of her.

Breath heaving, he went for another blind punch, but she sidestepped and delivered a solid kick to what she hoped was his left knee. And if the groan was anything to go by, then she hit her mark.

He fell again, clutching his knee, and Tara circled him. She stood on his right shin, hooked her arms around his throat, and leaned against the counter behind her, pulling back as hard as she physically could.

Richie coughed violently. Flailing arms tried to pry her off, but she stood firm, eyes drifting to the knife holster on the island. She leaned down by his ear.

“You know, with all that talk about secrets, you really should’ve been more careful with your own.”

She squeezed her arms together tighter and braced her hands firmly on her upper forearms. The urgency in Richie’s movements increased, but he achieved nothing all the same.

“Because I know your secret too, Richie,” Tara growled, lips coiling into a malignant crimson smile.

He froze at the sound of his name and Tara took the opportunity to rip the mask off of his face.

Now that his mask of bravery was off, she was overcome with the need to turn the lights back on. Because she wanted to see it. She wanted to watch his weaselly face contort in pain, she wanted to watch those last bits of life drain from his eyes.

Violent desire coursing through her, her grip loosened, one hand reaching back to flick the light switch on. But that was all he needed.

A moment of hubris was enough to ruin the victory she had very nearly secured.

The instant the lights were on, Richie, with all his body weight behind him, lurched right, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Because of her position, she was unable to get her arms beneath her in time, and her head hit the tile hard. She blinked against the white flash of pain, but by the time she got her bearings, Richie was already retrieving his knife.

Watching him struggle to his feet, Tara changed tactics. She backed into the living room to put some space between them so she could possibly get another weapon. But before she could assess the room, Richie rushed her with a loud cry.

He clumsily wrestled her to the ground in a mess of thrashing limbs. Because of his size, he gained the upper hand quickly and straddled her. Tara fought against him, lashing out violently with her hands, and her nails managed to catch on the side of his face.

Gasping, she dug them deeper into his skin and, with all her strength, pulled.

A yell of agony tore its way out of his throat, and Tara could feel his skin peel beneath her fingers and get stuck under her nails. But he didn’t let up. His fingers found their way around her throat and squeezed.

He had her pinned down. His fingers had a death grip around her throat and her vision was beginning to go dark around the edges.

She thought she saw a flash of something behind Richie, but she paid it no mind, keeping all of her focus and strength on punching and kicking and squirming. He pressed down on her trachea even harder, and Tara choked.

But then, Richie screamed and all at once his hands released her throat, and she could breathe again.

He careened to the side and only then did Tara notice the knife sticking from his left side. She looked back up and saw you with wide, terrified eyes. Despite the danger, she took a moment to appreciate the circumstance before her.

You had picked up his knife and stabbed him with it. She would have smiled if her throat wasn’t on fire.

Another ragged cough tore its way from Tara’s throat and that brought your attention from her attacker to her. Your eyes softened and you started toward her. But Richie wasn’t down just yet.

He wrenched the knife from his side with a grunt. With rage in his eyes, he turned to you, staggering unsteadily back to his feet with the knife tight in his grip.

“You fucking bitch!” he roared.

You froze and, without any other option, fled into the kitchen with Richie stumbling closely behind. Just as your fingers brushed the hilt of one of the knives in the block, he snagged the neckline of your shirt and yanked you back.

“Oh no you don’t.”

Richie pinned you against him, one arm steadily anchored around your ribcage and the other, the one with the bloodied knife, rising above his head. Tara tried to stand, but equilibrium was shockingly hard to regain at that moment.

She was just getting to her knees when he plunged the knife into your stomach. The pained scream that you let out would haunt Tara for the rest of her life.

Richie smirked, wide and unruly. “Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

The only response you gave was a whimper. He grabbed you by the neck and slammed your head down onto the kitchen counter. Hard. A loud crack echoed off the walls and you fell in a heap on the floor, unconscious.

Words like rage, fury, and anger were far too soft to describe the feeling that overtook her when your body hit the ground.

The emotion that overcame her was rough and discordant, and primitive. It bled over her vision, tainting it dark crimson, and pushed her to her feet with a newfound balance and sick certainty.

At full speed, Tara ran and latched onto him, using all of her body weight to throw him back onto the living room carpet.

Richie tried to stand again, but Tara tackled him back down and straddled him. But Tara punched him once, hard, then again and again and again until his head lolled and his grip slackened, leaving the knife to fall onto the carpet beside him.

Seeing him lying under her, bruised and defeated, didn’t satisfy Tara, nor did the ache in her knuckles. Not after he hurt you so badly. She needed him to bleed. She needed him to suffer.

He needed to pay.

Steady fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife at her side. As she raised it above her head, she found a certain poeticism in it—the fact that Richie was going to meet his end at the hands of the true Ghostface, with his own weapon.

With a deep breath, she allowed the savage tidal wave of emotion to wash over her, and she saw more than felt the way she slammed the knife down. Time became a blur of movement. Red clouded her vision, but she could feel everything—the hard hilt of the knife, the give of the flesh beneath it, the satisfying crunch of bone.

The image of you being stabbed playing over and over and over, fueling the raging wildfire within her.

By the time she returned to herself, there was an all-encompassing silence; the only sounds impeding it were her labored breaths.

The knife in her hand was slick with blood. A fierce ache ran from her forearms to her shoulders. Tara looked down at her victim and her brows furrowed.

What remained of Richie’s head was a mess of jutting bone fragments, scattered clumps of blood-soaked hair, and chunks of torn flesh. Amongst the soup of blood, bone, and brains, there was an eyeball rolled off to the right. Distantly, she wondered where the other one was.

Looking further down, Tara noticed the amount of blood on the ground. The carpet was drenched in red, and given how saturated it looked, she wouldn’t be surprised if it soaked all the way through to the hardwood beneath it.

Tara exhaled sharply through her nose. That carpet would definitely have to be replaced.

Her eyes moved off the ground and toward the kitchen, where your limp form entered her vision. Immediately, she dropped the knife and ran to you, dropping to her knees beside you.

She scrambled to press her fingers to your neck, and thankfully, she found a pulse. It was weaker than she would’ve liked, but it was steady. You were holding on for her, and that meant everything to Tara.

Turning her attention back to your wound, she assessed the damage. The blade was still lodged firmly inside your stomach, and she hadn’t enough medical knowledge to know whether it pierced anything important based just off its positioning alone, but she knew not to take the knife out.

So she pressed her hands down around it as hard as she could. You let out a pained breath in your unconscious state but showed no signs of rousing. She wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

All that mattered was making sure that you stayed with her until the paramedics arrived. She knew you listened to her earlier, so authorities should be on their way with medical help in tow.

But she would be lying if she said her composure didn’t begin to slip with each passing second of silence.

What got her most was the blood. Tara was accustomed to gore and had long passed the point where anything like that bothered her, much less the sight of just blood, but this was your blood, and it was everywhere.

On her hands, slipping between her fingers, pooling beneath you, staining her pants, on your face, drying just beneath your nostrils.

All Tara could see was red, red, red, and not because of her anger, but because of her inability to protect you when it mattered.

The door opened, slamming harshly against the wall, and Tara jumped, instinctively putting herself between you and whoever was approaching.

She glanced back and saw her sister standing in the doorway, leaning against it slightly as she clutched her stomach. Their eyes met and Sam visibly relaxed. “Tara—"

Her gaze wandered left, and Sam stopped short by the door; eyes glued on the mess of human flesh laying limp on the carpet. Cursing silently, Tara squeezed her eyes shut.

She rushed to find any sort of justification, but it was hard when her world was falling apart before her eyes and beneath her hands.

“He—he hurt—” Tara broke off into a sob, the blood on her hands burning nearly as much as her throat.

Sam tore her eyes away from Richie’s remains and looked back over to her younger sister. Her eyes widened and Tara assumed that she finally noticed your worrying state. Tara kept her hands firmly pressed to your wound as she watched Sam, trying to figure out what her next move would be.

Finally, she said, “It’s okay,” sounding more like she was trying to reassure herself than Tara. She nodded to herself, repeated it, “It’s okay.”

Slowly, she moved from her place by the door and approached the body, looking like she was fighting the urge to be sick the closer she edged to it.

“What are you—” Tara started, eyes wide, but Sam interrupted.

“Listen, when the police come, you’re going to tell them that I did this.”

Tara blinked, lost. “W-What?”

Sam, with a pale grimace, reached down to the mass of flesh and began doing a mixture of spreading and splattering the warm, leaking blood on her shirt, face, and arms. Then she came to kneel on the other side of you, giving you a long mournful look before she spoke to Tara.

“When they ask you what happened, you tell them that he was trying to hurt you and I did…that to him because of it. Okay?”

Nothing was making sense. She wouldn’t take the fall for Sam if it were the other way around, so the fact that Sam was so willing to do it for her was…it was rousing feelings she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Why?” Tara asked, bewildered.

“Having this on your record, even if it was self-defense, will haunt you for the rest of your life. You have a bright future, Tara, and I’m protecting that.”

Traces of the affection she once felt for her sister flared up and to her surprise, Tara felt more tears well up in her eyes and spill over. Real tears accompanying the achingly real tightness in her chest. “Sam—”

Sam just shook her head. “You know how Sheriff Hicks feels about me; she’ll be more than happy to put this on my record. You’re going to be ok. Both of you will. I promise.”

Gently, she leaned her forehead against Tara’s and kept it pressed there until sirens blared in the distance. When Sam stood and went over to kneel by Richie, Tara blinked away her tears and pressed her hands down harder on your wound.

Police burst through the door, and everything blurred for Tara. The world became a cacophony of lights and sounds and movement, and she only snapped back to reality when paramedics started trying to take you away from her.

In her mind, she knew she should let them take you. That you were much safer in the hands of professionals that could properly tend to you, but the logical part of her brain was quickly overshadowed the moment someone tried to pull her away.

Because she needed to be next to you. She needed to feel your pulse, see the rise and fall of your chest with her own eyes to make sure that you were still alive.

So she fought every hold on her, twisted violently against the increasing number of hands clutching onto her, trying to separate her from you. And she nearly succeeded. She was so close, so close to making it back to your side.

A prick in her neck was the last thing she felt before the world faded to nothing, the last remnants of your name dying on her tongue.

-

A monotonous beeping in your ear was the first thing that you registered.

The second was how weird you felt. You felt heavy and weightless at the same time. You cracked your eyes open and instantly closed them against the blinding brightness you were met with. Briefly, you wondered if you died, but something told you that the afterlife didn’t smell like antiseptics.

Once more, you opened your eyes, going slower so your eyes could properly adjust, and finally took in your surroundings. You were in a hospital room and a glance to your left told you that the annoying beeping you heard was a heart monitor.

Awareness slowly crept back into your dazed mind. The moments came back one by one, flashing against the back of your eyelids as you blinked.

Ghostface attacking Sam. You going upstairs and calling 911. Running down and helping Tara.

Tara.

With a gasp, you jolted up. Your wound gave a powerful throb in response, cutting straight through the pain meds but you ignored it.

The last thing you remembered was the man—Richie? —thrusting a knife into you, then your face met the hard marble of the kitchen counter and that was it.

Was Tara ok? Did Sam make it? Was Ghostface caught and apprehended?

Those questions fueled you to sit up but you only made it halfway before strong hands were on your shoulders, pushing you back down.

“No, don’t move.”

Recognition sparked instantly. You knew that voice. Tara.

The need to know that she was alright nearly made you frantic as you looked at her, and took in her state.

She had a fading bruise on her cheek, and there was some much harsher, nearly black bruising around her neck, but otherwise, she looked fine, if a bit tired. You let out a sigh of relief.

You tried to lift your hand to her neck, but you only made it about halfway before Tara caught it and brought it to her lips to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Looks worse than it,” she said with a small grin, but you could hear the strain. It reminded you of the ache in your throat after what your father did, the bruises he left behind.

You looked away, decided to focus on the other questions plaguing your mind.

“What happened to the man? Is Sam okay?”

Tara’s eyes flashed with something, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “Richie’s dead.”

“The police killed him?”

She looked away then and played with your fingers. “No, Sam did.”

“Sam?” you asked in disbelief. That didn’t seem quite right, but you couldn’t pinpoint why.

You looked at Tara, saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she was worrying her lip between her teeth, the tension in her brow, and you decided to believe her.

It had been a long, hard night for everyone, and you heard whisperings of something deeper going on with Sam, so maybe she was capable of that. After all, weren’t you?

And either way, it was self-defense. He attacked first, unprovoked. The world was probably better without him, as much as the thought put a bitter taste in your mouth.

Plus, Tara would never lie to you.

“Is she alright?” You decided on after minutes of processing.

Tara nodded. “Yeah, she’s stable. She’s in the room across the hall. The sheriff kicked me out to take her statement.”

“Can you tell her I said hi? And thanks for making sure Richie couldn’t hurt anyone else.”

That made Tara freeze. Just for a moment before she seemed to catch herself, but you saw it nonetheless. “Yeah, of course.”

Under any other circumstances, you’d have half a mind to ask Tara about her odd behavior or at least store it away for later contemplation, but as it stood, the pain medication was already sweeping the incident away.

Silence lapsed and you both just enjoyed one another’s presence, basking in the knowledge that the other was safe and sound.

The tempting call of sleep tugged at you. You tried to stay in the moment, but you were drifting. You could tell and so could Tara, who coaxed your attention to her with a gentle stroke of her thumb across your knuckles.

“Get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” you slurred, eyes already drifting closed.

You could practically hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Of course.”

She lulled you to sleep with the promise and a final, tight squeeze of your hand, and you drifted off into a drug-induced slumber with thoughts of your gentle, loving girlfriend at the forefront of your mind.

[watchingblsnowandforever]

We Are Ep.11

Part 1

*sits with half a tub of ice cream with both AC and fan on because my AC is old and needs a little help and puts my cat on Do Not Disturb mode (aka scratching his belly)*

Hello!!!!

Welcome back to my crack posting! =D

Warning: long post, and since I have like 60 screenshots, there will be a part two 😊😅

I wrote that intro before I'd watched the ep. Me as I was watching the ep was mostly incoherent screaming (so much so that my cat woke up from his nap to give me "what the hell, hooman" look).

This episode was amazing, and I loved it, and I'll probably die of too much fluff, but that won't happen before I finish watching We Are (which- WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE JUST 5 EPS LEFT?!!).

I was giggling and kicking my feet (just like Peem the morning after that Prince Charming kiss) from the very first scene.

Oh, they are so gone for each other (and I am gone for them 😭). The smiles, the trying to hear what the other is doing just across the door ah

So, so true. As a writer that hits.

Also, I'm very glad they decided to showcase creative blocks, even if it was for a few minutes.

Me to PhumPeem: yes, Peem, I would love to know too.

Also- I really wanna know what Ciize was doing back there 😭

Too cute to handle 😭

Jokes (and puns) aside, this scene is quite significant. Previously, whenever Phum was seen in the vicinity of the Fine Arts building, it was only because he wanted something from Peem (yes even that scene in ep. 8, he wanted company from Peem), but now, he's just sitting there waiting for Peem. And when Peem comes down, he's pinching his cheeks right there and acting cute with him and asking what's wrong.

And he keeps on asking, because he can see that Peem is a little moody, and not his usual self. "You're usually livelier than this."

Phum: "Actually, I want to be water too..."

Me: No way, is this what I think it is?

Phum: "I want to be the reason you feel good."

Me: yeah, yep, that's what I thought

No but, you can't tell me Phum doesn't binge watch BLs with his beloved teddy bear. Of course he has a whole arsenal of cheesy flirting lines.

All this time, it was always Phum telling Peem how comfortable he is around him and his friends, how fun it is.

Welp, it's Peem's turn.

I love Phum.

This is both him asking for consent as well as making sure they're on the same page and going at the same pace (which he always does, as I'd said before).

Also, no, he wants you to get closer.

HANDS.

Hear how polite and soft Q is with Toey now? Once Q knew for sure that he's allowed to show affection towards Toey as more than just a mentor/mentee, he decided to be fluffy as heck and never went back (because his love language is giving and showing through actions).

Love that for them both <3

This is such a valid fear.

He was afraid that his love would be too much, and in the process he'd lose the person he loves again, so he thought it better to just suffer alone than confess. Not gonna lie, my heart broke just a little here. (Also, because I'm currently rewatching MSP, I'll be pulling a lot of parallels, and this reminds me of that scene where Sound tells Gun that he's afraid to confess to Win because he's pretty sure he'll get rejected).

Oh, and I keep forgetting to say this, but Satang is such an amazing actor. Watching Sound and Toey, I almost can't believe they're played by the same person.

Phum's lethal weapon and Peem's fatal weakness 😭

Let's be honest though, no one would be able to resist that smile, those eyes and that soft, "Na, krab". Oh yeah, he used polite pronouns here by the way.

I can't always notice the shift from formal to informal or vice versa because I'm not that well-versed in the language (yet) but this was pretty obvious.

Bonus (Peem's reaction):

Tan: flirts with his theerak non-stop 24/7 Fang: *brushes his hair a little and apologizes for making him wait* Tan: *melts into a blushing mess*

That man is so whipped.

And in this house, we stan all whipped men.

This actually reminds me of when I was a wee baby (around 3 or 4 years old, I think) when I rescued a baby sparrow and took it to my dad and told my neigbours my dad would be able to heal it because he's a dcotor (he isn't a vet either) 😭

Also- naming a bird by another bird is so true to Pun's character.

This so relatable oh gods 😭

Also, we got the princess carry for Pride month! Twice if we count Chain lifting Pun in the waterfall, which I totally do.

We finally get being carried to bed but realizing they're laying on top of the blankets instead of just being magically wrapped in them by morning!

*sighs fondly* such a simp. <3

Uh huh, you said that last time too.

Don't lie, Peem, you'd let him hug you every night.

👀

Is this the reason behind the NC rating?

Also, this singular line just gave me a brain worm that is making me write my first smut fic. I blame y'all for getting me into this series.

Yes, of course, Phum, everyone believed your "snort mi mi mi".

Don't think I didn't see your little secret smile, Peem.

(Also, I have a headcanon that Phum just loves to be the little spoon)

Now who's hugging who, huh?

"Go away", he says, while putting his arm around his (not) boyfriend.

See, it was all fun till this point, but you can't be giving me this level of domestic fluff while at the same time telling me they're not even dating yet. That just doesn't work.

So, for me, from this point on, they're an old married couple <3

Frankly though, all the four couples in this series are old married couples that just don't know they're married yet.

Toey: HELP ME!!!

Q: WHAT HAPPENED WHO NEEDS BEATING UP-

Toey: I forgot to do my assignment and today's the deadline 🥺

Q: ... 😑

You don't...?

I thought that was the perfect time to start working on it?

jk jk, kids, I'm a chronic procrastinator, please don't learn from me, learn from your P'Q

(Q reminds me so much of @desi-yearning when she scolds me after I pull an all-nighter to submit an assignment or study for an exam 😭)

Oh. Oh.

Oh my.

I love this scene so much.

This pencil box is very very special to Q, and he's asking Toey to draw on it - something that is irriversible, as Toey himself says.

But this is Q's way of putting together both his loves. This pencil box was picked up by Toey the first time, but back then, Q only knew him as Milk Frappe Boy.

Now, he's asking Toey to do something Milk Frappe Boy would never have been able to (remember, Toey started taking an interest in art only after meeting Pencil Senior), because Pencil Senior disappeared on Milk Frappe Boy, but Q would never disappear on Toey.

On this note, I end Part 1.

Part 2 will be out tomorrow, because as much as I try to deny it, I have these pesky things called responsibilities to attend to, and it's very late here now (not past my regular bed time, but way past my ideal bed time 😭)

Thank you for reading! 😊

Here, have some pizza and a cookie🍕🍕🍪

[If you want, my previous posts: Ep. 8 Ep.9 Ep.10]

And here's Part 2

[sky-kiss]

Hi there, it's me, your girl, knocking on your door and asking for a tiny fic if you take to this prompt 😊

Strip poker. Lmao no. But maybe. It'd just be Tav getting naked as they lose horribly to him.

Okay actual prompt, sorry. I love possessive Raphael, it shivers me timbers.

What if after he successfully gets the Crown with Tav's help. And Tav thinks they're done forever, and is sad about it during their hurrah meal (THAT HE PROMISED US BUT WE DIDNT GET IN GAME?), but Raphael is very much not done with Tav yet. But plays them along a little, delighting in how attached they seem to be to him.

But also, feel free to do the strip poker adjacent if that appeals more. 😉 Thank you my dear!

________

A/N: I’m going to be super honest, babe. I almost did the strip poker prompt. 

________

“This, my dear, to a most successful partnership.” Raphael held up his glass, a beautiful crystal flute that seemed to catch the firelight; held it. Tav didn’t want to guess how rare it was, or how much it cost. Raphael seemed inclined to excess; the meal he’d promised so many moons prior reflected those beliefs. The first wine he’d served was centuries old; the second was even older. The gown he’d left provided, perfectly tailored, was set with enough jewels to sustain a small kingdom. 

Tav smiled at his toast but could not find it in herself to respond. As fine as the night had been, it held a note of finality that sat heavy on her heart. It was the bow on his victory and his crown. After this, they’d go their separate ways. 

It was objectively the correct course of action. Dealing with a devil of any sort was ill-advised; dealing with one so intimately bordered on suicide. 

Raphael smirked at her, cocking his head to the side. The firelight caught him in profile, sharpening already fine features, casting his eyes in deeper shadows. He leaned forward. “My, has the cat finally caught your tongue? Here? At the end of all things?” 

“Not in the least. Only tired.” 

“I could send you back…” 

“No!” The answer was far too quick. The devil arched a brow, smiling with teeth. He folded his hands in front of him, long fingers interlaced. Tav tried not to fixate on them, or the way his thumb shifted, stroking some invisible line across his wrist. “No, that isn’t necessary. It’s only…I supposed a part of me didn’t expect things to end so soon.”

“But it’s been months, my sweet. Are you not tired of the road? The violence?” Lower, a note of teasing crept into his voice. “My company?” Tav huffed. The adventurer sipped her wine to stop her immediate reply. The one the devil undoubtedly wanted. His eyes, bright as hellfire, glowed. “It should grieve me to leave you wanting, little mouse. You need only say that word and…” he snapped his fingers. The candles leaped with new liveliness before fading to a more intimate level. “We might find some new way to occupy our time.” 

“You have hells to conquer.” 

“And what is a conquest without dear friends?” He chuckled, and Tav fought the urge to shiver. The fireplace was far too large for the banquet hall. Avernus was naturally hot. The air in her lungs felt stagnant and overheated. “Admit it. You're curious. What will Raphael accomplish?” 

“I don’t doubt you if that’s what you’re implying.” 

“Never. I would not dream of slandering my talents or your good sense, pet.” He extended his hand, palm up. “But I would never force my suit. You are, as ever, entirely free to make your own choices.”

Tav pursed her lips. The little alarm in the back of her head was screaming. Run, it said, get far from here and far from him. She’d never been good at listening to those notes of reason. Raphael must have seen it too. The devil smirked, the right corner of his lips curling back to highlight the point of his fangs. “I wouldn’t…see us part ways. Not yet.” 

“Mmm. And why not? Indulge this…inquiring mind.” 

 She sighed, shrugging. “Because I’m…fond of you, devil.” 

“Good girl, honesty is always the best policy.” Gods, but he looked insufferably pleased with himself. Raphael leaned back, resting his chin in his palm. He drummed his fingers against his cheek. “It would be dangerous for you to stay, of course, and I could never endanger one so dear to me. Unless…” he let the sentence hang between them, full of potential and thoroughly premeditated. Tav could feel the noose tightening, the hooks he’d set in her flesh from their first meeting tugging at her soul. “A patron makes all the difference in the hells. Were you to swear yourself to me, you might remain.” 

She laughed. “Is that all? Just put myself in your hands?” 

“My hands, my lap, my bed.” His smirk took on a particularly feline quality. “Don’t look so surprised, pet. I kept the Emperor out of that lovely head. Did you think I hadn’t seen what was in it?” 

He made a vague gesture with his left hand, and those lurid imaginings came forward. The dreams that had chased Tav into an uneasy sleep for months: his touch smoothing over her hips. His mouth on her breasts. Touching, and teasing, and…

“Enough.” She swallowed, head spinning. “You’ve made your point.”

“Swear you are mine, devote yourself to me, and I will give all your imaginings form. What is one mortal life compared to pleasure eternal?” He held out his hand again. 

And Tav took it. 

[ahundredtimesover]

A little something from our PLM couple 🥰

Title: Please Love Me Bonus 08 - The Aftermath

WC: 15,116

Tags/Warnings: angst; mentions of pregnancy/having a family; mentions of illness; fluff; explicit sexual content (making out, nipple play, thigh-riding ish, pillow missionary bc yes, unprotected vaginal sex); JK Dreamers MV behind with the exposed arm

Series Masterlist

Jungkook’s eyes are the prettiest you’ve ever seen.

You remember how they used to look back at you when you were kids - wide and bright, curious and full of wonder; they shone like stars even during the day. 

You remember how they’d started to become livelier as you grew older - they held in them this playful mischief that was always endearing to you, even if the adults often called him out for being a rascal.

His eyes had become distant to you by the time you were in high school, though you’d still catch glimpses of them when he wasn’t looking. There was still that way it would shine like an entire galaxy, just as much as it held in them the recklessness of a teenager vying for attention. 

But Jungkook spoke his emotions through them just as much as he held his heart on his sleeves. And though you recall a time when his piercing gaze used to unsettle you when he was just coming into terms with your marriage arrangement, all that has faded away at your reality that this man is in love with you, and all you’ve been seeing is passion and care and an unyielding glimmer of trust and commitment. It’s been over 3 years and despite the rare moments of frustration and hurt that you’ve seen in them, his eyes would always show you love.

“Done staring at my face?” He teasingly mumbles with his gruff voice. 

“Not yet,” you softly smile, snuggling up to him a little closer. 

You want to hold onto this look of his a little longer - sleepy eyes and messy hair, soft against the white linens of your shared bed and the sunlight seeping through the windows. You want to hold onto it if only to forget about last night - the defeat on his face, the bottled up frustrations, the way his voice cracked as he told you how you hurt him, how he tried to control his cries, and how he’d let you walk out of that guest room to be alone and away from you. 

“You came,” you continue, gently tracing his face and missing how it felt.

“It’s hard to sleep without you,” he says, “even if we’re far apart. I don’t like waking up and not knowing if you’re there.”

The memory hits him as he utters the words - the fight from years ago and watching you walk away from him, then waking up to find that you were gone. The fear crippled him then, even more after learning about the truth. He’d promised himself after that night that unless he’s physically unable, he’ll never sleep without you, that the security of your presence and of your hold would trump any other emotion he’s feeling at the moment. Like now.

“It’s hard to sleep without you, too,” you reply, your voice almost cracking. “I’m sorry, Kook, I—”

He stops you with a shake of his head. “We don’t need to talk about it right now. It’s been a hard week.”

There’s something new in his eyes. Submission, maybe? It’s almost like he’s pleading - pleading for you to let it pass this time, to not let it linger - and all you could do is follow. This is the most that you could do for him after all that you’ve done. 

“Okay,” you hum. Perhaps the wounds are still fresh; maybe he’s letting everything still sink in. It’s much better than the past few days, and you’ll take what you can get.

He responds with a soft smile and a kiss on your forehead and one on your lips. You sigh into it and all your other thoughts melt away. Right now, this is all you need.

“I’ll make us some breakfast,” he says, slowly getting up. “The kids have a soccer game today. Are you okay to watch?”

“Of course,” you perk up, wanting so badly to be out of the house and in a place bursting with energy. “I’ll wash up and head down.”

Jungkook’s eyes are glued to the TV while you both eat, and you convince yourself that this is him, claiming that sense of normalcy after a week of being cooped up in his home office, stressed and frustrated. You don’t want to think it has anything to do with him not knowing how to fill the silence that you both used to comfortably share. 

You place your hand on top of his once he's finished his meal, and as if it’s reflex for him, he squeezes it in response. It’s that bit of comfort you need and you don’t ask for more.

Neither one of you says much as you both get ready, choosing to let the music fill the air, the same way you do once you’re in the car. He holds your hand while he drives, though, and despite the absence of his usual affection - none of the kisses, the loving glances, the declarations of love - you know it’s somehow still there.

“Hey, everything okay?”

Yeri asks as she hugs a tutu-clad Ji-a on her lap, all ready for her ballet class after the game. 

“Yeah, just getting used to being outside, I guess,” you chuckle, appreciating the cool breeze this Saturday morning. 

“Ah, seemed like you zoned out a bit. Soojin almost hit a goal,” she informs you.

You turn towards the field and see your niece with that frustrated look on her face, the one she has on when she misses a shot. You hadn’t even noticed, as your eyes had been focused on your husband - on the sidelines with Junghyun as substitute coach for your brother. 

You’d wandered towards Jungkook’s direction almost immediately after you sat down, waiting for his usual questioning look of concern or that sweet smile he has whenever you’re separated but in the same place. But your gaze hasn’t moved, and you haven’t even realized that you’ve been absent-mindlessly looking his way, so you can tell he hasn’t even glanced at you. 

You’re both okay, you tell yourself. This is normal after a fight. You’re reminded that after last night’s confrontation, you and Jungkook hadn’t talked yet - about how you hurt him and how you can do better. Perhaps he’s still processing everything; maybe there’s still some ache left. And that should be fine; there’s nothing to worry about. 

“Yay!” Ji-a squeals, and you see Soojin celebrating on the field, running to the bench to high-five Jungkook, Junghyun, and Soyeon. 

You cheer with them, hopelessly waiting for your husband to look your way, but he never does.

He still takes your hand during lunch with your family though. He also sits next to you on your couch with his arm over the backrest when his friends decide to come over in the afternoon to play games and have dinner. And at night, he lets you lay on his chest as you both talk about the day - the kids being so excited about your upcoming family trip, Taehyung’s plan of proposing to his girlfriend, and Jimin declaring that he wants to be a dad, regardless of how it happens.

It’s what reminded you of the thoughts you’ve been having since the other night and all of the things that Jungkook had made you realize.

“Honey, I was thinking about what you said,” you say softly, eyes to the ceiling as you painfully recall. “Sometimes I think that I already know how to handle living with my condition and I figured out ways to not let it bother others but then… you’re right, about everything. It’s not something I should just brush off. I wouldn’t want you keeping things that serious from me, too.”

You look at him, apologetic eyes meeting his soft ones. “And I still have a lot to learn about being a partner, about being a wife… and being more honest and open and yeah, maybe it wouldn’t be easy for us to go through the process of pregnancy and having kids unless I’ve learned to communicate better about my needs and my struggles. Maybe… maybe it isn’t time yet.”

You’re met with silence, and you turn to Jungkook for any form of affirmation - that he’d heard you, that he agrees. 

Caught off guard, he merely nods, hoping you don’t notice the way his face falls at your words. Of all the things he’d said, that’s what he regrets the most. 

How the hell can we have our own kids if you can’t even communicate with me? If you can’t even tell me what you’re feeling? 

They ring in his head like a bad dream, one that he can’t escape from. He’d said them in a moment of frustration, of desperation, and he wants nothing more than to take them back right now, just so you won’t pass up on the one thing you want more than anything - a family. 

He hates himself for what his words have come to mean to you. Clearly, he didn’t mean that you’re not yet ready to become a mother, but it’s how you took it. And now, you’re here, believing that your inability to communicate what you’re feeling is what’s keeping you from becoming one. 

Jungkook knows you’re more than capable, and communication is something that you - that both of you - can work on. He’s the one who’s been so afraid to commit to having a family because of what it would mean for you, something he’s come to realize is also a bit selfish on his part because you’re the one who’d be physically going through the pregnancy, who’d be struggling and who’d be in pain, yet he’s the one who can’t get past all that to be able to give you something you want, which he knows deep down is something that he wants, too. 

Yet a part of him remains disappointed, that in an effort to patch up your relationship, you feel the need to concede to him, to reconsider the one thing that he knows is most important to you, to put yourself down, as if admitting that you’re not yet ready was caused by him. 

As he was days ago, he’s upset and hurt. He wants to hold you tighter, tell you that you’re wrong, assure you that you’ll both work together on communicating, and that should make everything alright moving forward. 

But as Jungkook has come to realize, he’s not all that good at dealing with complicated emotions like this, at reconciling how the person he loves the most can let him down. He’s not even over what happened last week and the words you’d both exchanged, and now here he is again, wanting to comfort you while feeling a mix of guilt and disappointment.

He decides against holding you tighter. You’ve fallen asleep already and he admits missing your soft snores and the way your warm breath hits his skin. He lets you stay there, comfortable and safe, while he wallows in his own emotions and stays up the entire night.

Jungkook falls asleep right before the sun rises, and that means he sleeps through the entire morning and is awakened by your caresses on his arm.

He grumbles when you tell him that lunch is ready.

“Hey, honey. Come on,” you say, removing the bangs off his forehead and kissing it. “I had Mrs. Na make tangsuyuk. I know you’ve been craving it.”

“Oh, she’s here?” He asks, eyes now half open.

“Mother made her come over to send me tea and fruits and I thought to ask her to prepare our lunch,” you respond.”

“Okay. I’ll be down in a bit.”

You excitedly wait for him in the dining room. You’d wanted to go for a walk in the park with him earlier but he slept in. You can’t imagine how tired he is so you let him be. You’re thinking that perhaps you can spend the afternoon watching movies or something, perhaps cuddle and make up for the week that was. 

But Jungkook doesn’t seem to want any quiet, as he puts the TV on blast while he watches soccer highlights. You don’t get any word in as his eyes are glued to the screen. You only get to say anything when he checks his phone and groans, dropping it on the table seemingly out of frustration.

“Everything okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, just work stuff,” he responds dryly. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Well, then do you want to—”

“Is Mrs. Na staying?” He unknowingly interjects. “I was planning to go to the gym in the afternoon but I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Oh, I can ask her to,” you say dejectedly, masking the disappointment. “But yeah, you should go to relieve your stress. Will you be gone long?”

“Not sure,” he shrugs. “I’ll let you know.”

You nod and pick on your food now, suddenly losing your appetite. You don’t miss the thought that right before you and Jungkook had that confrontation, he’d gone to the gym as you suggested so that he could spend time on his own because he didn’t seem to want to spend it with you. That was just 2 days ago, and now he’s going back. You hate to think it’s the same reason and he’s only being subtle about it now.

Maybe it’s still too much for him. Maybe he hasn’t gotten over what happened the other night. That’s a lot to process, you remind yourself; even you haven’t done it because you don’t know how to. But he’s the one who doesn’t want to talk about it, and you hate to think that this time, he’s the one avoiding it, masking it, sweeping it under the rug until he’s finally ready to face it. 

You both finish your lunch and Jungkook heads to your room to fix up. He gives you a forehead kiss before he leaves. 

“Text me, okay?” You remind him.

“I will. Text me, too, if you, uh, if you feel anything.”

It’s 3 hours later when you send a message. 

Hey, Kook. Mrs. Na and I will bake some cakes. Craving for anything specific? ☺️

But he doesn’t reply. An hour later, you check on him again.

Hey, honey. Hope you’re not overworking yourself. What time will you be home?

And again.

Kook? Will you be back in time for dinner?

And again.

Everything okay?

He finally replies at 7PM, 6 hours after he left. 

Sorry. Was about to leave earlier but my boxing trainer got back from his leave so we did some rounds. He convinced me to get a massage so I did. Masseuse was great. She got rid of my knots. 

Oh and yeah, I’ll be home in 20.

Jungkook reads your messages over and over again. He isn’t the type to not text back when it comes to you, and you know that. He regularly uses you as his daily journal, in fact, sending you memes or texts of what he’s doing or what he’s seen on the way to somewhere. 

It isn’t like him to not update you about anything for this long unless he’s physically incapable. In this case, he’d purposely avoided his phone, knowing there would be a message or two from you. And he couldn’t bring himself to read them when the reason why he’s here is to rid himself of all the emotions that he’s feeling for and because of you.

He feels that staying at home with you would give you both an opportunity to talk about what happened, and he’s not yet ready for that. 

Every time he thinks of what he felt as he recalls that day of driving to the hospital to you, he feels numb and useless. There’s that feeling of dread and paralyzing fear. There’s also that disbelief that you could hide something so important from him, and this is always mixed with a tinge of betrayal alongside the resounding pain. He just wants to hold you in his arms to make all the ache go away, but the way you look at him burns. He wants to hear your voice and know you’re okay but he doesn’t want your apologies. 

He thought hearing you speak that night would calm his heart. He thought crawling into bed with you right after just so he can keep his promise of not spending a night away from you would push him towards forgiveness and acceptance. He thought that talking about the fight to someone would help him make sense of things. 

But he’s still left with a slew of emotions that he doesn’t know what to do with, that he doesn’t know how to make sense of or control. It’s why he decided to pass up on spending this lazy Sunday with you and head to the gym instead so he could release whatever he needs to release in there and not to you again. 

He promised himself after that night, seeing you cry and looking helpless and apologetic, that he wouldn’t unload all his thoughts and feelings about you to you. Much as you’re still his daily journal, he reckons that maybe, not when it comes to you. If he needs to be apart from you to save you from his own inability to understand and temper what he feels, then he will. He just hopes he doesn’t push you too far. 

Was love always this hard? Is it meant to be? Isn’t it supposed to be natural? Of course, your situation is different. You were both thrust into this arrangement and were lucky enough to fall in love. But after learning, isn’t it supposed to be easy, effortless? Like the love is just overflowing, unyielding, easy to understand?

And as you reply with your sweetness still echoing through - Oh Kook, get some rest when you get here. Is there anything else you want? Just let me know. Can’t wait to see you ☺️ - he can’t help it; his heart just breaks even more for you.

Jungkook comes home to handmade pasta and a chicken dish that you said Mrs. Na taught you to make. You also didn’t know what cake he wanted so you made cheesecake cups and a chocolate one and another one with mangoes. It’s delicious, as he expected, and your joyful face as you were making these while thinking of him flashes in his mind. He hates that he missed it, but he also knows that spending the entire day at the gym was the best thing that he could’ve done.

He does the dishes while you linger in the kitchen, asking about the most mundane things. Perhaps it’s to fill the silence, or maybe to convince you - or him - that things are normal. 

Any time that Jungkook feels like you’ll bring up something from the other night or the past week, he gets to you first, asking about other trivial things, too. In truth, he’s just scared of how another conversation with you about your issues would go. He’s learning now that he’s not good with communication, too.

How does he tell you he loves you without downplaying how you disappointed him? How does he tell you that you hurt him without hurting you back? How can he verbalize all these things he’s feeling without looking so helpless to you? 

“Kook?”

Your voice shakes him out of his thoughts, and he realizes he’s been rinsing the same bowl for the past 5 minutes. 

“Yeah?” He asks, not making eye contact. 

He hears you sigh and he briefly closes his eyes to brace himself for another question or statement he’s probably not ready for while also thinking of something to possibly change the topic, but instead you ask if he’s going to work tomorrow.

“Uh, yeah. I have to check one of the sites,” he replies. “Have Mrs. Na come over tomorrow, okay? You’ll be fine here?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you hum, looking away now. “I’ll go to the studio on Tuesday, though. I confirmed 2 classes.”

“Oh, okay,” he huffs. “You’re cleared to go back to work?”

“Dr. Kwon cleared me. As long as I don’t do anything strenuous or too stressful, it’s back to normal for me,” you state. “Plus, I miss the kids. I need some joy and laughter to fill my days. It’s… it’s been a while.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath to keep himself from asking further. He chooses to gloss over the insinuation that there hasn’t been anything worthy of joy and laughter in your days this past week. He doesn’t want to get into it right now.

“Okay then, if he says so.”

You wait for a follow up - perhaps his usual instruction to be careful and call me for anything, but it doesn’t come. There’s no playful banter, either. There’s no invite for a movie or wine and chocolate at the balcony like how your Sundays usually are, and you’ve come to think yourself silly for even expecting it. 

He yawns and it’s your cue, so you tell him to go to bed and prepare for what surely is gonna be another long week ahead.

“What about you?” He asks.

“I’ll drink my tea on the balcony. It’s a nice night,” you reply, wanting to be alone with your thoughts. And well, for him to miss you even for just a little bit.

“Alright, just don’t stay up too late, yeah? It’s cold out.”

You nod and his gaze on you lingers, his eyes telling you that he wants to say more - do more - but that he chooses to hold back. And you let him, thinking that if it’s time he still needs to sort out his feelings, then that’s what you’ll give him. He still speaks to you, after all, and sleeps next to you. Given all that’s happened, you know you can’t complain.

But he kisses your forehead, and suddenly you feel like crying. But you hold back, knowing that the tension would just build and neither of you seems ready to face it. 

The lone tear eventually falls though, an hour later after you’ve had your tea and you’ve washed up. The lights are off in the room save for your bedside lamp, and you can see the rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest as he peacefully sleeps on his back. You lay on your side, facing away from him. It’s shortly after when you feel him shift and then his arm wraps around your middle.

“Goodnight,” he whispers.

He loves you. So much. You know this. But it’s the unsaid things that you’re afraid of, that you worry about. It’s knowing he has more to say but that he doesn’t seem to want to share them with you. It’s missing the routines and habits. It’s the uneasiness of possibly doing or saying something again that would make everything boil over. It’s the insecurity of all your faults and shortcomings surfacing. It’s the fear of not knowing how to handle it the next time you’re faced with them again. 

It’s wanting to hold his hand despite it all and knowing that you’d go through this over and over again if it means loving each other much better at the end of it. 

You pull his arm tighter around you and sigh into his hold, taking as much as you possibly can.

“Goodnight,” you whisper back. “Sleep well, Kook.”

The cafe across the street from the art studio is chic and cozy. It’s an apartment that was transformed into a commercial space and it’s retained its homey feel, a perfect fit in this neighborhood that lets you forget for a moment that you’re in the middle of the buzzing city of Seoul. 

It’s also where you’re meeting Junghyun this Tuesday mid-morning, as he’s coming from an early meeting with an investor nearby.

“Hi,” you greet him with a hug, exhaling deeply as if you haven’t had something that comforting in a while. And well, you really haven’t. 

“Looked like you really needed that, huh,” he smiles kindly.

“I did. I still do,” you respond. 

It’s the statement that leads you to narrating the past week with your husband to the older man - from the cold treatment, the confrontation, and how that night ended.

Junghyun merely nods, hums, and sips his coffee.

“Jungkook brought you up, you know?” You say softly. “About how I trust you the way I do and that I don’t do the same with him.”

“I know,” Junghyun replies, surprising you. “He told me.”

“When? He talked to you about it? What did he say?”

“He mentioned it. During the soccer game, in the middle of coaching,” he chuckles, remembering how he and his brother went from drawing plays and encouraging the little kids to talking seriously about your marriage. “He didn’t go into detail the way you just did but he said he lost it, said a bunch of things that he regrets, and that hearing about you being in the ER from me triggered something in him. Deja vu for him, I guess, because I’m the one who told him about your sickness.”

“What else did he say?”

“He apologized to me, said that he shouldn’t have brought me into it, that he feels silly for being jealous and I told him that he doesn’t have a reason to be.”

“Oh,” you sigh. “I didn’t know he felt that way.”

“Is that all that you don’t know?” He pushes.

You shake your head no, and Junghyun has that look again like he knows there’s more, and like always, you give in. You talk about feeling distant from your husband, how - despite the care and the goodnight hug and kiss - he still feels so far away, like he’s deliberately creating space between the both of you with only his hand out far enough to let you know that he’s still there, but not close enough for you to feel that he wants things back to the way they were. Or that he’s ready for it.

“I mean, it’s much better than how we were last week and that’s at least something to be thankful for. But I…” you continue, feeling the tears forming in your eyes. “I don’t know how to make him talk to me. I don’t know what he’s feeling, I don’t know how to make it up to him or to make things better. I don’t know… I don’t know how to make him want me again.”

“Hey, I’m sure he does,” Junghyun nudges your knee. “You both just experienced something scary, okay? And then had to deal with the consequences of you keeping things from him. Those are a lot of emotions to process and manage. I can tell that he’s having a hard time. Especially when expressing those emotions caused you some hurt, too. You know that he can’t stand to see or even know you’re crying, like right now.”

Junghyun takes the napkin from the table and wipes your tears, thinking how he’s not used to this sight because you rarely ever become emotional like this. 

“I keep crying, I don’t know why,” you sniff.

“It’s because you’re not used to Jungkook not expressing himself, that’s why,” he states. “He always wears his heart on his sleeves, unafraid to speak his mind. He may be unhinged sometimes but it’s because he always keeps the door open - for you to read him, to comfort him… It’s just not the case right now. And that’s hurting you, too.”

“Why… why is he keeping me out this time?” You wonder, your voice shaking. 

“Maybe he’s not yet ready to talk about it. But if it’s bothering you that much, then assert yourself and don’t give him a choice,” he advises. “___, my brother loves you beyond I or even he can express. He won’t be able to resist you. But maybe he’s also just used to you being the one keeping things in and him being the assertive one. But you have to fight for him, too, you know? Face the issue and talk to him. I told him the same thing but he just shrugged. So if it’s not him then it should be you. You have to. I’m sure you miss him just as much as he misses you.”

“I miss him a lot,” you pout. “I miss him so much.”

“Then do something about it.”

When Junghyun advised you to do something about missing your husband, perhaps he wasn’t thinking of you going to the office with a surprise lunch for Jungkook. You recall him saying this morning that he was just gonna have a meeting in the morning and then stay in the office to work on reports. 

You walk in the reception area outside his room, beef noodle soup in hand, and ask his secretary if he can be disturbed.

“Oh, he’s still in a meeting, Mrs. Jeon,” So-hee informs you. “It was extended so Mr. Jeon and Ms. Wong decided to have lunch. He did say they’re almost done some time ago so—”

A woman and a man’s joint laughter interrupts her, and your husband and his companion - an investor for his project - walk in, clearly still enjoying their conversation. You’re thankful you at least get to hear his laugh and his excited voice this time. There’s that boyish smile you miss, too.

“___, hey,” he calls you worriedly and walks up to you. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, honey. I just wanted to, uh,” you respond, looking at the meal you brought. “I thought you haven’t had lunch yet so I got you something but you can uh… I guess I’ll just take this home and—”

“No, I’ll take it,” he says, taking the bag from your hands. “I just have to give something to Ms. Wong and I’ll get back to you, okay?”

You nod in reply and smile at the woman who greets you. You watch them walk to his room and from the half opened door, you see him go through some documents that he gives to her. She walks out and bows at you, and that’s what you hear Jungkook call your name.

He’s leaning on his desk facing the door when you enter, his smile with less vigor this time. You had planned on checking up on him, stupidly thinking you’d have an opening to ask how he’s feeling. Clearly, this isn’t the time nor place to be talking about something so personal, but after speaking with Junghyun earlier, you just had this urge to see your husband, comfort him in some way, and seek his affirmation about the both of you.

“The soup smells good, but we just had lunch, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll have this for snacks, I promise.”

“It’s okay, Kook. No need to force it,” you smile. 

“Fuck, you came here to surprise me with lunch and I’m not even eating it,” he sighs. “And Father called for another meeting in a bit and I—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” you assure him. “I just thought of dropping by uninvited and I didn’t expect you to be free. I just wanted to see you, that’s all. But I’ll go and prepare for my afternoon class.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Kook,” you force a smile.

Jungkook takes the container out of the bag and that’s when he sees it - a napkin doodle of a man, perhaps him, kissing a woman, perhaps you, on the forehead. 

Something he’s learned about you is that you skirt around conversations when you’re afraid or uncomfortable to have them. He’d long figured out that you’re not as expressive with words as you are with your art. You’d said once that you don’t “keep emotions in” or bottle them inside because you don’t want to talk about or face them; you just express them in other ways, like through painting or doodles - brush strokes and curved lines of feelings that you can’t verbalize, sometimes because you can’t find the words and other times, because words aren’t enough.

He sees beyond the unsure smile and the way you’re clasping your hands together. And right as you say goodbye and turn around to pull open the door, he puts his hand over yours and pushes it close again.

“You didn’t just come here to bring me lunch,” he says softly, seeing right through you. “You wanted to tell me something.”

Trapped between him and the door, you turn your head and look up to face him. You want to say that while yes, you wanted to talk, it’s also not the right time. You want to say that it can wait tonight, that you’ll be okay, that he should focus on his work and not worry about you. 

But you let yourself be selfish, brave, unhinged. 

“You feel distant, Kook,” you finally say, voice like a whisper. “I want to reach out but I don’t know how.”

The sight before him is one that breaks his heart, perhaps more than seeing you in tears. Your eyes are glassy, clearly on the brink of crying, and your lips are quivering; you have to nibble and bite them to stop. This hurts him more because he knows you’re holding yourself back, and when you finally let go and let it all out, it’ll probably be when you’re back home, alone, where he can’t comfort you, hold you.

“I…” he starts, on the brink of losing it, too. “I know, and I’m so sorry.”

There’s a beat of silence where you just look at each other, and it’s Jungkook who looks away first. 

“I kept it all in last week because you were the one who needed care and attention,” he continues. “And I just couldn’t hold it back anymore that’s why that night happened, and I’m so sorry for that, too.”

You shake your head no but he counters, saying that he shouldn’t have said things the way he did, that he knows he could’ve talked to you more calmly. 

“But I just… I’m left with so many feelings that I don’t know how to deal with. I’m not used to this much, and this intense, nor this contradicting.” 

He covers his eyes with his hand, and much as you want to hug him and make the pain go away, somehow you know that you have to swim through this - face all this, and you can only do that with that distance in between the two of you. 

“It was the secrets, the worry, the concern over how we’re gonna move forward without hurting each other even more… and then that guilt over what I said, and you, taking it to heart.”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“You said that maybe you aren’t ready for a family,” he recalls. “Because I said you can’t communicate well with me and I—”

“Kook, hey, that’s not on you,” you interject, rushing towards him now and taking his hands in yours. “I know that I have to learn to be better and that’s part of us preparing to become parents, like what we said we’d do.”

“Yes, but you didn’t think of that until I said something,” he counters. “It’s just like you pausing on doing your own pieces for exhibitions - your dream - so you could keep your job at the firm and continue teaching the kids. And now, you want to pause from becoming a mother, too. You’re holding out on things and I just… I hate myself for that, for making you doubtful. For not knowing how to ease your pain. But I’m also upset with you for hiding things from me, for conceding all the time, and for hurting me. But I also hurt you and I… fuck, it’s just a lot. And I don’t know what to do. You’re who I run to about everything but suddenly, I find it difficult to do that.”

Jungkook is heaving by the time he finishes. It’s a lot to take in for you, too. 

Your thoughts crumble when So-hee knocks on the door, informing your husband that the meeting his father called for is starting already, and they need him there right now.

“I’m coming,” he calls out, then turns to you. “I’ve been distant because I don’t want to unload this all on you. Because I want to protect you from all this,” he adds, pointing to his heart. “I just… I guess I just need more time. I’m sorry.”

Another female voice echoes from the other side of the door, the tapping much louder and more firm this time.

“Mr. Jeon, please don’t make your father wait,” the elder’s secretary says. “He has a flight to New York in a few hours. He asks that you be in the boardroom in 5 minutes, no more.”

“Alright, I’ll be there,” he groans, looking at you apologetically. “I have to go, but I’ll see you at home, okay?”

“Of course,” you huff, knowing you don’t have a choice but to let him go. “I’ll see you.”

And just like your drawing, he pulls you close and kisses your forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, before opening the door and running to the elevator. 

You release a deep breath and wipe the tears that immediately flowed once he left. 

You ground yourself in Jungkook’s office, looking around and taking it all in - the lavender oil from the humidifier that he got because it’s your favorite scent, the painting behind his chair that you made, the framed photos of both of you during your trips that were taken.

There’s a lot of you in here, and it’s the most comfort you’ve received other than Junghyun’s hug earlier. 

“We’ll fix this,” you comfort yourself this time. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Jungkook’s father’s urgent meeting turned out to be the introduction to what would become a full day one. There are several things to iron out in their different offices. The directors currently in Japan will meet with the team there, which means that both Jeon sons will have to go to Busan to troubleshoot and regroup. 

Plans were constantly drawn up. Dinner was eaten during the discussions, and it’s not until 10PM when it ended and Jungkook was able to leave the office. He still had to take urgent calls during the ride home, and that caused him to enter your loft at 11, only to see you curled under a light blanket on the couch, asleep.

You were waiting for him, he sighs to himself. You’d come to his office earlier because you wanted to see him, talk to him, and you waited only to be let down that he hadn’t come home early enough. And now, he has to leave early the next day for a trip until the end of the week. 

While that would mean alone time for him to regroup as well, it also means keeping the earlier conversation in limbo. There’s more to say but there aren’t resolutions to what was said. And you have to process what he did get to say on your own and do it all alone. 

Like clockwork, given the numerous times you waited for him to come home only for you to fall asleep, Jungkook takes you in his arms. Flushed against his chest, you shift and make yourself comfortable in his hold, merely mumbling his name when you feel like you’re moving.

He lays you in bed and tucks you in, removing the strands of hair from your face so he can see you clearly. There’s a tinge of sadness even when you’re asleep, and he wants to be able to wipe that away. 

After Jungkook has washed up, he lies next to you who has now moved to face his side on the bed. He kisses your forehead and he lingers.

“We’ll fix this,” he whispers, “I promise.”

Jungkook settles on leaving a note on your bedside about needing to travel to Busan early that Wednesday. He sends you a message about staying until Saturday for meetings and site visits, ending with an apology and an assurance that you’ll talk when he gets back.

You reply by lunchtime, and you’re never up that late, so he assumes that you sat on his message for a while before acknowledging it. 

It’s okay, Kook, your text reads. Don’t forget to get some rest and I’ll see you in a few days. I love you. 

Jungkook reads it over and over again, mad at himself for not feeling like returning your words of affection when it used to be a reflex for him. He loves you, obviously, but he feels hypocritical to be saying it when he’s being the way he is. He lingers when he exits to his Home Screen then sighs after looking at your smiling face for a little bit before locking his phone. 

“Not gonna call her?” Junghyun asks from next to him. 

They decided to just take one car so they can attend meetings together and discuss their action steps during the 4-hour drive to Busan. It was a long trip and they’re on the way to the office after a lunch meeting with an investor. 

“Nah, we’ll probably just say the same things. Except, it’ll be awkward,” Jungkook sighs again.

There’s a beat of silence before Junghyun speaks. “I saw her yesterday, you know? I was in the area and we had coffee.” Jungkook nods, so the older man continues. “It’s a lot for her, too. She’s not used to being on this side of it - clueless, unsure, insecure. She’s scared, Kook. She’s scared that she’s doing this all wrong.”

“I’m scared, too,” the younger man finally says. “And confused, and worried. And I miss her so much. But I couldn’t even fucking text her that I love her back because I feel like I’m lying to her. I yelled at her, said shit I shouldn’t have, made her upset, spent days away from her… all that on top of being angry and disappointed over what happened.”

Junghyun has known that his little brother thrives on clarity, on rules and standards that he’s set up for himself. He hates being told what to do, and in the instances when he’s unsure about things, he figures things out and sticks by what he’s come to know, whether it’s by looking at the world around him or experiencing them by himself. Love, it seems, is something he’s come to understand through the former.

“You know, the feeling or emotion of love is actually just a part of love. It’s not love itself,” Junghyun says. “Being upset with her, missing her, worrying about her, not feeling like being around her… that’s part of love, too. I shouldn’t be spelling this to you anymore because I’m sure you know it already but love isn’t just what you feel for someone, it’s something you share with them. So all the fun, happy stuff and the not so good ones? You share those with her as well.”

“For the longest time, I just kept thinking that things are supposed to be effortless, especially between us,” Jungkook now says. “Considering how we started, I felt like the beginning was the hardest part, and it was only because I didn’t love her then yet. And now I do, so much, but then I still feel all this.”

“Remember the time some years ago when Yeri and I fought?” Junghyun asks. “I mentioned it in passing because it was really getting to me; I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. We slept in separate rooms for an entire week.”

“Seriously?” Jungkook exclaims. “You’re both the chillest people I know. I didn’t think you’d fight bad enough to an extent that you’d sleep separately.”

“Well, the ‘chillest’ people lose their cool sometimes. Work was driving me up a wall, she was an overworked resident at the hospital… we said things we shouldn’t have and then we stopped saying anything to each other after that,” Junghyun narrates. “We just wanted to be alone. So I slept in the guest room for a week but everyday, I drew her a bath the way she wanted so she could relax once she got home. And every morning, she prepared me a snack box because I was doing field visits everyday. Sure, we were going through our own shit, we didn’t feel like talking, couldn’t stand each other at some point. But the love didn’t stop, nor paused or decreased. It was just… there, expressed differently. And I just knew, after we made up, that I could never love any other person the way I love her, and I knew she felt the same about me.”

“So things really work that way, huh? I feel so fucking naive,” Jungkook chuckles. “I guess I was stuck on the honeymoon phase we’ve been on for years. It was easy to not be upset or angry with her over trivial things. And then when it got serious, I guess I freaked out. I didn’t think I could feel this towards her.”

“Well, those things really happen, especially as you go through married life and then family life. You love ___ so much but it hurts, I get that,” Junghyun adds. “It’s cliche because it’s true. And this isn’t the toxic shit - it’s just how healthy relationships actually are. There’s an unbelievable level of trust and faith to be able to admit that the person you love hurt you, but you still love them with your whole being despite that. It may seem confusing to you but it’s normal, and as long as it’s not constant and you actually grow and be better after, it’s actually good.”

Perhaps it’s the idealist in him. Maybe it’s being a rookie in love, Jungkook thinks, that’s why he had such high standards when it came to your relationship, thinking that fights could easily be resolved and that negative feelings would immediately go away. 

He nods and takes his older brother’s words in. There’s a reason Jungkook always ran to him - wise beyond his years and able to just take everything in, reflect on them, then use them to be better. 

Their time alone is cut short when they arrive at the office, and nothing about the issue is mentioned again for the rest of the day. Jungkook spends the evening in his hotel room with his 5th cup of coffee and his eyes glued to his laptop screen until you message at 10PM that you’re off to bed. 

He thinks back to what his brother had said and how love, at times like this, can be expressed in different ways. He picks up the phone and makes a call.

Jungkook used to like drawing flowers. You didn’t buy into the tough and reckless guy act when you were younger since you knew about the kid who drew carnations and peonies and freesias during class. You remember receiving a card from an unnamed sender one time, and then crying when you lost it a year later. 

Ever since you got married, he’s gone past the secret drawings to giving you actual flowers whenever he can. He knows you like them fresh to be placed in your hand painted vases around your apartment, and he’s told you several times that he likes seeing your smile whenever you receive them. 

You wish he could see the one you have on right now, as you gaze at the bouquet of peonies and irises that just got delivered to your apartment that Thursday morning. There’s no dedication on it, and you take it as Jungkook not knowing what to say but wanting to tell you that he loves you, or that he misses you, or that he can’t wait to come home. You hope it’s all of those things.

You send him a photo of them placed in a vase on your bedside table with a message of thanks. 

They’re pretty. I’m glad you like them, he replies. We have a full day of risk assessment planning and stuff. I’ll call you when I can.

Your smile only drops a little at the latter part of the text, but you can’t really complain. He’s been managing his team from home the past week because of you and now, he needs to focus on them completely. And given how you both left the conversation from the other night unfinished, you suppose that he’s not ready to deal with the tension again, so you let it go.

Minhyuk’s coming over for lunch then he’ll take me to work, you message back. And I’ll have dinner with the girls. Will also go to Soyeon’s place tomorrow to hang out with the twins.

You want to let him know that you won’t be alone for the next 2 days in case he’s wondering. You think he doesn’t want to nag but you want to relieve him of that worry, so you update him first. 

Okay, good. You take care, he responds, sounding serious and unfamiliar. You’d figured that he’s like that when he doesn’t know what to say, especially as he fails to call that day and instead settles with an apology for their extended meeting. 

The next morning, you receive a pastry and dessert spread in time for breakfast - mini croissants, egg custards, macarons, eclairs, and chocolate-coated strawberries. 

Something to keep you company while I’m away, the card reads. 

He’s always spoiled you with flowers and desserts, and they’re most special when they’re a surprise and when you’re missing him like this. You feel a mix of emotions as you eat them - you’re happy that he’s telling you he loves you by giving you the things you love, but you also can’t help but think that he’s doing so because he can’t say it, something you’re not used to because he says it everyday and every chance he gets. 

It’s how love is in a relationship like this, you think - there’s no one way to feel it, there’s no one way to show it. But one way isn’t better than the rest; sometimes we just do and say what we can. 

“So, flowers and desserts, huh?” Junghyun asks from next to Jungkook in the car. “Is that like drawing a bath or preparing a snack box?” 

“She told you?” 

“Yeah, to tell me that they made her week,” Junghyun smiles. “Which means… you haven’t called her yet.”

“Work’s driving me nuts and Father won’t get off my ass,” Jungkook reasons. “I’m irritable and I don’t want to unload on her.”

“That all?” The old man arches an eyebrow.

There’s a beat of silence before Jungkook responds. “I’m being petty. If she thinks that work is the most important thing for me, then my focus will be on that.”

“Seriously, Kook?” Junghyun scoffs. “Of course that’s not what she thinks. And right, real petty of you. So many times before when Father’s on our ass, you wouldn’t shut up about wanting to go home to your wife because being next to her makes you forget about all your problems.”

“Yeah, and I still stand by that,” Jungkook replies, his eyes going soft at the idea of being in your arms. His heart aches at the thought, though, because he can’t seem to get over his own reasons for being upset with you even if all that he wants to do is hold and kiss you. “But I just feel like I haven’t gotten over what happened. I mean, I’m sort of over the fear. She updates me everyday about how she’s feeling and that appeases me because then I know she’s open about it, even if I know it’s partly out of guilt. The rest… I don’t know, I’ve been sort of avoiding processing them.”

“Okay, so there are a lot of thoughts and feelings,” Junghyun responds, knowing that the hour-long trip to one of the work sites this Friday afternoon is enough to help his younger brother make sense of things. “So then let's go through each one. What exactly made you so upset that first time?”

“I guess it was just the thought that I wouldn’t put her first - that she’d keep things from me so I won’t worry, even if it’s at her expense. And that she wouldn’t put me first - that much as she’s who I run to for everything, it’s not the same with her. I think those hurt the most.”

Junghyun rests on the idea. Being the one person who knows you both so well, he can’t disagree more. 

“But you think of it differently. You approach things differently, Kook,” he starts.” That’s how she shows her love - trying to make things easy for you in whatever way, and then that’s how you show your love - running to her, giving her all your attention. They’re different but it doesn’t mean they’re wrong, it just means that there are other ways to love people, that there are ways we put people first. That’s yours, and that’s hers.”

Jungkook’s face relaxes and a small pout forms on his face, so Junghyun continues. 

“Don’t you see? Loving each other means you get to show each other that. That maybe, the instances where she brushes things off is her way of saying that she puts your comfort and peace of mind first, and the way you tell her every little thing is your way of showing that you want her involved in every little thing about your day. And both are totally fine, you just have to talk about it. And I know this has been incredibly hard for you but trust me - once you’ve talked about it, things will feel lighter. They’ll only get better from here.”

“But I can’t let her just brush things off if it’s about her health,” Jungkook counters. “You know that. I can’t let her think that it’s okay because it isn’t.”

“I know, and I think she’s realized that. I understand the frustration when it comes to her. Trust me, I’ve seen it,” the older man responds. “But that’s what you get from someone who’s wanted to stay out of the spotlight her whole life because she’d seen the challenges people went through for her, just to make sure she’s safe. She’s not a burden, we know that. But you get to show her that; that worrying about her doesn’t mean she’s a burden, that any difficulty on her end isn’t a burden. That any time she expresses what she feels isn’t a burden. Listen to her. If she says she’s fine, show her that you believe her. Show her that she can be honest without the consequences.”

Like a loose screw that’s finally been fixed, it all makes sense to Jungkook. Maybe it’s after yesterday’s conversation and the time he took for a bath last night that allowed him to think. Maybe it was imagining your smile in receiving the flowers and desserts and wanting so badly to see it. Or maybe it’s because it’s his brother, and Junghyun is the only person who knows you as well as he knows Jungkook, and that makes all the difference.

“You know her so well, don’t you?” Jungkook says now with a small smile, feeling much lighter than he did minutes ago. “I… I know there’s still a lot to learn about her and about me in relation to her. I guess I never really looked at it that way.”

“You were the rowdy kid who was always so hard to control, and it was easy to notice her discomfort around people while you had all the attention,” Junghyun chuckles. “I just learned to not panic when she’d talk to me, to not act like I know better, to not speak over what she’s feeling or what she thinks she needs. I never thought it was my place - I’m not her brother nor her best friend - and then I realized that’s exactly the person she needed me to be. She’s so much more than her sickness, you know that. So don’t let it be the thing that keeps you both apart.”

“I won’t,” Jungkook huffs. “Fuck it, I won’t.”

“Did the kids tire you?” Soyeon asks as she drives off from their place to drop you off at yours. “Sorry, I just needed someone to hang with them while I had my meeting. I hope it was okay.”

“Are you kidding me? I love spending time with the twins and see just how much they take after you,” you state. “I mean, we played house and I was the babysitter while Sunghoon was the gardener and Soojin was ‘working from home’ while talking to her ‘husband who’s on a business trip’ over the phone like… she was calling him sweetheart and stuff and it was so adorable but also kinda scary. I wouldn’t wanna cross that child. She’s feisty.”

“Yeah, Min-jun said to soften a little bit in front of them but I said that was his job,” your sister responds. “But they love me, said they wouldn’t change anything about me. They’re sweet, those rascals.”

“I think it has a lot to do with seeing Min-jun take all of you in and love you the way he does. It’s beautiful to see,” you smile. “But uh, does Soojin really have a husband who’s on a business trip or is she just copying that line from you?”

“Ah, her brother said she has a crush on this kid who’s on a vacation abroad and that was just her pretending. You know, normal kid stuff,” Soyeon laughs. 

“How is that normal? Were we play-pretending or have husbands at that age?” You exclaim.

“Yeah, we did. I mean, didn’t our parents drill into our minds that we had to have a family when we got older?” She rolls her eyes playfully. “It was just how our world always worked. I know I pretended Joon-ki was mine and you pretended yours was Jungkook. That was so cute.”

“What?!” You exclaim at what is clearly news to you. “I’ve never heard this story.”

“I just remembered it! You were around the twins’ age and we were playing house in the garden. We told you to call your husband and you whisper-yelled ‘Kookie,’” she narrates, her eyes growing with affection at the memory. “Oh my god, it's so clear to me again. That was the cutest thing! I asked Junghyun if Kook was minding you already and being sweet and he said no, but that he saw his brother drawing some flowers and then you told Junghyun that someone left you a drawing of flowers under your desk. He told us and we all got so giddy.”

Junghyun was the only person you told about that, and you didn’t know he shared it with anyone else. In the minds of pre-teens, which he and your sister and brother were then, perhaps it was something worth gushing over. In your innocent mind, you thought it was sweet, even if little Jungkook barely spoke to you during those times. You remember the older Jeon telling you that his little brother is like that - even if at times he seems aloof or distant, there’s a caring and sweet boy underneath, and it was something that always stuck with you.

Perhaps he never outgrew that side of him. Even if you broke his heart by keeping things from him - like when 4-year old you didn’t want to play in the playground - he’s still that same boy who’d send you flowers despite not wanting to talk to you. A small smile forms on your face at the thought. 

You and your sister spend the rest of the car ride talking about the games you played and growing up with the Jeons until you reach your place. You bid her goodbye and head straight to the bathroom, choosing a fresh scent for your bath to remind you of Jungkook. 

It’s 9PM by the time you get to bed, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep immediately so you could wake up to Saturday, and that means finally having your husband back. 

Recalling your growing up years gave you that warm feeling, especially as you thought back to how you and Jungkook just always circled around each other but never close enough to be anything more than childhood friends. There was always something special though, and now you’re both here, married and as in love as any 2 people can get. Even if that means spending days apart and not getting to hear his voice.

Right on cue, your phone rings and your heart leaps when his face shows up on your screen. He hasn’t called in days; Junghyun has said enough of all the meetings and troubleshooting that their father has been making them do, and it’s been hard to focus on anything else. He’s always been more graceful under pressure though, so he’s where you get your news about your husband from. 

But Jungkook video calling you is more than enough now. He’s still in his work attire with the hotel room in the background, so you think he just got back from dinner. His eyes look tired, and you can tell all he wants is to lay in bed and sleep.

Seeing him somehow hits you more than you imagined. There’s this incredible amount of love you feel for this man that you can’t even properly verbalize. Brush strokes and drawings don’t even seem to be enough sometimes, which is how you prefer to express things to him. 

At these moments when you’re overwhelmed with what you feel, whether it’s adoration or apology, you just want to hold him, feel him against your skin and trace his body with your fingers and hands and everything else. You want to map out his entirety with your lips. You want to look in his eyes so he can see the things you can’t say. 

You miss him so much you can cry. And you almost do. 

You adjust yourself on the bed so you can wipe away your lone tear. “Hey, honey. How are you?” You greet.

“Hey. Just came from another dinner meeting,” he replies. “Sorry I got to call just now. Going to bed already?

“No worries, Kook,” you smile. “And yeah. I want to sleep right away so I can wake up to you here tomorrow. Needy wife things,” you joke. “What time do you get back?”

“Oh, we have that investor’s meeting in the morning so probably around after lunch?” He replies, not missing the way your face falls a little. 

“Alright. I’ll keep myself busy in the morning, then.”

You nibble your lips to keep yourself from crying. The thought of waiting for more than 12 more hours before seeing him is making your heart ache, but you know it’s better than another day away. You just have to be patient, you think to yourself. Then you’ll apologize for whatever else you need to apologize for and resolve whatever else is keeping you both from going back to how things were before. You want him so badly, but all you do is hug the pillow - his pillow - tightly and imagine it’s him. 

“Okay,” he says softly. He lingers, as he just looks at you without saying anything else. “Now get some rest.”

“Okay,” you whisper back, savoring the way he looks. It’s as if time is suspended and you’re just gazing at each other.

He speaks first. “Goodnight, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” you answer, your voice getting stuck in your throat. You hope he doesn’t notice how close you are to losing it. 

You drop the call and let yourself cry on his pillow, his scent filling the space and giving you the comfort that you need. He’ll be home, you remind yourself. He’ll be home soon.

At a 23rd floor hotel room in Busan, Jungkook stares at his Home Screen photo of you. He’d seen you nibble your lips and dig your face on the pillow. You were close to crying again and he didn’t want to ask what happened, knowing that it might just prompt you to actually cry and he wouldn’t be there to comfort you.

But then again, you’re probably crying now and he still isn’t there. This is what hurts him more - knowing that you’re all alone when you’re letting yourself go. 

He doesn’t want another night of this - of you alone, of him holding back and missing you so badly. And like that string that constantly tugs on his heart to do something, he follows.

Jungkook calls his brother. “Move tomorrow’s meeting to lunch. I’m driving home tonight.”

The drive back to Seoul on a Friday night isn’t the best for someone who’s rushing to get home to his wife, but Jungkook still tries his best by speeding when he can and taking all the shortcuts he knows. It’s almost 1AM by the time he arrives, and he takes a deep breath as he opens the front door, knowing that he has to be as quiet as possible so as not to scare you, even if he wants to run up to your bedroom and kiss you crazy.

This whole week has been such a roller coaster of emotions for him, and from his brother’s words, to the call with you earlier, and all the moments in between, he’s left at the top - full of love and affection for you and he just wants to be able to tell you, show you.

Junghyun didn’t ask any more questions after the call; he just knew, and it’s the kind of support that Jungkook is grateful for.

He tiptoes up the stairs and turns on his bedside lamp, spotting the flowers that he sent the other day on your night table. You’re lying comfortably, sleeping soundly, wearing one of his loose university shirts. You’re on your side, your leg and arm around his pillow, and he smiles to himself; that’s how he sleeps when you’re away, too. 

He whispers your name. “Hey, babe. I’m here. I came home early. Can you wake up for me?”

He repeats the words a few more times before your eyes slowly open. 

You blink repeatedly as if to make sense of what you’re seeing, and when Jungkook says hey and shows you that smile you’ve missed so much, you realize it’s real. He’s real, and he’s home.

“Kook?” You ask, sitting up, taking in the work attire you just saw on the screen hours ago. “What are you doing here? You… you have a meeting in the morning.”

“I know,” he replies, sitting on the bed to face you. “I had it moved to lunch so I can drive home tonight. So I can be with you.”

“Why?” You croak. 

Your eyes are swollen, crusty. “Because I didn’t want you to cry alone.”

You’re caught off guard but you try to lie, even if you know he won’t buy it. “I… I didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn away and that’s when a tear falls, one of many that you shed this whole week, and you’re not even a crier.

But Jungkook catches it, wipes it with his thumb and then cups your cheek as he moves closer to you. 

“I hate it when you cry,” he says, “even more when it’s because of me, and especially when I’m not around to hold you.”

You close your eyes and savor his touch. “I hate crying, too,” you whisper. “Please, Kook, please just hold me.”

“Baby, come here.”

He pulls you by your waist and onto his lap, and with his strength, he shifts to lean against the headboard so he can hug you even tighter. You find refuge in his neck and you take him in - his scent, his warmth, and the way his body fits so perfectly against yours. They’re what keep you from crying even harder, and both of you just sit there for a while, savoring being in each other’s arms again.

You finally pull away, wanting to see his face. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not calling, for the things I said, for being—”

“None of that, Kook,” you interject. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who does.”

“We both do,” he says. “We won’t be able to move on if you think it’s all on you. And I’m not perfect either. But it’s never just on one person. We share the burden, right? We share the responsibility, so that’s what we’ll do. I apologize and you let me, you apologize and I’ll let you. Deal?”

“Deal.”

You sit next to him on the bed with his arm still around your waist. You look at him as his free hand traces patterns on your bare thighs. 

“I’m sorry for the things I said and how I said them,” he starts. “I’m sorry for not listening to you and not trusting that you’d tell me the truth. I’m sorry for being distant. I just didn’t know what to say. I had these mixed emotions, you know? I love you so much but I was so upset and I couldn’t seem to get over it. Hyung told me that it’s normal, and I guess I’m new to this, you know? Obviously being married but also…” he trails, intertwining his fingers with yours now. “Just loving someone. I’ve never done it with anyone; I’ve never truly loved anyone before you. I always copped out when it got hard and tense, so I’m sorry for letting all that affect me, for letting it affect us.”

“Okay, Kook,” you reply, your eyes softening at his words. You kiss his hand before you speak. 

“And I’m sorry for keeping things from you, for not trusting you enough that you’d put me first,” you say. “It’s just my default state, I guess, but you’re my husband and these are things that I should be most honest with you about because my sickness doesn’t just affect me, it affects you, too. I’m sorry, for sometimes not being more forward about how I feel, for letting things just fall away because I don’t like confrontations. Those things scare me but I need to be braver, more honest, more trusting.”

“Okay,” he says this time, kissing your hand as well. “I also want to apologize for what I said, about us having kids. I didn’t mean for you to take it that you’re not ready because we haven’t gotten our communication skills all figured out yet. I don’t ever want you to think that you’re not ready because of that, because of what I said. Do you still feel that way?”

“No,” you shake your head. “It was a bandaid idea, I guess, agreeing with what you said just because I believed it would help us. I thought about it more and no, I don’t mean what I said.”

“Good,” he smiles, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and cupping your cheek. “Can we do that every time? Not dismiss what we want to apologize for and then talk about things openly? With trust and love?”

You nod, savoring the feel of him again. “And then we can kiss and make up?” 

“Of course,” he smirks. “That’s the next order of business.”

He pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, hot and heavy, turning needy in seconds. You both sigh into it at the same time, definitely missing each other’s tastes, having been without it for days. Your tongues fight for dominance and he wins, digging deep into you before exploring further and nibbling your lips as he enjoys the playful yet desperate way you both take each other in. 

It’s your turn to dominate after, pulling on the long strands of hair that frame his face, as if you want him closer than he’s physically able. You climb back on his lap, wanting nothing more than to eliminate the clothing in between. You hold onto kissing him for longer, even as you slow down once you start to lose breath, and he nudges your nose to get your attention.

“Hmm, needy wife things indeed,” he teases. 

You sit up and pout. “You didn’t mind me for days. I think I deserve to be needy.”

“Baby, you don’t need a reason to be. You know I like it when you are, it makes me hard.”

You snort, shifting a bit to feel that he is, indeed, semi-hard.

“So, then is making love to your needy wife the next order of business?”

“It is, but…” he says, making you pout again, and Jungkook has to restrain himself from taking you right then and there. He knows that just like him, you want to express things through your bodies, and he wants it to be perfect. “I’ve been out all day and I smell like yakiniku because that’s what we had for dinner.”

“You smell perfect,” you shake your head, already unbuttoning his top, slowly revealing his toned chest and immediately kissing it.

“Thanks for the ego boost, babe, but seriously. I need a bath so I can be all clean and take you until we fall asleep. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Fine,” you sigh, facing him then getting off his lap. You know he’s right, though. His stamina would let you go on all night until you both fall asleep, and you know he likes his bath. It’s a good thing he looks best after it.

He chuckles as he gets off the bed, smirking when he sees you bite your lips the moment he undoes the rest of his buttons and removes his polo. With his messy long hair, tattooed arm, and bare torso against his black slacks, Jungkook looks like the perfect husband. 

“Don’t miss me too much,” he teases, stealing another kiss before running to the bathroom.

You laugh at his antics, and much as you want him right now, you also welcome the bit of time you have to process what happened, to take everything in, and let go of all your worries.

He came home, drove 4 hours from Busan to get to you so you wouldn’t be alone, so he could apologize, so you don’t have to wait until tomorrow to see him. The way he loves you is so sure, contrary to what he may think. The way he loves you is the only way you want to be loved. 

You hear the shower turn off and you call out to him. “Kook, are you done?”

“Coming!” He yells, and you feel like a giggly love struck girl as you lie on the bed. 

He exits the bathroom and stands before the bed, wet hair pushed back with droplets of water still hanging on his body. He’s completely naked, and you squeeze your thighs at the heavenly sight.

“Why is this still on?” He asks as he hovers over you and tugs your - his - shirt. 

“So you can take it off,” you smirk, and the way the playfulness in Jungkook’s eyes turns to pure desire is hypnotic. 

His hands start on your lower legs, his fingers ghosting over the skin before he reaches the hem of your top. He grips it then pulls it over your head, taking in the sight of you bare underneath him. His eyes map your body, and you feel the shiver as they do. His effect on you is immediate, something that he feels himself once his thigh slots in between your legs and you can’t help but jerk and rub against him.

“Wet already?” He smirks.

You nod in response. “It’s been a while.”

“I know. There’s a lot of stored energy now.”

You gush over his teasing. Typical of him, including sounding like it’s a threat. 

His hand moves to your cheek, cupping it before his thumb traces your lower lip, teasing you even more. 

You slowly lick the tip before taking his digit in your mouth, sucking like you know he wants you to, and you can’t help but moan at the act. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls. 

He retrieves his wet thumb and then uses it to trace circles on your pert nipple. You close your eyes as you feel the tension slowly build, and you can’t wait for what’s to come.

Liking your reaction, he hums, then goes ahead to attack your neck, nibbling and licking as he wishes. He knows just how to work your sensitive spot there, causing you to grind harder against his thigh. You feel it tighten, bracing itself for your beating.

Jungkook moves to your shoulder, softly kissing the skin there, and then trailing down your chest. He gazes at the tiger lily tattoo in the middle like he always does, humming once he makes it to your free breast. With his fingers on one and his mouth on the other, you feel like you could explode any minute. Once your grinding gets erratic, he slows down.

“Wait, baby. You can’t do strenuous activities, right? Is sex considered strenuous?” He furrows his brows. 

“Well, that depends on the sex. I have the stamina of a normal person, I don’t know about you,” you chuckle. 

“I’ll go slow, then.”

“Or… you can go however you like and I’ll tell you when it’s too much,” you counter. “Trust me?”

“Trust you,” he smiles, shifting his body now as he continues to kiss down your torso. 

He feels the shivers on your skin and the way you’re panting, and he’s barely even done anything. The wet patch on your silk undies makes him hum in satisfaction, and much as he wants to tease you further, he also can’t wait himself - to taste you, to feel all of you. 

Jungkook slowly removes your last piece of clothing. You meet his eyes the moment he licks a strip on your cunt, and you see that familiar look of lust and adoration. 

He repeats his movement with a bit of variation each time - swirling on your bud, sucking, licking the lips, teasing your hole. You slowly get lost in the feel of his tongue on your skin, and you know you want more.

“Inside me please, Kook,” you pant, eyes closed as he now licks the back of your thighs while he thumbs your aching clit. “Want you so much.”

He removes himself from your pussy, facing you now with his slick-stained mouth and chin. He makes a show of wiping your essence off his face then licking his fingers. “Don’t want to waste it,” he always says. 

Taking your cheek in his hand, he kisses you again. There’s this fervent way he does it, like he gets completely lost when his mouth is on yours. It’s messy and needy but loving just the same. 

You feel his incredibly hard dick against your tummy, and you whisper once more. “Please.”

He removes himself from you and gets on his knees. He spreads out your thighs, presenting him with a view that sends shockwaves through him once more. You’re glimmering and throbbing, and he can only hope he doesn’t go too hard and hurt you in the process.

Lifting your ass a little, Jungkook puts a pillow underneath and finds the perfect angle with you elevated like this. With your legs bent on the side, he slowly makes his way in. You both watch in a daze as his cock slides perfectly inside your cunt, disappearing before he pulls back and pushes against you once more. 

You feel him so deep within you, and with this angle, he’s hitting the exact spot you want him to. But as you look up at him, you see the view that makes you go absolutely feral. 

His damp hair has slightly curled. It gets to his face so he combs it back. With his head tilted, you see the sight of his gorgeous neck, down to his chest and his pert nipples that you can’t wait to nibble on. Your eyes move to the line in the middle of his torso, his abs taut and so pronounced; the way his hips move shows his v-line in action, and you moan when he pushes deeper after he sees where you’re focused on.

“Like that, baby?” He smirks.

“Yes. Keep going, please.”

He follows, gripping your thighs tighter to secure your body as he pushes with more fervor this time. He tilts his head back again and bites his lower lip, clearly liking the feel of you as he mouths curses every time. 

The tattoos decorating his one arm is beautiful. The colors pop out and they come to life when he moves. It’s contrasted by his other arm - fair, smooth, dotted by beauty marks. The lines that form when he flexes makes you lose it even more, and with his rough hands spreading you apart and his moans of how tight and perfect you are, the tension slowly builds until you’re reaching your peak.

“Close, Kook. I’m close.”

He heeds your call and knows exactly what to do. He removes the pillow and lays you flat on your back, your legs now flushed against your chest as Jungkook comes closer. His mouth meets yours once again as he thrusts even harder, deeper inside of you. You moan into the kiss and you’re hypnotized. There are tears in your eyes as you take all of him in, even more when his lips move to your neck, and he licks and kisses your sensitive spot that has you keening. 

You rarely curse but the words echo in your head. It’s filled with him and his touch and his moans and you feel that familiar coil in your belly. You’re so close, and when your mouth opens with no sound coming out, Jungkook knows it, too. So he drags himself inside you, letting you feel all of it. 

“You’re so good for me, baby. Fuck, you’re so good,” he groans. “Keep taking it, yeah?”

You moan your yes but you don’t know if any sound comes out.

Jungkook feels you tighten around his cock, so he lifts himself a little so he could fondle your breast, knowing it gets you even more going. You feel the sensation intensify, and with his movements combined, you let out a scream that accompanies your release. 

It’s so good, and it feels like it’s not ending. You feel yourself get wetter and wetter, and the journey after the high feels slower. 

“Kook, honey. Come for me, please,” you heave. “I want to feel your cum inside me. I want that, baby.”

Jungkook goes feral at your words, as you plead for him to empty himself inside you. So he thrusts even harder, faster, losing his rhythm as he just follows what his body wants. He’s reaching even deeper, and you pull on his hair to get him to come closer.

You know what gets him going, so you make sure your voice reaches his ears. 

“You fuck me so well, baby,” you pant, knowing that the rare times you’re vulgar turns him on even more. “You feel so good inside me, so hard and so good. You’re mine, baby. And I’m yours.”

“Fuuuuck, baby. Fuck, you sound so good,” he whines. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

“Just keep going, I can take it. I can take all of you,” you moan again. “I want all of you, want to feel your hot cum inside me.”

His thrusts are sloppy, and you feel his body quivering as he nears his peak. You lick his mouth before whispering, “I love you, Kook. I love you so much.” Then you kiss him, let your tongue explore inside him, and it’s when he tightens his hold on your body that you know he’s reached it.

You feel the spurts of his essence inside you, hot and thick as he keeps going. He slows down his thrusts as he comes down, breathing heavily.

“I love you,” he whispers, meeting your eyes. There’s all the love and adoration and care that you’ve missed. 

“Say it again, please,” you whisper back.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you. So much.”

You hold his gaze before you ask for the last time. “Again.”

He searches your eyes briefly before he answers once more, slowly this time. “I love you.”

You find yourself in Jungkook’s arms once again. He’d just cleaned you up and he pulled you close to him right after lying back in bed. For the past weeks of barely kissing you, he’s making up for it now, as he pecks your lips every few seconds, as if he wants to fall asleep doing exactly that. 

He cradles your face in his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek and you, smiling as you savor his touch. 

You’re so beautiful like this, he thinks to himself, when there’s just love and adoration in your eyes. He doesn’t think he fully deserves it after the way he’s treated you, but honesty and forgiveness are so powerful, he’s realized now. It’s how you got to face each other again; it’s how you got to bare yourselves once more and show how much you love each other way more than words. 

But the way you told him to say he loves you sticks with him. So he asks. 

“Did what happened make you doubt how much I love you?” He whispers. “Did I do that?”

“No, Kook,” you smile. “I just wanted to hear it. It’s been a while.”

“I’m sorry,” he pouts. “I wasn’t sure I could say it wholeheartedly when I was still upset.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. 

“No, it’s not. That’s when you need to hear it the most,” he says dejectedly. “When we aren’t in a good place, that’s when I need to tell you. That even if I’m upset and hurt, I still love you. Because I do. I know that now. And I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” you say softly. “We have to learn how to talk and say what we feel, ask space respectfully if we want it. And assure each other all the time.”

“We will,” he hums. “I… I don’t ever want to make you feel like I don’t want you. I’m so sorry for that, baby. I promise you, I won’t do that ever again.”

You nod, falling short of words. So you kiss him deeply to let him know that it’s okay, that you forgive him, and that you’ll both be alright again.

It’s a kiss that says so much more, and Jungkook knows this. He returns it just as passionately, until the moans come and both your hands travel to places, mapping out each other’s bodies once more. Your lips draw patterns on his chest, on his torso, leaving marks all over his neck. 

Jungkook takes you again, much gentler this time, with nothing but soft moans and your heaving breaths echoing in your moonlit bedroom. You both keep your eyes open as you meet each other’s thrusts. You hope he sees in your eyes all the adoration and forgiveness and promises that you see in his. 

Jungkook’s eyes are the prettiest you’ve ever seen. 

And everyday you thank the universe that it allowed you to live long enough to see them gaze at you with so much love. 

“Baby,” he calls out after settling down from both your highs. “I know you’re tired but… would you like to go to Busan with me tomorrow? It’s a long drive for a lunch meeting and I want to be with you as much as possible.”

“That sounds nice, honey,” you perk up. “I think lunch by the beach is what I need. I’ve missed the ocean so much.”

“Okay, then. We need to leave early, though. Let’s pass by your favorite cafe for take out breakfast,” he smiles.

“Okay,” you say, kissing him. “Goodnight, Kook.”

“Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

Busan at this time of the year is beautiful. There’s something about the cold air and chilly breeze from the ocean that oddly makes it feel warmer for you. It reminds you a lot about growing up - hanging by the beach while you watch the other kids play, smelling the flowers that you see, drinking warm drinks while the seagulls call out to each other. 

You rarely come home but when you do, it’s nostalgic, especially as you recall a little Kookie running around, restless and always looking for something to do. 

You lean against Jungkook’s chest as he sits behind you, watching the mid-afternoon sun over the water. You walked here after he dropped you off at a nearby cafe, and you’ve been glued to your book since then. Your husband had just finished his meeting and he came here right away.

“I missed home,” you say, closing your eyes to savor the surroundings. “Everything almost looks the same but we’ve changed. It’s nice to be back here.”

Jungkook hums and gets lost in his thoughts. He remembers growing up and running around the beaches, playing all the water sports he can, getting lost in the side streets, and rollerblading through the alleys. 

He remembers avoiding you, although he admits the few times that he tried to get your attention secretly, quietly. It was weird then, he thinks now. You broke his heart at 4 years old when you rejected his offer to play at the playground and he thought of stopping trying to be your friend. He succeeded most of the time, but a small part of him still wanted you around somehow; a part of him wanted your attention, wanted you to know what he was doing, what he was good at - whether it’s drawing, playing soccer, or making friends. 

It’s funny to think that over a decade after moving away, he’s back here as your husband. And you’re right. Not much has changed but both of you have. It’d be nice to revisit all those places of your childhood. You did mention wanting to create new memories, after all.

“We should spend a week here, then. What do you think?” He says. “I’ll negotiate with Father. Maybe spend a day or a half at the office, get some work done from home while you’re painting or something, but we can visit our grandparents, our school, the places we used to go to. What do you think?”

“Ah, I like that, Kook,” you turn to him with a smile. “Let’s come back here and make new memories.”

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[moonsun2010]

I'm mad Tumblr ate my anon asks (it's not appearing in my Drafts????) but luckily I have a copy saved to my email so:

HEY YOUR DRACULA ANIMATIC IS SO SO GOOD I can't comment on youtube (bc I have no account) but I've watched it like 10 times now, the song fits so well and the art is incredible, I love all your character designs and the way you portray all the scenes is so spot on!

I just finished re: dracula and idk how you managed to tell the whole story so well in under 4 minutes but it was amazing I love the way you use color in the animatic, the use of mostly black/white/grey is so good for evoking the specific type of horror story this is, and it makes the red in the blood and in dracula's eyes stick out in a way that is absolutely brilliant and that last shot with the sunset is GORGEOUS and then the epilogue!!! I love that you did the epilogue to and having the gentle piano music and doing it in full color gives it such a peaceful and comforting feeling, the drawing of quincey and lucy in it in the afterlife together is so sweet <3 the detail that went into this is amazing, like the captain of the demeter having the rosary even though we only see it for a second, I keep wanting to pause on every single frame so I can properly admire all the cool art lol, also the things like jonathan's beard growing out after dracula breaks the mirror, and the rosary hanging above his bed, and dracula still having the scar from the shovel in the final showdown

AND THE PART WHERE DRACULA CATCHES THE LETTER... literally the way you tell the whole story with (almost) NO WORDS in not even 4 minutes and the whole thing flows so smoothly is incredible I love the way you do like the zoom out thing on some places, it adds a whole new dimension to it visually also the way you draw mina and jonathan after the october 3rd bit is lovely, your jonathan looks so cool with the white hair and i love how you did mina's scar, and the part where her scar disappears at the end was such a cool way to depict that and the difference between human lucy and vampire lucy is done so well, like it's so clearly the same character but you can really see how she's not herself anymore, and the way you used that when they kill vampire lucy and show arthur's resolve to use the stake bc he's now seeing her as a monster who replaced and essentially killed the woman he loved and he wants revenge, literally I will never be over how much story and emotion you managed to fit into a single music video and the way you did quincey's death? crying at that part tbh.

AND THE FRAME OF DRACULA GETTING BEHEADED WITH THE RED BACKGROUND.... IS JUST *chef's kiss* I was going to say I have no words for how much I love this but clearly I have quite a lot of words lol, thank you tumblr for not having a character limit anyway have a good day/night :)

Anon I'm so sorry for this delayed reply,,, I kept rereading this in awe and didn't want to release it into the wild (and it still got eaten anyways-)

I'm so glad you enjoyed the character design!! It's not my strong suit at all so that's reassuring. The colour scheme lowkey started out as a timesaving measure, but it also allowed for me to render scenes with detail that I otherwise couldn't've with the tight time frame I had, since at the time I was also juggling university assignments. I'm glad the sunset scene hit as hard as it did, since I had also just discovered Disco Elys/ium, so it was an attempt to emulate Rostov's illustration of Harry on Filippe III's statue). It worked out in the end anyways, since the grayscale + red accent combined with a colourful epilogue gave a "the horror is now in the past, and we are in a (literally visually) livelier future)" <3

I've seen so many people say they want to pause on each frame to examine it in detail, and guess what, you can get a zip file of them all as watermarkless pngs in my kofi! For free! It's pay-what-you-want since I just really wanted to get as many eyes on this as possible, but any tips would definitely still be appreciated.

It was fun mapping out the match cuts and transitions e.g Dracula catching the letter, Mina and Dracula with Lucy in the churchyard, since the previous semester I'd taken a storyboarding class that taught that, so I HAD to include it. Zoom outs helped add visual interest to otherwise still shots, so I'm glad they didn't come off as overdone haha.

It was tough mapping out what storybeats to include, but I'm super happy that the angst for all the key moments in the video hit right :D Was worried about losing momentum after leaving the Jonathan in Dracula's castle bit, and so I really wanted the ending of each verse(?) to correspond with a red screen injury— notice that "you'd better let yourself off and, while you still have strength in your legs, escape from this horrible hell/你最好放过自己 趁双脚还有力气, 快逃出这可怕地狱" always ends with some character harming another, and when the verse repeats again but with the ending lyrics changed "you’d better let yourself off, rather than crying out to another, “Save me!”... Save me!/你最好放过自己 胜过跟谁叫救命... 救命!", it still ends with Van Helsing staking the 3 vampire women. And of course, the ending "escape from this horrible hell/快逃出这可怕地狱" ends with the sunset, its red now replacing that of the blood the characters had to spill previously, signalling an end to their necessary monstrosity (and also a literal monster with Dracula dying).

Like with the frame of Dracula getting beheaded, the timesaving measures, limited skills (plus lack of any sort of storyboarding software, I was just ""animating"" the movements with Shotcut) forced me to find creative workarounds. I could fill at least 3 pages with writing dissecting all my choices lol but idt therell be much interest in me analysing my own art. Thank you so much for watching my animatic :)