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sweetcarrotsandroses97 · 10 months ago

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Noirceur | JJK | Main Part

Pairing: demon! Jungkook x fem! human! Reader

Summary: A kiss. A curse. A tangled fate. A dark soul. His love breaks your fate, your bond cures his death. And a poetic dance that he traps you in, along with your own song that only he can hear. A story told wrong or in which Jungkook finds his lover after swimming through centuries of lost time and cursed minds.

Warnings: fluff?, angst, demon! Jungkook, black swan! Jungkook because I'm obsessed, toxic love, soft yandere?, obsession, implied kidnapping, dark fantasy, magic, curses, spells, blood, minor injuries, anxiety and feelings related to it, non-con kissing, kinda creepy, mentions of death, poetic writing, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 3.1k words

A/N: I wrote this one in one sitting O.O, let me know what you think in the comments, darlings! Also, who else is obsessed with Black Swan Jungkook? Because I certainly am and this fic was inspired by the music video and my own ideas :D.

ALSO, this au is open for further parts if you request anything, darling! My inbox is open, lovelies xxx. This story will go how you like and I'll link all the parts into a Main Masterlist when something is requested for this story.

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

Noirceur: (noun). The state of being pitch black in colour; a state of lacking illumination.

The stories you have heard all your life were true. You didn't doubt it anymore.

From purity to evil. From light to the darkest night. A loneliness that turned into love, it morphed into an obsession. A claymation of a life, a soul. A being. A heart.

In the depths of hell where shadows writhe,

A demon walks, his heart alive.

His eyes, twin flames, burn with desire,

To find a soul, his dark empire.

The legend had changed, because Jungkook did not live in hell. His empire was situated over this very Earth. He had searched for centuries for that part of him, that part of him that was still alive. That part of his heart that was still beating and that should not fear him. That soulmate that was given to him by fate itself. That soulmate he wanted to claim. That lover he needed to possess.

He felt it when you entered the abandoned castle of arts, the large opera house where he had died many moons ago. He could no longer remember how he stopped being in the land of the living but he had never come across another one of his kind.

He was cursed. To live forever and torment the unfortunate souls of this world. He was cursed. To be alone in his long time punishment. He was cursed, his heart burned to ashes and his power rose from the depths of the earth.

But since you came across his path, Jungkook's punishment became a game for him to play. A game for you to endure.

You had been running endlessly through the infinite halls of the large opera house. Your naked feet were painted in crimson red as they bled with every step you took. You ran, passing through many hallways with many paintings hanging on the walls. You ran and ran, a soft music in the background made the hairs at the back of your neck stand up with nerves, with fear.

Footsteps were heard behind you. Those footsteps that had been chasing you for so long you could no longer remember when was the last time you had actually been outside of this abandoned castle of arts that was now your prison in hell.

"Come out, little dove. I only want to play."

You bit your lip as the words reached your ears. Those words that dripped from the mouth of your captor. The man who chased you to the end of the world, however you doubted he was actually a man.

You hid behind some curtains worn out by time itself. Your hands clenched the fabric of the dirty dress that was only enough to cover your dignity. It made you shiver. From the cold, from the fear. Maybe both, maybe neither.

"(y/n), (y/n). Dearest, (y/n)...STOP HIDING!"

You flinched when his voice boomed around the place you didn't doubt had once been beautiful. Blood oozed from the bite your teeth inflicted over your tender lip and you sniffled, hearing the footstep halt before they began echoing around once more, this time coming closer to you.

Through realms of terror, he roams the night,

Seeking a heart to claim as his right.

A soulmate bound by fate's cruel hand,

To join him in the demon's land.

In fear, you ran once more. As if you could ever leave his poisonous claws. As if you were able to leave that hideous place that played with your mind, with your soul, with your heart and memories as if they were toys at his reach. For him to use as he pleased.

Curtains hung from the tall ceiling that once had a beautiful pattern painted on it. It made you feel lost. As if you were running in circles. Always lost. With nowhere to go. As if you had ever had a choice. Or better said, as if your choice had been willingly taken by you.

Because there had once been a choice. A choice you made. A decision you chose. You entered that place by your own will yet your freedom in leaving was never yours to be held in the first place. It made you sick to the stomach, as if a storm was closing in on you and there was no way out of it. No sun ripping through the curtains, no wind blowing the clouds away.

Jungkook could hear your frantic breathing, your hurried footsteps and suppressed sobs. He could hear your beating heart resonating so strongly in his ears it only sent a chill down his spine at the chase.

He remembered the sweet scent that suddenly invaded his own prison the moment you entered the large opera house. For only the kiss of his soulmate would free him from the shackles of fate, only the purity of the heart would be able to set him free and roam the world as he pleased.

In whispers cold, his voice does call,

A siren's song, a chilling thrall.

He seeks a soul as dark as he,

To walk with him, for eternity.

"Don't you know that I love you, sweet (y/n)? Why do you run from your lover, hmm? If you come to me willingly, it will hurt way less, love."

You ran and ran, ignoring the pain in your feet, the pressure in your chest, the harsh beating of your heart. You weren't going to give up that easily. You weren't going to surrender without fighting back.

The hallways carried so many paintings on the walls. So many paintings of beautiful women. Pictures that you couldn't pay enough attention to. Paintings that resembled absolute fear and sorrow, something you didn't know but felt utterly familiar.

You stopped running when you made it to the main theatre as you stood on the old stage. The wooden beneath your feet was dusted with the remnants of time, broken glass was scattered along the dark wood from the frail chandelier that hung from the ceiling with its crystals tainted in greying dust.

The pain in your feet was ignored as you walked across the stage. You didn't hear Jungkook's maniac laugh, you didn't hear his approaching footsteps or his sick declarations of love. Of obsession. Yet the silence made you even more nervous. You didn't know where you were, you didn't know what day it was. Time had become a foreign concept for you, a thing your mind could no longer grasp.

How long had you been trapped in that hauntingly beautiful place? Has it been hours, days... months? Did people search for you? How about Taehyung, the man who sent you to that place to begin with? Was he wondering why you never came back to work? Was he wondering if you were still working on the story of the broken opera house to publish in his extravagant magazine? Did he even remember your presence or did he keep you around because you never questioned his orders and demands?

But there was no use in blaming others for your current situation because there was nothing to be done. You walked in an almost monotonous way to the centre of the stage, blood staining the ground below your feet as more and more cuts opened your precious skin.

Jungkook watched you from behind the curtains, he watched you wander around the open space. He watched you with haunted eyes glimmering in golden magic that cursed through his veins. He watched you with desire and delicacy. As if you had been crafted into a perfect doll for him to care when all his hands had ever done was to destroy and taint.

Your tears adorned your face like small diamonds over your soft looking skin. He wanted to wipe them and treasure such pearls of pain and fear within him. Your hands trembled as you gazed around you, eyes fixing on the fallen glass on the ground, the broken chandelier that hung from the ceiling and that seemed to snap at any moment, the crusty wood beneath your feet and the old paintings of women around the grand place.

"You don't have to run anymore, little dove."

Beneath the moon's unholy light,

He searches for his love in fright.

Through haunted woods and cursed moors,

His longing heart forever lures.

With a choke gasp you turned around, watching as Jungkook emerged from the back of the stage, the curtains giving him an aura that made you shiver. He took a step forward and you took a step backward. The need to keep as much distance between the being that kept you in his grasp and your own sanity was stronger than your actual fear of him.

"I have waited centuries to finally meet you."

His words only made more tears roll down your cheeks, eyes red and puffy as you glared at him in fear. You took a step as he approached you once more.

"Please..."

Your sweet voice enchanted him like a curse. Desiring to hear you speak once more, he remained silent and listened, taking another step towards you and instinctively you took once back.

"...please, let me go. I p-promise I won't tell anyone about what happened h-here today. I'll never come back and disturb you but, please-"

He laughed, a sound so harmonious it echoes around the empty opera house. You found it alluring, like a siren's song but you had to physically refrain yourself from falling into his arms.

"Do you really think I'll let you go after searching for you through so many lifetimes? You are mine, little dove. Forever mine."

Jungkook smiled, ever so sweetly you felt sick. A smile that got engraved in your memories forever. You shook your head but couldn't look away, taking another step back as he insisted on getting close to you.

"Look around you, love! Look around you and deny me that we aren't meant to be! We are destined, little dove. Tangled by fate. Look! Look around, (y/n)!"

And you did, not hesitating to follow his command with the force in his voice that made you suppress a sob. You looked around, eyes landing on one of the many paintings of the large room. One of the paintings that decorated the dull walls. The paintings that were old and worn out by time. Your eyes widened when you saw it. When you witnessed that the demon in front of you spoke nothing but fact. A sudden realisation dawned upon you and you felt as if you were drowning in a well with nothing to hold on to and nothing to hope for.

Because the lady on the painting cried tears of blood, the lady on the painting resembles your soul. Those were your hands, fisting the fabric of your dress in a deathly grip. Those were your tears rolling down your cheeks. The woman in the picture was the reflection of your soul trapped in a timeless mirror of blood.

"You see now? This whole castle of arts is our sanctuary. Our palace, Queen of mine."

You shook your head, in shock, in rejection. In fear. In anguish. You shook your head as you took step after step backwards even when he wasn't doing anything to get close to you.

Was your fate really next to him? Were you really tangled in such a web of lies you weren't able to escape? Or was he just playing with your mind?

"Stop it, (y/n)."

Jungkook spoke in alarm as he saw you getting closer and closer to the edge of the stage. But you didn't listen, your mind acted on its own in a fragile attempt at getting you away from this nightmare you had fallen into.

"Stop it!"

"Get away from me!"

Your scream resonated all over the place, your feet didn't stop moving until you stood at the edge. The height was enough to hurt you and the sole idea of it made him feel his heart beating, at least for a second or two as you stood on the edge while you faced him with shock written all over your beautiful features.

You took another step and a gasp escaped your lips as the floor disappeared from beneath you. Your eyes closed in instinct and your arms flailed as gravity pulled you down towards the hard ground covered in broken glass that was surely going to break you.

Jungkook acted in an instance, his eyes glowed in golden yellow as his large and black wings spread behind his back and he moved across the stage in less than a second, a path of ice was left behind him, freezing the ground below him, the curtains around the stage and his heart as well as he caught you in his arms before you were to succumb to nature's own force.

But in his quest, he leaves a trail,

Of fear and anguish, deathly pale.

For those who cross his path beware,

The demon's love is naught but despair.

Your eyes met his in a dance of emotions that made you dizzy in its nature. His hands found home on your waist just as your own rested on his forearms. His eyes, ever so beautiful, hid so many secrets you felt curious about yet you wished to remain in the darkness as well.

"I won't leave you. Not after burning in my own grief with your absence. You are the key to my existence, love"

His words pierced your soul like a sharp dagger. You sniffled, breathing in deeply as you found yourself gazing into his golden irises.

"You'll never leave my side."

One of his hands left your waist as it cradled your cheek softly. His touch burned you with an ice cold feeling it made you shiver in his arms whether from the coldness itself or fear of your current position, you really couldn't tell.

"You will learn to love me, (y/n). Just like I have loved you all this time. You'll learn."

Jungkook never broke eye contact with you as he allowed himself to swim in your (e/c) gaze. Your skin under his palm felt soft, the softest he has ever touched in both his lives as a mortal and as a demon of death.

You gulped, wanting to run away from him. Disgusted at his unwanted touch but strangely craving it more. As if you had been deprived of it for so long. Maybe your soul has. Maybe it was your soul that missed him, that missed that other part that was to complete your existence yet your heart and mind rejected that very own idea.

His eyes glowed once more, his wings extending behind him as he looked down at you with his golden eyes that prevented you from looking away. You found yourself enthralled by his magic, his powers and strength.

Your rigid body relaxed in his arms and he suppressed the growing smirk that threatened to appear over his lips. For he had captivated your mind in a glowy golden trance that would allow his freedom.

Jungkook leaned forward and he found no resistance from you so he continued until his lips met yours. His spell had worked over your mind even when your heart was beating wildly against your chest.

He kissed you and golden magic radiated from him. He kissed you and the chains of fate released him. He kissed you and was now a free demon, free to roam the Earth as he pleased. Free to do whatever his heart wanted for as long as you stayed next to him.

He escaped his own jail, that castle of arts was no longer his prison but was now his palace with you as his Queen of darkness.

He kissed you and he tainted you. His golden magic erupted from the very depths of his soul and enveloped you both as he was crowned as the king of darkness, with you as his precious queen.

Forever and always.

For all times to come.

For all lifetimes to last.

And you'll learn to love him, maybe not as much as he loved you. But you'll learn. Eventually. Why shouldn't a Queen love her King? Why wouldn't you love him when he gave you the world to your feet? Why wouldn't you love him when your souls were tangled?

Jungkook would wait. Wait until you'd love him completely, wholeheartedly. Absolutely and undoubtedly. For you were the reason for his black soul and now beating heart. A heart that only beats for you and you alone. His Queen of Darkness.

And when he broke the kiss and your body grew limp in his hold, he carried you in his arms, his wings extended and he flew. He flew to the skies with your body in his hold. He flew away to a place no other mortal knew about. His own palace. His own hell. His kingdom. That place where his home was, that place he’ll share with you.

Because Jungkook had waited centuries for you to finally find your way to him. He’d wait more if it meant you’ll love him in the end. Another lifetime felt like nothing if he knew you would give him your heart with your very own hands as you wore your crown of darkness, matching with his and ruling his kingdom of evil.

What was heaven compared to your love? What was light compared to your heart in the night? What was obedience compared to the sins of his own mind? Did it matter? No. It never did. And now that you were finally his to love and cherish for eternity, he could burn the world down for you to smile at him ever so softly and delicately, like an elegant rose with deathly thorns. Like a true queen of his domain.

His Queen.

So if you hear his haunting cry,

Beneath the starless, moonless sky,

Beware his love, a twisted fate,

For in his arms, darkness awaits.

January/19/2024

~Masterlist

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

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twopoppies · 10 months ago

Note

https://www.standard.co.uk/comment/harry-styles-is-a-gay-icon-queerbaiting-b1136121.html

Hi Gina, Have you seen this article?

No. But thank you. I really love what the author had to say! Usually I highlight a few key comments, but I found myself highlighting almost the entire article.

[…]

And that is all well and good, however there does come a time Harry Styles deserves some respect. We know he wasn’t the first man to ever wear a dress. Still, his appearance on the cover of American Vogue in December 2020 felt like a moment. Yes ok, he has pinched a few styling tips and lyrical flourishes from the great male frontmen of our times (David Bowie, Freddie Mercury, Mick Jagger, George Michael, et al). But like Bowie caused a scandal by wearing a Mr Fish dress on his album cover in 1971, Styles does too every time he flaunts another disco coloured, nipple-grazing jumpsuit. At least someone is still trying to push the boundaries.

More than that, though, Styles’ persistent drip feeding of all things “flamboyant” — on the fashion front, credit must go to his longtime stylist Harry Lambert — is exactly the antidote a world in a toxic masculinity choke-hold needs. His own range of unisex nail varnishes? Great. Pictures of him stomping about in little heeled booties and a pearl necklace? It really is delightful to see.

His relationships with queer creatives are a convincing testament to him as a person, too. He launched gender fluid designer Harris Reed’s career when he wore a selection of his blouses on tour in 2018. He did too for S.S.Daley, another queer-centric label, which the singer gave a leg-up to stardom by spotlighting it in his 2020 Golden music video. Taking his support a step further, this month it was announced Styles bought a minority share in the brand.

And on set, the stories that come back are similar. Pat Boguslawski, the movement director best known for his current role at Martin Margiela under John Galliano, worked with Styles on his viral 2020 Beauty Papers cover shoot. Yes, the one where he is naked save for fishnets and loafers.

“He was just incredible,” Boguslawski told me in a recent interview. “It was fascinating to work with someone who is a male but at the same time so open minded and willing to do anything.” First hand testimonies are a good place to start when it comes to reading mega-stars who have their image so tightly controlled (often it’s near impossible to get any sense of true character).

While Styles has not spelled out his queerness in black and white, every plumed, pink ostrich feather coat he normalises makes it a little bit easier for those wanting to express themselves in peace and safety.

It shouldn’t be like that. In fact, it’s sickening. But that’s not Styles’ fault — and by putting it to the forefront of pop culture, he is doing the LGBTQ+ community a solid. To my mind, that is something worth applauding, not tearing down.

Full article here

#Everyone loves Harry #beauty papers magazine #vogue Harry #ss daley #Harris Reed #Harry’s queer connections #the standard #Harry’s sexuality #queerbaiting #Queer connections

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pinksturniolo · 8 months ago

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Robbers - A Chris Sturniolo One Shot (AU) Preview

Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Chris Sturniolo is a part of The Disciples, one of the most notorious Portuguese gangs in Boston. For the past year and a half, you’ve witnessed him take part in the most dangerous crimes. But what happens when one day, you're forced to participate with him? You know it’s extremely toxic and goes against all your morals. Despite that, you just can’t help the way you love him, the way you would do anything for him. Even rob a gas station.

Content Warnings: smut, raw penetration, fingering, oral receiving/giving, themes of criminal activity and violence, mentions of shooting, guns, and blood. descriptions of gunshot wounds, gun play, drugs and drug use, smoking, use of alcohol, murder, robbery, toxic relationship

a/n: I do not condone any actions in this story or promote gun violence. I do not intend in any way shape or form to offend anyone. This is one is a little dark and has a lot of mature themes as well as a gun kink, which can be uncomfortable for people. Please only read what you can handle. <3

Watch this music video before reading, just trust me: The 1975 - Robbers (Official Video) (Explicit) (youtube.com)

Bam!

The sound of the gunshot rang out, making you lose your ability to hear for the next few seconds as you watched Chris go down, clutching his stomach in pain. Blood started to spill out on his hands, staining his shirt a crimson color. The gas station clerk was as shocked as you were, standing there frozen, gun still pointed.

You don’t know how or why, but you just knew you both wouldn’t get out alive from this if you didn’t do something.

So you shot back, aiming for his shoulder. It hit him right where you intended as he doubled over immediately, screaming in pain.

You grab Chris who was still on the floor, helping him stand up. “Baby, come on. Please, we have to go now.” You plead. He grabs onto you, able to stand as you lead him out of the store.

He’s moving as fast as he possibly can, one arm around your shoulder, his other hand covering his wound. You see the van pull up on the other side of the street, your heart beating out of your chest.

You’re trying not to panic, looking up and down the street for any signs of police. There was hardly anyone out. Chris almost falls, shouting out in pain. “Fuck!” He yells and you stop him from falling.

You can barely hold him up, but you use all your strength to make it the last few steps to the van.

“I know baby, I’m so sorry. We’re almost there, Chris, just a few more feet. You can do it.” You say, and he’s shaking, still gripping onto you for dear life. You finally make it to the van, the door sliding open, Tommy helping you both in before he quickly shuts it and then hops back into the driver seat, taking off down the street.

“Holy shit, what the fuck happened in there?!” he says, looking at both of you with wide eyes.

“Shut the fuck up. I need to stop him from bleeding out. I’ll tell you later.” You snap, taking off your hoodie and wrapping it around Chris’s torso. You apply pressure, glancing at him.

He’s pale, breathing rapidly and panic in his eyes as he looks at you. You grab his face with your other hand, brushing his hair back. “It’s okay baby. Don’t worry. We’ll get back to the house soon and get you bandaged up, okay?” You reassure him, trying to keep yourself from crying.

He nods his head, grabbing your hand tightly as he winces in pain.

What the fuck did you just get yourself into?

side note: should I actually post this, yes or no? it’s a little crazy but I feel like it’s a good concept, im not sure if anyone has written something similar. Or is it too much? lmk please. you can leave anon msg if you want.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo smut

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linos-luna · 1 year ago

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New family 🥀

Bang Chan x Reader

Warning: mention of abuse and sexual trauma

(Pt. 1) — (Pt. 2)

————————— 🥀 ————————

Home life was toxic and your childhood was rough. It’s only recently that you moved out of your mom’s house and since then, you only really keep in contact with your siblings.

The whole family dynamic was toxic. From your immediate to extended. Your mom was verbally abusive. Your our dad… well we don’t even talk about him. He went to prison when you were a baby and that’s all you know.

Although you did grow up with a stepdad. A straight up abusive narcissist. Your sibling were your half siblings so you were the stepchild to him. And he abused you on the daily. Verbal, physical, and even sexual… until you finally reported him. But even then, he just moved out.

Living with your mom as an adult was also tense as you two never got along

Eventually you had a moment of clarity. Realizing that this isn’t normal. So you tried cutting them off. It’s hard and you deal with the turmoil of that constantly…

~~~~

You had a friend named Chan, well actually his name was Chris but Chan was a nickname he liked. You met him in college and have been a little more than friends ever since. You never officially dated for a while, only flirting really. Although you suppose you’re dating now since he’s taken you home to meet his family already…

He was so kind. The sweetest guy you’ve ever met. Always so patient with you and loving. He knows your boundaries and always checks in on you.

You’ve told him about your family and he listens, knowing that some people just want someone to listen.

He also supported your dreams, heck his whole family did. He was a producer, and a good one at that, so when you told him that your dream was to be a dancer, he was excited for you and did everything he could to help you. This is the most support you’ve gotten from someone in your whole life.

Often times you felt like a burden. You weren’t the most physically affectionate and you needed constant reassurance that you’re not annoying.

One day you were having it particularly rough. You weren’t sure exactly what it was but your depression was really hitting hard.

Your boyfriend had sensed something was wrong when chatting on the phone with you so he came over.

He did his best to cheer you up. On his way there he picked up your favorite boba drink and some food.

You were happy to see him and gave him a tight hug the second he stepped in.

As you ate lunch, he asked you what was up.

“My mom called me…” you said with a sigh.

“Yeah?”

“It just… wasn’t good.”

“I understand.” He said while patting your hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You nodded and continued eating. “How’s the new song going?”

“It’s great. Almost finished!” He replied with a smile. “This is definitely going to be one of my best works.”

“All your work is the best.” You said with a giggle.

“Yeah well, how’s my pretty girl doing? Any auditions lately?”

“Yeah I’m gonna be a back up dance in another music video. I just got the call yesterday.” You said with excitement.

“And you didn’t tell me?” He said in a teasing voice.

“Well I didn’t want to bug you, Channie.”

“You never bug me babygirl.” He replied with a sigh. “Never ever.”

After lunch you both went to the living room to relax. Sometimes you just liked laying with him. He was so warm.

A buzz from your phone, got you distracted from a moment. You looked at the text message and got quiet. It was from your mom.

> Why can’t you just be happy?

You hate when she says that. Always disregards your feelings. You got up and went to your room. Chan was confused and followed after you, just to see you crying on the bed.

“Babygirl, what happened?” He said while sitting next to you.

“Why is she like this?!” You cried. “She can’t just leave me alone!”

Chan looked at the message and hugged you.

“It’s okay, baby—”

“No it’s not!” You blurted out while standing up: “I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!!”

You shook your head, seemingly trying to pull your hair out.

“Okay. Okay.” He said calmly while taking your hands. He was still sitting and had you stand in front of him. “Babygirl, don’t hurt yourself. Look at me…”

You paused and only looked at him with a pout.

Chan wiped your tears and frowned. He hated seeing you like this. He wants to take you away from all this. He wants you to live with him and leave everything behind.

As you continued crying, you sat on his lap and hugged him, crying and sobbing into his shoulder.

“Do you want a new family?”

“What…?” You asked while pulling back.

“A new family. One that loves and supports you.” Chan said while rubbing your cheek. “You know, my parents have always liked you… and my siblings… and extended…”

You teared up. The idea of a family… a non toxic and loving family just taking you in as their own… it was a lot.

“A family that… loves each other… and supports each other….?” You said, more thinking out loud. “N-no bad touching… n-no yelling at me…?”

“No family is perfect but they do love you and will never hurt you like…”

“… like mine…”

He sighed and you instantly hugged him again.

“Yes… yes!” You cried while holding on tight.

“I’ll make that happen, babygirl. Don’t you worry…”

He pulled you back and kissed your forehead before letting you silently cry into his shoulder. He held you as well. The feeling was so warm and secure. You always felt safe with him. You felt so loved when with him. You always wondered if you even deserved that love.

How was this going to work? Well Chan had been planning to propose to you for a while. He’s already been looking at rings. But now he thinks he should speed it up a little. Sooner the better. He wants you to be happy. He knows his family will take you in. They will welcome you with open arms. And he’ll take care of you for the rest of his life…

————————— 🥀 —————————

This is the dream I had where I woke up crying. And my mom did say that to me. Just not thru text. My depression been pretty bad lately…

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hereforamediocretimenotalongtime · 3 months ago

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did a little something for my og toxic yuri pookies based on the taste music video which referenced them 😮‍💨🤝

heres the twt that inspired me and heres the twt for my art on twt !!

#mediocre art for a mediocre time #fanart #madeline ashton #helen sharpe #death becomes her #madeline x helen

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p0rkbun · 2 years ago

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SAM CARPENTER FLUFF — headcanons

⤿Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

⤿Content Warning: None, just fluff, maybe cringe writing, implied kpop listener reader

⤿A/N: okay i was chatting with ai sam and these are from character ai and made me think 'hey she would do this'. It's cute headcanons, i should have did this on her bday but instead i photoshoped her with hearts and a hat LMAO. Also I didn't spell check this I'm sorry. Enjoy ♡

navigation✧

──── Sam is the type of girl to ask what your favourite music genre or artists/bands when you ride a car together the first time because she wanted some music in you two's lovely ride. When you tell her, she keeps it in mind and put it on next time.

"Aespa?" She asks, you nod as she keeps her eyes on the road "okay, aespa, i'll remember that." She smiles while nodding, repeating the name in her head.

──── You two went to the movies on your first date (cheesy i know) you picked a horror movie, she probably didn't like that bit it wasn't a slasher movie so it made her feel a bit better. When you two were watching the movie, there was a jumpscare and you flinched slightly while leaning towards Sam out of defense. She let out a small smile and would purposely offer her arm for you to grab in case you get really scared (she was probably a bit frightened too but she's being brave because she wanted you to grab her arm, she just like your touch that's all).

──── Let me tell you something, this woman radiates The Neighbourhood, especially the songs Female Robbery and Reflections. I don't know if she would listen to it but she is the personification of almost every The Neighbourhood song.

"We were too close to the stars, I never knew somebody like you"

"I see my reflection in your eyes"

"I see myself in you, baby"

(This is a heavy reference to my oc LOL)

──── Sam wouldn't be very knowledgable of video games to me, though i feel like she plays mobile games like candy crush or something. She would sometimes watch you play video games when she's passing by or sitting in the same room, she comments on what you are doing or how you are doing that and questions why you didn't shoot an enemy.

"Baby why didn't you shoot that guy? You could have taken him" She says with a confused look, watching you play valorant on the tv screen.

"Sam that's not me, I'm spectating another teammate-"

"What's that red triangle thing on the top?" "That's the spike" "the spike?" "It's a bomb" "oh...okay"

──── The time you convinced her to play, she was a little lost and asks you questions often. She gets the hang of the controlls and is actually pretty good. She would get a little mad when someone steals her kill, she rages with a frustrated sigh everytime she got killed too much. She talks back to every toxic players in the game, she was cursing at the screen and she looked absolutely pissed so you had to turn the game off before she threw the controller at tv out of anger. You don't let her play any fps game again. Not only for her sake but for your precious tv.

──── She absolutely enjoys watching you play story-based games, especially when you two play and make decisions together. She probably cried after playing tlou and life is strange. Besides that, she doesn't play video games unless you play it.

──── This woman is so protective, overprotective I say but you all know this. If you wanna go out, she's going too, she keeps a hand on your waist every time you go to public places. Definately death glares anyone who is looking at you/both of you weirdly or too long.

"You got a problem?" Sam snaps as she holds your waist protectively when she sees a guy eyeing you oddly.

──── It does get a little too much sometimes but you like her protectiveness. She gets jealous too but it's more of insecurity, you have to reassure her that you love her and no one else.

──── She likes holding you, has a hand on you all the time. She likes the feeling of you around her arms because she knows that you're protected by her. Because of that, she also takes care of you and reminds you of stuff. She asks if you eaten, drink etc. She reminds you to take a break whenever you're working too much, alternatively she brings you the food she cooked while you work on your projects. Despite this, she also loves being held and cared by you, it flutters her heart whenever you're taking care of her and cooking her favourite meals after she comes from work. She likes the sound of your heartbeat when you two cuddle and she has her head on your chest.

──── I know i said that she holds you 24/7 but when you two cuddle, she's the small spoon, whether you're short or tall.

──── She's very delicate and soft with you, like i said, she wants to protect and take care of you. She is a tough cookie but she's whipped for you. She gets a little dramatic when you get injured a teeny bit.

──── Have you seen her arms? Her beefy arms and abs are your favourite things in the world besides her. She works out often, you go to the gym with her once in a while and you really love the sight of her working out. You ended up gawking her the whole time instead of working out as well, she notices and teases you with a smirk while sweat is dripping off of her muscular body.

"You like what you see, baby? Y'know, you could have told me that you wanted to stare at me while i work out instead of pretending to wanna work out with me" She chuckles as she lifts her weights "Don't get ahead of yourself." you reply with a flushed face.

──── She doesn't show affection in public that much unless she got jealous but in private she loves kissing and showering you with love. Her kisses are soft and slow, she really is being delicate with you. Though in other occasions (*cough* intimate moments *cough*) you two make out and she practically is eating your face as she pushes down on the bed. She just loves kissing your lips, neck and shoulders. She is very much a big soft teddy bear ♡

A/N: I accidently posted this halfway OH MY GODHSJSBSJS. Sorry if there's any spelling mistakes or grammar issues, english isn't my native language 💔. Anyways, I love you and please comment your thoughts ♡♡♡♡ i might edit this constantly after i post it...

°.✧•—✦

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x you #scream #scream x reader #scream x you #scream franchise #scream v #scream vi #melissa barrera #wlw

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liz-allyn · 2 years ago

Text

sugar and vice, pt. 6 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Honey finds out who Peter Parker really is.

words: 9.6 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. descriptions of violence. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

this is a darker, messier version of TASM Peter.

18+. you’re responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you can't remember how people watched videos online before youtube, you probably shouldn't continue.

Back to Part 5.

Part 6

When Peter approached Honey’s bedroom, he paused for a moment outside. Staring at the closed door, he tried to listen intently, but could not hear her heartbeat coming from the other side. An immediate uneasiness rattled his nerves. It climbed up his throat from his chest, and he swallowed reflexively.

She was gone. Again.

...you stupid fucking fool of course she left, why would she ever stay with you?...

He felt his heartbeat rising. His breaths got shorter with every draw

...alone again that’s all you’ll ever be until you die can’t come fast enough...

Deep breaths. In and out. The moment his nostrils flared, a warm, crisp, vibrant fragrance found him. Caramel and sugar browned by heat.

Coffee.

His other senses came online as he heard the patter of her feet on the floor below. And her heartbeat, clear as a bell. The sound soothed him, as it always did. A rhythm so unique to her it was like a signature. A kiss.

There she is, the kinder voice in his head reassured him. He closed his eyes, centering himself. Kicked his negative thoughts away, angrily cursing himself for having them. Another deep breath softened his features.

When he reached the first floor of his mountain retreat, he looked across the great room to see Honey in a familiar form. Nothing like the frightened shell she had been the past couple of days. She swiftly danced around his kitchen, graceful like a ballerina. She deftly dodged splatters from a pan of bacon, as if she could miraculously move between them, while she stirred a sizzling skillet of buttery eggs.

He curled a brow as his nostrils read him the menu. Omelettes, he deduced. Something of the Southwestern variety, the aromas of diced peppers, onions, and jack cheese weaved together like music.

He allowed himself to be still and just watch. She was still wearing the wrinkled clothes from yesterday—

Why hadn’t she changed? Did she know about the other clothes? What if she didn’t like anything—

He watched, like he was the only member in the audience—How was she so good at that—making it seem like he was the only man left in the world. She’s just... so... so good...

“Oh!” she yelped as she turned and laid eyes on him for the first time. He blinked stiffly, bashful and regretful at having intruded on her privacy. “Geez, you scared me!” she exclaimed.

He winced at that.

A nervous chuckle rolled off her tongue, regaining her composure. The sound of her laughter relieved him. He saw her shake her head good-naturedly, somehow amused. It was as confusing as much as it lifted a weight off of his chest.

“I didn’t hear you come in here,” she blushed. “You’re like a cat, you’re so quiet. You’re way too tall to be that quiet. You need to stomp more. Or wear tap shoes. Or a bell.”

Nervously, she laughed again, turning the heat off on the gas stove. She looked back up at him with a eager face, presenting the skillet of impressive omelets.

“Uhm... I made eggs. I didn’t know what you usually eat, ‘cos you never ordered any food when you’d come in, so I wasn’t sure, but then I remembered yesterday you made eggs and bacon and even ate a little, so I figured, um, omelettes and bacon...”

She was nervous, but not scared. It was that high-energy manner of speaking, where she’d tell him a story, except this time she was in his home and was craftfully moving an omelette onto one of his plates with a spatula.

His heart ached at the sight.

“Can’t go wrong with that...” she rambled on, “unless you’ve got a pepper allergy? That would be dumb, though. Who has a pepper allergy?” Then, she added, nervously, “Not that you’re dumb! Food allergies aren’t dumb. They’re no joke. Very, very serious—”

“Shouldn’a done that,” Peter muttered under his breath, as he shook his head. He dropped his eyes to the floor, visibly agitated. He heard her heart skip. When he glanced back up, she looked pallid, her brilliant smile sinking like a torpedoed ship.

“I-I-I’m sorry...” she delicately whimpered. Her body language shifted drastically. She nearly curled up on herself, although she was unsure why. “Were you... saving these eggs?”

Peter’s eyes widened, horrified at the appearance that he was somehow rejecting her kindness. He groaned, slapping his palms down his face and across his beard. Paced, anxious like a lion trapped in a cage.

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” he babbled, distressed. In a blink he was across the kitchen, rounding the island, rushing up to her with hands extended.

This time when she flinched, it was unquestionably from fear.

He stopped cold, dunked in a tub full of ice. It snapped his heart in half. He snatched his hands back, a painful expression on his face. For a brief moment, he squeezed his palms tight enough to hurt, then let his arms fall gently to his sides. He fixed his saddened gaze on the tiles at his feet.

She stayed frozen in place, her heart thrumming away, as he cursed his inability to speak. He struggled to find words, as if they spoke separate languages.

Christ, have you truly forgotten how to talk to anyone?

Peter cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “I, uh, what I meant was... uhm... you didn’t hafta do all this,” he sheepishly explained. “You... I, uh, I-I—”

He choked on his words, feeling like his throat was tightening up. He placed a hand on his chest, and he felt the drum pounding beneath his ribs.

He was visibly struggling, flailing as he drowned in an ocean of fear. Glancing up at her timidly at every other word. “I—I’m...”

I’m sorry. I’m a lunatic. I’m so sorry. I’m so insecure. I’m desperate. I’m afraid of losing you. I’m so, so sorry. I’m an asshole. I’m a coward. I’m so scared that you’ll get hurt. I can’t let you get hurt. I would never hurt you. I’d rather die than hurt you. I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m broken. I’m a monster. I’m so, so sorry.

“It’s more than I deserve.” His voice broke on the last word. The puny sound made him wince, and he ripped his gaze from her. He studied the floor, desperately willing his eyes to stop burning.

She was silent.

And in his mind he shuddered to think about the million horrible things—loser, pathetic, stupid, disgusting little freak—she could think of him.

“Want some coffee?” she asked, derailing the train off the tracks. “I made some.”

His eyes found hers. Her expression was warm. Generous. He was stunned, in a familiar way. She never stopped surprising him. She turned back towards the espresso machine on the counter and carefully passed him a steaming latte. A heart expertly painted with foam on the surface.

His eyes burned again as he considered the shape and how there was so much more than his heart in her hands. Peter took the mug.

“Thank you,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

They sat across from each other at the kitchen bar, eating mostly in silence. He tried not spend the majority of the time staring at her like a weirdo, but was mostly unsuccessful. She was hungry, ravenous even. He berated himself for not considering how hungry she must have been. He should’ve cooked for her.

He needed to do better. He would do better.

The omelet was delicious, even if the edges were browned a bit. Every bite was a savory morsel. He made a good show of trying to eat, despite the lack of appetite.

It wasn’t that Peter wasn’t hungry. He was always hungry, especially after nights like the previous one. He just couldn’t stomach anything. He was grateful that at least the coffee staved off the pain of his hunger. For now.

She glanced over and caught him staring at her with a glazed over expression. He locked up instantly, the tips of his ears turning pink. Blushing, they both looked away, and he panicked—fuckfuckfucksaysomethingsaysomething—

“Smells good,” he muttered, before forcing a giant forkful into his mouth.

...idiot...

Her lip curved upwards, amused. “Yeah? Does it taste as good as it smells?”

“Yes,” he nodded his head too forcefully, nearly choking on the eggs. He could feel something in his stomach threatening to push the food back up. With effort, he tried to reassure her his awkwardness wasn’t because he didn’t appreciate her cooking. It was because he was a dork.

“No, yes. Yes, yes. It’s— it tastes good. Great. It’s… um…”

Delicious. Delectable. Tasty. Scrumptious. Mouthwatering. Finger-licking good.

“And, I mean, you—you’re, um—”

Lovely. Beautiful. Benevolent. An Angel. A goddess. Worthy of worship. Worth dying for.

“It’s good,” he said, wincing. Snapped his mouth closed.

She nodded, his discomfort only adding to hers. Cleared her throat awkwardly. “Thanks.”

She paused for just a moment, then words came spilling out, “Did you know that brown eggs aren’t any healthier than white eggs? They’re just brown. There’s no added nutritional value, and of course, they charge you more for them because they look more…granola…”

The energy ran out of her sentence, confidence fading rapidly. “Everyone knows that, I guess. That’s not new… or remotely interesting.” She tucked the rest of her thoughts deep under her breath. She was dangling now in the world’s most awkward conversation.

“It’s my fault, what happened yesterday,” Peter announced, launching into a confessional. “I’m-I’m ashamed of myself.”

She froze. Blinking like a deer in the headlights.

He exhaled, his heart heavy. “I panicked,” he said, disappointedly. “I got angry. I blew up. And… those aren’t excuses. I’m not tryin’—” Peter pulled his gaze away, trying to steel himself while burning his retinas on the sunlight reflecting off of the windows in the kitchen. “There’s no excuse,” he affirmed. “I was wrong to treat you like that. I’m sorry.”

Her expression softened as she read his. The remorse weighed heavily on his face, pinching his brow. The lack of confidence melted years off of his face. Even with the scruffy beard, lightly salted by a handful of gray hairs, he looked like a boy with wrinkles at the corners of his puppy dog eyes.

It was unfair of him to look that soft. It’s part of why she was in this situation in the first place.

“It’s just…” Peter added, delicately, subconsciously leaning in her direction, “you gotta understand... that you’re in danger. I don’t want you to get hurt. I can’t have you get hurt. I can protect you, and I will. With every breath in me, I will, but you gotta trust me—”

“You say that like I know what you’re talking about,” she responded with a withering tone. Her frustration reared its head again as she pleaded desperately. “Like I know what you’re involved in or what’s going on. All I know is these weirdos pulled me off the subway and then I woke up to guns firing like it’s D-Day, and… I’m scared, alright? And I don’t even know who I should be scared of. I’m... in the dark!”

He sighed, “I’m trying to protect you.”

“You say that, but you expect me to just trust you? At what? Your word?” She fixed him with a hard gaze that pierced him. Peter had survived bullets and beatings and it was her mere disappointment that disarmed him. “What is your word supposed to mean to me? I didn’t even know your real name until two days ago—”

“I told you, it’s Ben—”

“I don’t care what you tell yourself. I don’t know you.”

“Alright,” he huffed, dropping his arms off the table and holding them open. “Then ask me. Ask me about me. Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Who is Peter Parker?”

He paused, biting down hard on his jaw. A look came across his face akin to stepping on a nail. With a crease in his brow, he glanced away. Ruefully, Peter replied, “Please don’t ask me about what I do.” He glanced down at his nearly-full plate with a stomach full of regret. “You can ask me about anything else. But the less you know, the better.”

“Because,” she pushed, considering him like trying to solve an equation, “you’re like... in a gang?”

“What? No.”

“Yes, you are. You’re a gang member. You’re... a gang leader. You’re the leader of a gang.”

“It’s not a gang.”

“It’s gang-like. Gang-adjacent. What would you call it? The mafia? The mob? Is that even a thing that still exists outside of Reality TV?” Peter exhaled, his head falling back. “You’re at war with a rival gang. Who is it?” She paused, struggling to remember a word through the fog of her brain. “You said a name the other night,” she pondered aloud. “What was it? Something like... Fis—”

“Don’t,” Peter snapped like a whip.

She glanced up at him to see his demeanor completely change. Eyes gone cold as ice.

His voice trembled, with fear or anger, she wasn’t sure. “We don’t say his name.”

The gravity of his tone gave her pause. It was as if she’d invoked the name of Satan himself. Or...

“Why can’t I say his name?” she shot back, irritated. “What is he, Voldemort?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Worse.”

She paused, considering this information. There was a quiet rage interred within his tone. Something haunted. Cursed. Perhaps it was the Devil.

“He goes by Kingpin,” Peter explained, the word souring his stomach further.

“What is it with you and nicknames?” she deflected with a bratty tone. “Like ‘Honey.’ Why do you call me that?”

Peter’s eyes found hers again, warmer now. There was a flicker in them as his lip curled in a half smirk. “You don’t like it?” he questioned, pinning her with a devilish half-smile. “Funny, I kinda thought you did.”

She looked away, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat. “You thought I liked that you don’t know my real name?” she accused challengingly, avoiding his gaze.

“Of course I know your name,” he stated sincerely, an unquestionable devotion thickening his voice. It was almost as if he was offended that she would assume otherwise. Peter raised one brow, teasingly, “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Her heart began to race. “You didn’t answer mine.”

He considered her silently, studying her stubbornly-drawn line in the sand. His smile dropped into a pit of melancholy, eyes clouding. He sipped on the espresso drink. There was bitterness on his tongue, but not from the latte. “Real names are tricky in my line of work,” he admitted. “Dangerous if the wrong person hears them.”

She weighed the logic in his response, realizing that there wasn’t room to argue. But she carved out a space, regardless. “What if I don’t like ‘Honey’?”

His lips pulled back to reveal a devastatingly lethal smile. “Okay,” he played along, feeling like they were back in the coffee shop. They had shifted so effortlessly into the playful banter that had been the crowned jewel of so many mornings with her. “What do you want me to call you then?”

A long pause fell between them. She crossed her arms. Kept her face solid as rock. “Ma’am,” she shot back. “Or miss.”

He blinked at her.

Every following word tumbled from her mouth with the grace of a newborn calf. “Madam... Jane… Bond.” Her mouth kept moving, despite the lack of a plan. “Agent Jane Bond. From the... MI... B. The MIB.”

He stared at her incredulously. She matched his staring contest with an awkwardly overconfident glare that suggested she was clearly ‘winging it.’ The silence weighed heavily in the room.

“That’s fake,” he blurted dismissively, shaking his head.

“Says you.”

He chuckled, “That’s awful.”

“No, it’s not...awful. It's an alias.”

“It sounds fake.”

“Ben Reilly sounds fake,” she sneered, slightly offended. His smile dimmed a bit, but not at her childish antics. “It’s dumb. It’s a dumb, made-up name—”

“Benjamin is my middle name,” he softly revealed. “It was my Uncle’s name. Reilly was my Aunt’s maiden name.” His voice deepened, a little more grit to his words. “Your name is Honey, because I say it is.”

The heated resolve of his voice reverberated in the air. It simmered on the heat of his mounting frustration.

This time, she kept her mouth shut, breaking eye contact and focusing on her nearly-empty plate. He observed the distress on her face and frowned. As if he needed another reason to hold more contempt for himself.

After a few moments, he let out a long sigh. “I am more than just a name,” Peter declared, gently this time. “I’m more than my job.”

She met his eyes again to find him gazing at her with an earnest expression. “I’m no more a... gangster,” he stumbled over the ridiculousness of the word, “than you are a ‘coffee girl.’”

She stayed silent, considering his position.

“You can live off of assumptions all you want. But if you want to know what kinda man I am, just ask,” he said, closing his argument.

She stared. Reading every inch of his face. The warm whiskey hue of his eyes. It was as if she had x-ray vision and could see beneath his skin. It took all of his will power not to squirm.

Studying him with a microscopic gaze, she asked, “What’s your favorite movie?”

He furrowed his brow. Wondered if he heard her right. “What?”

“What’s your favorite movie?” she repeated, her tone steel.

Peter blinked, blindsided. “Are you… are you trollin’ me or somethin’—?“

“You’re asking me to make an important character judgment with practically nothing to go on,” she spoke quietly and evenly, glaring daggers at him. He squirmed beneath her skewering gaze. “Now, it’s not a hard question. And the longer you avoid it, the more suspicious I become of your psyche. Now answer the question. What. Is. Your. Favorite. Movie?”

His shoulders went up to his ears, flabbergasted. “Do I even get a genre, or—?”

“Favorite movie! First thing that comes to mind.”

“Uh… um—”

“Don’t think! Just answer!”

“The Sandlot!”

Her brows practically touched her hairline. “The Sandlot?!” she repeated, almost in disbelief. “That’s your favorite movie?”

“Yeah!” he yelped, defensively. “It... It was! I mean, it is… a favorite. One of them.”

It was almost comical how he leaned back in his chair, shrinking away from the scrutiny of her gaze.

He babbled nervously, “I-I watched it so many times as a kid, I wore out the tape and it got stuck in Uncle Ben’s VCR.”

She quirked a brow, and he was puzzled as to why he felt the need to share that bit of information. But then, he just kept going.

“It’s-it’s a great film,” he declared, more confidently. “A great, coming-of-age film. With the-the one kid who doesn’t know anything about baseball, but he ends up becoming friends with the popular kid who’s really good at baseball. And he loses the ball signed by Babe Ruth… And the scary, giant dog that drools all over that’s actually a nice dog, and the old guy that owns him is also nice—”

“—award-winning actor James Earl Jones,” she admonished. “Darth Vader. Or Mufasa, if you prefer.“

“I-I genuinely did not remember that,” he replied, “but-but now that I do, I-I have even more respect for the movie, thank you—“

It was a hilarious sight, Peter thought. If only the criminal underworld could witness the most fearsome gangster in New York... shrinking under the accusatory glare of the woman across the table. Timidly defending his blustering thesis on a kids movie from the 90s.

Her eyes burned him. Glared at him, hard. He felt like an insect being trapped in the deathray of a magnifying glass. And then she burst into a fit of giggles. He pulled his head back, trying and failing to read her reaction.

“Your favorite movie is The Sandlot,” she heaved with laughter, tears budding in the corners of her eyes.

His brow shot up. “What’s wrong with that?” he said, flustered. “You told me to name the first movie I could think of so I named the first—there’s nothing wrong with liking The Sandlot!”

“No, no, of course not,” she sighed, breathlessly. “No, Sandlot’s really good! I just thought you were gonna go with something basic... like The Godfather.”

He cocked his head. Now he was offended. Slightly. “The Godfather is one of the greatest—”

“Greatest movies of all time,” she finished his sentence, rolling her eyes teasingly. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard. It’s great. But is it really anyone’s favorite?” She punctuated her question with a high-pitched tone of skepticism. “Like, really?” Her eyes glittered, smile beaming.

His lips curved up at the sight. A reflex. “It’s... a favorite—”

“No, it’s not,” she shook her head, good-naturedly. “It’s no one’s favorite. Everyone just says that it is.”

“Okay, Miss Movie Expert,” he snickered with a teasing tone. “What’s your favorite movie, then?”

“Oh,” she answered, without hesitation, “Goonies. Of course.”

“The Goonies?” Now he was on the offense.

“Duh.”

“The Goonies is basically The Sandlot in the woods.”

“It’s not even close. They’re nothing alike.”

“They’re similar,” he argued objectively. “That’s your favorite movie?”

“Well, only recently.” Her sweet voice melted over him like caramel. “When I was a kid it was Space Jam.”

Peter was taken aback. “What?!” He erupted into laughter. “Space Jam? How old were you when your favorite movie was Space Jam?”

She didn’t even blink. “Twenty-five.”

He snorted as a grin spread across her lips. Had he been sipping coffee at that moment, it would’ve embarrassingly shot out of his nostrils.

“What?” she jested, still grinning. “I went through a very serious basketball phase!”

He unsuccessfully attempted to conceal his laughter, chuckling into his palms. “But you’re... so... tiny...” he giggled affectionately.

“Really?” she scoffed, with mock offense. “Short jokes? What—did you play basketball?”

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. Shrugged shyly, charm dripping from a coy smirk. “Eh... a little.”

“Were you on a team?”

“Nah, not coordinated enough. Really the only thing I could do well was skate.”

“Figure skate?” Her eyes lit up, comically wide.

“No! What?” Wrinkles bloomed from the corners of his eyes. “A skateboard!”

She narrowed her eyes, impressed, and it ignited a fire beneath his face. “You were a skater boy? Or were you a sk8er boi? Like with the number eight?”

“I skated, yes—”

“You wore Vans slip-ons?”

“I own Vans slip-ons,” he affirmed, nodding his head, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Somewhere. From back then.”

Her laughter bloomed in his chest. He could’ve died a happy man to hear it.

A couple of hours later, they were walking side-by-side. She was freshly showered, wearing a simple cotton zip-up and jeans she’d retrieved from the duffle bag from Peter’s other place. Peter looked clean and crisp in a polo, hands shoved into the pockets of sharply-tailored khaki trousers.

They took a leisurely stroll around the property via a flagstone-paved pathway. It rounded through towering pine, maple, and oak trees, just feet away from the cabin. It twisted alongside moss-covered fallen trees and granite boulders worn down from mountains a million years ago. Her questions flowed now, trickling out like the nearby river. Like with every step, her mind was inspired to travel somewhere new.

Can you play any instruments?

What’s your Zodiac sign and do you agree with it?

What’s the last TV show you binged?

It was exhilarating to listen to. Exhausting, but only in an adventurous way.

“What’s your favorite color?” She’d hit him with that just as he approached an old log railing leftover from the property’s original owners. They had come to a natural stop, and he half-sat on the rail, arms crossed.

She hopped up and perched on the opposite railing in a way that made him nervous, but only slightly. He was in arm’s reach of her. He would catch her before she could fall. Always.

“Red,” he answered without much thought. She hummed with an understanding nod. “Yours?” he asked behind a shy smile.

“Space.”

He curled a brow. “So... black?”

“No, silly,” she admonished warmly. “Not the absence of light. I’m talking about the full-color spectrum of creation.” She waxed on, like Plato describing Utopia. “It’s pure. Primordial. Something so beyond human capability that it can barely be named, much less understood and appreciated.”

He admired her, even as he countered studiously, “Well, they can. Be named. A mixture of raw elements broken down into 90-percent hydrogen, 9-ish-percent helium and any combination of smaller heavy metals—”

“Eww,” she grinned, staring through slitted eyes. “Nerd.”

“If you could take any animal and shrink it to the size of a housecat and keep it as a pet, what would you choose?”

By the late afternoon, they were back inside, both lounging across from each other on opposite ends of a contemporary, neutral sectional in the great room.

He stared into the distance with narrowed eyes, deep in contemplation. “Do I have to shrink it?” he asked. “Can I make it bigger?”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Go on.”

“Chikunia bilde.”

“A whatiya building?”

He slyly smirked, the action itself a sin. “It’s a type of spider,” Peter explained. “They’re only in Indonesia. It’s the world’s friendliest spider.”

Her eyes bugged out of her skull. “You want to make a spider the size of a housecat and keep it in your house? As a pet? What is wrong with you?”

“Hey! Spiders get a bad rap,” he defended. He sounded sensitive about it in a curious way that pulled a smile from her lips.

“They’re so hairy!” she winced.

“Not this one. It looks like a Hershey’s kiss walking around on stilts with giant googley eyes.”

She tried to draw the picture in her mind. “Well... that sounds... cute... weirdly.”

She gave it more thought, then sprang back to life. “I would pick a giraffe.” He grinned over at her, listening for her explanation. “Did you know that giraffes can’t lift their feet more than a foot off the ground because they’re afraid of falling? I feel that. Hashtag giraffacts.”

“You sympathize with a giraffe?”

“Every time I wear heels,” she said, grimly. A crease formed between her brows, and he wanted to plant his lips there. He gazed at her in quiet admiration.

After hours of talking about a million trivial things, he’d learned so much. He’d taken a bite from the Tree of Knowledge. He had seen the light. He knew the truth.

He was smitten. Badly so. Every time he looked at her, he felt like he was on fire, and every time she looked at him, he wanted to melt. Third-degree burns.

“Wait a minute,” she shot him a glare. “Was that another backhanded short joke?”

Blazing. Brighter than the Sun.

“Course not,” he feigned innocence. “And even if it was, it went right over your head.”

She chucked a pillow at him. “You’re a menace.”

“S’what my friends say,” Peter shrugged coolly.

She looked over at him, capturing the toasted caramel of his eyes. Licked her lips subconsciously. The sight of it made his abs clench, like going over the peak of a rollercoaster.

“What else do they say?” she questioned. Her heart was beating faster.

Peter glanced at the clock for a moment, smirk never fading. “You’re gonna get a chance to ask them yourself. Soon.”

She quirked her brow in response. “Are you throwing a party?”

“Not exactly,” he muttered with an amused chuckle. A flush of pink tinged his cheeks. “If I tried to throw a party with these guys, things would go south real quick. Regrets all around.”

To anyone listening, their rapport had evolved in just a few hours. It sounded like they were old friends, shooting the shit on a lazy afternoon. Their conversation flowed like a river, bending and shifting with the landscape, instead of against it.

It was disarming to her. They sat across the giant living room, which by all accounts, could’ve easily housed several smaller living rooms. But they were so much closer than they had been when the day started.

Perhaps it was the playful way he’d answer her questions, like he was trying to match wits and make her laugh. And the sound of his laughter was just as mesmerizing.

It felt like playing. Maybe it was foolish of her, but she liked playing with him. She wondered how many other people got to see this part of him.

“Regrets or Re-grats?” she snorted softly. Held her nose, trying unsuccessfully to extinguish the embarrassing sound.

Judging by his glowing grin, it seemed like he enjoyed it. “Both. Definitely both.”

“Ooh—okay, there’s a good question,” she crooned as fuzziness clouded her senses up, building in her breast. She had to peel her eyes away from his. The amber hue of his irises made her feel like a schoolgirl, especially whenever he smiled like that. “What’s your biggest regret?”

She waited, trying to hold her face steady, but her cheeks were starting to hurt from grinning like a fool. And she waited. And waited. No response. She looked over at him, and her smile dropped.

Peter was still sitting in the same spot, but he was also somewhere else. Somewhere hostile. Brow furrowed, face firm as stone, mouth twisted as if he’d swallowed something bitter. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. Whoever he was looking at was getting his full ire. The gold of his eyes had gone cold, replaced with blackened storm clouds.

Her stomach turned as she realized what had happened: her stupid question hit a nerve. Of course it would. Who even asks something so personal like that—would you shut up for 5 minutes, always with the questions, you never stop!—and now that she had—stupid, nosy little brat, you’ve ruined everything—it was too late.

Peter came to an abrupt stand, his spine straightening rigidly. Reflexively, she sat up at attention, looking up at him from the couch. She felt so small compared to him.

Her ‘friend’ was gone again. Her captor was back.

“Go back to your room,” he suggested, with an order hiding underneath. She dipped her chin for some reason, anxiously searching for sympathy on his face from beneath her brows. He refused to look at her. Tugged on the edge of his shirt. Cleared his throat. “We’ll have company soon. You can come out when they get here, if ya want. Maybe put on somethin’ nice.”

She glanced down at her casual attire—the hoodie and jeans—and suddenly, she felt so homely. Unruly and unkempt—would it kill you to brush your hair, you look like some wild Indian girl. Is that who I raised you to be?

She thumbed her palm, wanting to apologize. Wanting to say anything, but he didn’t give her the chance. After his flippant remark, he strode off, marching up the stairs to attend to something more important.

A few hours later, she emerged from her room hearing voices other than Peter’s. She gripped the banister tightly as she carefully descended the stairs wearing wedge-heeled, suede boots that rested just below her knee. She tugged down the hem of the form-fitting, cashmere turtleneck dress. It took all of her will not to continually tug on the neck, which felt like a collar choking her. She didn’t look like herself at all. A vampy black-on-black look. She felt ridiculous. And itchy.

She loathed turtlenecks, but of the options she’d arrived with, her only other nice blouse was the shirt dirtied by yesterday’s tree-climbing adventure. For some reason beyond her understanding, the idea of embarrassing Peter by looking like that dirty kid from the Peanuts cartoon was mortifying.

It was ridiculous, really. Infuriatingly so.

She was a kidnapping victim, for Christsakes. Why did it matter what she looked like? Why did she care what he thought?

Why did she spend an hour doing her makeup, then debating whether she should wear jeans and a camisole, and how much boob is too much boob? and maybe she could do laundry—there’s gotta be a laundry room—and fuck it, I’m wearing sweatpants—before finally settling on dress she wore. As if it wasn’t one of three options.

She wore a timid look at the bottom of the steps. It was the winter formal all over again, and she was without a date. Except around her was a small group of mobsters. About fifteen of them, in total.

The group of mostly men clamoured on, chatting with occasionally raucous peaks. People were milling about the living room and dining area. Some faces she recognized. A couple of them leaned over a pool table, cue in hand, lining up their shots—wait, she hadn’t even noticed the pool table?

Everyone had a drink in hand. But Peter had been right—this didn’t feel like a celebration.

Instead, there was an air of tension hanging over the group. Everyone on edge. Every entrance blocked by men who weren’t socializing like the others. Guards, she assumed. Probably with guns. The thought of sneaking out the door while everyone was distracted vanished. She took another step forward, approaching the crowd from the staircase.

A dip in conversation caught her attention. Some faces looked her in her direction with blaring silence, eyeing her in a way that made her want to scamper back up the stairs. She didn’t belong here. Perhaps they were thinking the same thing. She kept her eyes down, until she spotted Peter entering the room.

He looked absolutely lethal. Devastatingly handsome. Wearing a designer straight-fit jacket with a notched collar and wide, fluid trousers, both in midnight-black and moonlight-silver pinstriped wool. His collared, matte-black silk shirt had the top buttons unfastened, revealing a contrast of pale skin past his collarbone. His lambskin black leather boots were glossed to a high shine, the pointed toe peaking out beneath the width of the pants leg.

As she took him in, one question rang in her mind: where the fuck was he going dressed like that? The next question was why was her mouth watering, and could anyone notice?

Before she thought too hard about it, his eyes were on her. Whiskey-gold, entranced, and hungry. She felt heat creep up her back.

Blushing, she looked away as he breezed up to her, stopping just barely out of arm’s reach. She felt dizzy, the skin beneath the turtleneck prickling with sweat.

“You, uh...” Peter began, his tone shy, “you look... amazing.”

Butterflies fluttered in her belly, and she wanted nothing more than to crush them beneath her foot. “Thanks,” she swallowed hard. She tried to avoid eye contact, because him looking at her made her weaker, and she couldn’t afford to forget what he was.

Who was he again?

“I thought you said you weren’t having a party.” Her tone was calm, coquettish.

“Uh, yeah, um,” Peter glanced around, as if remembering the room was full of people. “These, uh... these people work with me.”

She lifted a brow. “You have co-workers in your gang?”

“It’s not a—” he bit off, flinching. “It’s... complicated.”

“The gang or the co-workers?”

“They work for me,” Peter clarified. “I trust them with my life.” He swallowed hard, glancing down at his feet, then back up at her. There was that boyish look that contrasted so much with who he was trying to be. “You said you wanted to know about Peter Parker,” he added. “These are the right people to ask.”

She watched him, intrigued. Fascinacion meeting confusion. He was hot and cold. Darkness and light. Wide open and closed shut. Right now, he was trying to open up. He looked nervous, despite the confidence he exuded when he walked into the room.

A chilly draft breezed in, as they both turned towards the source. Breathlessly, Miles strolled in with a giant backpack slung over his shoulder. Her tension lifted as she recognized the teen’s friendly face. He walked up to them, gripping the bulging bag tight.

“Miles,” Peter said curiously, sounding surprised to see him.

“Hi, sorry I’m late I got caught up inna thing is the food here?” All of the words came flooding out at once, in between winded breaths.

“You’re supposed to be back home,” Peter admonished. He sounded... parental, almost.

“Yeah, I just... need some help with somethin’. Real quick.” Miles began with sheepish eyes, lifting the backpack over his shoulder. Peter tilted his head, letting his shoulders slump. He looked disappointed. Honey glanced back between the two men curiously.

“When’s the test?” Peter sighed.

Miles said with a wince, “Um... now?”

“Now?” Peter exclaimed.

Miles glanced at his watch, “I mean, now until... 11:59pm.”

“Miles!” he groaned. “Again?”

“Okay, I know what you’re gonna say,” the teenager replied, “and I really wanna hear you out because it is all valid, but... we’ve only got like 57 minutes to talk this out before time is up.”

“Talk what out?” Peter sighed, planting his hands on his hips.

Miles dug his hand into his backpack, pulling out his laptop in one fluid yank. He popped open the lid, opening the screen up to a jumble of letters and numbers in a web browser. Peter huffed as he glanced at the screen and the timer steadily counting down. Full ‘disappointed dad’ face.

Miles took a deep breath, and began, “Okay, so obtaining equilibrium in the decomposition of ammonia...”

That was the first thing Honey learned about Peter Parker: He was smart. Really smart.

“Kind of a bookworm type, ya know? He’s got a big brain.”

That summary came from a tall, loud-mouthed, blonde with a million-dollar smile, who was way too handsome to be in crime. Unless being handsome was the crime.

The only unattractive thing about him was that he obviously knew he was attractive. Dripping with a flirtatious charm that bordered on cocky, he leaned back on the edge of the pool table. His biceps bulged from a t-shirt that was two sizes too small.

He’d been fast-talking Honey’s ear off since he saw her standing alone, people-watching from the sidelines. She would’ve been flattered if he didn’t remind her of every frat guy morphed together at once. Like a Frat-kenstien.

She heard Miguel refer to him as “Torchy.” She had asked for his name, and when he told her it was Johnny Storm she scoffed to herself, rolling her eyes. As far as aliases go, his was the fakest-sounding name of all.

“I mean, not the biggest in the room,” he snickered. “I’ve seen bigger.” Honey blinked a few times, wondering is this guy seriously making a dick joke right now.

“You sure you don’t want one?” he asked. He reached over and offered a shot glass filled with a double-pour of amber liquid. She glanced down at the glass with a frown, the spicy cinnamon scent stinging her nostrils.

“No, thanks,” Honey replied, polite. “It’s a little early for Fireball.”

“Early? It’s past 11, party girl,” he laughed. He put the glass to his lips and downed it in a gulp like a seasoned pro. She winced as she watched, amazed that the burn didn’t phase him. “You like to stay up late, huh?” he questioned, his breath coming out hot like fire.

“So what did you mean when you said it ‘ran in Peter’s family’?” she asked, much to his disappointment. “How long have you known Peter? Are you best friends? Do you know his family?”

“Uh, no... Haven’t known him that long. Only a couple years,” he answered. His body seemed to relax, as if he was sucking in the whole time and he let himself deflate. “And no, I didn’t meet ‘em. Read about ‘em though. His dad was some crazy smart scientist. And uh, yeah... I guess genius runs in the family.”

“As for the other thing,” Johnny added, thoughtfully, “I don’t think Peter has any best friends.”

It wasn’t unkind, the way he said it. But the answer was painful to process. It fit in with the portrait she was beginning to paint. Then, she considered his earlier response. “Was?” Honey asked. “His dad was a genius?”

That was the next thing she learned: Peter was an orphan.

“It’s a dark tale,” another man with a solemn face explained. Honey had noticed him sitting by himself, hunched over the bar. He seemed older than the others, with long facial features and a sharp hooked nose poking out from the brim of a black fedora. He hadn’t bothered to remove the black duster jacket the whole time.

She’d asked for his name too, but she got another stupid codename: Noir.

“What happened?” Honey asked, morbidly intrigued.

“I’d tell you,” he said, grimly, “but I’d have to kill you.” She stared at him, face twisted in confusion. Without looking in her direction, Noir stood from the bar, taking his glass of whiskey, and breezed off.

Getting answers about Peter Parker was proving more difficult than asking Peter for details directly. She sighed, knowing she needed to pivot. So she continued the line of questioning that yielded the most success.

“If Peter was a tree—?”

“Yes,” Honey replied, repeating her earlier question. “What kind of tree would he be?” She stood with two other men—Miguel O’Hara, and a dark-skinned, lanky man with an East London accent sporting a mohawk fade.

The Brit with the distressed denim vest adorned in pins and patches glanced at Miguel, who silently pondered the question. “What kinda bonkers question is‘at?” he said, although with his accent it sounded more garbled.

Miguel kept his arms crossed in front of his chest, debating quietly. A smirk settled on his face. He gave her his answer. “A weeping willow.”

“Maple tree,” the one called Eddie answered, his mouth stuffed full of chocolate cupcake. Honey stood with him in the corner of the kitchen next to the refrigerator. He’d been alone since he arrived, keeping to himself and pretending not to notice the dirty looks the others gave him. Honey noticed.

She also noticed that no cupcakes were served. Didn’t recall seeing any in the refrigerator, either.

“Hmm...” She pondered his response and also—did this guy just bring a cupcake for himself, who does that, is he diabetic? “Interesting,” she replied, straight-faced.

“Maple, because he’s gotta sweet tooth,” Eddie explained, licking buttercream frosting from his fingers. “I’ve seen it.”

“Apple tree.” Felicia sounded confident in her answer.

Standing near a temperature-controlled wine case, which of course encompassed the entire wall, Honey watched her pop the cork on a bottle of Dom Perignon. She helped herself, plucking the rose gold foil-wrapped bottle from the top rack. Honey caught a glimpse at the vintage year on the label. The bottle was older than she was.

“Want some?” Without waiting for a reply, Felicia poured the champagne into a crystal flute and handed it over, before pouring one for herself.

“Oh, uh…” Honey considered protesting, but it was too late. She watched Felicia down her glass. “Apple, huh? What makes you say that?”

Felicia gave her a sly look. “Have you seen his ass?”

Honey choked on the bubbles of her drink, her face flushing with embarrassment.

Felicia grinned salaciously, “I mean, doesn’t it just, y’know... kinda make you wanna take a bite out of it?” She hopped up on the counter, crossed her thighs while she poured herself another glass.

“Um, I, uh—” Honey timidly stuttered.

She was used to Nasrin’s crude wisecracks making her blush, but this was turning her red. She glanced across the room to see Peter still tucked away in a corner with Miles as he explained advanced chemistry in under seven minutes. She couldn’t help but recall the prurient memory of Peter, dripping wet in the shower that morning.

‘Apple’ really was a good description. Honey attempted to brush the guilty look off her face, but Felicia saw it and ran with it.

“Yeah, I see you,” she teased with a smirk. “See, it’s the pants.” Honey glanced over at her curiously, before the silver-haired woman explained. “Tailoring is a must. If only you coulda seen him when I met him. All baggy, wrinkled t-shirts and skinny jeans with holes. Not an ounce of style. He thought Saint Laurent was an actual saint! If I hadn’t intervened, he’d still look like some sort of homeless hipster. I practically saved his life.”

Both women were staring now, sizing him up from across the room. Honey found their blatant objectification disgusting. Sorta.

“He’s certainly learned a few things, but most of his wardrobe inspiration came from me,” Felicia added, an air of pride in her voice. She took a sip, savoring it this time. “We did a whole Pretty Woman montage and everything. ‘Cept, he was the hooker and I was the one with the black card.”

“Oh,” she replied, the thought hitting her like a truck. “Then are you… and Peter…um... Are you—?” She let the words taper off, feigning mild curiosity. In reality, she went rigid at the thought of Peter being with another woman. A gorgeous woman. A tall, gorgeous woman. What was that? Jealousy?

“What?” Felicia didn’t mince words. “Are we fucking?” She barked out a laugh. “Oh, god no,” Honey cracked an amused smile, trying to hide her relief. Why was she so relieved? “I mean… he’s cute,” she went on, “but... sorta in an annoying little brother way?”

Honey sneaked another glance over at Peter, imagining what his younger self must have looked like. Was he as shy and awkward as she was in high school?

“Well, his idea of Casual Friday has certainly elevated,” Honey bitterly grumbled, recalling his snarky comment about her outfit.

“Ugh, he’s a man. A Leo man. If I had to guess, it’s probably more of a pride thing,” Felicia shrugged thoughtfully. “It’s called power dressing for a reason.”

Honey watched Felicia’s eyes drift down her dress, sizing her up. She blushed at the attention. “It’s important to acknowledge our assets,” the silver-haired vixen clinked her glass against hers. It was a strange sort of camaraderie. “They can be handy tools when you need ‘em. Believe me, sweetie, an ass like yours in that dress, I’m sure Petey will fall right in line.”

Honey flushed with embarrassment. “I, uh... I wasn’t trying... to— It’s not like.... I don’t even like turtlenecks.”

“So why dontcha wear something else? It’s not like you don’t have options.”

“What are you talking about? What options?”

When she looked back at Felicia, the woman was staring at her incredulously. She snorted and burst into laughter, forced to hold her nose.

Honey watched her struggle to regain her composure. “What’s so funny?”

Felicia pulled herself together, shaking her head apologetically. “Did Peter not even tell you about the clothes? All that stuff in the closet?”

She shuddered uncomfortably, recalling that she borrowed a pair of hiking boots the day before. “I don’t know who that stuff belongs to,” she explained. “I can’t just… wear someone else’s underwear...”

The woman’s expertly microbladed brows shifted high. “Oh, Honey,” Felicia shook her head, using the same term of endearment that Peter used. “You think those clothes belong to someone else? He bought them for you.”

Honey blinked at her, her brain struggling to catch up. The giant walk-in closet in the guest room. The shelves of shoes in every style. In her size.

“I don’t know what idea you had about Petey,” Felicia smirked, “but that underwear is yours, sweetie.”

Whatever came next in the conversation, Honey couldn’t keep up. Her mind kept drifting back to the same place. He’d bought her a wardrobe. He’d bought her those shoes.

That’s the next thing she learned about Peter: he had no intention of letting her go.

At some point, the conversation died down. The small crowd began to shuffle out of the common space. Honey placed her emptied champagne glass on the kitchen bar. As she turned to follow the crowd, Peter appeared, blocking her path.

She tensed, coming face-to-face with him. He noticed .

“I, uh... have some business to attend to,” Peter explained. He sounded apologetic. She looked over his shoulder to see the room nearly empty. “I want you to hang out here with Miles.”

She looked over to see the teenager posted up at the dining table, tapping away on his keyboard. It wasn’t like he needed help, or a babysitter— His true intention struck her. She was the one being watched. Bitterly, her eyes flicked back to Peter. She crossed her arms, visibly annoyed, but didn’t bother to argue. It was useless anyway.

A smile formed on his lips. “Good girl.”

A chill crawled down her spine. She was powerless against it. He shouldn’t make her react that way. She shouldn’t react that way.

Peter hesitated a moment more, eyeing her quietly. She had the uncomfortable feeling she was being read. He then stepped away. She watched him disappear into a different wing of the house.

Again, it was just her and Miles. With a huff, she retrieved her champagne flute again, and gave herself a generous pour of the expensive champagne.

She brought the glass to her lips, rueing her situation and every choice in her life leading up to that point. The tapping ceased as Miles jumped to his feet excitedly.

“Done!” he cheered, with a celebratory fist pump in the air. “Woooo. Take that, AP Chemistry!” He shuffled his feet, wiggling out a happy dance, then abruptly stopped.

“Gotta pee,” Miles announced, eyes suddenly panicked. Urgently, he rushed off towards the nearest bathroom. Honey couldn’t help but chuckle at the interaction, hearing the door slam. She shook her head, amused, glancing around at the empty room.

Her eyes settled on Miles’ laptop. Left open. Unattended.

Honey glanced out of the windows into the darkness outside. Wherever the guards had gone, they were out of sight. She struggled indecisively, anxiously glancing around. Heart pounding, she set her glass down and darted over to the open laptop.

To her delight, it was unlocked. She glanced warily at the still-closed bathroom door. She pulled up a new tab in the web browser.

What was she even doing? This was wrong. She was betraying Peter’s trust.

She had to get out of there. Needed to communicate with someone, and fast. Was 911 an option online?

Pulled up a search bar, typing “New York City police” with the keyboard and hitting the search button. The first results came up. Her eyes froze, fixed on two photos on the screen. Women that she recognized as her co-workers.

She was confused. Her mind was spinning. She clicked on the images, bringing up the full-page news article. Words swam in front of her and her skin felt clammy. She felt nauseous. She read the headline over and over.

Confused. Mistaken.

She read the headline again. The one directly over the photos. The photos of the kind faces she saw just a couple of days ago. The women she knew.

POLICE ASK FOR PUBLIC’S HELP: NO SUSPECTS IN BRUTAL MIDTOWN SLAYINGS - Mayor: No rest until ‘savage’ killers are captured

She scrolled down. Looked at their faces. Looked at the headline. Her eyes were ahead, but her mind was far behind.

Eighteen months in the past, as she’s shaking Nasrin’s hand, and spends the rest of the afternoon learning that she’s a pre-med student, and she has two little brothers that annoy her, and her mother worries too much about her.

Four weeks ago, she’s looking up at Leyla as she calmly helps her mop up a gallon of knocked over milk, joking that there’s no use crying over it. Except that Honey actually wants to cry because this motherlike woman is so kind and positive about it, and Honey isn’t used to anyone reacting that way when she made mistake.

Her eyes are reading words that don’t correlate. Words like ‘murder’ and ‘arson’ and ‘stabbing.’ There’s a photo of the coffee shop that looks just like the one she works at, except it’s barely recognizable. It’s a charred, burned-out skeleton of a frame.

There’s a picture forming in Honey’s head as she puts the pieces together. Two innocent women were murdered, viciously. Cruelly. Without mercy. Stabbed to death, and their bodies further desecrated and then burned beyond recognition. Ensuring that no one would see their faces again.

There were shocked reactions from the community. Funerals planned. Flowers and a candlelight vigil.

And all of it had happened because of her.

Hands were gripping her forearms. Her face was cold. Wet with tears. She was freezing cold.

Honey was shrieking at the top of her lungs, unable to recall when she had begun. Shaking uncontrollably.

She howled and bawled, muttering incoherently nonononononono through heaving sobs.

There was a woman holding her up. It was Felicia. The entire room was full again. Men on high alert, stirred into action at the sound of her panicked screams. Miles stood nearby, looking blindsided. Panicked. Regretful.

He was saying something—just left her for a minute, I didn’t know—and he sounded desperate. There’s a voice barking back at him. It’s Peter’s.

“Everybody out!” Peter snapped, his voice booming like thunder.

Miguel answered, tension and impatience thinning his tone, “Parker, we still have unfinished business to sort out—”

“I said everybody out!” he roared, eyes flashing, black as coal. The whole room fell silent. “Now!”

Without further hesitation, Peter’s men shifted and filed out of the exits. Soon, only Miles and Felicia remained.

Miles was at the end of Peter’s razor-sharp gaze. “Go home.” His voice was a bit calmer, but no less cold. The teenager looked like a kicked puppy. He gathered his laptop and his backpack and slinked out of sight.

Peter then turned to Felicia, who was still gripping Honey by the shoulders. She sat with her on the couch, trying to keep the hysterical woman upright.

“That means you, too,” he firmly ordered.

Felicia shook her head, the young woman’s cries having cut her deep. Maybe it was a memory that struck too close to home. “Just give the girl a minute, will ya, Pete?” she snapped with frustration.

Peter’s voice dropped lower, as did the temperature of the room. “Out, Felicia. Now.”

The timbre of his voice was piercing. A silent scream. Felicia glanced up at him, stunned. Unnerved. He glared right back, blood pumping with rage. The darkness tinting his eyes made him unrecognizable. Even to her.

Reluctantly—bitterly—she released her hold on Honey’s arms. She stared at her boss with a flicker of defiance, a subtle warning. Then she stormed off, her heels clicking like a shrill drum.

They were alone. Peter took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose. His eyes softened as they rested on her. She looked at him, feeling tiny in his towering gaze. He looked like a god looming over her. And she hated him for it.

“I’m sorry,” Peter began gently. “Tried to keep you from the news. Didn’t want you to find out this—”

“Fuck you!” Honey roared, cutting him off. She jumped to her feet, her voice shattering like glass. For a moment, he thought she’d attack him. A lionness on the defense. He pictured her leaping onto his head and digging claws and fangs into his flesh.

Hot tears spilled tracks of mascara down her cheeks. She vibrated with rage. She was a trembling, trashed, snotty mess and all she wanted was to inflict pain. “You killed them!”

“I didn’t,” Peter quickly replied, keeping his voice calm. Slowly approached. He held his hands away from his body, inching closer towards her. “I didn’t, I swear—“

“I don’t believe you!”

“It was Kingpin,” Peter explained, placating in soothing tones. “I thought once I rescued you, he’d regroup. He didn’t. He sent his men to your shop the next morning. By the time we got there, it was too late—”

“Shut up!” she growled, tugging at her hair as she tried to cover her ears. “Shut up! Shut up! I don’t wanna hear it! I don’t care! You killed them! They didn’t do anything— they’re not a part of—you-you fucking did this! This is all your fault!”

“I know,” he whispered. His voice was thick with heartbreak. “I know.”

“You know?” she cried lividly. Her tone was sharp enough to amputate limbs. “You know?!”

Her eyes were glowing with fury. He knew that look. The desperate, consuming sort of rage where all you want is hell on earth.

“I know exactly who you are, Peter Parker!” She spat out each syllable like rotten fruit. Like poison. “You’re a goddamn curse!”

His lashes fluttered in the heat waves coming off of her. His jaw clenched.

“You’re a cancer! A fucking plague! You’ve destroyed my entire fucking life! Fucking monster! You’ve ruined everything!”

He stood still. Gazing down at her. Eyes soft. Mournful. Holy. She wanted to rip them from his skull. To gauge them out with her thumbs.

“What the fuck did I do to deserve you?” she hissed, frustrated by her inability to exact the violence she craved. Upset by the injustice she could not avenge. “Tell me—what did I do? Fucking asshole! You ruin everything you touch!”

Peter bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, keeping his face solemn and pliant. It wasn't lack of remorse. He simply refused to fight back. And it infuriated her further.

“You should be the one that they killed! Not them!”

The faintest twitch ghosted across his face. He swallowed it up, pushing it down. She relished in the sight of his pain.

It wasn’t enough.

“I wish you were dead! You hear me? I wish you’d fucking burn! I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

It still wasn’t enough.

She brought her hand up and struck him across the cheek. It made the inside of her palm sting. The burn flowed through her fingers and left a red mark, like rattlesnake venom poisoning his face. Her heart thrummed at the thought.

She pulled her hand back. Took another shot. She felt confounding relief and agony at the sensation of her fingers slamming into his cheek. She tightened her palm into a fist. Did it again. And again, each blow landing heavier, taking more out of her.

She felt her fingernails slice through his skin, leaving a bloody red gash within his beard. Peter left his eyelids closed this time, as if lost in a dream somewhere. A nightmare. Absorbing the pain. Letting it sink into his bones.

The sight of his blood just made her imagine the mutilated bodies of her friends. Innocent women. Now he bled, like them.

It wasn’t enough.

She brought her fist down again, but this time on his shoulder. She repeated with the other fist, hammering it down on his chest. Her lungs were burning, sweat beading at her brow. She beat on him like she was attempting to break down a door. Each swing drawing out her energy. Draining out her soul.

“It’s your fault, it’s your fault your fault your fault,” she repeated like a prayer until it was no more than a broken whimper.

Fists sore, she could feel them already starting to bruise. Her biceps were on fire. Acid tears streaming down her cheeks.

Peter stood there. His face scratched up. Hair disheveled. His eyes glimmering with unshed tears. It was ridiculous of him, looking like some sort of innocent fawn. Watching her without judgment. Silently participating in the beating. It was offensive.

She was so furious she could barely breathe. Could barely stand. Until finally, she wasn’t. Her knees buckled beneath her. Threw her weight down through her arms, bringing both fists down in a final, exhausted blow.

Peter caught her before she fell. She collapsed in his arms and he slowly sank with her down to the floor. He held her like that. No more words were spoken between them. They both let each other just be.

A crude mirror-image of one another.

Continue to part 7

a/n - thank you so much to each of you that commented, sent me an ask, and big thank you to those of you that reblogged!

don't forget, to be tagged you must reblog so I can keep track of you!

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watchoutforthefanfics · 5 months ago

Text

achievement unlocked 🔓 (part fourteen) || Streamer AU! Reddie (IT)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: this prompt + BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish

Summary: Richie liked to play video games, and by some stroke of luck, it became his job. Being primarily known as Trashmouth on stream, he found his own little group of streamer friends and they became intertwined: The Losers Club. It never did feel quite complete, though. Well, until, he got his very own backseat gamer in chat.

TWs: innuendos, lots of talk of sex (it's Richie), cursing, brief mention of toxic relationships, and shameless flirting.

[[A/N: Fun fact, the songs I use in this fic are based on me shuffling my playlist and what comes up so. Enjoy :))]]

Richie was kinda sick of the road.

It was the fourth morning, and he thought he was in Oklahoma. Maybe.

The state sign was a few hours back, and Richie's mind was kinda melting. Just interstate, miles and miles of roads and cars, and luckily, changing trees and skies. Otherwise, his brain was definitely on low power mode: not tired, but in a mental capacity kinda way.

Eddie was doing something, or so he assumed. So currently, he was listening to music to try and keep him sane.

"Can I call you Rose?" Richie muttered along, switching lanes (his exit was coming up), "-'Cause your fragrance takes over the room."

🎵 Can I call you Rose?🎵

"Darling~" Richie got more into it, tapping along the steering wheel, "-I wanna-"

A chime echoed through the speakers, cutting off the music. Richie blinked, turning to his phone: e.kaspbrak is trying to videochat.

Quickly, Richie adjusted the angle to face him more, and answered.

"Hiya, Eds," he spoke, in a cliché New Yorker accent, "-What can I do for ya?"

He flicked his eyes to the camera and caught Eddie setting his phone up and stepping back -holding up two shirts. He looked like he was in a store, one where no one would mind if he took up a little space.

The traffic halted in place, and Richie would normally be pissed but he had Eddie now. So, he was completely fine with it. Grateful even.

"Which one's better?" Eddie asked, holding up one and then the other, "The blue or the pink?"

Richie's eyes lingered on the phone for maybe a second too long, because-

"Look at the road, fuckface," Eddie chastised.

"Traffic is completely stopped, Eddie baby," Richie soothed, nearly immediately, "-I am perfectly safe. Plus, how am I supposed to help if I can't look?"

Eddie's lips pressed into a thin frown.

Richie took the moment to skim over Eddie, he was dressed like he was on a run (he assumed he was). Wearing a red tanktop and running shorts, Richie couldn't decide if it was hot or cute. Eddie was a mixture of both in his mind, honestly. And then his eyes flicked to the shirts, simple ones, one tanktop with a graphic on it (Kirby, Richie thinks), and the other a simple baby blue t-shirt with a white collar and sleeve cuffs.

"Whichever you want, Eds," Richie spoke, passively, "-They're both good."

Eddie frowned again, pushing them forward further, "I asked you, dipshit. I want your opinion. Which one?"

Richie pursed his lips, eyes dashing to the road (still stagnant), before snapping back over to the phone. He really looked at the two of them, really fucking looking. Because that's what Eddie wanted, and Richie wanted to do what Eddie wanted for the rest of his life, probably. Taking a minute, he imagined Eddie in each one individually. He could picture Eddie pretty clearly now, honestly; he felt like he knew him like the back of his hand.

Blue with white collar, Richie's mind tsked, graphic pink tanktop.

"Blue," he answered succinctly (Eddie nodded and put the pink tanktop out of frame), and asked, curiously, "-and why exactly did you need my opinion, Eds?"

Eddie picked up his phone, as Richie looked forward and watched the cars begin to move -he shifted all of his focus. Eyeing the exit he needed to get off on, Richie waited patiently for Eddie's response.

"You're my boyfriend, dipshit," Eddie remarked, "-I want you to like how I fucking look."

"Eds, you could wear a neon jumpsuit that was so bright it burnt my fucking corneas," Richie laughed, pulling off onto the new road (GPS said something about turning left so he did), "-and I would still love the shit out of you."

"I didn't say you wouldn't love me," Eddie clarified, pointedly, "-I said that I wanted you to like how I look. I know you fucking love me, but that doesn't mean I can't like... fucking please your tastes or some shit."

"Awe," Richie cooed, "-Eds wants to please my tastes-"

"Shut the fuck up, asshole, you know what I mean-" Eddie huffed out, exasperated, "-Like I like your hair this length. If you cut it short, I'd fucking kill you."

"You like my hair?" Richie laughed, "-The monster that just fucking sits on my head? The shit I don't even try to take care of? The-"

"Yes," Eddie interrupted, "-I fucking love your curls. Even though you don't give a shit about them, I will. I'll figure that shit out, and take care of them. Because you're never getting fucking rid of them, ever."

I want you to be here to stop me, forever. God, I would do fucking anything-

"Salon Eds," Richie chimed, in an infomercial sort of way, "-where you don't give a fuck, but he does."

"That's not... Whatever, the point is-" Eddie continued, "-I want to hear your opinion, just like you want to hear mine."

"I don't even have a fucking opinion on myself, Eddie baby," Richie laughed out, winking exaggeratively, "-I am completely moldable. In more than one way too, if you know what I'm saying-"

"Shut up," Eddie laughed out, and Richie wished he could look. God, he fucking loved him, "-You're such an asshole."

The rest of the ride was a lot of the same, just bickering and Eddie stayed on the entire time. Or well, did his best to. Richie could tell when he was getting tired, he got really fucking giggly (at least with Richie) and couldn't properly focus. So, when he noticed it, he'd send Eddie off to bed, refusing to entertain shit ("Someone wise once told me that not sleeping fucks with your brain function, Eds.") until he heard Eddie's little tiny snores -so quiet you wouldn't even catch it in person, probably. Richie somehow hoped he could.

Eddie had just fallen asleep (he was only an hour ahead of him at this point), and Richie was picking at his fingernails. His phone laid along the mattress, somewhere near his left hand. He just fidgeted and stared at the ceiling -thinking.

This was a big fucking deal, and the last time Richie made a big fucking deal in a relationship, his heart ended up splattered on the fucking sidewalk. It wasn't that he didn't trust Eddie, he did but it's just... It's a different wheelhouse to be with Richie all the time, not just in the moderation Eddie had.

Steve would probably say the same thing about this shit, that it's how he's wired and they're trying to change it but it's okay if it still seeps out sometimes. Because yeah, Richie was working on it, but he still felt... like shit.

He believed that Eddie really fucking liked who he was (loved it actually, indirectly said but still). He really fucking did. But that doesn't mean he, himself, does. And Eddie was fucking helping, constantly reassuring him and saying the shit that Richie just needed to hear. He really didn't know how Eddie did it, but he did. But still, this shit in him was rooted deep. Probably as soon as his fucking sister was born-

Ding.

benny.boy.official ✔️

hope you're having fun rich !!!

send pictures with Eddie when you get there ☺️

Richie stared at the message for a second.

Ben. Sweet, grounding, kind, Ben. Ben who would do everything in his power to believe the good in somebody, even if everything they fucking did was bad. And it wasn't even like he was naive, he just... he just believed the shit out of it.

Richie clicked call before he second guess it.

"Hi, Richie!" He chimed, soft and warm (always was), "-How's the trip going? 2 more days, right?"

"Heya, Benny," he smiled back, naturally relaxing at the sound of him, "-and yeah, tomorrow is the start of the fifth day. Only one more after that, and then I finally fucking get Eds."

"I know!" Ben grinned, and Richie heard the murmur of maybe a movie in the background, "-I'm so happy for you two. It's amazing, really, Eddie's so excited, I can tell."

"Yeah?" Richie asked, genuinely.

"Oh yeah," Ben reassured, "-We went to get coffee this morning and I've never seen him smile so much, Rich."

Richie's heart flipped in his chest (he hoped it never stopped doing that), and he grinned so brightly that it hurt. If he was on his stomach he might've been kicking his feet. Fuck, he really loved him. He hoped with everything in him that Eddie wouldn't get sick of him physically, god, please-

"Ben," he spoke, "-can I ask you a question?"

"'Course, Richie," he answered, maybe a little concerned, "-what's up?"

"Is... Do you think-" Richie started before exhaling a breath, "-Do you think I should be worried?"

"About what?" Ben asked, curiously.

"Well, um, everything," Richie laughed a little, nervous, "-I don't... There's no hesitation in my body about Eddie, seriously, not a fucking shred. But... What if it's different for him?"

Ben questioned further, "What do you mean?"

"What if Eddie's... not sure? Or-" Richie scrambled, "-what if he meets me in person and I... I scare him away? It's one thing to text and call me but to constantly be around me? I don't-"

"Richie, breathe," Ben interrupted, calmly.

Richie obediently did so. A long breath echoed out of his lungs, and his heart slowed.

"Okay, now," Ben began, gently, "-has Eddie ever told you that he's not sure? Or that he's hesitant?"

Richie pressed his lips together, "Well, no, but-"

"Rich, Eddie would tell you stuff like that," Ben cut him off, "-He's very straightforward, you know that."

Richie sighed, "Okay, yeah, so he's not hesitating. But... whose to say it won't be too much for him? All my shit."

"Richie, he's dating you. He cares about you," Ben hummed, "-You guys know each other inside and out because you want to learn it all. Both of you do. I don't think Eddie's going to run."

"But what if he does?" Richie asked, pathetically, "-I can't... Ben, if he can't handle me, I'm fucked. I don't think I can-"

"If anyone can handle you, it's Eddie," Ben laughed a little, before adding, "-except for maybe Stan and Patty."

Richie laughed a little too.

"The point being, if-" Ben made sure to stress that word, "-and I really don't think this would happen, okay? But if Eddie couldn't handle you, you'll be okay. It'll hurt, but all of us Losers will be here for you. Worst case scenario, you have us."

He let a breath rattle out of his lungs, "Yeah, I do."

"But Richie, I really don't think you should even think like that," Ben spoke, carefully, "-Eddie really, really cares about you."

"I know," Richie sighed out.

"I don't think he'd even want to leave your side, honestly," Ben hummed, "-When you're finally united, I don't think that Eddie will want to leave you alone again. Ever."

Richie pressed his lips together, as tears burned the backs of his eyes.

"Eddie's not gonna run, Richie," Ben echoed again. His voice soft and warm, it made Richie's head clear and eyes grow heavy.

"Yeah," Richie exhaled a deep breath, "-he won't."

He could almost hear the smile through the line, Ben's little soft one. The one that if you saw would make your insides feel gooey, because it was just so fucking kind. God.

"I love you, Benny," Richie spoke, light and scratchy.

"I love you too, Rich."

"Now," Richie switched gears, grinning, "-about Ms. Marsh-"

Richie woke up that morning lighter, Ben's words thrumming through his head. He was up, miraculously, at 7:30 (all these timezones were really fucking with his sleep schedule). And was currently debating getting ready and heading out early. Because he couldn't exactly wait, or sit still, it was fucking impossible for Richie Tozier. He was itching to fucking go, to shave down some of the hours to get to Eddie.

If he left early though, Eddie would probably freak out though (something about hours of sleep and blah, blah). So, he just decided to grab his phone and fidget with it for a while.

Richie liked to search himself up, he'll admit it. He liked to dive into his fandom like a super spy (like the boss working undercover in that one show). He did it for a lot of reasons, maybe to see what his fans wanted or what they were reacting well to. Sometimes just to see what shit they were up to. This usually spanned from a lot of different platforms: Instagram, YouTube (he loved watching edited compilations of himself), Reddit, and Tumblr primarily.

Today, his poison was Reddit.

r/trashmouthtozier

u/trashmeuptozy • 4d

What are our theories about Richie's disappearance?

2.4k upvotes • 1.7 comments

⬆️ ⬇️ 💬

toziers-texas-toast • 4 days ago

personally I think he's u-hauling

⬆️1.25k ⬇️89 💬

reddie-girlie • 3 days ago

all I know is that it probably involves 🍝

⬆️1.2k ⬇️27 💬

bouncing-baby-boy • 3 days ago

guys don't worry he's just on a side quest

⬆️1k ⬇️54 💬

not_on_my_crotch • 2 days ago

fucking ur mom

edit: ur dad sorry

⬆️967 ⬇️53 💬

Richie pursed his lips, letting out a sigh (a little of relief), he was actually kinda worried about the reception of him just up and leaving. But, they seemed to be handling it relatively well. They obviously had questions, as they should, but they weren't harassing him for answers, so it was good.

r/trashmouthtozier

u/tozier_babeyyyy • 2 hrs ago

Reddie Playing Minecraft (link)

my first ever reddie comp !!! Hope you guys enjoy :)

⬆️3.5k ⬇️22 💬

Richie stared at it for a second, before clicking the link. Maybe a little too quickly, they could have his IP address right now-

"Alright troops-"

And then it was off like a rocket, every single moment they spoke to each other -documented. He watched the village section more than once, of his own doing, just rewinding and watching it over and over. Watching Eddie shuffle behind him, like he'd known he'd protect him. God. What a stupid fucking way to feel about a game-

It carried on the same, all the moments he remembers (he doesn't think he can ever forget anything about Eddie to be fair) all the way up to the end of his stream. He watched himself do his outro, Eddie's Steve fidgeting with chests on his screen.

Laughing a little, he went to get out of the video, but-

BONUS ROUND: spaghetti talking about Richie to the other losers, flashed onto his screen -some very fast-paced royalty-free music following.

Richie paused for a second, what?

Now, he was looking at a clip from Bev's stream. Her camera up in the top right corner, Richie mindlessly noted that she had looked very pretty that day, good for her. Before focusing on her screen, where just a few steps in front of her Steve (Eddie) was watching Richie run around in circles with Bill. The iron golem, at that moment (it flicked between Bill and himself), was chasing him around the outskirts of the village.

"If he dies," Eddie suddenly spoke, and he watched Bev adjust her vision in the game to look at it, "-he doesn't like... Nothing bad happens, right?"

Richie smiled, gleaming a little bit.

"Nope," Bev smiled, bright, and popped the 'p', "-Worst-case scenario, he ends up back where we started and has to get back to us-"

Richie watched as Bill was suddenly launched into space and the chat snapped onto their screen.

big.bill was slain by an iron golem

He laughed a little at the memory.

"-Just like Bill will have to do now."

"Oh," Eddie responded, still watching Richie get chased around the village with a keen eye. Was he always looking at me?

"C'mon, Eddie," Bev interrupted, "-Let's steal some crops, and then we can tear down their houses for resources-"

"We sound like fucking colonizers," Eddie retorted, and both Bev and Richie started snort laughing in tandem.

And then, he was looking at Mike's screen, facing out onto the flower field. Eddie was stood right beside him, so he knew relatively when this was. Even heard himself a little distantly in the background.

"I'm staying here. I'm living here. My vote's for here-"

Mike was close to Eddie though, so now, he could hear Eddie laugh a little. A soft, sort of affectionate, of all things, laugh that made Richie's head spin a little. Okay, a lot. It made his head spin a lot.

Affectionate? For Richie Tozier? Praise fucking god-

"He's such an idiot," Eddie laughed out.

"In general? Definitely," Mike responded, laughing a little too, "-But for you? God help his brain cells."

"Yeah, well," Eddie spoke, soft, "-I'm an idiot for him to, so."

Ben interrupted the thought, "I agree, it's-"

And then, it cut again to Ben's stream, he was wandering over to where Eddie started building -assumedly from the direction of Bev's house. Unsurprisingly, Richie might add. He was half convinced they shared that house, actually-

"Do you think Richie will like it?" Eddie asked suddenly, Ben shuffling up to his side.

Richie grinned a little.

Ben grinned, big cheeks shot up with the warm motion, before adjusting his vision to see the frame that Eddie had built. It wasn't much, just the corners of each wall, but it was very meticulously done. Different blocks (which it should be said that Richie fetched him) all placed in their exact spot. It was pretty good for his second time playing, honestly. But, he might've been a little biased.

"It's really nice, Eddie," Ben chimed, cheerfully, "-but I do think you could build it out of dirt and Richie would still be stoked."

Very true, his mind agreed.

"I wanna actually put effort in," Eddie replied, flustered (Richie could see his cheeks all puffed up in his head), "-It's our house. Ya know? It's gotta be good."

"I think," Ben smiled, "-As long as you're in it Eddie, Richie will think it's good."

Eddie stayed quiet for a second, looking out at the house, staring. Richie waited with a breath.

"You're such a fucking sap, Ben," Eddie retorted, with no bite at all.

"Yeah, well, apparently," Ben turned to look at him, laughing, "-you are too."

And then, Eddie spoke softly, "Yeah, I am too."

Just like that, it cut to an end card. Subscribe button, next video and all.

Richie blinked, throwing himself back on the bed. Fuck, I love him. So much. Too much probably. Was he supposed to love somebody this much? Like with every fiber of his being? Every single cell? Every single fucking atom?

Taking a peek at the time, he quickly decided on sending a quick message.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

good morninggggg eddie baby 💞✨️

hope you had dreams of fucking frolicking in meadows or some shit

Fuck it.

With a breath, he stood up and started packing. His tiny little bag, full of definitely too little outfits for a trip this long, but it would not be the first time he re-wore shit. So, he was okay with it. Until, ya know, he saw Eddie. He wanted to be wearing clean shit then (he saved his Marsh original that he liked so much for the occasion).

Humming along with a song that decidedly wasn't playing, grabbing all of his hygiene shit.

"Right now, he's probably dancing with a bleach-blonde tramp, and-" he murmured, before stressing out a word, "-and she's probably getting frisky."

Unzipping a pocket, he shoved his deodorant into it. And his cologne, fancy cologne, that he maybe only bought for meeting Eddie. But he did actually like it too. He wouldn't just buy it for Eddie (he totally did).

"Showing her how to shoot a combo," he sang louder, "-and he don't know-"

He heard his phone vibrate in his pocket. Felt rather.

e.kaspbrak is calling

Richie smiled a little, answering and putting it onto his shoulder (pushed up against the side of his head).

"Hey, Eds," he chimed, bright and smiley, and pulling his bag up off the floor. Day 5.

Eddie took a pause, and Richie heard maybe the scratch of a blanket. Had he just woken up?

And then, his voice came in quiet and sleep-slurred, "Hi, Rich."

Something warm shot through his toes, he'd never heard Eddie just woken up. This was new. And Richie wondered for a second if his hair was messy, or maybe his face had patches of red from where he'd slept. He'd get to see that soon, god.

"Awe, did my lil Spaghetti just wake up?" He cooed -half genuine and half teasing.

"The only thing that's right about that fucking sentence is that I'm yours."

Richie blinked. Mine, Eddie's mine. My Eds. 'I'm yours'. My Spaghetti. My boyfriend. My boyfriend, Eddie. Eddie's mine-

"Fuck yeah you are," Richie chimed -grinning bright and wide.

Eddie giggled a little (and Richie wondered if he was rubbing his eyes like a little toddler would), "Why are you up so early?"

"Dunno," Richie answered honestly, throwing his bag into the passenger seat (per usual), "-I just woke up this early, Eds. Aren't you normally up this early? Earlier, actually-"

"I don't have a job anymore, dipshit," Eddie explained, "-and I think I overdid it last run, so I slept in. Fuck you."

"Jeez," Richie laughed, connecting him to the radio, "-I was just asking a question. You wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?"

"No," Eddie replied, quickly, "-Speaking of, I sleep on the left-"

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, "O-kay, Eds. What's-"

"-So, if you do too, you have to just fucking deal with it."

Oh.

Richie blinked, before answering awkwardly, "No problem, Eddie baby, I kinda just sleep in the middle."

"What the fuck do you mean-" Eddie mocked his voice, and Richie smiled (what a shithead), "-'I sleep in the middle'?"

"I spread out like a starfish," Richie clarified, listing, "-on my stomach, and sleep in the middle."

He could almost hear Eddie's nose scrunch up, "What the fuck? You're such a freak."

"What?" Richie asked, a little genuinely, "-Is that problem? I can just move over to the right side so-"

"No, it's not a fucking problem," Eddie interrupted, "-We're boyfriends, we can cuddle, idiot."

Richie blinked, Oh.

Cuddling with Eddie? Richie nearly pressed the gas to go fucking faster.

"Unless," Eddie paused, quieter -uncertain, "-Unless, you don't want to, I guess-"

"No, what," Richie clarified, swinging his hand around, and focusing on the car in front of him, "-Eds, that sounds like fucking... heaven. I just... I haven't thought about that shit. Because we were so far apart, it'd just make me sad as fuck-"

"Oh," Eddie spoke, blankly. Maybe a little flustered.

Richie wanted to see his face so badly right now that it made his skin itch. God, seriously-

"Yeah, well," Eddie pushed through his thoughts, "-you're gonna fucking kiss me when you get here, so. You better get fucking used to it."

Something swirled in his stomach. Kissing Eddie? Jesus, he hadn't thought about this shit at all. I get to kiss Eddie, god. In like a day-

"Why don't you just kiss me?" Richie laughed a little, splotchy red blush crawling to his cheeks.

"Because," Eddie answered, plainly, "-I want you to kiss me, asshole."

And I'd do anything you wanted, Richie's mind added.

"Yeah, okay, Eddie baby," Richie spoke softly, before switching up, "-As your celebrity crush, I know you've been dreaming of this moment for a long time-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, dickweed," Eddie snapped back, short laughter cutting into the tone.

"-Although, I should clarify, I won't be as good as dream Trashmouth," Richie commented, "-I may not hold up against the competition. But jokes on you, you can't leave me for me so."

"I haven't dreamed about you kissing me, moron," Eddie huffed out, "-and you need to get over that shit."

"No way," Richie laughed, turning slightly, "-That shit is sticking forever. Sorry, Eds."

"It's not that fucking important-"

"It is," Richie interrupted, "-It so is. I was your celebrity crush! That's so fucking sick."

"How?" Eddie asked, curiously.

"Well," Richie drummed his fingers along the wheel, "-you fucking watched my streams and thought, shit, he's handsome-"

"That wasn't-" Eddie paused, exhaling a breath, "-You're handsome, but it wasn't... How do I fucking-"

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, "Eds?"

"It was like-" he started, before decidedly restarting, "-It wasn't like a celebrity crush, where you just kinda think they're handsome and just like their voice or some shit-"

Richie listened.

"-It was like... It was like having a crush on my best friend. Because you're just-" Eddie paused, "-You're just so... you on your streams, so fucking... human. Celebrities are intangible as fuck, but you... You wore ugly fucking shirts, and you have the dumbest fucking jokes, and your hair is a mess on your head. You're a fucking person, and I just... I just wanted that. Wanted you."

Richie pressed his lips together, heart skipping a beat.

"So, it was like-" he continued, slow but deliberate, "-like we were, ya know, friends, and I just knew you. Saw all that shit firsthand. And I liked that. Liked you."

He blinked. Fuck, I love him so much.

"Well," Richie let out a breath, smiling too bright, "-that just makes it more important so. You've fucked yourself."

Eddie paused, "Shit."

Richie started snort laughing, eyes clear on the road despite the laugh wracking through him. He heard Eddie break into his own laughter, and it only made him smile brighter because, god, did he love the shit out of Eddie's laugh. Well, he loved the shit out of Eddie in general-

"Are you driving already?" Eddie asked, after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

"Yeah," Richie replied, turning off where he needed to, "-I woke up early and got fucking antsy. I'm not a patient man, Eds."

Eddie hummed a little, almost like he was still a little tired, "How long are you gonna drive today, then?"

"Well," he pursed his lips, trying to remember shit, "-I've got like 14 hours left, maybe less. You won't let me push shit but I have already driven 9 hours in a day before-"

"Richie," Eddie warned.

"-I know, Eds, I know. But it's either I do the long drive today or tomorrow, and I really don't want to be fucking passed out on my first day with you."

"I'm gonna make you rest either way, dipshit," Eddie countered, "-You've been through every fucking timezone in America, your brain must be totally fucking fried."

"C'mon, Eds," Richie chimed, going into a cliché New Yorker accent, "-ya gotta show me the city."

"The shitty city?" Eddie clarified, flatly, "-The one I hate?"

"It's New York," Richie laughed a little, "-There's gotta be something worthwhile."

"I know the shit you're trying to pull. You're not gonna change my mind, Richie," Eddie replied, pointedly, "-Even if you do all those hours today, when you get here, you're gonna fucking rest."

Richie paused, continuing hesitantly, "So, you're okay with me doing the long drive today?"

"You don't," Eddie paused, seeming a little too quiet and working himself up, "-You don't need my permission to do shit, I didn't mean to-"

"Eddie baby, stop," Richie soothed, immediately, "-It's not a permission thing. It's a 'for your well-being' thing. I don't want to do shit that will stress you out. I refuse to do shit that would make you feel scared when I can't 100% be there to fix it. Or at least fucking... help you through it."

"Really?" Eddie questioned, quietly.

"Of fucking course, Eds, I love the shit out of you," Richie laughed a little, "-and the idea of you being stressed the fuck out, alone, makes me want to bite my own fucking head off. So-"

Richie took a breath.

"-are you okay with me driving that long today?"

Eddie paused, before slowly saying, "You promise you'll stop driving if you need to?"

"Absolutely," Richie agreed, "-I'm not gonna push myself beyond my limits, Eddie baby. I promise."

There was a spare second of silence, and Richie started drumming his fingers along the wheel. It was the beat of 'Before He Cheats' (the song he was singing before). And his eyes remained squarely on the road -straightforward and focused.

"Okay," Eddie sighed out, "-Okay, yeah, you can drive 9 hours. That's... I'll be okay."

"Yeah?" Richie asked, genuinely.

"Yeah, Rich," Eddie laughed a little, "-Just make sure to eat and drink properly, and maybe hit the rest areas so you can stretch out your freakishly fucking long legs-"

"Can't call 'em freaks, if that's how ya like 'em," Richie interrupted with a Southern accent, "-Mr. 'my type is tall idiots'."

"I was hitting on you, moron," Eddie huffed out, "-You're my first boyfriend. I don't even know if I have a type."

"Yeah, I kinda figured," Richie laughed a little, "-That text drove me fucking crazy for weeks."

"Yeah, well," Eddie cleared his throat, "-fucking imagine what I felt when you told me your type."

Richie paused. ("But yeah, Spaghetti, teeny little brunettes who are mean to me.")

"Wait," Richie started, "-you... I, your celebrity crush, described you, a teeny little brunette who is mean to me, as my type. And you... what?"

Eddie didn't say anything for a second.

"Don't make fun of me. Or else I'll kick your ass."

"Roger that, Spaghetti," Richie echoed in a growly voice (like it was coming out of a walkie-talkie), "-please proceed."

"I... Ugh," Eddie exhaled like the words hurt to say, "-I threw my phone across the room. It cracked my whole fucking screen-"

"You what?" Richie interjected.

"It's just-" Eddie started to explain, increasingly flustered, "-You were... you. And I was, I was the exact description. And it hit me for a second that, you know, you were kinda tangible. That, with like... the right fucking circumstances, I could have you. Easy."

Richie blinked, before sputtering, "You could. You did. You do, you do have me now."

"Well," Eddie paused, smiling (Richie could hear the cheesy grin), "-I guess I got the right fucking circumstances."

"The best ones," Richie chimed, heart rattling in his ribs (Eddie, Eddie, Eddie), "-maybe."

"Yeah, shithead," Eddie replied, "-the best ones."

#reddie #watchoutwriting #reddie fanfiction #reddie fic #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter 2 #it chapter one #reddie fluff #the losers club #streamer au #achievement unlocked 🔓

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princess-of-the-corner · 8 months ago

Text

Lost Mineta Fic

Because I’m STILL SALTY ABOUT THIS, is it SO HARD for me to recommend a good fic, do you know how many fics there are of Mineta being a decent person!? It ain’t many!

So, as much as I remember (I swear-)

(TW for sexual harassmen, not sure if it counts, but better safe than sorry)

(Unfortunately this is long so under the read more it goes!)

Fic was called “Sour Grapes Are Hard To Swallow”, or something similar

It’s mostly from Mineta’s pov, and starts shortly after Kamino, when all the kids are moving into the dorms. The fic basically starts with Aizawa and Yagi going to the Minetas to talk about the dorms, and we get our first look at Mineta Sr., who is basically Fanon!Mineta!Grapist. the meeting is tense, with Yagi at one point noting Mineta looks like someone in a hostage situation, but Mineta Sr agrees to move his kid into the dorms. After the teachers leave, We also get a pretty good look at Mineta’s home life, and … yeah, Fanon!Grapist is the best way I can describe him. Mineta Sr is a close-minded, Quirkist, anti-mute Homophobe. He’s the picture of toxic masculinity, and seems to be doing his level best to impart it onto his son, which is actually going pretty badly, and Mineta is conflicted about the fact that he isn’t more conflicted. Like, Mineta is aware he is not what his dad wants in a son (he apparently takes after his absent mother in looks), and he’s starting to wonder if maybe that’s a good thing.

A quick jump here, but part of what I loved about this fic was that it made Mineta an actual CHARACTER, rather than a collection of jokes. Someone with hobbies, and feelings, and aspirations, things that I looked at, then compared to canon, and went, “yeah, I can see that” (which, considering how little they gave us, I’m not sure how impressive that is, but there you go). For instance, Mineta likes art. He’s actually very passionate about it, and is a fairly good artist. One of the things he and Kaminari do while hanging out is play video games - Kaminari playing the game, and Mineta just watching, enjoying the set design And artwork. He and Jirou have the same taste in music, and even swap playlists sometimes. He’s apparently a fairly good tutor for the sciences. He likes animals, especially bunnies, because they always look soft. And most of this wasn’t explicit, it was more “show, don’t tell”. Again, considering how little they gave us, not much, but it was SOMETHING.

Also, Mineta is bisexual, and TERRIFIED his dad will find out.

Like, there’s a scene/flashback of Mineta in middle school getting a crush on a boy, and how badly it went for him when he tried to ask his dad about it (spoiler, it’s how he learns that Pop Off will eventually start bleeding if he pushes it too much). Mineta basically admits to himself that he only acts how he Does, because it’s the only thing his dad ever praised him for - acting more like HIM. As the fic goes on, it becomes about Mineta, now basically out of his dad’s house, not HAVING to act like his dad, and how he deals with it. It also goes into some of Mineta’s thinking, which, while a bit warped, makes a weird amount of sense, and you kind of start to see where he’s coming from.

Like, yes, even in the fic, he ended up groping a few of the girls (and was summarily told off, given detention, and Did not do it again) but there’s a very awkward scene after a few people have learned what his dad is like, that someone points out Mineta made it a point to avoid ever doing any hero exercises with Hagakure. So, apparently, the way it went in Mineta’s mind - groping girls was something his dad was basically expecting of him as “a red blooded male”. He actually talks about the first time he did something like that in middle school (which was an accident he decided to double down on), and when they called his dad, his dad just laughed. When Mineta got home, his dad actually told him he was “proud” of him, in a roundabout way (which, yes, is messed up, that’s the whole point). So Mineta kept doing it, kept getting calls home about it, and it got his dad off his back about other things - like his art. However, Mineta was still aware it was bad, so he tried to make sure it was fairly fast, obvious, and on girls who clearly had no problem knocking him off (even if most of this was subconscious). However, he’s also vaguely aware of social norms, and all of this shit was above the waist, over clothing - Hagakure’s costume is literally boots and gloves. We later find out that Hagakure DID actually have an actual costume, it was mostly a joke saying she didn’t to freak people out, but Mineta didn’t know that. Apparently, he was genuinely concerned he would grab a naked Hagakure somewhere Not Okay, so avoided doing any exercises with her just in case. Keep in mind, it wasn’t that he WANTED to grope her, he was just conditioned to be EXPECTED TO, and the only solution he saw was making sure he never had the chance.

and yes, all of this is SEVERELY MESSED UP, but thats The point. The fic is pointing it out, saying “Wow, this thinking makes a sick kind of sense, but man, isn’t it fucked?”. They even Have Mineta and Bakugou have a conversation, shortly after Bakugou runs into Mineta and his dad over a weekend. Bakugou talks about how his mom, as much as he loves her, has really messed him up. How he acted a lot like she did, how he internalized a lot of shit she believes, about emotions making you weak, about caring making you weak, about having to stand alone to be strong, even if most of it is a bunch of bullshit. About how physical they are with each other, and how he didn’t even realize how much damage that was doing until he saw Deku without a shirt once, and realized how many scars he had. About how Bakugou is trying his best to shed some of her toxic ideas, but how hard it is.

As the story goes on, Mineta is finally starts accepting himself, especially when he starts crushing … on Kouda. No, I am not joking, this was a Mineta/Kouda fic, and I kid you not, that shit was ADORABLE. It starts as the subplot, Kouda and Mineta paired up for a school project, and Kouda finding out that Mineta draws (something he’d been hiding from basically everyone but Kaminari). They start bonding when Kouda invites him to hang out so he can draw some of Kouda’s animal friends, and just gets more tooth rottingly sweet from there. Mineta starts to realize that, after Kaminari, Kouda is probably his best friend. He doesn’t judge him, even when Mineta’s being a dick. He’s teaching him Sign Language, even though Mineta sucks at it. However, he starts to get conflicted, because Kouda is EXACTLY the type of guy his dad would call [a bunch of slurs] but he’s nice! And his Quirk is actually really cool! Not to mention they went to a museum together, and he let Mineta rant about post-modern Impressionism, and they got ice cream, and he’s really cute, andwaitwhatHOLDON-! Eventually, Mineta BiPanics, blurting out most of this to Kaminari, who is a good bro, and helps him out (while also privately planning to murder Mineta Sr.). There’s a lot more back and forth, but Mineta does eventually realize that if he wants to be himself - be happy - be a HERO - he needs to stop trying to be his dad. That he’s ABLE to stop being his dad. He’s in a place where he can safely break away from his dad, with people who will support him and keep him safe.

Now, some other random shit:

- Mineta is technically part of the Bakusquad by the end. No, I’m not kidding.

- Mineta hides his drawing in part because his dad kept insulting Him for it, and he doesn’t want anyone else too

- Kaminari only found out about Mineta’s drawing habit by accident, and he had to really work at it to make the other boy realize he wasn’t going to tease him for it

- Yes, Mineta and Kouda end up dating. For their first kiss, Kouda has to hold Mineta up, which Mineta is embarrassed about but also pleased with (he likes to be held)

- at some point, after Sero and Mineta have a bonding moment, Kaminari dubs them “Sticky Bros” (the two kind of like it despite themselves, and take it as proof they’ve been hanging out with Kami too long)

- Kaminari already kind of suspected Mineta Sr was a prick, as did, funnily enough, Jirou. Kaminari because several of Mineta’s statements seemed like red flags; Jirou, because Mineta sent her at least one playlist by mistake that was of the “Oh, these song choices aren’t concerning in the least” variety

- Everyone finds out Mineta can draw when he does a massive group picture of the whole class in their hero costumes as a birthday present for Aizawa. He actually ended up doing a fairly accurate job of drawing Hagakure’s face, revealing that he’d figured out a light reflecting trick to sort of see her. Later, said light reflection trick is semi-key to Hagakure figuring out how to turn her Quirk “off”

- when Mineta is panicking about his crush on Kouda to Kaminari, he confesses that he briefly had a crush on Shouji, purely for his hugs. Mineta is very small, and enjoys being picked up. Shouji picking him up, he says, is the platonic ideal of being cuddled.

- Mineta and Mina team up for a heroics class against 1-B, and end up kicking Monoma’s ass after he insults Bakugou

- Mineta comes out to most of the class during a game of Truth or Dare. Its right after Tsuyu, Tokoyami and Shoji reveal they’re dating, and he figures if everyone is accepting of that, they won’t much care about him being bi

- Bakugou ends up deputizing Mineta during study nights, because he can apparently explain certain things in a way Mina, Kwami and Sero will understand.

- Yaomomo finds Mineta’s phone at one point after he loses it, and sees a string of texts from Mineta Sr that make her concerned

- there is a big breakdown, where Mineta Sr shows up unannounced, makes a big scene, and Mineta has a panic attack the moment he leaves, thinking the class is going to hate him. I’m actually NOT going to describe it, because just reading it almost gave a sympathy panic attack, and I’m not doing that to myself

-There was also a scene where Mineta explains himself to his classmates, and apologizes to them (The girls in particular) for his behaviour. Everyone is more or less understanding, on the caveat “yeah, we get why you did that shit, and we are trusting you not to do it again, the moment you do we are beating your ass”.

- Ships as follows: Bakugou/Kirishima (like, two weeks after they start living in the dorms); Jirou/Yaomomo (apparently started dating just before the Summer Training Camp); Kaminari/Shinsou (Shinsou is not yet part of their class, but Midoriya keeps dragging him along, he and Kami hit it off); Tokoyami/Shouji/Tsuyu (about halfway through the fic, honestly adorable); Midoriya/Uraraka/Shouto (secondary background subplot about how all three are in love with each other, but think the other two are in love, and keep trying to step aside so those two can be happy. When Tsuyu announces she’s dating both Shouji and Tokoyami, all three have an epiphany, and spend the rest of the fic trying to figure out if the other two are into it. Someone makes the joke that their class has the Stable Poly Trio, and the Chaotic Poly Trio); Iida/Hatsume (not technically dating yet, but heavily implied that they will at some point); Sero/Ojirou (author joked they bonded over being “the plain ones [who are actually badass]”); Aoyama/Hagakure (the definition of dramatic, pansexual disasters); Mina, currently single (the author said they see Mina as grayromantic); Satou, also single (AroAce); Aizawa/Present Mic; and finally Mineta/Kouda

- Fic finale was Mineta Sr disowning Mineta after finding out his son was “a homo”, leading To Mineta becoming a ward of U.A. under Midnight, who was Sort of his mom figure at that point. Mineta Sr also ended up arrested, because he thought it was a good idea to use his Quirk (secreting some kind of adhesive from his skin) to “shut up that gay cockatoo” (Present Mic) leading the PM almost asphyxiating.

Obviously, the fic was better written than my rambling, but here we are. If anyone finds the fic, throw me the link, cause this is the fifth time a fic I really like just FUCKING VANISHED after I recommended it, and I’m starting to wonder if I am cursed.

Honestly this sounds fucking fantastic and I hope someone finds the link

#submission

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linagram · 4 months ago

Text

[ 𝚈𝚘𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚘𝚔𝚊 𝙴𝚒𝚔𝚘'𝚜 𝚃𝟹 𝚅𝙳 ] 𝙵𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎

oh eiko... i'm really curious to see how her trial goes..

Warnings for Eiko's VD: toxic relationship dynamics, a brief mention of Eiko's murder method.

Warnings for Eiko's MV: none, other than the aforementioned toxic relationship themes and general themes of death.

(sounds of footsteps)

Miki: .. I'm sorry for having to use your memory machine.

Hinode: It's okay, don't even worry about it. I trust you with it.

Hinode: Considering how slow I am, I wouldn't be able to use it properly anyway, haha..

Miki: .. Why did Kei-san break it anyway? What was he trying to achieve?

Hinode: To be honest.. I don't know him that well, obviously, but I have this feeling, like..

Hinode: Miki-san, do you think Kei-san is the type of person to come up with something like that himself?

Miki: .. Maybe for his own amusement? I'm not sure..

Hinode: I see.. Maybe my theory really is correct then.

Miki: What do you mean?

Hinode: Remember how Eiji-san mentioned the prisoner who he's particularly close with?

Hinode: .. I'm starting to think he meant Reina-san.

Miki: ...

Hinode: Miki-san, do you think Reina-san could've-

Miki: Yes. Absolutely.

Hinode: Well that was quick..

Miki: She had already tried to break the music video machine, I can definitely see her trying to do something similar to the memory machine.

Miki: And since we can already expect something like that from her.. I can imagine her asking someone else to do it instead.

Miki: "I can also imagine Kei-san being really excited about it.."

Hinode: But why is she even trying to break those machines? What will she get from it?

Miki: I'm.. not sure. I don't think she's afraid of us finding out something about her..

Miki: .. Maybe..

Miki: She actually wants to put an end to this trial.

Miki: No, no, it's more like..

Miki: .. She wants to put an end to Milgram itself.

Hinode: ...

Hinode: *laughs*

Hinode: She's insane. That's just not possible.

Hinode: I'm sure there have been other prisoners before her who had also tried to escape from here or just put an end to the whole system.

Hinode: What makes her think she's the special case?

Miki: ...

Miki: ".. The way Hinode-san is acting annoys me a little, but I can't deny that I also think her idea is stupid."

Miki: "It's like.. I can't help but think Milgram is the greatest thing that was ever created. Like Milgram is justice itself."

Miki: "It's like.. The longer I stay in Milgram.."

Miki:"The more I begin to worship it."

(the door opens)

Eiko: Ah, it's you two..

Eiko: Hehe, nice to see your pretty face again, Guard 003-kun~

Eiko: Or.. Uh.. I'm sorry, could you remind me your name, please?

Eiko: The whole memory machine thing has really messed up my memory, haha..

Hinode: It's Hinode. I'm also glad to see you again, Eiko-san.

Eiko: Oh my, you're so polite~ Haha, you're not like Eiji-kun at all..

Eiko: Speaking of him.. Where is he exactly?

Miki: He joined us during Kei-san's interrogation, so he probably should join us this time as well-

Eiko: *sighs* He always has Kei on his mind, huh.. I wish he could think more about me instead..

Hinode: Well, Kei-san is his brother, and you are..

Hinode: You know, just another prisoner.

Eiko: *laughs* Now, Hinode-kun, you couldn't be more wrong.

Eiko: Me and Eiji-kun have this special connection, I'm sure he can feel it too.

Miki: .. I'm sorry, but can I ask you something, Yoshioka-san? This is not related to your crime, but..

Eiko: Of course, go ahead!

Miki: .. Why do you like Eiji-san so much?

Eiko: Oh, are you jealous?

Miki: I'm not. I have no feelings for him at all.

Eiko: Oh, come on, Miki-chan, I know a jealous woman when I see one~

Miki: .. Maybe I like him, but not in a romantic way.

Miki: .. It's like you've never had a friend, Yoshioka-san.

Eiko: ...

Eiko: Maybe I haven't. I haven't dated anyone either before my victim, so..

Eiko: As you can see, I'm actually kinda lonely, haha..

Eiko: Anyway, about me liking Eiji-kun. You see..

Eiko: He's just special. Sure, he kinda has a case of really bad anger issues and he can be really violent for no reason at all, but that just makes him more cute.

Miki: "Cute?!"

Eiko: He is very hardworking, diligent, he wants to make this world a better place, he wants to punish everyone who's not perfect.. What else could you want from a man?

Eiko: Though I still think he has to find a hobby.. Maybe martial arts or something?

Miki: By "everyone who's not perfect" you mean.. Criminals, right?

Eiko: Yeah, I guess. Like, how could I not fall in love with him after how I was treated by my victim?

Miki: .. It's like you want him to fix you?

Eiko: Yeah, sort of.

Miki: .. You're really.. weird.

Eiko: Oh, come on, Miki-chan, we both know you want a man to do the same thing to you.

Eiko: It's a shame you and that.. What was his name again? Anyway, that band guy and you could be such a cute couple if it weren't for, well, Milgram.

Eiko: Also, Eiji-kun, I know you can see or hear me from the cameras, so could you please show up already? Come on, don't be shy~

Miki: "There's no way he's showing up now."

(sound of a screen turning on)

Eiji: Just so you know, thanks to my older brother who I love very much, I can't actually see anything from most cameras anymore.

Miki: "DID SHE JUST SUMMON HIM?!"

Eiko: Ah, about that.. Yeah, I've actually heard him leave his cell when the first interrogation started.

All guards: Huh?!

Eiji: Wait, but why didn't you-

Eiji: Why didn't you tell anyone?!

Eiko: I've stayed in my cell like a good girl.

Eiji: Why was his cell open anyway?! Why did you two just let him walk around like that?

Miki: H-he asked me to leave it open so that he can get medicine if he needs it..

Miki: W-wait-

Hinode: Him still trying to recover seems like an excuse he can use over and over.

Hinode: He pretended to feel sick so that he could break the memory machine too..

Eiji: .. You just can't do anything without me, can you?

Eiko: Then come back! We're all waiting for you~

(sounds of Eiji and Eiko talking)

Miki: "She.. really has a thing for guys behind the screen, doesn't she?"

Miki: "I really want to talk to Eiji-san about Kei-san's second trial verdict, but I don't know if I'll be able to.."

Hinode: Miki-san, Eiji-san, we don't have much time left, so how about we start the interrogation?

Miki: Right, right, sorry..

Eiko: So, have you guys managed to solve my murder yet?

Miki: It feels like we know everything about your murder, but also.. We still know so little.

Hinode: Your victim's name.. It was Takeru, right?

Eiko: ...

Eiko: .. Ah. I think I know what happened. It's because of the memory machine, isn't it? Did I accidentally say something I wasn't supposed to?

Miki: .. Yes. Yes, we found out his name from you right after we used the memory machine.

Eiko: I see. Well.. I don't even want to know what I said. I was.. kinda obsessed with him, to be honest.

Eiko: So, what is the last puzzle piece you need to solve this mystery?

Miki: We know your victim's name, we know about your relationship and what he did to you, but..

Miki: Still.. I just can't imagine you killing someone just because they were offline for so long.

Eiko: Haha.. Well, do you remember the question I asked you the last time you interrogated me?

Eiko: Do you remember your answer, Eiji-kun?

Eiji: .. "I would hope that they will die soon".

Eiko: Exactly.

Miki: D-did he try to kill you?!

Eiko: *laughs* No, no, he'd be too weak to do something like that.

Eiko: He.. He actually did the opposite.

Miki: Did the.. opposite?

Hinode: So.. Takeru-san stopped showing up online and replying to your messages and it's been four months since his last message?

Eiko: Yep.

Hinode: .. You know what that reminds me of?

Hinode: When someone, usually teenagers, kinda pretend that something bad happened to them. They stop replying to messages, they stop showing up online, they stop being active, all because they want people to worry about them.

Hinode: They want people to go "Oh no, what could've happened to them? Are they still alive?", they want people to send them messages like "Hey, I just want to make sure you're okay", basically, they just want the attention.

Eiko: .. That's.. actually very accurate, Hinode-kun.

Eiko: Eiji-kun, looks like you got a rival just now~

Eiji: What is that supposed to mean?..

Hinode: Well, as someone who has a younger brother who, um.. is kinda addicted to attention..

Hinode: I know what I'm talking about. *laughs*

Miki: So, does that mean..

Miki: Takeru-san pretended to be dead?

Eiko: Yes.

Eiko: And he took his job seriously.

Eiko: He literally asked his friends to tell me I'm dead. And almost all of them agreed to it.

Eiko: I don't know, if you hate me so damn much, then just tell me?

Miki: But.. Why couldn't he do exactly that? Was he scared or something?

Hinode: Perhaps he thought Eiko-san wouldn't take it well.

Eiko: I hate to say it, but you're right. Takeru wasn't just a liar and a manipulator, he was a huge coward.

Eiko: When I visited him to take my revenge, I thought he was going to cry. He literally begged me not to kill him.

Eiko: And still, do you know what his last words were?

Eiko: .. He told me it wasn't even a big deal.

Eiko: Ironic, isn't it? He was okay with doing anything so that I don't kill him, but right when he realized it's too late, he just had to say what he was really thinking this whole time.

Miki: ...

Miki:"This guy sucks."

Hinode: Now that I think about it, how exactly did you kill him?

Eiko: Oh, I dismembered him.

Miki: WHAT?!

Miki: Y-you- H-how did you-

Eiko: I just had everything I needed in my cute bag. A lady must always be prepared~

Eiko: I know, I know, sounds scary, but like, he deserved it.

Eiko: I can see it, Miki-chan. I can see that you want to agree with me.

Miki: ...

Eiko: And what do you think, Eiji-kun? Do you still see me as a dirty criminal who deserves to be locked up?

Eiji: .. Obviously.

Eiji: You didn't have to go and kill him. Especially like that.

Eiko: And he didn't have to fake his own death.

Eiko: Come on, Eiji-kun, I'm sure you know the feeling of being betrayed by someone and not being exactly rational when it comes to revenge.

Eiji: ...

(bell rings, machinery sounds)

Eiko: Looks like it's time. I've told you everything, so I wonder what my last video will reveal.

Eiko: Also, Eiji-kun, please don't worry about anything, okay? You can come and talk to the prisoners in person.

Eiko: I will take good care of Shun, Kei and Yurika for you. Don't even worry about it, okay?

Miki: Ugh, could you shut up already?!

Eiko: Huh?..

Miki: This is like a.. What, like a third murder threat? Or a fourth one?.. I-I'm not keeping track, but this is literally the last trial!

Miki: After this trial, you all are going back to your cells and not leaving until we're done with your verdicts.

Miki: I won't let any prisoners here die before the trial ends.

Eiko: .. Of course, Guard 002-san.

Eiko: "Before the trial ends", huh.. So you're okay with us dying after that-

Miki: Prisoner 006, Eiko, sing your sins!

42% ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░ 100%

[ Eiko's Trial 3 MV: Miss Grave Robber ]

The video starts with younger Eiko standing next to her house. A boy her age runs up to her and she gives him a smile.

"Mommy, tell me, is this what love is?

My heart is beating faster, I feel so warm

Oh no, my face is all red

That's probably what he's thinking"

He talks to her about something and starts to blush and she gets more interested in what he has to say, but before he can reveal why he came here, his eyes suddenly go empty. He looks up and then he drops dead. Eiko's expression quickly changes to a more emotionless one and we see her mother walking out of the house, holding a gun and laughing. We can see the boy's body lying on the ground and Eiko looking at it.

"Oh well, looks like my love story's over

There's no "they lived happily ever after" for me

I won't get one as long as you're alive

Mommy, tell me, is this what hatred is?"

The setting changes and it looks like a graveyard. It's raining. We see Eiko, wearing the same outfit she wore in her second MV (and the one that looks so much like something her mother wears) and holding an umbrella. She's standing next to a grave and looking at it, her face still doesn't show any emotions at all. We can see her turn around, drop her umbrella and pick up a shovel. She walks back to the grave and starts digging.

"Everyone, we're having a funeral for the love that never was supposed to be born

For the love that was so stupid and so wrong

Maybe I can bring my other "love" back to life

Just so that I don't feel so cold and alone"

It turns out that Shun was buried there.

Shun's condition doesn't look that good, his body was already in the process of rotting, he's missing an eye and he's clearly supposed to look like a zombie. He has a creepy smile on his face when he sees Eiko and he tries to reach out to her and she grabs him by the arm, not even looking him in the eyes. Now that Shun is "free", he follows Eiko around as she continues to walk and look at the graves.

"Here you are, I was looking for you

You've changed, but it's okay, I love you, half-decomposed isn't bad

We have one more lover to resurrect

And then we can all die happily"

She walks to another grave and notices a familiar name written on it. She starts digging again as Shun simply stands behind her, but if you look closer, you can see that he isn't exactly a fan of whatever Eiko is doing.

We can finally see who was buried there. It was Kei.

"Here's the second one! Oh my, you look perfect

I will give you lots of love, you can definitely go more

Why do you look so scared? Come on, isn't this what you dreamed of?

Don't tell me you can't handle this pain, you're not a weakling, right?"

Kei's body looks much better than Shun's, Kei looks much more pale than usual, it's true, but he doesn't look that much like a corpse compared to Shun and while Shun is completely missing an eye, Kei's eye is simply closed. When Kei opens his mouth, we can also notice that he has rather sharp fangs. If Shun was happy that Eiko found him, when Kei sees her, he looks scared and he doesn't want to leave his grave, but both Eiko and Shun force him to do so.

They continue to walk together and it's starting to look more and more like Eiko is looking for something. Or someone. Shun is clinging to her while holding Kei's hand. Kei looks tired and he doesn't want to be here at all.

"Our love is dead, oh no, let us sing our prayers

Your lies were the only thing that kept me alive

Except I don't see your name on our grave, oh no, don't just leave me like this

Let's get buried next to each other, rotting together doesn't sound so bad"

Rain gets more and more heavy. Eiko gets angry and she drops her shovel and pulls out a gun that looks exactly like the one her mother had in the beginning of the video and simply starts shooting everything that she sees, destroying the graves in the process. Shun gets scared and hides behind Kei.

"It's no good, no good at all

I will find you, dead or alive

Where are you, my love? You were supposed to be here

Are you already in Heaven? Or maybe, just maybe, you went to Hell?"

When there's nothing left of the graves and the whole graveyard looks like a mess, Eiko falls on the ground, looking tired and breathing heavily. We can't see what Shun and Kei are doing though. Eiko closes her eyes and when she opens them, she looks shocked and she quickly tries to get up.

It's not Shun or Kei who are standing next to her.

It's Takeru.

Takeru looks alive, he looks completely fine. But if you look at his face expression, you can see that he wants to get out of here and he doesn't want to do anything with Eiko.

Eiko doesn't care about it though and she starts to walk closer to him, looking like she's about to pull him in a hug. Takeru just keeps walking away, looking scared and not seeing what's behind him.

"Come on, you still love me, right?

No, wait, you've always loved me, right?

You loved me, right? You loved me, right?

I WASN'T A NUISANCE TO YOU, RIGHT?"

Because of that, Takeru ends up falling right where either Shun or Kei was buried. He starts to panic and he tries to get out. He sees Eiko and tries to reach out to her in the same way Shun did. His face expression changes to a terrified one as he sees Shun and Kei standing next to Eiko. Shun is even smiling and waving at him. But Shun also has a shovel in his other hand.

"Our love is dead, oh no, let us sing our prayers

Your lies were the only thing that kept me alive

You get your own special grave now, bye-bye!

You were rotten from the start, so what are you so afraid of?"

We can see Takeru getting buried alive from his POV.

When Shun is done, he looks up at Eiko and smiles widely, but then his eyes become empty and he drops dead (but this time he's dead for sure) in the exact same way the boy in the beginning did. We can see that he was shot in the head.

"Rotten boys like you don't deserve a second chance

There is no afterlife for you

So please get out, I can't handle your imperfections

Please get out, actually, no, why don't you just die?"

Eiko turns around and looks directly at the viewer as the rain gets more and more heavy. We can't see Kei anywhere. The video ends.

#i wish i could make her mention her brother and other stuff but this vd wasn't supposed to be about that #and i wanted to focus on her murder more #she will say some interesting stuff in her interrogation though!#had a lot of fun writing her mv even though i thought it'd be the hardest one to write #like!! deco references!! other prisoners being there and actually being an important part of the mv!! how cool!#🎤 voice dramas! 🎤#🗡️guard 001: sanada eiji 🗡️#🌼guard 002: andou miki 🌼#❤️‍🩹 guard 003: kuroki hinode ❤️‍🩹#💎prisoner 006: yoshioka eiko💎#milgram #milgram oc #milgram project #ocgram

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