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joequiinn · 8 months ago

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The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 5

[chap four] | [all chapters here] | [chap six]

Summary | You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

Warnings & Notes | fem reader, slow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

Author's Note | I'm very excited for this chapter because it's actually one of the scenes that inspired this whole fic! Before I knew what the hell I even wanted to write, I played this idea of a figure skating character over and over again in my head as I built up the story around it. I'm a little behind on writing the next chap, so it may be a slightly longer wait between this and the next one! Hope you all love it!

WC | 4.8k

Taglist | @costellation-hunter @daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @em0220 @fromasgardandback @kthomps914 @lotrefcp @marrowfrog00 @mewchiili @munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @rach5ive @sav12321 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @steeldaisies @stormgrl19

Chapter Five

You skated at least four times a week. You’ve done so since you were ten years old, when you decided that you wanted to take figure skating more seriously. Whether or not you had competitions, whether or not you were in the mood for it, you always stuck with your skating routine. With competition season coming up in November, you knew you’d have to start practicing more, putting in longer hours and more days in preparation.

Or maybe not. After all, competing was something that your mom enjoyed, that she encouraged wholeheartedly. Regardless of how much you enjoyed it, it didn’t exactly fit the teenage rebellion thing you had going on right now. Maybe you wouldn’t go to competition this year, maybe you’d skip out on your final season out of pure spite - now that would be cruel. Although a part of you hurt at that idea - because you really did love skating - you reasoned that it was something you had to consider.

Fridays were always very long days for you. While your peers would be set free to roam following the 3pm school bell, you had more obligations for the day. Once you left school, you crammed in as much homework as you could before hitting the ice rink by 4:30 at the latest to get your own practice in. Once that was done, you led a youth skating practice until 7pm, then you tried to squeeze in some more skating time before the hockey team took to the ice at 7:15. After arriving home at 8 o’clock or later, you crammed more homework so you wouldn’t have to deal with it over the weekend, and then by that point you’d be too worn out for anything else, so you generally slept late into the next morning.

This had been your routine for over a year now, ever since your own couch suggested that you needed to get more extracurriculars under your belt for your college applications. She had insisted that your resume would look far more impressive if you showed that you had teaching experience and “leadership potential,” an idea that really appealed to your parents, who were determined for you to get into a good school, maybe even on a figure skating scholarship. So, you ended up taking over the Friday night children’s lessons whether you wanted to or not.

You honestly despised it. You led children age 5 to 7, and they were a constant pain in the ass. You couldn’t raise your voice without one of them crying, you couldn’t leave them to their own devices without someone inevitably ending up hurt. Yet, you stuck with it because you were told to, because the adults around you insisted that you needed to. You couldn’t stand the way your coach would insist that this would help develop your skills, you couldn’t stand how your mother insisted “you’ll look back on this so fondly when you’re older.” These damned kids skating lessons were something else you’d probably drop soon, because you barely tolerated them as is.

While everyone else was at the football game, while Eddie was probably off playing his stupid fantasy game or doing something equally as nerdy, you were here at the ice rink, shouting instructions at children while parents and hockey players watched. Some of the parents had made it clear before that they weren’t fond of your impatient and mean teaching methods, but your coach always seemed to talk them out of pulling their kids from your group. She always argued something about you being the best skating in the county, but you weren’t sure how true that was - sure, you had your fair share of medals, but even with your ego you were pretty sure there were better skaters at your level.

“Come on, slackers, we’ve got five minutes left!” You taunted your group of 11 kids as they skated around the perimeter of the rink as a cool down. You zipped ahead of them, leading the charge as you skated backwards to keep an eye on them.

Many of the older kids had grown used to your abrasive coaching, but you could see that many of the newbies were still frightened of you, your loud voice, and your cold eyes. As a means of excusing your poor teaching style, you always said that skating was a tough sport and they needed to toughen up if they wanted to be any good at it. For how pretty and elegant figure skating could be, you knew from experience that competitive skating could be harsh, so you figured you were helping these kids prepare for it.

Because the Hawkins High hockey team had the rink after your group every Friday, many of them were already sitting on the sidelines, getting their gear ready or watching you work. The cocky part of you enjoyed the attention, but hockey players were stupid, so you rarely gave any of them a chance whenever they tried talking to you. Nonetheless, when you were in a good mood, you enjoyed putting on a bit of a show for them, shooting flirty glances their way or occasionally calling out remarks to them between instructing the kids. Tonight, you were paying them little mind, but that didn’t stop you from looking their way every now and again.

As you led the kids back to the center of the ice to wrap up the lesson, a lot of their parents were also waiting in the bleachers or out in the lobby. While you skated back and forth in front of your little army of children, going over some instructions for their next practice with your coach on Monday, your eyes roamed the bleachers. You gave a wicked grin to the hockey players that watched you, meanwhile you took in the parents with very little regards. It was as you looked over the clusters of parents that you saw a familiar face sitting at the penalty bench, and unintentionally you let your toe pick drag on the ice, which very nearly caused you to trip.

God damn Eddie Munson.

As you glared in his direction, hoping your momentary lack of balance didn’t make you look too stupid, you dismissed the kids before gliding towards the dasher board. Eddie, grinning like an asshole, stood up to meet you as children began to exit the ice. You braced yourself on the rail of the board, eyes narrowed at Eddie who appeared far too amused for your liking.

“What are you doing here?” You ask in lieu of a greeting. Eddie briefly glances over at the kids leaving the ice.

“You’re incredible with children.” He mocked, smiling far too wide for your liking; you narrowed your eyes while wondering just how long he’d been here, “Figured I might find you here.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.” You respond coldly, gaze briefly looking in the direction of the hockey team to find a couple of them watching your interaction.

“You did say we needed to make plans, figure out how this was going to work,” Eddie started, taking in your red cheeks and slightly damp forehead that developed over the course of your skating lessons.

“I also said we’d talk about it next week.” You glowered a little, not worried if any of the hockey players saw it - maybe they’d simply mistake it for a lovers quarrel. Eddie grinned, holding his arms up as if he were a presenter on some dumb show.

“No time like the present, right?” Your unamused face gave him all the answer he needed, and his expression fell a little in annoyance, “And here I hoped I was being a good fake boyfriend by visiting you at the rink.”

“You’re being too good a fake boyfriend,” You jab.

Now that all the kids were off the ice, you slid towards the open gate; Eddie kept pace with you on the other side of the dasher board, meeting you at the gate and offering you his hand in assistance. You looked between his face and his outstretched hand with a glare, but eventually accepted his help, stepping over the barrier and onto the slightly cushy floor on the other side.

“I told you not tonight because I’m busy.” You walk over to the gym bag you left sitting on the nearest bleachers. As you sat beside it, Eddie shrugged with a carelessness that seemed almost false.

“Then I’ll go.” He answered simply as you removed your skates, “Just thought it might not be a bad idea to get to know you a little better. It’s not gonna be easy to fake date someone who you know nothing about.”

You shot him a harsh look while putting skate guards over your blades. You didn’t want to admit that he was right, but he had a good point, especially since you had already discussed it before. You sighed heavily through your nose, your cold eyes locked on Eddie’s.

“Can’t it wait? I’ve had a long day.”

Eddie studied you for a moment, leaning back against the dasher board before looking around the ice rink. You quickly put some worn sneakers on your feet and stood, picking your bag and turning away with the intention to leave. But Eddie’s gentle grip on your wrist stopped you from going anywhere, causing you to look between his hand and his face. As you two held eye contact, you realized that Eddie could be just as stubborn as you when he wanted; damn, was this going to be difficult.

“Let me buy you dinner - I’m sure you’re starving,” Eddie started, and for a fleeting moment you wondered if he thought your attitude was because you were hangry. You chewed your lower lip, eyes staring critically at Eddie for another few moments before you let out a defeated sigh, allowing your shoulders to relax a little. Considering that it had been nearly eight hours since your lunch break, it might now be a bad idea to eat something.

Eddie’s eyes softened at your silent resignation, the corner of his mouth pulling up. He finally released your wrist, nodding his head in the direction of the lobby, “Come on, you pick.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Your pick ended up being a 24-hour diner downtown. Eddie showed clear confusion when you mentioned it, so you explained that - for whatever reason - the diner had become something of a tradition, where students congregated post-Friday night football into the wee hours of the night. You’d joined that crowd a number of times in the past, but had no more interest in it - what you were interested in was having people see you and Eddie out together.

You knew it would still be at least an hour before the football crowd arrived, but that wasn’t such a bad thing - it gave you and Eddie a bit of time to actually become acquainted, to learn more about each other beyond “ice princess” and “the freak.”

You studied Eddie while sipping on a chocolate shake, waiting for your food to arrive. He stared back at you unabashedly, and you figured you could be locked into this staring contest until the end of time given how stubborn you both could be. As if Eddie knew what you were thinking, he smirked, finally caving as he looked away from you.

“Not to sound cliche,” Eddie scratched the back of his neck, almost as if he were nervous, but you assumed that couldn’t be true, “but… tell me about yourself?”

You smiled at how dumb the question was - that was so cliche. It was as good a starting place as any you figured, but that didn’t make it sound any less silly and forced. You leaned back in your seat, still holding tight to your milkshake as if it were a lifeline.

Putting on your best Miss America voice, you replied, “Well, I’m freshly 18 from Hawkins, Indiana. I love long walks on the beach, snuggling up with a good book, and I hope one day we’ll have world peace.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at you, although you could tell he was fighting back a grin, “You’re making this very challenging considering that it was your idea.”

You shrug, taking a big gulp of the chocolate shake, “I guess I’m just a challenging person.”

“You guess?” Eddie laughed mockingly at that, “You’re the most challenging I’ve met. So, how about you try relaxing a little or else no one’s going to buy that we’re together.”

You made a face at the near-insult, finally putting down your drink. You leaned your elbows on the table, taking in Eddie’s face for a moment, stubbornly resisting the urge to say anything. Again, he had a good point, not that you wanted to tell him that. Eddie appeared to have an idea as he mirrored your pose.

“Okay, we’ll go back and forth, a question for a question; how’s that?” You nodded, “Right. First question: Why me?”

Your brows furrowed a little in thought, pinning down a good answer while trying to recall what you’ve already told him, “Haven’t I already explained that?”

“Kind of.” Eddie rolled his hand in a motion that basically said “but go on.”

You bit the inside of your cheek for a moment while thinking, “Your reputation. People don’t know you, but your reputation is in the absolute gutter. No better person to turn to than the guy who everyone in the school already hates.”

Eddie nodded in acceptance of the answer, “Okay, your turn.”

You grinned a little, a question already on your lips, “Why’d you agree to it?”

It was something you’d speculated briefly throughout the week, as you thought that your trade offer might not have been a compelling enough reason for Eddie to agree to this stupid plan. And now you could finally get the answer you were looking for.

Eddie silently stared at you in consideration, and again it almost felt like he was able to read your thoughts somehow. Finally, he answered, “Curiosity.”

You raised a brow in question, to which he once more scratched the back of his neck - maybe that actually was a nervous habit, so you took note of it.

“We both know this idea is kinda crazy,” Eddie started, mulling over his thoughts before continuing, “But I wanted to see how it plays out. See if we can actually trick people into believing it. And I wanted to see if you were as awful as I thought you were.”

You balked instantly, an amused huff escaping your mouth, “‘Awful?’ Jesus, you keep acting like I’m the devil or something.”

Eddie made a face while shrugging, not disagreeing with you, “You thought the same about me. So, let’s call it square.”

Food was finally brought to your table, and you had to resist the urge to attack the greasy burger set in front of you; you didn’t need Eddie to see you act like a ravenous gremlin over some food, even if it had been over eight hours since you’d eaten anything. But you nonetheless dug in, albeit with far more control than your empty, growling stomach would have liked.

“Your turn.” You say around a bite of food, causing Eddie to smile in amusement and the unladylike action.

“Hmm…” He leaned forward, scrutinizing you as he contemplated his next question. Self consciously, you wiped at the corner of your mouth just to make sure there wasn’t any stray ketchup or grease sitting there, “Why ice skating?”

“Because it’s better than cheerleading.” You smiled at your own joke before giving a slightly better answer, “I always thought it was pretty. Nothing else to it, unfortunately; no deep story and significance to it.”

“Fine.” Eddie responded almost as if he was disappointed by the mundane answer.

“Why Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Your questions can’t keep being off-shoots of mine.” Eddie laughed a little, and despite yourself it caused you to smile smally as well.

“Says who?”

“Says me,” He responded while pointing at himself, “I get to come up with some of the rules now, remember?”

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes with a degree of fondness, which you immediately found strange, so you tried to wipe the look from your face. Nope, you weren’t fond of Eddie Munson, not at all.

You went back to your food, hoping Eddie didn’t catch the amused look on your face. You spoke around another bite of food, “Do you have siblings?”

“None that I know of.” He replied around his own mouthful of food, “But I wouldn’t exactly be surprised if there were any out there.”

You cocked your head a little at the response; it wasn’t so much shocking or sad, rather it was unexpected and different from your own life. You made a mental note to learn more about Eddie’s family, if not tonight then at a later point.

“What’s your plan after graduation?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then paused - what was your plan now that you were trying to make your own decisions? You hadn’t even considered it. Did you still want to go to college? Where? Studying what? You suddenly realized that you had no true plan for yourself, only the one outlined by your parents, and that realization made you nervous.

“Honest answer: not a fucking clue.” Eddie looked taken aback by the response, so you continued, “My plan before was getting into a good school on a skating scholarship, and studying something completely irrelevant. My parents expect my skating to carry me through life until some good, rich man sweeps me off my feet.”

“But that’s not your plan anymore?”

“That’s another question.” You give him a teasing grin, causing Eddie to roll his eyes, “First, answer me this: If you weren’t stuck in Hawkins, where would you go?”

Eddie grinned with an unexpected eagerness, “LA. The music scene there is insane, and I’d happily sleep on the streets if it meant I had a shot at making my own music.”

Your eyes softened ever so slightly at the unexpected, genuine response - admittedly, you didn’t peg Eddie as the type to have any real goals. But music? That was interesting to you since you weren’t even aware that he played any instruments. You wondered if he was actually any good at it, or if it was some foolish aspiration.

“Now, what’s your plan?” Eddie repeated, smirking at the look on your face - this was one of the few times you didn’t look like a total bitch, so he appreciated it. In fact, you looked relaxed and, dare he say, content; that was certainly unexpected from you.

When you shrugged, he shook his head, leaning forward again, “No, you come up with a plan right now. Don’t base it off what your parents want or what you think sounds like the right answer. What do you want to do with your life once we’re done with this shit hole?”

You contemplated, a mild concern washing over you as you stared at Eddie - what the hell did you want? And why did you suddenly feel so vulnerable because of the question. You had to rip your gaze away from Eddie’s, hardening your expression as you tried to think up an answer that felt right.

“I… I like art, I love clothes,” You started dumbly, glancing at Eddie through your lashes, expecting him to make a face at the lame answer, “I don’t know shit about them in a technical way, but it might be fun for college. Take painting or sewing classes during the day, skate until my feet hurt at night, maybe… I want to be somewhere big and interesting. New York, LA… fuck, even Florida for all I care, I just want out of Hawkins, out of this town.”

“Then I guess we’ll be those high school sweethearts that run off to LA together after graduation, huh?” Eddie smiled widely, and you allowed an amused look to cross your face.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You returned to your food as you tried to come up with a good question for Eddie. An intriguing one came to you, so you asked before you could second guess it, “How do you expect your fake girlfriend to act?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed; it didn’t appear to be due to him misunderstanding the question, but rather that it was unexpected; he even looked maybe hesitant to answer it. Again, he scratched his neck.

You lean forward a little, looking at him seriously, “Give me a good answer, okay? We’re just gonna keep going in circles otherwise.”

Eddie shrugged, “Maybe I don’t have any expectations.”

“Then come up with some.” You immediately counter, prodding the same way he had about your plans for the future. Eddie stared at you with scrutiny while chewing the inside of his lip, as if he didn’t want to come up with a response to the question. You waited, making a mock sweet face at him while you chowed down on your fries. You were going to demand an answer until he gave you one.

“Well, going off the rules you already established,” He made a bit of a face as if to mock the oh-so-sacred fake dating rules, “Aside from playing nice in front of others, it might be helpful if you were less stubborn; you’re like a damn bull.”

You gave him a joshing smile right back, “Fair. Is that it?”

Eddie quickly shook his finger; now it was just a back-and-forth game of you mocking one another, “Ah, that’s another question.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You rolled your eyes with a short laugh, “That is not another question.”

Eddie gave a fake look of apology, shrugging again, “Unfortunately, it is.”

You threw a french fry at him, which lamely hit his chest then landed in his lap. As he laughed and picked it up, you found yourself smiling fondly again, and you quickly tried to shake off the expression.

At that moment, the bell above the front door chimed, and immediately the diner was filled with rambunctious conversation. Your heart jumped a little, realizing the time, and you briefly glanced in the direction of the door; the group that had entered wasn’t your friends, although you recognized them. You turned your attention back to Eddie, who gave you another grin.

“Showtime.” He stated simply, and then a thought appeared to cross his mind, “You want another expectation? Tell me if anything I do is too much, but otherwise let me do what I do - you don’t need to be in control all the time.”

“Don’t I, though?” You countered haughtily, which was met by a flash of seriousness across Eddie’s eyes.

“No, you don’t. I know what I’m doing, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, not entirely convinced that he did, in fact, know what he was doing. Considering that you’d never seen him even interact with a girl before, you weren’t sure if he knew the first thing about dating or romance. But despite your doubts, you relented, relaxing your shoulders as if to show you were relinquishing some control.

“Fine,” You rolled your eyes nonetheless, forever obstinate as you mocked, “I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, but otherwise I’ll let you do what you do.”

“Was that so hard?” Eddie replied with a condescending smirk. You sneered before relaxing your face, knowing your friends were bound to appear any minute now.

As you stole another glance at the door, you suddenly felt Eddie’s fingers graze the back of your hand, drawing your attention back to him with a confused little knot between your brows. He held your gaze as if to make a point, as if to remind you of the conversation you just had, that he knew what he was doing. His hand simply sat on top of yours, your fingers ever so slightly lacing together - he raised his brows as if to dare you to pull away from him. You had to resist the urge to narrow your eyes at him and snatch your hand away, and in turn Eddie gave you a cocky grin before continuing to eat with his free hand.

Eventually, your friends appeared, although they didn’t notice you at first. They were all so full of energy as they excitedly spoke to each other, descending upon a few tables in the middle of the diner and pushing them together. The staff were used to it, although you knew from experience that they nonetheless hated it; you guys were always disruptive to the other patrons, and you figured that was never going to change.

You tried your best not to stare, but your eyes kept trailing over, kept studying the excited faces of the people you considered friends only a couple of weeks ago. After your eyes had drifted over for the umpteenth time, you felt Eddie lightly squeeze your fingers, causing you to unintentionally sneer at how strange it was to maintain this physical contact with him.

“Stop staring,” He instructed when you looked back at him.

With a quarrelsome look in your eyes, you did as Eddie told you, returning your attention to the half eaten burger on your plate, “Talk to me about something, then.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t care, just talk so I can pretend to be interested.”

Eddie looked mildly put off by that, and you realized that you’d taken your customary mean tone with him. You couldn’t seem to help yourself with your former cohorts nearby, it was as if their energy was rubbing off on you.

“You know what I’m going to talk about,” Eddie taunted with a wide grin.

Your face fell in realization, “Please not Dungeons and Dragons.”

“I’m gonna do it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“So, there’s this character, Kas, who has really interesting lore--”

You threw another fry at Eddie, and at that same moment, you felt someone come up alongside your table. You both look up to see Amelia there with a critical look on her face; your gaze drifts past her, noticing that a few people from her table were also looking at you and Eddie.

You met Amelia’s eyes again, giving her a wide, false smile, “Small world.”

Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms, “Yeah, I’m sure you just completely forgot we always come here after games.”

“Maybe she just wanted to see her dear friends.” Eddie chimed in mockingly, once again surprising you with his willingness to instigate confrontation. You laughed as a dumbfounded look crossed Amelia’s at his remark.

“I don’t know what the hell she sees in you.” Amelia snarked with a glare before turning her gaze back to you, “And I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but it’s already getting pretty old.”

You shrug with exaggerated nonchalance, “Sometimes a girl just needs a bit of a change every now and then, you know?”

Amelia didn’t look convinced as she rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh, “Yeah, well, this ‘change’ doesn’t suit you at all.”

Before you could respond with another quip, Amelia spun on her heel and briskly returned to her table. By that point, everyone there was watching and awaiting Amelia’s return, quickly huddling together to whisper conspiratorially once she sat down.

You and Eddie shared an amused glance; he went back to poking at his food as your gaze trailed back to Amelia and company. You happened to lock eyes with Duncan, who stared at you with harsh scrutiny, as if he wasn’t buying this thing between you and Eddie in the slightest. You gave Duncan a mocking while, starting to wave before flipping him off, causing Eddie to snort and choke on his food. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud as he hit his chest a couple of times, trying to clear his throat. The sound of such a genuine laugh escaping you was absolutely foreign to Eddie, but he decided it was a sound he enjoyed, even if it was at his expense; he made a mental note that he had to find ways to make you laugh more that didn’t involve him choking.

“You could’ve killed me.” Eddie croaked before laughing himself, his smile wide.

“You’re fine.” You teased, squeezing his fingers while giving him a false pout of sympathy, “You big baby.”

Eddie rolled his eyes in amusement, digging his wallet out while finally relinquishing the grip he had on your hand, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He tossed money onto the table and stood, offering his hand to you again. You quickly snagged one last fry before accepting Eddie’s hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He once again laced his fingers with yours as he led you through the crowded diner, and you had to fight back the desire to cringe in confusion at it. The both of you eyed the crowd of Hawkins High’s elite as they watched you back critically.

Once outside the diner, Eddie paused in front of one of the large windows and pulled a ridiculous face at the kids still watching you; he quickly tugged your arm, leading you back towards the van as you laughed again at his antics.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

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nikkento-writes · 5 months ago

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About Love - The Masterlist

And we'll dance along the Milky Way, I hope that you feel the same. About me, about us, about love.

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader

cw: canon universe, canon divergent, angst, fluff, fake dating trope, budding romance, slow burn, explicit language, eventual smut

Summary: After an abrupt split with your boyfriend, you’re left with a broken heart and a paid vacation for two that you now have to spend alone. There, you meet Nanami Kento, who temporarily fills the void left by your previous partner.

Nanami doesn’t do relationships, not while he’s a Jujutsu Sorcerer. When he meets a beautiful stranger on vacation, he sees it as a temporary escape, a fling that will only become a fond memory and nothing more.

Little do either of you know that your chance encounter won't be the last.

Author's Notes: The idea for this series came to me probably over a year ago by now and I've been thinking about it constantly since. I have little snippets written, a playlist, I'm always acting out scenes in my head, etc. I finally found the time to start writing this and I'm so excited to share! Chapter 1 will be coming soon. This series is planned for ten chapters, but that's subject to change. I have no regular posting schedule, so any new chapters will be posted sporadically (basically whenever I finish writing them). Thanks in advanced for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are never expected, but always appreciated. Divider credit to the lovely @/cafekitsune. Title inspired by the song (Only) About Love by grentperez.

Chapter 1 - About Love

Chapter 2 - Someone New

Chapter 3 (tbd)

Chapter 4 (tbd)

Chapter 5 (tbd)

Chapter 6 (tbd)

Chapter 7 (tbd)

Chapter 8 (tbd)

Chapter 9 (tbd)

Chapter 10 (tbd)

#nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami fluff #nanami smut #nanami kento #jjk smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento smut #nanami kento fluff

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oceandolores · 5 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 9

Dbf!Joel Miller x F!Reader

"𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨,"

summary: it's the big day

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 9

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 8

next | chapter 10

The night was heavy with a silence that seemed to hum with unresolved tensions. Inside Joel’s dimly lit living room, the only sound was the soft ticking of the clock as Joel’s mind raced with thoughts of vengeance. He had just finished a tense conversation with Ellie, who had reluctantly agreed to stay home and get some sleep. Her concern had been palpable.

"Now, get some sleep, Ellie, I'll be right back." He said as he pick up his jacket and his truck's key from the desk.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ellie ask, "I need to go back to her house, I need to take care of her before her father's get home," Joel lies.

"Okay," Ellie said.

Joel closed the door behind him, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. As he made his way to the truck, he could feel Ellie’s anxious gaze lingering on him, a reminder of the fragile line he was walking. The lie about returning to your house to take care of you was a necessary deception, a way to keep Ellie from discovering his true intentions.

The truck roared to life, its engine breaking the quiet of the night. Joel’s thoughts churned like a storm at sea, the images of your pain intertwining with the dark intent driving him forward.

He gripped the steering wheel of his truck tightly, knuckles white against the darkness, he clenched his jaw over and over again, as he drove towards the bar where Jamie was likely to be. The truck's headlights cut through the inky blackness, but they could not penetrate the veil of anger that had enveloped Joel. He was determined to find Jamie and make him pay for the harm he had inflicted on you. Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom of vengeance, interspersed with fleeting memories of the tender moments he had shared with you. Every time his mind drifted to your pain, it only fueled his resolve.

He will keep you safe no matter what it takes.

The anger roiling inside Joel was a storm at sea, a hurricane of grief and rage that threatened to tear apart the calm facade he maintained. His feelings for you were like a fragile flower in a storm, blooming amidst chaos but vulnerable to the fury of the winds. Each image of you in pain was a dagger to his heart, a wound that only deepened with every second Jamie remained free.

When he arrived at the bar, he parked a short distance away, his eyes scanning the scene with a predator’s precision. The bar’s neon lights flickered intermittently, casting an unsteady glow on the streets. He watched from the shadows, a ghost among the night, waiting for Jamie to emerge.

Inside the bar, Jamie and his friends were oblivious to the storm brewing outside. Their laughter and raucous voices filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension simmering in Joel’s chest. He remained hidden, his focus sharp, his patience unwavering. Every now and then, he glanced at the entrance, his resolve hardening with each passing moment.

As the night wore on, Jamie finally stumbled out of the bar, his steps unsteady and his demeanor reflecting the effects of heavy drinking. But just as Joel prepared to make his move, a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.

Unbeknownst to him, someone had been following him, moving with the same stealth and purpose. The presence was unsettling, a silent observer whose intentions were cloaked in mystery.

Joel’s attention was solely on Jamie, his anger and determination a palpable force. Jamie, heavily intoxicated, staggered towards his car, fumbling with his keys. Joel slipped out of his truck, moving silently across the empty parking lot. He followed Jamie’s unsteady path. The scene was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

As Jamie clumsily tried to unlock the door, the keys slipped from his grasp and fell into a nearby drainage ditch. "Fuck, C'mon!" Jamie cursed loudly, his frustration evident as he bent down, reaching into the dark crevice. The night was still, the only sounds being Jamie’s muffled swearing and the distant hum of traffic.

He kept his eyes fixed on Jamie, who was now still crouched beside his car, struggling with the keys. The empty parking lot was dimly lit by flickering streetlights, casting long shadows that danced with the slightest movements.

Joel’s footsteps were soft, almost imperceptible as he approached Jamie from behind. His anger was a fierce, controlled fire, burning with the intent to protect you and ensure that Jamie faced consequences.

As Jamie struggled to retrieve the keys, Joel’s voice cut through the silence. “Looking for something?” The tone was calm, but the underlying menace was unmistakable. Jamie’s head snapped up, and he looked over his shoulder to see Joel standing behind him, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

Joel's smile was devoid of warmth, more of a grimace shaped by his dark intent. His brown jacket, now illuminated by the faint light, made him appear as a looming figure from the shadows. He stood with his hands casually behind his back, but his posture and expression spoke volumes of the resolve that lay beneath.

Jamie’s eyes widened in shock and fear as he recognized Joel. “Mr. M-miller?” he stammered, his voice a mix of surprise and trepidation. The night seemed to hold its breath, the stillness around them amplifying the tension of the encounter.

Joel's demeanor remained unnervingly calm. “Are you looking for something, Jamie?” he asked with a pretense of friendliness that masked the dangerous undercurrent of his intentions. His voice was smooth, like honey laced with venom, creating a facade of benevolence while plotting something darker. The contrast between his calm exterior and the turmoil brewing within him was as stark as light against shadow.

Jamie, visibly shaken, struggled to maintain his composure. “Uh, I, uh, my car keys fell,” he stuttered, his hands trembling as he tried to retrieve the keys from the ditch. “What are you doing here?”

Joel’s response was as measured as it was unsettling. “Oh, I was just out drinking at the bar with Tommy. I think your keys might have fallen too deep.” He offered the lie with an almost casual ease, as though discussing the weather rather than the dark purpose behind his presence. “Are you heading home?”

Jamie’s fear was palpable, his mind racing to keep his anxiety hidden. The dread of Joel uncovering his involvement in your assault was almost suffocating. He attempted to push aside his panic, focusing on the trivial matter of his lost keys. The fear of Joel’s inquiry seemed to magnify with each passing second.

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie said, his voice betraying his unease. He began to back away, clearly eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere that Joel created.

Joel’s smile remained, but there was an edge to it that hinted at something darker. His voice was smooth, as though offering a simple gesture of kindness rather than concealing a deeper, more menacing intent. “Well, do you need a lift?”

Jamie’s anxiety was palpable, his body language betraying his fear. He glanced nervously between Joel and the dimly lit parking lot, where the shadows seemed to close in on him. The weight of his recent actions and the looming threat of Joel’s presence created a sense of suffocating dread.

“N-no, it’s fine,” Jamie stammered, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. “I’ll just walk.” His voice was uneven, betraying his attempt to mask his fear with bravado.

Joel’s gaze was unyielding, a quiet storm of determination masked by a façade of concern. “You sure?” he said, his tone smooth and insistent. “the roads aren’t safe this time of night, and it’s not a good idea to be out here alone.”

Joel’s demeanor was calm, yet his presence was a heavy shadow, looming over Jamie. “I can get you home quickly,” Joel pressed, his offer carrying an undertone of menace cloaked in false kindness.

Jamie hesitated, glancing back toward the bar, where the distant sounds of laughter and music seemed almost mocking in their cheerfulness. “Okay,” Jamie then said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you,"

Joel’s smile widened, not with warmth but with a predatory satisfaction. He gestured toward the truck, his movements deliberate and controlled. “No problem,"

As Jamie climbed into the passenger seat, the world outside the truck seemed to dissolve into a blur of darkness and shadow. The engine roared to life, its vibrations a stark contrast to the icy resolve simmering within Joel. The truck rumbled into motion, each bump on the road a reminder of the storm brewing in Joel’s heart.

Joel's mind was a tempest, a relentless maelstrom of anger and righteous fury. His thoughts were as fierce and unyielding as a hurricane tearing through a desolate landscape. He was not swayed by fear or hesitation; the night and its secrets wrapped around him like a shroud, fueling his unshakable resolve. He had witnessed your pain, and it had ignited a fire in him—a fire that burned away any feelings inside him.

Jamie, on the other hand, was ensnared in a cocoon of fear and uncertainty. The truck’s interior was suffocating in its silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the engine. Jamie’s eyes darted nervously from the road to Joel, trying to gauge the other man’s intentions. The weight of his secret pressed down on him like a leaden blanket, each moment of silence more unnerving than the last.

Joel's face was a mask of cold determination, his eyes fixed on the road ahead with a relentless focus. The darkness outside was a metaphor for the storm raging within him, a canvas upon which his resolve was painted in stark, unforgiving lines. He was a man forged from shadows and steel, willing to embrace whatever darkness was necessary to shield those he loved from harm.

As the truck continued its journey, Jamie's unease grew palpable. He realized with a creeping dread that the streets they were navigating were not the ones leading to his home. The road was unfamiliar, winding through the outskirts of town where the lights grew sparse and the shadows deepened.

Jamie swallowed hard, his throat dry and constricted. The weight of his fear pressed down on him as he repeated, “Uh, Mr. Miller, I think you missed the turn.” His voice trembled, betraying his mounting anxiety.

Joel’s response was a mere flicker of acknowledgment, his gaze fixed resolutely on the road ahead, an unyielding expression carved into his features. The night outside seemed to close in around them, the darkness a heavy shroud that swallowed any remnants of comfort. Jamie’s fear mounted with each mile that passed, his discomfort palpable as the unfamiliar roads stretched into an abyss of uncertainty.

“Mr. Miller?” Jamie’s voice wavered again, his nerves frayed. He tried once more to engage Joel, but the older man’s silence was more intimidating than any words could be.

“Joel, are you okay?” Jamie’s question was almost desperate, a thin veneer of concern masking his growing dread. Joel’s eyes remained fixed ahead, his face a mask of cold determination. The silence stretched, a taut string of tension that seemed to vibrate through the air.

“You did this to her,” Joel finally spoke, his voice a low, dangerous growl that cut through the stillness of the night. The words hung in the air like a dark omen, and Jamie froze, his face draining of color. The realization that Joel knew, that Joel had connected the dots, was like a chilling blade pressed against his throat.

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing to form a coherent response. His usual bravado crumbled, replaced by a stammering mess of excuses and denials. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His words faltered, a mix of fear and confusion rendering him almost incoherent.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white as he continued to drive further from the city lights, deeper into the uncharted darkness. The truck’s headlights cut through the night, illuminating the path ahead but leaving the destination shrouded in uncertainty. Joel’s eyes were darkened with an intensity that spoke of a burning resolve. He was a man driven by a fierce need for retribution, his mind a tempest of rage and protective fury.

The truck roared through the darkness, its engine a ferocious growl that mirrored the storm within Joel. The relentless rumble seemed to amplify the cold fury burning in his eyes. Joel’s patience had frayed, and his control, once a bastion of composure, was now cracking under the weight of his rage.

"Don't you dare fucking lie to me," Joel’s voice cut through the night, a blade of ice that seemed to slice through Jamie’s crumbling bravado. The truck hurtled onward, the asphalt giving way to the rugged expanse of the desert, a barren land that seemed to echo the desolation of Jamie’s soul.

Jamie’s attempts at deceit faltered, his voice a stuttering mess of fear and desperation. The darkness outside pressed in, its oppressive silence broken only by the sounds of the truck’s tires shredding through the emptiness.

Joel’s anger reached its breaking point. With a roar that shook the night, he bellowed, “YOU HURT HER!” The words were a thunderclap, a declaration of war against the man who had inflicted so much pain. The truck veered violently off the asphalt, plunging into the desert’s desolate grip, its speed a reckless testament to Joel’s unbridled fury.

"Fuck!" Jamie clutched at the dashboard, his fear morphing into a primal terror as the truck skidded and swerved. "Please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" as Jamie screamed.

The landscape outside was a blur of shadows and dust, a chaotic dance of darkness that mirrored Jamie’s unraveling sanity. The desert stretched endlessly, an unforgiving expanse that swallowed the truck’s lights and swallowed the screams of its occupants.

When Joel finally brought the truck to a halt, the silence that followed was almost more oppressive than the storm of noise before. Jamie’s eyes darted around, seeing the monstrous transformation of Joel before him—a man driven by a fury so deep it seemed to burn from the inside out. The calm, collected Joel Miller was gone, replaced by a force of nature, a relentless predator with eyes like burning coals.

"Please, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, Please, don't hurt me," Jamie’s pleas for mercy were swallowed by Joel’s unyielding gaze. The fear in Jamie’s eyes was palpable, a reflection of the terror that now gripped him as he realized the gravity of his situation. “Please, Mr. Miller, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Joel’s response was cold, his voice a low rumble that held no hint of compassion. “And you must pay for it.” His words were a death knell, an inexorable judgment that left no room for hope.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jamie’s desperate attempts to flee were futile as Joel locked the doors. The finality of the action was a chilling confirmation of Joel’s intent. Jamie’s sobs were raw, a chorus of despair that filled the air as Joel reached beneath the seat and retrieved the hammer.

The metallic glint of the hammer was a dark premonition, a cold harbinger of the violence that was about to unfold. Jamie’s cries for mercy mingled with the sound of the truck’s engine ticking as it cooled in the night’s oppressive silence. His pleas were desperate, trembling with the raw edge of fear as he realized the inescapable fate that awaited him.

“No, no, no! Please don’t! I’m sorry!” Jamie’s voice cracked, each word a plea for a reprieve that would never come. His eyes darted around in frantic desperation, searching for an escape that wasn’t there.

Joel’s expression remained a mask of chilling resolve. The hammer in his hand was a dark and unforgiving symbol of his determination, a tool of retribution that he wielded with a cold precision. As Jamie’s sobs grew more frantic, Joel’s grip tightened, his own emotions a turbulent sea of anger and grim satisfaction.

"No, no, NO!"

With a sudden, powerful swing, Joel drove the hammer into Jamie’s head. The impact was brutal and final, a shattering blow that resonated with a sickening thud. Jamie’s body jerked violently, the force of the hit sending a spray of blood and fragments across the truck’s interior. The sound of the hammer meeting flesh was a grotesque punctuation to Joel’s wrath.

***

The first light of morning filtered through the curtains, it cast a soft, golden glow over the room. You stirred from a fitful sleep, your body heavy and aching from the events of the previous night. The pain, particularly concentrated in your thighs and between your legs, was a constant reminder of the trauma you had endured. Each movement was a delicate balance between discomfort and exhaustion, and you willed yourself to remain still, finding solace in the dim sanctuary of the room.

Your gaze fell upon Joel, who had fallen asleep beside your bed. The sight was both comforting and surreal. His presence was a beacon of safety in the storm that had engulfed your life. Joel, dressed in a snug army-green t-shirt and jeans, looked worn yet strikingly handsome. His features were softened in sleep, a rare vulnerability showing through the rugged exterior you were more accustomed to. His hand rested gently on the bed, his fingers curled around yours, a silent promise of protection and care. His arm was draped across the bed, propping up his head in an awkward but tender manner.

The bucket of warm water and napkin on the nightstand seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of your shared anguish. They were symbols of Joel’s dedication to your comfort, a small oasis of normalcy in the wake of chaos. His thoughtful attention to your wounds was a stark contrast to the violence and fear of the night before.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you—relief mingled with guilt, gratitude with sorrow. You marveled at Joel’s dedication, his sleepless vigil a testament to his fierce protectiveness. His tired expression spoke volumes, each line etched into his face a story of his struggle to shield you from harm. Despite the crushing weight of your pain, there was a flicker of warmth in your heart for Joel’s unwavering presence.

You slowly extended your hand, gently squeezing Joel’s fingers. The softness of his touch was a balm to your aching body and soul. Carefully, you called out to him in a whisper, “Joel...”

He stirred, his movements slow and groggy. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the depths of his concern and fatigue. As he became fully awake, his demeanor shifted from the soft vulnerability of sleep to a sharp, focused alertness. He sat up, his gaze quickly assessing your condition with an intensity that spoke of his unyielding commitment to your well-being.

“Hey, you okay? I'm here, baby,” Joel’s voice was rough but filled with genuine concern, the harshness of the night giving way to the tenderness of the morning. His eyes searched yours, trying to gauge the extent of your pain and the depth of your emotional wounds.

As Joel's focus shifted solely to you, the outside world seemed to dissolve into a blur, leaving only the two of you in this tender moment of solace. The ache in your body was still present, a harsh reminder of the pain you had endured, but Joel's presence provided a comforting anchor, grounding you amidst the tumultuous emotions.

"I'm okay, but still hurt," you managed to say, your voice soft and strained. You shifted to a sitting position, wincing as the pain flared. Joel moved carefully to assist you, his hands steady and gentle. His concern was palpable as he looked at you, his gaze searching for any sign of distress.

“Where does it hurt?” Joel asked, his voice a low, soothing murmur.

“Everywhere,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “From my legs all the way up.”

Joel nodded, his expression a mixture of sympathy and determination. “Do you need anything?” he asked, his eyes filled with earnestness.

He reached for a glass of water from the nightstand, handing it to you with a steady hand. As you took a sip, your gaze wandered, and you noticed something that made your heart sink. There was blood on Joel’s forehead, a stark contrast against his otherwise rugged features.

“Joel, there’s blood on your forehead,” you said, your voice tinged with concern. You reached out instinctively, touching the area gently. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s hand instinctively went to his forehead, and he glanced at the blood with a faint, dismissive look. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said quickly, attempting to downplay the situation. “Just bumped into something last night. It’s not a big deal.”

His words were calm, but there was a hint of something guarded in his eyes, a subtle shift that made you feel uneasy. Joel’s attempt to brush off the injury was met with a frown from you, his casual demeanor not fully masking the gravity of the situation. The blood on his forehead was a silent testament to the violence that had unfolded, a stark reminder of the lengths he had gone to protect you.

Joel’s attempt to redirect the conversation was gentle, but there was a firmness in his voice that conveyed his concern. “You don’t need to go to the church fellowship event today,” he said, his tone softer now, but still resolute. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re not in any condition to perform with the dance troupe.”

The mention of the event brought a rush of urgency and panic. Your heart raced as you remembered the hours of practice and the responsibility you carried for leading the troupe. “No, Joel, I have to go,” you protested, desperation creeping into your voice. “I’ve worked so hard for this. I can’t just not show up.”

Joel’s expression grew more serious, his eyes darkening with concern. “But you’re still not well,” he countered, his voice steady but tinged with worry.

As the reality of your situation sank in, you looked around the room, realizing the intimacy of the setting. Joel was here, and your father had not yet returned. Panic surged through you. “What about my dad? Is he back yet?” you asked urgently.

Joel shook his head slowly. “No, he's not here yet, I already spoke with your mother, made something up so she's not suspicious, said Ellie wants to make sure you're okay and send me here because I told her to prepare for the event,"

Joel’s gaze softened, yet there was a steeliness in his eyes that belied his calm demeanor. “Look, doll, you’re not strong enough to perform,” he said, his voice tender but insistent. “I need you to rest.”

You met his gaze with a determination that belied your frailty. “I’m fine, Joel. I can do it.” Your words were firm, a declaration of your will to push through despite your condition.

Joel’s eyes held a depth of emotion, a storm of conflicting feelings swirling beneath the surface. The concern etched in his features spoke of a man torn between his protective instincts and the need to respect your wishes. His gaze was a turbulent sea, reflecting a depth of care that was both comforting and unsettling.

“Okay...” he said quietly, his voice like a soft breeze before a storm, “But, I need you to tell me right away if you’re not feeling up to it, or anything else. Promise me that.”

You could see the raw intensity in his eyes, a mixture of frustration and affection that made your heart ache. Despite his gruff exterior, his eyes were windows to a soul deeply worried for your well-being.

You nodded slowly, "I promise,"

Joel’s relief was palpable, though he still wore a worried frown. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours with a gentle firmness. “Good,” he said, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Now, let’s get you settled," as Joel help you to get up, you held his hand.

"Joel.." you say, "Thank you," you look into his brown eyes, "For protecting me,"

Joel’s eyes held a rare tenderness as you thanked him, a flicker of warmth breaking through the stormy depths of his gaze. The sincerity of your gratitude seemed to touch something deep within him, a part of him that had long been guarded and hidden. His hands, rough and strong, gently gripped your shoulders as he knelt beside you, bringing himself to eye level.

“I’ll do anything to keep you safe,” he said, his voice a low murmur filled with an intensity that spoke of unspoken vows and sacrifices. “I’d burn the world down to see you safe, to make sure you’re protected.” His words were like a fierce storm, powerful and relentless, but also oddly comforting in their sincerity.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the space between you charged with an electric intimacy. Joel’s presence was a fortress, a wall of unwavering strength that shielded you from the chaos and pain of the world outside. His promise was a beacon in the dark, a light that cut through the shadows of your fear and uncertainty.

You leaned in, drawn by the magnetic pull of his words and the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. Your lips met his in a gentle kiss, a silent expression of the gratitude and affection that words alone couldn’t fully convey. The kiss was tender, a soft melding of your emotions and his, a moment where the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the closeness you shared.

Joel’s reaction was immediate and instinctual. His hand moved to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that belied his hardened exterior. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, where the strength of his feelings was laid bare in the gentle press of his lips against yours. The kiss lingered, a shared breath of solace and connection, a promise of protection and care that transcended spoken words.

As you pulled back, the connection between you felt stronger, the bond forged in the crucible of your shared pain and Joel’s unwavering resolve. The look in Joel’s eyes was a blend of fierce determination and quiet affection, a testament to his commitment to your safety and well-being. The room, once filled with tension and fear, now held a fragile peace, a space where the echoes of your gratitude and his promise intertwined in a delicate dance of trust and protection.

As the warmth of your kiss lingered, the delicate tranquility of the room was abruptly interrupted by a soft knock at the door. The sound jolted both you and Joel back to reality. Instinctively, you pulled away from Joel, the sudden shift in the atmosphere a stark reminder of the world outside this fragile cocoon of safety.

Your mother’s voice came through the door, tender yet laced with concern. “Sweetheart, you’re awake?”

Joel, with a subtle nod of understanding, shifted aside, allowing your mother to enter. Her gaze was a mixture of relief and worry as she took in the sight of you, still seated on the bed but looking more composed than you had the night before.

"I’m fine, Mama” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering pain. “I’m feeling better, just a bit sore.”

She approached you with a comforting touch, her maternal instincts immediately taking over. “Are you sure, dear? You still look pale."

You shook your head, a sense of determination anchoring your resolve. “I have to go to the church fellowship event. I’ve practiced so hard for this, and it’s really important."

The conversation between you and your mother continued, the urgency of the situation mounting. “But you’re still in pain,” she insisted, her voice edged with a mix of worry and frustration. “It’s not worth making yourself worse.”

“I should go, Ma. I’m fine, really,” you insisted, the determination in your voice evident. You understood the importance of this event, not just for yourself but for your family’s reputation and your father’s expectations.

Joel, sensing the growing tension and the need for him to avoid your father’s possible return, decided it was best to make his exit. He rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and calm despite the underlying tension. “Well, maybe I should get going,” he said, his tone professional yet carrying a hint of warmth. “Ellie needs my help to prepare for the event."

Your mother nodded, her eyes showing a mix of gratitude and concern as she glanced between you and Joel. “Thank you, Joel. I appreciate all your help. Please, let Ellie know we’re grateful.”

"Thank you, Mr. Miller," you said to him.

Joel gave a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of your mother’s thanks, and made his way to the door. He paused briefly, casting one last, meaningful look your way. The intensity in his gaze was softened by a flicker of concern, a silent promise that he was there for you, even if from a distance.

As Joel left, you turned back to your mother, her hand still tightly clasped in yours. The weight of the conversation and the urgency of the event pressed heavily on your shoulders, but you could feel a new layer of understanding and connection between you and your mother. The barriers that had once seemed impenetrable were beginning to show signs of cracking, revealing the raw, unspoken truths that had long been buried beneath the surface.

With Joel’s departure, the room felt slightly emptier, but there was also a sense of quiet relief. Your mother took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions, and then looked at you with a mixture of resignation and determination.

Your mother’s expression softened as she saw the fear in your eyes, a fear she had known all too well herself. “Mama, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to upset Father. If I don’t perform, he’ll be so angry, and I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

She took a deep breath, her hand tightening around yours as she searched for the right words. Your eyes welled up with tears as you looked at her, the weight of your father’s expectations pressing down on you like a heavy shroud. “If I don’t do this, he will...I can’t take it, Mama. I can’t take it anymore,"

For the first time in a long while, your mother didn’t look away. Instead, she held your gaze, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry for not protecting you, for not standing up to him. I’ve been a coward, hiding behind my role as a good Christian wife, but in doing so, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed as a mother.”

Her words hit you like a wave, a raw confession that peeled back layers of pain and resentment. You could see the torment in her eyes, the struggle between the life she had chosen and the daughter she had neglected. “Mama…” you began, but she shook her head, stopping you.

“No, let me say this,” she insisted, her voice growing steadier as she spoke. “I’ve watched your father take out his anger on you, and I’ve done nothing. I told myself it was for the sake of the family, for our standing in the church, but those were just excuses. The truth is, I was scared. I’ve been scared for so long that I forgot what it means to be brave, to be a mother who truly protects her child.”

She reached out, her hands trembling as she cupped your face, her touch tender but firm. “I’m sorry for every time I stood by and let him hurt you. I’m sorry for every time I didn’t speak up, for every time I told you to be obedient, to not make him angry. I was wrong, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you listened, your heart aching with the weight of her words. You had waited so long to hear something like this, to have her acknowledge the pain you had endured. But it was bittersweet, the apology tainted by the years of silence that had come before it.

“I promise, I won’t let him hurt you again.”

The sincerity in her voice, the raw emotion in her eyes, stirred something deep within you—a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. “Mama…” you whispered again, your voice choked with emotion.

She pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly as if she could shield you from all the hurt in the world. “You’re my daughter, and I love you,” she said softly. “I should have said that more often. I should have shown it. But I’m saying it now, and I mean it. I love you."

You buried your face in her shoulder, the tears flowing freely as years of pain and longing poured out. It was a moment of profound connection, a bridge built over the chasm of fear and regret that had separated you for so long.

For the first time, you felt like you weren’t alone in this, that maybe your mother was finally ready to stand by your side. It was a fragile hope, but it was hope nonetheless, and in that moment, it was enough.

As you pulled away from your mother’s embrace, the warmth of her words still lingered in your heart, but the weight of your decision pressed heavily on your shoulders. “Mama, but I have to perform,” you insisted, your voice steady though your body still ached. “I can’t abandon my friends like that. We’ve worked so hard.”

Your mother studied you for a moment, a mixture of pride and concern flickering in her eyes. Finally, she nodded. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said softly. “But let’s get you cleaned up before your father gets home. We don’t want him asking any questions.”

With that, the two of you moved with quiet efficiency, working to cover the evidence of the previous night’s horrors. The bruises and soreness were masked with layers of foundation, and by the time you were done, you looked almost as if nothing had happened. The pain still lingered beneath the surface, but on the outside, you appeared fresh and composed.

Just as you finished, you heard the front door creak open. Your father was home. Your mother gave you a quick, reassuring glance before heading out to greet him. You followed a few steps behind, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your father’s voice was the first thing you heard, deep and authoritative as always. “How’s everything been while I was gone?” he asked your mother as he set down his bag.

“Everything’s been fine,” your mother replied, her voice steady. “How was New Orleans? How did the preachings go?”

“Productive,” your father answered curtly. “The congregation there is strong, but they need guidance. I gave them what they needed.”

His gaze then shifted to you, and your breath caught in your throat. You quickly smoothed out your expression and stepped forward to greet him. “Hello, Father,” you said, your voice carefully controlled.

He looked you up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized your appearance. “Are you ready for today’s performance?” he asked, his tone as stern as ever.

“Yes, Father,” you replied, your heart racing as his gaze lingered on you. “I’ve been practicing hard,"

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good. Have you been a good girl while I was away? Helping Pastor Ben and your mother?”

“Yes, Father,” you said quickly, keeping your voice steady.

He seemed to study you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as if trying to catch something out of place. You held your breath, praying that the makeup was enough to conceal the bruises. Finally, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Alright then. We’ll head to the church together. I’ll go change first.”

With that, he turned and headed toward his room, leaving you and your mother standing there. “Make me a coffee,” he added over his shoulder to your mother as he disappeared down the hallway.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as your mother turned to you, her expression a mix of concern and support. You weren’t out of the woods yet, but for now, you had managed to keep things under control.

As you waited in the living room for your father to return, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on you. The church, the performance, the constant need to appear perfect—it was all so exhausting.

Meanwhile, your father, in his room, couldn’t shake the odd feeling gnawing at him. Something about you had been off since he walked in the door. You looked put together, your makeup flawless, your demeanor obedient—but there was something beneath the surface that unsettled him. As he changed out of his travel clothes, his mind kept drifting back to the look in your eyes. He knew you too well. You were hiding something.

On his way back to the living room, your father passed by your bedroom door, which had been left slightly ajar. Something in the room caught his eye, a subtle shift in the air, and he stopped. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.

The room was as you had left it, seemingly in order, but as his gaze swept across the space, his eyes landed on something out of place—a wallet on the floor, half-hidden under the bed. His brow furrowed as he walked over and bent down to pick it up. As he reached for the wallet, a small slip of paper slid out and fluttered to the ground.

Curious, he picked it up, and as he unfolded it, a photograph slipped into view. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the image—one that shouldn’t exist, one that told him everything he needed to know.

It was a photo of you and Joel.

Taken in a photo booth at the Houston night fair just a couple of weeks ago, the series of images unfolded like a nightmare. The first captured your innocent smile, Joel’s arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The next, you pressing a kiss to Joel's cheek, was enough to make his heart pound with a mix of disbelief and growing fury. But the final image—the one that made his blood boil—showed the two of you locked in a passionate kiss, your hands around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, while Joel’s hands held you close, deepening the kiss with an intimacy that could not be misunderstood.

The reality of what he was seeing hit him like a punch to the gut.

The world seemed to narrow around him as he stared at the photograph, the air in the room growing thick with his mounting rage. How long had this been going on? How could you, his pure daughter? with Joel—the man who was supposed to be his friend, a man he had trusted?

His hands trembled, the photo crumpling slightly in his grip. The room suddenly felt too small, too stifling, as if the walls themselves were closing in on him. He could feel the anger, a searing heat that spread from his chest to his temples, blurring his vision with the sheer force of it.

In that moment, a dark cloud settled over him, a mixture of fury and cold calculation. He knew now that you had been lying to him, deceiving him in the worst possible way. The facade of control he held over you began to crack, and his anger surged.

You had been tainted by Joel.

His thoughts spiraled into a storm of biblical proportions, each one more damning than the last. To him, this wasn’t just a betrayal—it was an unforgivable sin, a defilement of everything he had tried to instill in you. The preacher in him seized on the gravity of it, framing it as the ultimate transgression, a stain on your soul that could only be cleansed through punishment, through retribution. You had not just sinned against him, but against God, against the very order of the world as he saw it. He was ashamed of you.

As he turned to leave your room, the photograph burned in his mind, each image seared into his memory as a reminder of the depth of your sins. His mind raced, formulating the words, the punishment, the retribution that would follow. He would make sure you understood the gravity of your actions, that Joel understood the consequences of his. This was not just a matter of discipline; it was a matter of redemption, of cleansing his family of the shame you had brought upon it.

"Father? What's going on?"

***

Joel entered his house to find Ellie already dressed. Tommy and Maria were there too, with Little Luke gurgling happily in his mother's arms. The small family was ready, waiting for Joel to join them for the church event.

As soon as Joel stepped inside, Tommy glanced at him, noting his distracted demeanor. "Joel, where’ve you been? We’re almost late for the service."

Joel stood still, his expression hard to read, his thoughts elsewhere. The tension in his body was palpable, and it was clear that something was weighing heavily on his mind.

Tommy exchanged a concerned look with Maria, then called out again, his voice tinged with worry. "Joel, you alright?"

Snapped out of his reverie, Joel responded in a low, gruff voice as he started walking towards the stairs. "I'm fine, Tommy. Y’all go ahead without me. I’ll catch up. Just need to take a shower first."

Tommy watched him go, his brows furrowed in confusion. Joel wasn’t acting like himself, and the unease in the room grew as they watched him retreat up the stairs. Maria shifted Luke in her arms, her expression mirroring Tommy's concern, but they didn’t push further. They knew better than to press Joel when he was like this.

As Joel closed the door to his room, the walls seemed to close in around him, the familiar space offering no comfort. He stripped off his clothes mechanically, his movements stiff, almost robotic, as if on autopilot. The cold bathroom tiles pressed against his feet, grounding him momentarily, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm raging in his mind.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water, letting it cascade over his head, drenching his hair, and running down his body. The chill was sharp, biting against his skin, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the darkness that clung to him. The cold water was like a penance, a physical manifestation of the anger that churned within him. It flowed over his shoulders, down his back, mixing with the sweat and grime of the day, but it couldn’t cleanse him of the memories that haunted him.

As the water beat down on him, images from the night before flashed before his eyes, searing into his mind with a vividness that made him clench his fists. He could see Jamie’s face, twisted with fear and pain, as Joel confronted him. The sound of his own voice, raw with rage, echoed in his ears, mingling with the sickening thud of the hammer striking flesh and bone.

The first strike had been deliberate, calculated, smashing into Jamie’s skull with brutal force. He remembered the way the boy’s eyes had gone wide, the life leaving them almost instantly, but Joel hadn’t stopped. The fury inside him had demanded more, had driven him to raise the hammer again and again, even as Jamie lay lifeless on the ground. Each blow was a release, a catharsis, as the hammer connected with sickening squelches, turning bone to pulp, spraying blood in every direction.

Joel’s breath had come in ragged gasps as he continued to hit, his body acting on pure instinct, on the overwhelming need to obliterate the source of his anger. By the time he was done, Jamie’s head was nothing more than a ruined mess, unrecognizable, the blood spattered across Joel’s face and clothes like a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

Even now, under the cold spray of the shower, Joel could feel the phantom weight of the hammer in his hand, the sticky warmth of blood on his skin. He could hear the dull thud of metal meeting flesh, the sound reverberating in his mind like a macabre metronome. It was a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life, a grim reminder of the thing he would do for you. To protect you.

The cold water did little to numb the memories, the violence replaying itself in a relentless loop. Jamie’s face, the fear that had flashed in his eyes before the first blow had landed, was burned into Joel’s mind. The brutality of it, the sheer force of his rage, was something he hadn’t fully anticipated. He had known he was capable of violence—he’d done plenty in his lifetime—but this had been different. This had been personal. This had been revenge.

As the water pounded against his skin, Joel tried to focus on the chill, the sharpness of it, hoping it would pull him out of the dark spiral. But it was futile. The memory clung to him, heavy and suffocating, as if Jamie’s blood was still on his hands, refusing to wash away.

He had justified it to himself in the moment—Jamie had deserved it. For what he had done, for the way he had hurt her. Joel had wanted to protect you, to ensure that Jamie could never lay a hand on you again, and in that blinding fury, he had become something monstrous, something he had thought he left behind a long time ago.

The boy's voice still ringing in his head.

"NO!"

Jamie’s screams became strangled, reduced to guttural noises as the hammer struck again and again. The once-bleeding man now lay in a crumpled heap, his pleas silenced by the relentless assault. Blood splattered across the truck’s seats and floor, a vivid testament to the violence that had transpired.

Joel’s breathing was heavy, his hands trembling slightly as he surveyed the aftermath. The interior of the truck was a chaotic tableau of violence, with blood staining every surface, a stark contrast to the pristine desert night outside. The once-clear lines between justice and vengeance had blurred in the haze of his fury.

The desert around them remained eerily still, a stark witness to the brutal act that had unfolded within the confines of the truck. Joel’s eyes were hard, the rage within him momentarily spent but leaving behind a cold emptiness.

He turned away from Jamie’s broken body, the hammer lay on the truck’s floor, a silent witness to the dark turn of events. Joel’s thoughts drifted back to you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood that now marked his hands and the interior of his truck.

His fingers moved methodically, driven by a deep, visceral need to erase the evidence, to scrub away the blood that had stained not just his truck, but his soul.

He dragged Jamie’s body to the back of his truck, the weight of the lifeless form a grim reminder of the violence that had transpired. The tarpaulin was a makeshift shroud, hiding the brutal reality beneath its coarse fabric. As he carefully wrapped the body, Joel's movements were precise, each action a testament to his resolve to contain the fallout of his rage.

The interior of the truck was a chaotic scene of carnage, the once-pristine surfaces now marred by splatters of blood. Joel worked tirelessly, scrubbing away the stains with a rag that seemed too small for the enormity of the task. The blood, now a dark, congealed mess, clung to every surface. Joel’s efforts were relentless, each swipe of the cloth a desperate attempt to cleanse not just the physical space, but the emotional turmoil that lingered in the air. It was as if he were trying to erase the very essence of the violence, to wash away the sin that had seeped into the fabric of his life.

As he poured water over the dirt to dilute the remaining traces of blood, the sound of someone's voice cut through the silence, a chilling revelation that made Joel’s heart skip a beat.

“You’re gonna burn in hell,”

It's pastor Ben.

Ben’s voice echoed with an unsettling clarity. Joel’s body went rigid. He turned slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, as he faced the figure emerging from the shadows. Pastor Ben, standing with an air of grim determination, had followed him all this time, tracking the aftermath of the night’s violence.

It turned out Ben has been following you, watching you all this time—Ben had seen everything. He had been there when Jamie had assaulted you, and now he had witnessed the culmination of Joel’s fury.

“Joel, you’re a monster. I’ve seen you with her. You should be in jail, and you will burn in hell for what you’ve done. Murder is a grave sin, and you’ve committed it without remorse."

Ben's voice cut through the desert night with a chilling clarity. Joel’s body stiffened, and he turned slowly to face the source of the accusation. Ben stood there, framed by the dim glow of the truck’s headlights, his face a mask of grim determination and righteous fury. The weight of his presence pressed heavily on Joel, a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgment that now surrounded him.

Ben’s condemnation was unrelenting. “You’re not just a murderer, Joel. You’re a depraved man who preys on innocent girls. You’ll face the wrath of God for your sins. You’ve defiled yourself, and you’ve defiled her.”

Joel, who had initially been uncertain about Ben's identity, now connected the dots. This was the pastor who had condemned him, the one you had spoken about. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Joel's heart pounded with a mix of fear and rage. His secret had been exposed, and Ben’s condemnation was a direct threat to everything Joel was trying to protect.

Feeling cornered and desperate, Joel realized there was no choice but to eliminate this threat. He seized the hammer, his mind racing with a singular purpose: to silence Ben and protect you.

Joel lunged at Ben, the hammer’s cold metal a grim reassurance in his hand. Ben, recognizing the imminent danger, bolted into the darkness. The night air was filled with the frantic sound of their pursuit, Ben’s footsteps echoing in the still desert.

Joel was relentless, driven by a combination of fear, anger, and desperation. He tackled Ben to the ground with a forceful impact, the two men grappling in the dust. Ben struggled fiercely, but Joel’s determination and strength overwhelmed him.

With a grim resolve, Joel brought the hammer down, each strike a release of his pent-up fury and fear. The hammer met Ben’s skull with a brutal finality, each impact reverberating with the sickening sound of metal against bone. The desert was silent save for the harsh breaths of Joel and the final, dying gasps of Pastor Ben.

As the violence subsided, Joel stood over Ben’s lifeless body, the hammer still clenched in his hand. The reality of what he had done settled heavily upon him. The desert night was an eerie witness to the brutality, the air thick with the smell of blood and the weight of Joel’s actions.

Joel's thinking about you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood on his hands and the chaos that surrounded him. He had done what he felt was necessary to you, so nobody gonna take you away from him, but the cost of his actions was a burden he would carry with him, a reminder of the darkness that had consumed his life.

Joel’s thoughts snapped back to the present as he emerged from the shower, the cold water rinsing away the remnants of the night’s brutality. As he dried himself, he couldn’t shake the haunting memories of the violence he had committed. His hands, once steady and sure, now trembled with the weight of his actions. The sight of his blood-stained palms, now scrubbed clean but still bearing the marks of his deeds, reminded him of the dark path he had trodden.

He had buried them deep that known only to him. These actions, buried under layers of dirt and deceit, were the grim price he had paid to ensure your safety.

Joel’s resolve to protect you was unwavering. He was willing to sacrifice anything, to face any consequence, to keep you safe from harm. His thoughts were a turbulent sea, with the constant push and pull of guilt and determination. The darkness that had overtaken his life was a relentless force, shaping his every decision and action.

Yet, even as he clung to his resolve, Joel knew that every action had its price. These bones he's hiding will bound him to the consequences of his choices.

The world was a harsh and unforgiving place, and the karma of his actions would eventually come calling.

As he prepared to leave for the church event, Joel’s mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He had done what he believed was necessary to keep you safe.

He will do anything to keep you safe. to protect you.

He will do anything. Anything.

And for the first time in a while, he pray to God to keep you safe and forgive these bones he's hiding.

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writing-with-sophia · 1 year ago

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Writing a novel: Step by step

Most writers aspire to publish at least one book in their lifetime, but writing a novel is not easy. From new writers to experienced writers who have published hundreds of books, everyone must follow a step-by-step process to create their work. These steps are based on the wisdom of famous writers, so while they may not be entirely definitive, they will certainly be helpful to you.

Step 1: Generate ideas

Start by generating ideas for your novel. This can involve brainstorming, keeping a journal of potential story concepts, or drawing inspiration from real-life experiences, books, movies, or current events.

Once you get an idea, hone it.

Step 2: Create characters

A novel cannot be successful without unique and charming characters. Create compelling and well-rounded characters for your novel. Develop their backgrounds, motivations, personalities, and relationships. Consider their strengths, flaws, and how they will evolve throughout the story.

Remember, the more realistic the characters, the better the novel will be.

Step 3: Build setting

Establish the setting or world in which your novel takes place. Whether it's a real location or a fictional world, provide enough descriptive details to immerse readers and make the setting feel vivid and believable.

Step 4: Define plot and make an outline

What is your story about? How will it unfold? How does it begin, develop, and conclude? What and how many scenes will be included? Make an depth and very depth outline, even going so far as to outline every chapter.

Step 5: Write

Begin writing your first draft. Don't worry about perfection; the goal is to get the story down on paper. Embrace the creative process and let the ideas flow. Please remember, don't go back and make changes. Just write!

Step 6: Revise and edit

Once the first draft is complete, take a break (for 3 days) before revising and editing. (This will keep you from overediting or not editing enough.) Then, read through your manuscript with a critical eye, focusing on plot holes, inconsistencies, pacing, character development, and overall storytelling. Revise and rewrite sections as needed.

Step 7: Get beta readers

(You must) seek feedback from trusted individuals, such as beta readers, writing critique groups or your friends. Their input can provide valuable perspectives on areas that may need improvement. Consider their suggestions while maintaining your unique voice and vision for the story.

Step 8: Polish and refine

Polish and refine your novel based on the feedback received. Pay attention to sentence structure, grammar, punctuation, and overall prose. Ensure clarity and coherence in your writing.

Step 9: Publish

You can research different publishing options, such as traditional publishing or self-publishing. Remember to evaluate the pros and cons of each approach and decide which is the best fit for your goals and circumstances.

That's all. I hope you success in publishing your novel!!

If you want to read more posts about writing, please click here and give me a follow!

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absolutebl · 9 months ago

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This Week in BL - The Industry is Having Issues But the Spice Spicy Must Flow

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) eps 1-2 of 10 - One of those "he's dead Jim so time travel" thingames starring MaxNat. I'm over this concept but I do enjoy MaxNat. Phupha (Gun) and Khram (Nat) love each other but Phupha is murdered. Then Khram is pulled to a parallel world where, years ago, Khram and Tai (Max) were in love. However, Khram was killed by Tai’s dad. Now Tai finds alter-Khram. But then there is ALSO an alter-Phupha to deal with. (Phupha is played by Gun Thanawat who was Khom, the repressed butler bodyguard from Unforgotten Night. We like this, but we scared of the love triangle aspect.) Did that make sense? Yeah, okay, see what I mean?

Initial thoughts?

The subs are troubling but I’m enjoying this show a lot. It’s nice to see MaxNat get something meaty to sink their teeth into - that’s not just each other. Also it’s so smart of them to give us a fully fleshed out entire episode developing the alter romance rather than just a separation + death. It makes Khram’s grief and motivation that much more believable. Also it’s really nice to see Nat have good chemistry with other actors.

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 3 of 8 (10?) - I'm still enjoying it. But Two Worlds is objectively better. So this one has lost ranking. Also, unexpectedly chili (the name of my heavy metal Thai cover band).

Lovey switchy and verse main couple too.

This is all quite pleasing.

The bit where the hosts pretend to be a BL couple actor ship was epic on so many levels.

Also unsettling.

All sex work is performative, and in a way there is something more honest about this depiction, in this setting, than what BL actors are made to do on the promo circuit. Which then begs the question, how different is BL from sex work? That's the unsettling bit, for me anyway. Not to slam on sex work AT ALL, we pro-the-true-pros on this damn blog, but actors have been shaded by association with True Professionals for a very long time and BL has already had one epic shut down in this regard. (See the PerthSaint scandal around Love By Chance, no I will not explain.) Where was I? Oh yes, so anyway, see the Gossip section for the part where they better be paid either way!

Also, since I'm a warped fucker, I found this scene funny.

And then hilarious when all of those BL tropes were just trotted out. Like a greatest hits reel.

Truly beyond meta. (How Absolute BL of them.)

Note he’s even standing in yaoi's patented "hands in pocket with the shoulders back"?

Meanwhile, the gayest bridge in Thailand made its quarterly appearance:

And lip serviced was paid to the most touristy romantic things you can do in Bangkok.

And I mean lip service literally.

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) ep 5 of 8 - I’m still enjoying it but getting more and more nervous. We getting too close to Promise territory for comfort. EXPLAIN Ji’s reticence well and do it now or risk audience mistrust. We have to be given a GOOD reason for Ji's behavior, or he'll be irredeemable.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - NO SINGING. Yes smiley kisses and good communication and a nice healthy relationship. But no singing!

1000 Years Old ep 6 of 12 - Dropping in the ranks. I’m sorry it’s just gotten boring. It has, however, inspired me to invest in my own ridiculous cream fuzzy sweater. Which I plan to wear with leather trousers and huge stumpy boots, like the Kpop queer I truly am. Or do I mean vampire?

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) ep 1 of 6 - Seems to be an excuse for a small posse of Thai actors to wander around Tokyo playing tourist and sing in public . Someone stop them?

“Most people think this kind of thing is bad manners .”

Anyway, it’s v boring. I’ll give it one more ep but I suspect I’ll DNF.

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) eps 1-2 of 6 - Meh. This is also looking suspiciously DNF-a-licious.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube & Viki) ep 5 of 11 - It's brilliant. I love it. I'm ready to hurt. Let’s do this thing.

Distribution note: This one has been picked up and is also airing on Viki now, so it may lose YT distribution in soem territories. I like Youku's hard subs better than Viki's subs, but that's a matter of preference not information since I don't speak Mandarin.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 3 of 6 - It is good. Every week I like this show a little more. I'm enjoying a reunion romance explored in Japan's quintessentially contemplative yet slightly surreal way. The juxtaposition of the tenderness of the sex scene with this Japanese brand of authenticity was oddly elegant - for lack of a better way of putting it. All in all, this is a good show. Thought provoking. Stylish.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 9 of 10 - It remains lovely but they sure are reusing a lot of footage. Also, this was a classic penultimate doom episode. I do wonder how they are going to resolve this show ethically.

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 8 - It is what it is, and it isn’t my style of show no matter what country of origin. Oddly that's one of the reasons I don't like it. Anyone could have made this, it's not as Japanese as I want it to be, it's just indie film club high school angst. Yawn.

I watched it, finally

The Servant and the Young Master (Vietnam YouTube) 7 eps - I dislike vertical filming, but I kind of enjoyed this show as a BL. I like class conflict romances. For me the rich kid is a bit too dictatorial (edges into bulling), but it’s kinda works. It’s sparse and underdeveloped and a bit plotless, but mildly entertaining. If you're missing Vietnamese BL you might give it a try. 6/10

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) 8eps - A Burmese BL that I had thoughts about but actually ended up recommending. Read the saga here:

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) ep 1 of ? - on one hand it's micro-installment vertical, on the other it's adorable and from Taiwan. I blame @heretherebedork entirely for my conundrum. As indeed, I did for My Type back in the day. (That was Nat Chen's first BL, yes of Kiseki: Dear To Me fame.) So I think I will also simply lean on Here to let me know when it's done and binge all at once. It's just too much to ask me to keep up with 2 minute pieces, I don't have that kind of endurance training, not even for BL.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - it's finished now, I dropped it at ep 4. Should I bother?

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - I watched the first ep but grey is too much work for this inferior of a show. I may pick up and binge if it gets distribution but for now, it gets a DNF from me. KimCop might have held this crap together but Kim without Cop? No thank you.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing for some reason.

Man Suang that MileApo vehicle from last year is coming to Netflix in the USA. I haven't heard much about it and since the KP stans would have lost their tiny minds if it was any good at all, I'm assuming it's not good at all.

Gossip

Thai BL actor Yoon breaks with his former company and talks about some very very VERY shady goings on in the Thai BL industry. Including not being paid.

And whacha know, same thing happening in Korean BL.

Have I mentioned recently how much I hate the film industry?

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting Soon

3/31 Only Boo! (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks grumpy/sunshine pair who fall deeply in love but, of course, baby boy idol can't date. Boyband but from GMMTV? Control your singing and I'm game.

4/1 Love is like a Cat (Korea ????) 12 eps - This completed filming Aug 2022(!) which means there have been serious problems with post-production. This is another of Silkwood's Korean+Thai colab projects. Mew Suppasit plays a rookie film star, called the Cat Prince (for his cold arrogance) who goes up against a charismatic puppyish animal daycare director (JM of JUST B). There is also a side romance (love triangle?) with a veterinarian. Geonu of JUST B is also in the cast.

I wonder if this was part of the hold up, with Geonu on Build Up right now, they might have tried to muffle this one. Or maybe it's just that bad...

4/3 We Are (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN!

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV?) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner), Best and frest face, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Without ghost girl.

With ghost girl.

I think she may be my favorite part of 1000 Years.

CLASSIC tsundere seme description of a sunshine uke. Like classic'est of classic. (Two Worlds)

Is there such a thing as a tired trope in a BL? Since it is a genre that is made up entirely of tropes quilted together? Your philosophical question for today brought to you by Deep Night's kabedon (Japanese trope) + punishment threat (Thai trope).

Love me a lap sit moment. (City of Stars)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

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comicaurora · 1 year ago

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Hi! I finally got the chance to read Aurora a bit ago. It's a wonderful story--all I was expecting and better! I was particularly amazed and delighted by the artwork and visual mechanics used to tell the story, so I wrote a post to yell about how cool it is and break some of it down. (No criticism, just praise.) I'm mostly a hobbyist, so I'm hoping I've done it justice.

That said: zero pressure to read it or respond to this ask. Normally I wouldn't send it since I tagged, but I know Tumblr's notifs are a mess and things get lost very easily. I've been in both the "one (1) word of praise will feed me for a year" and the "oh gods don't talk about my writing/art because anything that seems Off will break my brain" modes before, and I absolutely don't want to push or make you uncomfortable!

If you are comfortable, however, I wanted to ask about your use of what I'm assuming are Screen and blending modes in sound effect words. (I'm only guessing that's the technique, though, so I could be totally wrong about how it's done! I'm mostly experienced in image manipulation in Photoshop.) Making them semi-transparent over the actions is genius :) What inspired you to do that, and are there specific techniques you use to make it work?

Same questions go for using specific colors to distinguish different characters' words and actions. I really noticed it in the cave sequence with Falst and Dainix, since their colors are so vivid in the dark (ex. Falst's little swats and Dainix's swooping kick at 1.20.9). It lends excellent clarity to busy scenes.

Thanks! Have a lovely day, enjoy your break, and happy holidays <3

You're correct about the technique! "Screen" is the blend mode I use most often for sound effects. I stumbled on it mostly through trial and error - I love how sound effects add depth to a comic panel, but it's very easy for them to obscure the art in a way I find counterproductive, so "Screen" lets me put the sound effect directly over the origin of the sound while still letting it be visible through the word. Early chapters didn't have it as much-

Most of the sound effects in early chapters are just solid colors with reduced opacity if I'm feeling fancy. But I started figuring it out around chapter 8 and 9, because Falst is kind of a sound-effect-heavy guy, especially in his fight scenes.

In order to make sure they don't impede the visibility of the action, I'll often soft-erase the top or bottom half of the SFX to reduce its opacity while still leaving it readable.

I'll usually double that up with an outline on the SFX so it's still readable. This is an especially important consideration if the SFX goes over an area of the background that's very bright or glowing.

Color-coding the speed lines and SFX to the character or force causing them isn't a hard and fast rule, but I like using it (in part because it's a habit from the OSP illustrations, where every character has a single pop of color in their lineart) mostly because it sort of codes every sound to make it clear where it's emanating from, or the general feeling of the sound. Since I normally do character-colors for SFX, something like this stands out more jarringly-

Which it's supposed to, but a big lightning strike doesn't register as anything too worrying because it's just Tess up to her usual shenanigans.

It's also very useful for magic effects, because each form of magic has its own associated palette.

And when I had a very complicated fight scene in a dark environment, I used the texture pattern I'd already made for the monster to color its SFX, so when I Screened them onto the panels they didn't obscure too much while still communicating "this is something else."

Changing the weight, lined-vs-not-lined, and opacity of the SFX words also helps to communicate that not every sound has the same feeling. A strong motion is solid and aggressive, but a crackling, unstable sound is more ephemeral and staticky.

It's definitely been a process of learning as I go - looking back at the earlier chapters I can actually see when I first tried various tricks I now use regularly, like doubling and distorting an SFX to produce the effect of a camera-shaking impact. I haven't really seen any other comics that do it like I do, probably because most other comics follow a more traditional production pipeline where text bubbles and sound effects get locked into the composition early, before the inking stage, because traditional physical comics don't have digital-art layers to play with. Adding sound effects to a page is almost the last thing I do before exporting them, and that only works because digital art and layers allow for a ton of flexibility.

#asks #aurora #art stuff

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yanny-77 · 10 days ago

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The Shadow Stalker

Surprise! Here's my contribution to @acotargiftexchange . A gift for the wonderful @hieragalbatorixdottir . I've so enjoyed talking and getting to know you over the last several months. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1: December

Summary:

A notorious killer is stalking the city of Prythian, killing from the shadows. After six months on the case, FBI Profiler Detective Eris Archeron still has no leads...Until he enters a seedy bar on the edge of the Forest House district and meets a man who will change his life forever.

Notes:

This fic is inspired by Hannibal, my giftee's favorite TV show. There will be depictions of gore and violence consistent with the show. Admittedly, I've only seen about five episodes but I hope I got the vibe and dynamic right.

Read Now on AO3

Words: 7,113 Chapter: 1/8 Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Primary Relationship: Eris/Azriel Secondary Relationships: Eris/Nesta, Eris & Nesta Additional Tags: Alternative Universe - FBI, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, ethical non-monogamy, Marriage of Convenience, Explicit Sexual Content, Detective Eris, Killer Azriel, Dark Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Read Now on AO3

Excerpt:

Cold wind battered Eris Archeron’s face as he surveyed the vicinity. It was a desolate area. There was nothing he could see for miles other than snowy hills, frosted fields, and lifeless trees. The sky above him was cloudy and gray, setting the tone for the grisly scene before him. Blood stained the white hilltop. There was no sign of tire tracks or footprints, other than those of the snowmobiler who’d called and the police who had responded. No clear, visible hints of the person who did this remained; not that Eris expected any from his killer.

Thanks to @suebswrites @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot and Niv for Beta and Edits!

Thanks to @acourtofladydeath for the medical consult!

Thanks to @vanthh for lending me her Canva skills

Taglist (let me know if you want on or off)

@hieragalbatorixdottir @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @brunetterebel010 @iftheshoef1tz @suebswrites @alittlegirlwaitinginagarden @essjaywrites @vanthh @korrinamoe @hunt-athie-athalar @jules-writes-stories @poisonivy206

#2024 ACOTAR Secret Santa #yanny wips #azris #azriel shadowsinger #eris vanserra #Hannibal inspired #fbi au #azriel acotar #azris baby #azris fanfic #azris smut #azris supremacy

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axkirak · 5 months ago

Text

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : III]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings: Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Once, your mother told you that dreams are messages from the deep. This time, you dreamed of a terrifying future—your own death.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : For this chapter, I was inspired by Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024), particularly the nightmare scene. I find it incredibly romantic and beautiful (without any sexual elements)

So that's it, close enough, welcome back furiosa and praetorian jack LOL

➡ Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread

[Episodes 3] Dreams Are Messages From The Deep

Tonight, you dream, and it is far from a pleasant one.

Once, your mother told you that dreams are messages from the deep, the mysteries of the universe, akin to precognition. But dreams are often uncertain, uncontrollable, and unpredictable. like omens or cryptic hints of what is yet to come, they are puzzles you must piece together yourself.

You see it again: the puzzles of fateful catastrophes and the unclear path of the future. Corpses are strewn across the floors of spacecraft and the ground. The dream flashes between these scenes, intertwining them as one, despite being at different times and places. You know it all means something—these deaths are all the work of the same person.

And then you encounter it...the embodiment of the dark shadow that has haunted you in your dreams for months.

Before, everything was shrouded in impenetrable darkness, like staring into the abyss where nothing could be seen but an endless void. But this time, the dream is different. Beneath the shadows, you begin to see the figure of that person—a tall, imposing figure dressed in a sleeveless black cloak that blends seamlessly with the surrounding darkness. His face is hidden behind a cracked metal helmet, with a terrifyingly wide grin etched across the lower half.

A familiar yet strange feeling stirs as you gaze at him, and beneath that thick mask, where no eyes are visible, you know he’s staring back at you.

A Jedi? That’s your first thought. But the red lightsaber in his right hand says otherwise. No, this is a Sith.

Suddenly, something within you screams, warning you to flee.

You instinctively start running, but you never get far. The energy around you envelops you, pushing you back into the darkness. You see his hand raised, drawing you in effortlessly. The lightsaber is gone now. It’s no longer needed. With just one hand, he could kill you easily, like crushing an insect.

In an instant, his strong hand is around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. Your eyes widen in terror, unable to breathe, as the blackness of death moves closer, leaving a whisper deeply embedded in your consciousness.

"I told you, you can't run away from me."

You scream and struggle, refusing to surrender, desperately searching for any way to survive.

Then you feel the cold steel of a blade in your hand, and instinctively, you know this is your only chance. Without hesitation, you lift the knife and thrust its sharp point toward his throat, determined to kill him before he kills you.

But your flickering hope extinguishes just as quickly when he catches your hand mid-strike. His deep, menacing laughter sends a shiver down your spine, and in that moment, you realize—this is yet another failure leading you toward your death.

And then, you wake up.

The knife is still in your hand, just like in the dream. But now, you're in your bedroom, not on a spaceship. There's no blood, no death, and before you is not the mysterious Sith but Qimir, his hand gripping yours tightly, the blade barely a hair's breadth away from his throat.

His expression is calm, composed, a stark contrast to your own, pale and shaken. "You had a nightmare," he says softly, gently easing the knife from your grasp. "Go back to sleep."

His voice is soothing and tender, gradually dispelling the lingering fear from the nightmare as your racing heartbeat slowly returns to a steady rhythm. Almost as if in a trance, you do as he says. You allow him to guide you back onto the bed, his hands warm and reassuring as they touch your face, lulling you back into the realm of sleep.

This time, you don’t dream at all.

Qimir isn’t joking when he says he will teach you.

He starts with the smallest details, such as distinguishing between dangerous and harmless people. "You wouldn’t want to pickpocket someone who could kill you, would you?" Qimir remarks, pointing out a dark-skinned man blending into the crowd with tattered clothes, his body concealed under a cloak. Yet, you can still glimpse a large scar on his upper arm. "That’s a bounty hunter. His gun is hidden under the cloak. These guys are quick. He’d shoot you before you could even touch his pocket." It is astonishing how Qimir can discern such details just by observing a person’s gait or how they carry their belongings.

The next lesson is about disguise—how to blend in so seamlessly that no one could ever recognize you. "You’ve done well so far in hiding yourself, but it’s not good enough to fool me," he says. His words seem mocking, but you can’t deny their truth. "You can’t spend your whole life running and hiding. The key is to accept who you are before you start lying about it. A lie can never become the truth, but you can learn to live with it."

"You talk like you’ve done this many times before," you retort, unable to resist teasing him. Yet deep down, you are curious too. He knows too much and is too skilled—as if he has intimate experience with such matters.

But Qimir doesn’t answer your question. He simply smiles at you. For a moment, you are slightly taken aback. His smile seems oddly familiar, as if you have seen it before, but you can’t quite place when or where.

"Let the lies be a part of you, but never let them consume who you are. No matter where you are or what role you pretend to play, never forget your true self."—This is the essence of Qimir's teachings, beyond the various techniques and tricks of disguise he has revealed to you.

There is a subtle weight in his words, something that hints at more than just instruction.

The last thing Qimir chooses to teach you, and what you find most difficult, is the art of combat—both armed and unarmed.

It isn’t that you have never learned to fight before. Alongside rigorous mental training, your mother also taught you how to use a knife. "Our lineage is one of fighters. A knife is like a part of our body. We fight from cradle to grave. If you can't wield a knife, you’ve wasted your heritage." Your mother’s words echo vividly in your memory as you twirl the knife in your hand, trying to recall and review the lessons you learned long ago.

"What are you waiting for?" Qimir’s voice snaps you back to the present. "Just holding a knife won’t make you win."

You look up to see him standing in the open field outside the quarters. Qimir looks different today, dressed in white instead of his usual dark colors. His shoulder-length hair, usually a wild mess, is neatly tied back into a tight ponytail. A challenging smile plays on his lips as he raises his right hand, brandishing a short knife, ready for battle at any moment.

You step toward Qimir cautiously, your bare feet feeling the rough earth and stones beneath you. The muscles in your body are fully alert, a reflex honed from the countless times you have been trained.

Yet none of your previous lessons have prepared you for a face-to-face fight with Qimir.

Qimir’s lessons are nothing like your mother’s. There is no compromise, no leniency, despite the fact that you are just a small woman. Every move he makes is forceful, direct, brutal, and potentially lethal if he truly intends to kill you.

Qimir strikes first; his attacks are relentless and unyielding. You barely manage to dodge, feeling the rush of air from his arm sweep past your face. The sharp blade grazes the tips of your hair, sending strands fluttering to the ground, where they land like droplets of blood.

You retaliate, thrusting your knife toward his ribs and abdomen, but Qimir blocks each attack with ease. The clash of metal rings out, sending shocks through your wrist up to your shoulder, the pain forcing you to grimace.

Both of you pull back, sweat beading on your faces, eyes locked in mutual assessment. You swallow hard, slowly circling to the side, seeking an opening that wouldn’t leave you vulnerable.

Qimir’s strength is his advantage, but yours is speed. You know that the longer this drags on, the worse off you’ll be. You have to act quickly and decisively—one swift, precise move is the only way to defeat him.

This time, you let Qimir come close, allowing him to initiate the attack. You twist your body to evade his knife, all the while searching for the perfect moment to strike back. The pressure from his relentless assault closes in on your thoughts, triggering your survival instincts. You love life. You don’t want to die, and you will not surrender easily.

You are cornered, and a cornered animal will do anything to survive.

Quick as thought, in the split second, Qimir is preparing his next attack. You flip the knife in your hand, aiming straight for his throat.

But then, everything changes. The scene before you shifts abruptly, overlaying itself with the dream from the night before. The sunlit ground turns into an endless void of darkness, and Qimir transforms into the mysterious masked man from your dream. You plunge your knife toward his throat, just as you did in the dream, and he catches your wrist with the same speed as before. The sound of mocking laughter fills your ears—cold and terrifying.

Fear surges within you as you once again face the hopeless truth—there is no way you can defeat him.

The vision ends abruptly as you lose your balance. The next thing you know, Qimir throws you to the ground with all his strength. Your back hits the earth hard before his towering frame pins you down completely. The sharp edge of his knife presses against your delicate throat, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to cause pain.

"You are distracted. If this were a real fight, you’d be dead by now."

He lifts the knife away but doesn’t move from above you. One of his hands brushes the disheveled hair from your face as he peers into your ink-blue eyes. "Something’s bothering you. Is it that dream?"

You press your lips together, fighting back tears. The lingering fear still clings to your mind, refusing to fade, and suddenly, you feel a surge of vulnerability. "Qimir, I don’t want to die."

Qimir stares at you, blinking in confusion, his expression full of bewilderment. "I haven’t done anything to you."

"You won’t, but others will," your voice trembles, on the verge of tears, yet not a single drop falls. "When you hand me over to those people, I’ll surely die."

Your words make him pause, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features.

He knows it can’t possibly be true. The client who hired through the Bounty Hunters' Guild had specified clearly: they want this woman alive. The client doesn’t care how you are captured, only that you are brought in breathing. This means they have no intention of killing you. In fact, it is likely that you are of some special importance, something too valuable to be lost.

That’s what has piqued his curiosity all along. What makes a seemingly ordinary woman so wanted? What makes you so convinced that you are going to die when nothing points to such a fate?

"Can you tell me why you think you’re going to die?" Qimir asks, his tone unusually serious and firm.

His intense gaze makes your breath catch. Decades of pent-up emotions linger on your lips. You want so badly to tell him everything—about yourself, your family, and your bloodline.

But your mother’s warning remains deeply rooted in your mind and heart. "Never trust anyone. Never reveal our secrets to a soul. Your trust will lead to ruin, not just for you but for everyone."

You close your eyes briefly, deliberately avoiding his penetrating gaze. "I can’t tell you," you whisper, a wave of guilt washing over you.

A heavy silence settles between the two of you, thick and suffocating. For a moment, you feel the intensity in Qimir’s eyes grow stronger, as if he is desperately trying to unearth the truth from you with his gaze alone.

The minutes that pass feel like an eternity. Finally, Qimir rises to his feet and extends his hand to you.

"Don’t worry. As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe."

You grasp his hand and push yourself up, feeling the firm, steady warmth of his grip. There is something oddly comforting about it—a strength that almost makes you forget your fears.

You can tell that Qimir is frustrated, though he isn’t the type to yell or complain. On the contrary, whenever something troubles him or when he is dissatisfied, he grows silent, his expression unreadable, almost emotionless. You have spent enough time with him to recognize the signs, and you dislike this side of him intensely. You would almost prefer if he just yelled at you outright.

You remain standing where you are, confusion and turmoil swirling within you as you watch his broad back retreat into the house, disappearing behind the old wooden door.

Deep down, you want to trust him, but you aren’t sure if you can really place your faith in this man.

Footnotes:

[1] Though the Bounty Hunters' Guild didn't exist during the High Republic Era, this fan fiction takes creative liberties with canon for storytelling purposes. It's not 100% accurate—just enjoy the read!

#star wars #qimir fic #qimir x reader #the acolyte fic #qimir #qimir x y/n #the acolyte #star wars fic #the acolyte x reader #qimir x you #the stranger x reader #the acolyte fanfiction #the curse of cassandra #qimir the stranger #the acolyte qimir #dune fanfiction #angst and tragedy

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madaqueue · 5 months ago

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eternally, yours

chapter 8 | patience

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff, angst, smut. language, pet names (baby, angel, love), mentions of death/loss, blood drinking, depictions of motor vehicle accident. switch!choso, fingering, p in v (cowgirl). 18+, MDNI

word count: 5.4k

a/n: fun fact the last scene of this chapter is what inspired me to write this series hahahaha i can't believe we've already made it this far!!!! yeehaw

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

You had never much cared for flowers. What was the purpose, after all? To rip something from the ground, taking away what it needs to survive, simply for your own pleasure? Melding the forces of nature to your own selfish desires?

And yet, in spring, you find yourself surrounded by bouquets, handpicked by cold fingers on Choso’s route to your apartment. Small daisies and flushed lilacs begin to fill your home, yet this time, they don’t seem to wilt quite as quickly as they had in the past. Maybe the act of his devotion, the quiet walks through heavy rain, wet soil lining the sidewalks, truly was protective after all, his love life-sustaining.

The days continue to lengthen, sun beaming through the increasingly sparse clouds. On the first truly warm day of spring, you and Choso take the opportunity and bring Megumi and Yuji into the woods, visiting the lakehouse Sukuna had offhand mentioned to his younger brother a few times. Despite their near-incessant arguing, you think they must nevertheless care about each other - after all, they couldn’t have lived this long together without something tying them together, right?

As Choso’s car pulls up the gravel driveway, the cabin blends into the surrounding trees, the wooden beams forming into an A-frame peak, stark against the blue sky overhead. Sukuna never struck you as someone who enjoyed connecting with nature, which is perhaps why everything inside is covered in a thin layer of dust, swirling in the sunlight filtering in through the windows as you open the door.

Megumi and Yuji immediately take off running, scouring to find the ideal bedroom as you and Choso haul luggage inside. “Dibs on the bunk beds!” their excited screams echo from upstairs as you make your way inside.

The first floor is utterly gorgeous, high ceilings constructed in oak planks, a fireplace tucked into the corner of the living room, overlooking the fully-stocked kitchen despite the fact that it seems like no one had visited here in years. Sturdy wooden steps lead the way upstairs, presumably where the bedrooms are situated, a large balcony overlooking the dining table.

Pulling your body into his, Choso’s arms encompass you. “Think we should let ‘em have the bunk beds?” he smirks.

“I dunno, I kinda like being on the top bunk,” you giggle, “it makes me feel tall.”

His deep laugh fills the space as footsteps pound upstairs, presumably from Megumi and Yuji racing through the unfamiliar space. Suddenly, it hits you: this feels like home. You and Choso here together, in the safety of a novel space, with your brothers playing upstairs: it’s everything you ever wanted.

Before you can complete the thought, the two boys appear before you, nearly slipping as they run down the stairs. Dressed in their swim trunks, they grab at your hands, desperately trying to pull you outside.

“C’moooon, let’s go to the lake!” Yuji whines.

“I wanna swim!” Megumi echoes, tugging at your arm.

“Give us a few minutes to get ready, okay guys?” you chuckle as Choso lugs your bags upstairs into the remaining master bedroom.

Once inside, he immediately locates the attached bathroom before stashing a small red and white cooler inside, the contents softly rustling against the foam interior. He prides himself on separating the dark parts of his life from you, hoping to avoid having your light cast upon them. Locking the door, he opens it quietly, listening for any sign of you from downstairs. His fingers wrap around the familiar plastic of a blood bag, crinkling in his grasp. Just as he lifts it to his lips, your voice calls from outside.

“Cho, I’m gonna get changed and meet the boys outside - they’re a little eager to get out there,” you laugh.

“Sounds good, be down in a minute,” he calls, desperately trying to hide the waver in his voice.

The bag rustles in his shaky hands as he hears you rummage through the suitcases. Upon finding your swimsuit, he waits for your footsteps to fade away as you return downstairs and outside.

Finally alone, his attention returns to his meal. Just a precaution, he reasons, a way for him to ensure an internal peace today without having to worry about you seeing him for what he truly is. Fangs piercing the bag, he gulps the sanguine fluid down his throat, his body automatically relaxing as it courses through his veins.

Quickly wiping any remnants from his lips, he hides the cooler once again before digging through his suitcase and pulling on swim trunks to join you outside.

The sun shines brightly overhead, warming your skin as you saunter down the stone stairs towards Megumi and Yuji playing in the sand next to the dock. Before long, the sliding glass door from the cabin hits your ears as you turn to face Choso.

A smile immediately graces his face as he sees you, absolutely glowing under the golden hues above. His cheeks threaten to flush as his eyes trail lower over your body, perfectly outlined in your bikini. Get yourself together, he thinks to himself, shoving down his impure thoughts. But god, when he finally meets you by the beach, the scent of vanilla lingering on your skin as you stand beside him, you look absolutely tantalizing, his body suddenly uncomfortably hot.

An idea flashes across his mind despite the lust that clouds it. “Race you guys into the lake!” he shouts, garnering the attention of Megumi and Yuji who had been wrestling nearby. The patter of footsteps fills your ears as the three of them careen towards the lake, leaping off the edge of the dock. Each splash is met with a scream as the cold water hits their senses, giggles taking over in their place as the shock settles.

“I beat you!” Yuji yells.

“Nuh uh, I won!” Megumi retorts.

Choso easily picks up the boys in turn, tossing them high into the air before they land back into the water. Excited shrieks fill the tranquil forest before Choso turns to you, a devilish glimmer behind his eyes. “I don’t know who won, but I know someone who definitely lost.”

Your younger brothers giggle, dramatic “ooooh’s” leaving their throats as he hoists himself out of the water and onto the dock.

“No, no, no!” you yell, but your efforts are futile - Choso’s arms wrap around you, pulling you against his damp skin, before he tosses you into the air.

The water hits your skin, its icy tendrils covering you as you’re submerged under it. Breaching the surface, a loud splash echoes through the air before another cold wave hits you. Choso resurfaces a moment later, shaking out his dark hair and splashing you and your brothers from where you float in the lake.

It’s easy to be here with Choso, with your brothers. The sun eventually warms fatigue into your skin, drawing you all from the water and to the beach. Evening settles as Megumi and Yuji traverse into the woods to scavenge sticks for a bonfire, leaving you and Choso to collect marshmallows and chocolate from inside.

Upon reconvening, the boys dump armfulls of twigs into the fire pit before Choso pulls out a small box of matches. Flicking it against the rocks, it ignites into small sparks. There’s a momentary hesitation in his muscles as the flames glimmer against his irises, illuminating the midnight pools behind them. It’s brief, but you catch the way he tenses before tossing it into the pile, sparking the bonfire.

“Alright, s’mores time,” he weakly chuckles, an attempt to diffuse the swirl of emotions bubbling inside him.

Seating himself on the ground a few feet away, you let the boys tear open the bag of marshmallows and eat them raw as you plop down next to him, the sand digging into your thighs.

It’s just a second, he swears, but when the wood collapses under its own weight he flinches. Memories of that night flood back - the house collapsing, the smoke in his lungs. It feels like he’s choking.

But your hand rubbing along his spine tethers him, pulling him back to the surface of his memories.

“You okay?” Your voice is clear, cutting through the blackened fog in his mind.

You’re here. You’re okay. You’re safe.

Finally, he takes in a full breath of air, his ribs expanding easily. “Y-yeah, sorry,” he mutters, unable to meet your gaze. His thumbs rub together nervously before resting his head on your shoulder, dark hair still slightly damp from the lake against the t-shirt (or rather, his t-shirt) hanging loosely off your body.

Intertwining your fingers with his, you gently squeeze his hand, his skin unsurprisingly cool despite the heat of the fire nearby.

You’re here. You’re okay. You’re safe.

Before long, the boys’ screams grow quiet as they rest against each other in the sand, nearly asleep from the hours in the warm summer sun. Picking Megumi from the ground, he rests his head on your neck as Choso carries Yuji on his back up the stairs. After tucking them into their respective bunk beds, the two of you return outside.

The fire now dwindles, embers twinkling against the dark sky, your path illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon above.

Choso’s eyes cover your body as you walk past him: the plush of your thighs, the swell of your chest underneath his shirt, your hair perfectly unstyled. Again, he feels the familiar ache within his bones. He craves you.

Being out in the sun does wear on him. He’s told you before it’s like the pounding in your skull right before a headache, or the total-body soreness after running a marathon. He’s always described it as exhausting in a physical sense, but held back the more psychological strain it places on him. Maybe that’s why he’s unable to hold himself back now, as though the poison of indulgence was finally beginning to wear against his cells, the only antidote being you.

As the sand shifts beneath your feet, carrying you around the fire, he can’t resist any longer: cool hands reach out and grab your hips, pulling you into his lap. The heat of the fire absorbed into the cloth of his t-shirt, the material now warm as you rest your chest against his.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he murmurs, his voice low and gruff. Visions of you flash through his mind - you in that sinful bikini, you in nothing but his shirt, you below him, eyes closed and lips parted, mewling nothing but chants of his name.

The words, of course, go straight to your ego - unfortunately, he was just a little too fun to tease. “Oh yeah?” Rolling your hips forward slightly, you rub against his now-dry swim trunks, the material gliding beneath you. “Tell me, Cho.”

He groans your name, cheeks already flushing from the minimal stimulation. Desire builds inside him, eating away at the walls of his control. He needs you. “S-so beautiful,” he stammers as his hands snake beneath your shirt, your skin still warm beneath his palms. Trailing upwards, they grope at your perfect tits beneath the small triangles of your swimsuit top, gently kneading the supple flesh in his palms.

Feeling his cock twitch beneath you, you continue grinding against him, forcing a sharp inhale from his lungs. Burying his head into your shoulder, he weakly thrusts up into you, desperate for any source of friction. “H-hah,” he pants, “do you see what you do to me?”

The sound of your giggle is bright despite the darkness pooling around you as you trace your fingers to the back of his neck, gently carding them through his hair, currently down and cascading over his shoulders. “I dunno, Cho, I can’t see too much with those shorts still on you.”

And you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move so fast in your life. In one swift motion, he rips them down below his hips, his cock hitting his stomach before settling in the air. Saliva collects in your mouth at the sight of him, flushed pink tip and veins catching the dwindling light of the fire.

Your body, too, knows it needs him. Instinctively, your fingers trail down his chest before wrapping around his base, twitching in your palm. He’s practically shaking against you as you slowly, slowly stroke up his length.

“Much better,” you coo. Pumping your fist up, your thumb swipes below his tip, smearing the precum that had been leaking down as he shudders.

It’s sweet how little it takes to get him so needy.

“Aw, what’s wrong baby, you’re shivering - are you cold?” you tease as he begins trembling beneath you.

“Y-you - fuck - you know that’s not it,” he manages to huff out. At this point, he’s grinding up into you, his hips desperately trying to match your pace, pleading for more, more, more.

“Then what is it, Cho? C’mon baby, use your words.” A sly grin tugs at your lips - it’s just too easy. Your motions speed up, wrist twisting as you glide up and down his length, grip tightening slightly as you reach his tip, in just the way you know makes his head feel fuzzy.

“Nngh - just - shit - you’re gonna make me lose control if you keep going,” he barely chokes out, his waist bucking into the air, only held down by your weight on his lap. And he knows it, too, his thoughts beginning to cloud, already lust-drunk just from your hand.

He’s never been quite sure what it is about you that drives him so crazy, so far from his own humanity. Yet, it’s easy for you, reducing him to pure animalistic need with just your touch, sometimes just your fucking scent enough to hurl him into the depths of his own hellish desires.

His words should have been a warning, but the alarms his body sends off fall on deaf ears as your motions never slow, your own hedonism beginning to get the better of you, too. The little whines and pleas leaving his lips are too sweet, leading you further and further for just another taste.

Rubbing your thighs together, it does little to quell the warmth pooling inside you. Choso was always so collected, especially with you - maybe it was being out in the sun all day, maybe it was how you purposely wore your most revealing bikini, maybe he was just growing too taut under the ropes of his restraint - but you want to see what he’ll do, to drag him to the precipice of his control.

When your lips make contact with the skin of his neck, your teeth biting down just hard enough, that’s all it takes. With a sudden inhale, the sting of your canines attempting to pierce his flesh, the fight within him dies - he has absolutely, and utterly, lost.

The cool summer air hits your heat as he tears your swimsuit bottoms off, falling to shreds in the sand beside you. “S-shit, sorry,” he mutters into your skin, but makes no move to stop.

Then his hand hurriedly traces down your body, landing between your legs. “So fuckin’ wet,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, as his thumb roughly circles your clit. “You seriously - fuck - this turned on just from teasing me?”

Before you can respond with some sarcastic quip, one finger enters your core, then two. A moan bubbles past your lips as he curls his fingertips towards you, hitting the gummy spot inside that pulls you closer and closer and closer. “Need you to cum f’me, need it s’bad,” he slurs. Oh, he’s gone.

“C-Cho,” you whine as you come undone around his fingers.

Before you can come down from your high, he’s already moving. A low growl rumbles from his throat as he lifts you up slightly, your thoughts still too cloudy to realize what he’s doing until the stretch in your core is suddenly amplified. His tip presses past the first ring of muscles inside you as he whines. “Relax for me baby, please, need t’be inside you.”

Suddenly, his hands are on your hips, a bruisingly tight grip as he allows gravity to pull you down. When he bottoms out inside you, his head falls forward, buried into your shoulder.

“Too big, Cho, t-too big,” you cry, your body on fire from the way he completely fills you.

“It’s okay, love, y’can take it,” he coos - for your sake as much as his. “Please baby, please take it, be good for me, yeah?”

And you do - your walls perfectly meld around him, warmth enveloping and coursing through his body. It’s so, so fucking hot, sweat beginning to collect on his forehead.

Your head spins as the firm grip on your waist is suddenly being used to lift you up. With one swift motion, he drops you all the way back down his length. Up and down, each thrust knocks the wind from your lungs, soft repeats of “ah ah ah” forced from your throat each time your thighs crash against his pelvis.

“Can’t stop baby, fuck, need you,” he breathes, voice husky and dripping in desire. “Need you so bad, need you so, so bad.”

His abs flex and relax with each thrust under the slowly-ruining cloth of his t-shirt. Your skin is so soft in his grasp, his short nails digging small crescents into the plush of your hips. Your hands, meanwhile, are weakly holding onto his shoulders, yet they provide no stability whatsoever. It’s rough and desperate and exactly what he needed.

Fucking himself up on you, hoisting your entire body into the air before letting you fall back against him, your eyes roll back each time your skin crashes against his. When his hips begin to thrust up in pace, he somehow reaches impossibly deeper, tip bumping into your cervix having your jaw loosely dropping open.

“Cho, nngh, s’good,” you mindlessly babble. By this point your head is too clouded in pleasure to really process the words, letting him completely manhandle you.

“Shh, angel,” he purrs, “you’re bein’ too loud, gonna wake everybody up.” And in that sentence, a more cognisant person could tell that he’s just as gone as you are - Megumi and Yuji are fast asleep and too far away to hear you, but neither of you pay attention to that little fact right now. “Gotta - hah - quiet that pretty lil’ mouth of yours.”

Just as your lips begin to form into a faux pout, two fingers are shoved past them. The wet sound of your cunt covers the slight gags as he presses against your tongue, your taste still lingering on his skin. “T-there ya go,” he pants, “much better.”

It’s easy to forget sometimes just how strong he is, but as he easily maneuvers you up his cock like you’re weightless, it’s all too apparent. Just how much does he hold himself back?

His mind is swimming in pleasure, too afraid to lift his head from your neck for fear he would abandon any last shred of control. A sound that could only be described as a whimper leaves his lips as your tongue swirls around his digits, his motions momentarily stuttering.

It’s all too much, your walls begin to flutter around him as he ruts into you.

Parting your lips, saliva begins to collect at the corners of your mouth around his fingers as you mumble. “M’close, hah, m’gonna-”

“I know angel, I know,” he breathes. Placing featherlight kisses along your neck, only serving to further tease himself at this point, it’s a harsh contrast to the rough slapping of his balls against you. “Me too, gonna - shit - gonna fill y’up baby, yeah?”

The question is more rhetorical than anything, knowing you’re unable to answer with his fingers between your lips. Moans of your name fill the quiet air, drool beginning to dribble down your chin as he shoves further into your mouth, the arm around your waist tightening as he angles his hips ever so slightly, just enough to hit the spot inside you that sends you over the edge.

With one final thrust, you lose yourself, the waves of euphoria nearly drowning you as your body shakes in his hold. Choso follows shortly after, his cock twitching as thick ropes of cum shoot into you.

As his hips finally still, he rests both his hands on your thighs, his touch now purposefully tender. The embers behind you softly flicker across his face, concern painted on it as his eyebrows furrow, the dark tattoo along his nose stretched with his cheeks pulling down into a frown.

Did he hurt you? He’s not sure he could forgive himself if the lapse in his judgement, the weakness of his resolve, caused you any harm. He knew it was a bad idea, he tried to warn you, to hold himself back, but it’s so hard when you’re so fucking perfect. He should have been stronger, should have stopped, should have been more patient, more in control.

“Are you okay?” he pants, chest heaving as he desperately sucks in air.

All you can do is nod, pupils wide and eyes glassy as you pull his head from your shoulder. Even when he loses himself, he’s still so gentle, so careful with you. He would never hurt you, even after dragging himself to the limits of his restraint. He will always keep you safe. Placing a gentle kiss to his lips, his entire body continues to tremble beneath you as a lazy smile graces his face.

“L-love you s’much,” he slurs, still clouded in the ecstasy of your body and now comforted by the warm blanket of your wellbeing.

You giggle again, light and airy as always. “Love you too,” you breathe, pressing chaste pecks across his flushed cheeks.

Resting your forehead against his, you allow a moment to pass, the sound of waves lapping against the shore filling the peaceful darkness. Then, he easily carries you upstairs, helping you shower the sand and sin from your bodies before settling into bed. The sheets are soft against your skin before he interrupts the silence by rustling the blankets as he sits up.

One part of his body’s desires were satiated with yours, but there’s another part - a darker part - that still hungers.

“I’ll be right back, baby,” he hums, gently placing his lips to your forehead.

“Where are you going?”

There’s a sweetness to your voice, an innocence he can’t ignore, something he can’t bring himself to lie to. He hesitates for a moment before crumbling.

“I…I have to feed.”

His stomach drops as the words leave his throat, the seconds before you respond dragging on into a painful eternity. Every time he mentions his past, his true nature, he expects you to hate him, to reject him, to fear him. But when you simply tilt your head, there’s no malice behind your gaze - no, just curiosity.

“Can I watch?”

It takes him aback at first. Truthfully, you aren’t sure why you ask, but you can feel the pressure he places on himself, the desire to be some perfect version of ‘human.’ It weighs on him, and you hope this can lessen some of the burden, if even just a little, for you to see him as he truly is.

“Are you…sure?”

When you nod, a soft hum of affirmation, he can’t quite place the disgust he feels inside himself. Why doesn’t he want you to see?

When he doesn’t move, the muscles of his shoulders tightening as he stands in place, you continue. “If you don’t want me to, that’s okay too-”

“No, it’s not that.” Seating himself next to you, the bed bows under his weight. Sometimes, you do forget how big he is, how strong. “It’s just…” he trails off, “I don’t want you to see me differently.”

“Cho, I would never-”

“You know I’m not human. Sometimes it’s easier to ignore than others, but I’m not. I want to be, I want it so bad, but in seeing me do this, you won’t be able to forget it ever again. When you watch this, it’ll change you, it’ll change how you view me.”

Taking in a clear breath, you rub your hand across his back in reassurance. “Maybe it will.”

His entire body tenses, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes.

“Maybe it will change how I see you - but maybe I want that. I want to see you, the real you, the true you. I’ve never been scared of you, I’ve never hated you or seen you as anything less than the love of my life. And this…this is just a part of that life.”

Dropping his gaze to his lap, his head lowers, dark locks covering his eyes. A soft puff of air escapes his lips before they curl into a hesitant smile. “Okay,” he sighs, “if you’re sure.”

Reaching your hands into his, you squeeze them. “I’m sure.”

Silently, he rises, feet softly padding to the bathroom. When he reemerges, a red and white cooler hangs from his palm. He returns to his seat next to you on the bed, opening the container and revealing dark maroon bags carefully lined up in its interior.

The translucent plastic folds under the gentle grasp of his fingertips as he brings it to his lips. Locking eyes with you, the flames of fear behind his irises dull as you smile.

“I love you,” you hum, intertwining your fingers with his. And you do.

And it’s carnal.

But not violent.

He’s patient as his fangs poke through the plastic, his eyelashes fluttering shut as he drinks. It’s surprisingly quiet, the only sound a soft crinkling as the fluid drains from the bag.

When it’s completely empty, he breathes a sigh of relief, the static hanging around his body suddenly absent. You can feel it, too, the calmness spreading over him, the wrinkles of worry smoothing out.

Setting the empty bag into the cooler, he wipes the back of his palm against his mouth, removing any last trace of blood from it.

You’re not sure what draws you to do it - perhaps it’s seeing something so personal, so private, having glimpsed into the part of himself he loathes the most - but before you know it, you’re leaning forward, your lips crashing against his.

He tenses for a moment, afraid of what you’ll think, afraid of how you’ll react, before your tongue swipes against his. Eyes fluttering closed once again, he sighs into you, lips parting as you deepen the kiss.

There’s an unmistakable metallic taste lingering, but you don’t seem to mind - it’s so perfectly him.

He’s here. He’s at peace. You love him.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

You’ve always reminded Choso of the moon. Maybe that’s why he feels so calm under its gaze, as though it were you in the sky smiling down upon him, watching over him, patiently guiding him home. Home to you.

He wants to show you how he sees you, how beautiful you are in his eyes. As perfect as the moon.

Bringing you away from the city tonight, he hopes he’s finally found a way to do it. Your back lays upon the cool grass of the field, head resting against his chest as his fingers lazily draw circles along the small of your back.

“I’ve never seen so many stars,” you hum, gaze scanning the sky. “It’s beautiful.”

In the darkness away from the light of civilization, you can make out new constellations, entire galaxies reflected in the space above you. It doesn’t make you feel small, no - you feel connected. Every atom, every second in the universe’s creation led you to this moment, to be here, with Choso, with the love of your life.

It hits you, then, just how much time he’s lived, how much of the world he’s experienced. Squeezing your arms around his torso, you pull yourself further into him.

“You know,” he begins, and even though you can’t see his smile, you can hear it, “there were a lot of theories about the stars before we understood them the way we do now, before we could see them with telescopes and technology.”

Tilting your neck, your eyes land on his face, his black irises glowing in wonder as he focuses overhead.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

He grins so softly, so endearingly excited to share pieces of his past with you.

“Well, one of them was that the darkness was a blanket over the sky. The sun was always there, but just covered up at night. The stars, then, were holes poked in the blanket that let us see the brightness through them.”

Humming, you pause for a moment. “I like that idea. It feels…safe.” Pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, he allows you to continue. “It’s nice to think that the sun is always there, always protecting everything. Even when you can’t see its light, it’s only temporary. It will always come back.”

His hands run up and down your back slowly, tickling along your spine. “It’ll always come back.”

The drive back to the city is peaceful. The wind rushes through your hair, head resting against your palm next to the open car window. Music crackles from the speakers of Choso’s car, your other hand intertwined with his over the center console.

“Do you remember what you were doing a year ago tonight?” he asks, his low voice gently breaking the comfortable silence.

You shake your head, turning your attention to him.

“You brought Megumi into the hospital - it was the first time I saw you.”

Warmth spreads across your face, heart fluttering in your chest. Your cheeks push up into a grin, overtaken in adoration. “I thought you didn’t keep track of dates, Cho.”

That sweet smile begins to spread across his face as he shrugs, eyes still focused on the road ahead to not give away his own nervousness - even after all this time, you still fluster him so easily. “I guess I met someone worth remembering them for.”

And you think you melt right there on the spot - not from the humid air rushing past you, no, but from the tenderness warming his words.

He’s here. He’s at peace. You love him.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year since we met,” you hum to yourself, your voice quiet enough to nearly be lost in the buzzing background of the summer night.

He sighs contentedly. “It’s been the best year of my life.”

With a squeeze of his hand, you giggle. “And that’s saying something, because you’ve lived a lot of them.”

“Oh, are you calling me old now?” he chuckles - a sound you think you’ll never grow tired of, a proof of his happiness.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you smirk. Settling your laughter, your gaze meets his. “I love you, Cho.”

“I love you too, angel,” he hums, the dark circles beneath his eyes seemingly lighter as they crinkle.

Suddenly, everything goes white.

The sound of metal scraping fills the silence.

Then everything hurts.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, every muscle torn and burning.

There’s the smell of smoke in the air.

Choso’s voice calls out from…somewhere. Your vision is blurry as it settles on the scene around you: his hands hooked under your shoulders as he tugs you from the car, its shape mangled around another vehicle.

“Help! Somebody fucking help,” Choso cries into the darkness, his voice hoarse from screaming.

Glancing down, his attention locks on you. “Hey, hey, you’re okay, it’s okay,” he whispers. Something cool falls on your cheek - is he…crying? He must be, but you can’t quite make it out. “Stay with me, okay? I got you.”

Stroking your cheek with his thumb, it leaves a damp trail of blood along your skin - is it yours? You can’t tell.

“Somebody do something!” He’s yelling again, you realize. You’ve never heard his voice so loud, so broken.

He’s rocking your body in his grasp, but you can’t feel it, everything is too far away. You’re sure you’d be in pain, though. You’re sure it should hurt, but you don’t feel anything.

Just as your vision begins to fade into darkness, you hear his voice one last time:

“Do you want me to save you?”

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